"Red Ribbon."
Steve appraised the interviewer posing him this phrase at him with a dubiously raised brow as he laced his fingers together atop his lap.
“Red Ribbon? I… I don’t really have anything strictly tied to ribbons. I know a girl that has ‘em in her hair sometimes, but I--” he began, before cutting himself off as his face went momentarily slack. A memory returned to him, like an old photograph flashed before his eyes.
“Oh,” he breathed softly. Gathering his senses again, the Captain cleared his throat and leaned back in the comfortable, over-stuffed leather chair he sat in. He moved his gaze from the interviewer’s face allowed it to drift to the side while he went about sifting through the vaults of his mind.
”Well, there is… one thing. It’s not actually ribbon, but… it may as well be. The ‘Good Conduct Medal’ for the U.S. armed forces is called the ‘Red Ribbon,’ ‘cause the soldiers think… thought it was a glorified spelling bee prize.
“Everyone who served for at least a year during the war, or three years after apparently got one, as long as you didn’t break any laws.
S’funny; of all the medals I got awarded, that wasn’t one of ‘em. I broke a whole lotta rules, going behind enemy lines. Gave a lot of the higher ups a real headache,” he said, a bit of a smirk quirking into his lips. What followed was his best interpretation of now long-dead superiors, hands waving willy-nilly in the air in a theatrical display. ”‘Look at him, glorified chorus-line gal, wearing star-spangled tights, waltzing across the Nazi barricade like he owns the place!’”
“Heh,” the veteran tittered sardonically. “Dumbest thing I ever did.”
“It was worth it to save all those men, of course. To save my best friend. I didn’t even know if he was alive when I made up my mind to charge in there... If there was even a shred of hope for it, though, I woulda done way nuttier things. I know he would have done the same for me, in my shoes.”
A pause was taken, during which neither person moved, the interviewer not wishing to break the train of thought Steve was on. At length, the Captain took in a long, chest-expanding breath, and sighed. “Even when I freed the others and found him, though, I still had a job to do. Protocol said I should cover as many troops as I could and high-tail it out of there, but there were a few that couldn’t stand on their own. There were a coupla field medics amongst the POWs ripping up uniforms, trying to make tourniquets to stop all the bleeding. Those were the real ‘red ribbons’ that mattered, right there - not the kind that you pin to a fellas chest so he can prance around with it like a prize pig. Little, inconsequential strips of cloth, soaked through with the blood of men laying down their lives… those were the ‘ribbons’ I could take a little pride in...”
Steve trailed off and shifted again, sliding his palm up his forearm, subconsciously belying his discomfort with having to face what he’d seen, what he’d done, all those decades ago.
“...God, there was… so much blood. I’m real glad the serum squashed my gag reflex… Woulda been tossing cookies in the middle of a firefight with HYDRA. Wouldn’t that be somethin’? 6’2”, 240 pound Captain America, losing his lunch at the