"I have often read that an army on the move

is a happier army than one which sits,

and now I can believe it...

Tonight, just after dusk, I stood from a long distance away

and watched the plumes of smoke,

the flashes of flames, and listened to the long, low

rumble that marked the death of one of the

oldest cities in Europe."

- Major Max Lale

media:

"I Came Here to Talk For Joe"

by Sammy Kaye

Stuttgart, Germany; February 28, 1945

"This is all your fault!" Clint shouted over the bullets screaming over his head, glaring at Tony as they scrambled through the snow outside of Stuttgart. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth – that his dancing skills were abysmal, his German even more so, and I mistook his date for something that came from a stable." Tony held a hand to his head to keep his helmet on as he sprinted below the low-hanging branches.

"Perfectly appropriate. What could go wrong?" Steve muttered. His shield hung at his side as the three sprinted through the woods, the flickering glow of the beam of a headlight glancing off the burnished metal.

"Incoming!" Tony yelled, and Clint threw himself to the ground as one of the pursing motorcycles roared over his head and crashed to the ground before him, its shock absorbers shrieking as the chassis ground into the icy rocks below. Its rider wrenched the handlebars to the side and planted his foot into the ground, wheeling on the three Americans standing before him.

Clint's fingers fumbled for his rifle, but he had only just reached the weapon when Steve's shield spun into the man's jaw. A reverberating concussion warbled through the air as the German soldier fell backward, arms flailing as he grappled for consciousness. Clint turned to Steve, who reached down and scooped his weapon from the snow.

"You know shields are for defense, right?"

Smiling with a touch of embarrassment, Steve placed his shield in its ready position on his forearm and turned back to where the attacker had come. "Tony, can you ride this thing?"

Tony's eyes nearly popped from his head. "Can I ride this thing? Are you kidding? I've been driving motorcycles since I was born!"

"I wouldn't call it driving," Clint raised his eyebrows, feeling a savage burn of pleasure in his chest when Tony glowered at him. "You might to hold off on your plan for a minute, Captain. We've got visitors."

The growl of engines swelled into a roar as twin beams of light burst into view from Clint's flanks. He pulled his rifle to his shoulder as the motorcycles revved their engines and tore through the woods to reach his position. Raising the barrel of his weapon, he stared down its length and lined up his sights with the helmet of the oncoming rider, fixing its end until the gun stared directly into the man's goggles.

Steady... Steady... He breathed out, relaxed his shoulders, and squeezed his finger around the trigger. A sharp report followed and the man's arms flew up into the air, his limbs sprawling as he veered off his course and crashed into a nearby tree, sending a plume of fire billowing into the air. Behind him, Clint could make out the snap of bullets as Steve and Tony aimed for the second driver. Ducking down, Clint peered up from below the line of fire to see the German taking evasive action through the trees, weaving through the trunks.

Clint blinked and suddenly a pulse of fire snapped free from the engine of the motorcycle, sending lapping tongues of flame high into the air as the motorcycle imploded. Its rider screamed as he was overcome by the flames, pitching motionless into the snow as his mount careened to the ground. As Clint watched Tony tugged down on one of his gloves, looking back with wide and surprised eyes.

"Du bist umgeben!" A roaring command barked from the trees, and Clint formed a circle with Steve's and Tony's backs to his. They squared their weapons against the voices that surrounded them, and Clint loaded his rifle as the first forms of the German infantrymen emerged from the woods.

"What are they saying?" he hissed, and Tony's brows furrowed with concentration as he listened to the barking orders.

"They're saying we're surrounded. That we have nowhere to run. We'll never make it to the American border. Amongst other... Less pleasant things."

"Bastards," Clint fitted his rifle against his shoulder, but Steve pushed the barrel to the ground.

"Not yet. I think I have a plan." His eyes narrowed, scanning the soldiers as they formed a ring around the clearing, cocking their weapons ostentatiously and looming ever nearer.

"Whatever it is, think faster!" Tony whispered.

"Hey! Halt die klappe!" The leading figure emerged from the masses, a well-built Wehrmacht man with a strong Roman nose to crown his scowling expression. Clint did a double-take as the man's fingers brushed a weapon hanging from his waist – a ceremonial sword with its hilt carved in the shape of a lion spitting fire.

"He's going to turn us into kebabs!"

"Verstummen!"

"Clint, cover Tony. Let him get to that motorcycle. I'll hold off the rest of these clowns," Steve raised his shield and the Wehrmacht officer shouted in surprise, lowering his arm as a cue to let the hail of bullets fly. Clint dropped down and opened up into the mass of them, loading as quickly as he could as his rifle spit lead into the block of bodies. Raising his arms above his head, Tony sprinted under the gunfire and barreled through the nearest group of soldiers, leaping onto the motorcycle in one deft motion.

A blast of light illuminated the clearing as Tony threw the lights on, and Clint felt a pulse of energy ripple through the ground. The nearest group of Germans went flying as the motorcycle's engine revved, plowing through the soldiers like dominoes. Clint was picking off any of the ones who got close to Steve, but the latter was doing well enough on his own, using his shield as a weapon of mass destruction. Bullets carved bloody trails through the air and gunfire scattered like rain.

Clint was just about to reload when he was toppled by a German soldier tackling him to the ground. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt and snow, Clint turned and threw his arms up to block a hammer-blow to his face. His forearms smarted from the impact and he forced his weight upward, trying to dislodge the man on top of him, but the German didn't budge. A fist like an iron weight drilled into Clint's chin, casting stars across his vision.

The world went loopy for a moment, but Clint shook his head and dragged his wrist out of the German's grip. He stabbed his fingers into the man's eye, throwing him off when he reeled back in pain, and his fingers scrabbled for his cast-off rifle. Clint swung the weapon around like a baseball bat and sent the stock crashing into the German's temple, knocking him out cold where he lay.

Spinning on his heel, Clint turned to the nearest soldier, a terrified-looking boy who shied away when he made eye contact.

"That's right, punk! You don't want to mess with me!" Clint hollered, pounding a fist against his chest. His false bravado worked, and the kid scrambled away as quickly as his skinny legs could carry him.

He felt a polite tap on his shoulder and turned, expecting to see Steve or Tony, but stared up to meet the bead eyes of the Wehrmacht commander. Yellowed teeth beamed down at him, and Clint managed a confident grin before the man's knee jerked into his stomach, folding him at the middle.

Clint fell to the ground heaving for breath, fingers tightening around his M1. The commander kicked his rifle away and raised his fists, one eyebrow cocked in the universal symbol of a challenge. Panting for breath, Clint held up a finger and picked himself up painfully from the earth, pulling his arms up in defense as the German leaped into the leading blow.

His fist drilled into Clint's ear and he stumbled backward, arms flailing as he fought to keep his balance. A snort of laughter followed as Clint righted himself, a trail of blood snaking from his nose. His blood boiled with rage to see the German laughing at him, besting him in a casual fistfight in the woods. Clint had fought like this more times than he could count.

He reached down and clapped his hands against his knees, making a show of his exhaustion. The German took the bait, a saccharine smile spreading across his face as he approached for the kill. When he was close enough Clint sprang forward and tackled the man from the middle, folding his legs back and slamming his body into the earth. 

Breath rushed from the commander's lips in a gust of surprise, and Clint was on him before he had a chance to recover. Straddling the man's chest, he tore into him without mercy, his fists slicking with blood and knuckles splitting as he pounded into the German's face again and again.

He was torn away from the officer, whose face was beginning to resemble a cut of meat, by Steve's iron grip pulling him to the side. His expression was dark and disappointed as Clint got to his feet, shaking out his arms and bouncing on the balls of his feet, adrenaline coursing through him.

"Let me back at 'im, Steve, I was teaching him a lesson."

"You've done enough."

Rolling slowly onto his side, the officer squinted up at Clint through swollen eyelids and laughed, his chest rising and falling jerkily with every painful breath. "You are dead men," he gasped in stilted English through broken teeth. Clint started after him, but Steve dragged him back again.

The whine of an engine signaled Tony's arrival on the German motorcycle. He glanced over his shoulder at the fallen soldiers, suspicion etched across his face. "I make no more hostiles, Rogers. It's just..."

"If you have something to say, Stark, say it." Steve bent over the officer, whose laughter had faded to a blissful unconsciousness.

"A dozen or so men and two bike groups to take down Captain America? Seems kind of skimpy to me, as fighting forces go."

"They didn't know it was Steve here – we could have been any Americans," Clint argued, toeing his boot in the dirty snow.

"Sure, sure. But something about it just seems –"

"Diversion." Steve's head snapped upright and he leaped onto the motorcycle behind Tony, gesturing for Clint to follow him. "Get on! Now!"

Clint had hardly swung himself onto the bike when the bullets began to fly again, their targeted paths casting sparks from the body of the motorcycle. Wrenching his wrist back, Tony gave the accelerator all he could and the front wheel of the bike soared into the air, filling Clint's nose with the stench of gasoline and smoke. They tore through the trees at a blistering pace, the snaps of sniper fire in close pursuit as they darted through the forest.

"We're still taking fire! Where are they?" Clint pounded on Steve's shoulder and hollered in his ear, keeping his head low under the gunfire.

"Our ride isn't going to last much longer, either!" Tony called back, angling his head back toward the back end of the bike, where the tire was fully deflated on account of a well-placed bullet. The motorcycle was already losing speed, and fast.

"Just keep moving! Don't let them stop this bike!" Steve hollered, and Tony angled the handlebars toward a figure emerging from the snow and the trees – a decrepit building half-covered in snow. Clint felt the bike give a mighty shudder beneath him and a piercing whine sounded.

"Jump!" Tony yelped, and Clint threw himself free of the bike as it careened into the nearest tree, exploding into a magnificent plume of fire.

"We've just given away our position! We need to keep going," Clint grabbed Steve's sleeve, but he was interrupted by Tony's frantic gestures.

"Who cares? We need shelter!" His boots kicking up flurries of snow, Tony sprinted for the shed like Clint had never seen him run before. The familiar pop of small-arms fire sounded in pursuit. Had the Germans followed them this far on foot?

Steve started after Tony, his expression chiseled with anger. "Stark, get back here! We need to keep moving!" He sprinted after the retreating mechanic, footsteps soft against the snow. The fire beside Clint was belching smoke, a beacon to any approaching Germans, and he reluctantly began to hurry after Rogers.

And then there was a snap of gunfire and he was on the ground and the world turned red.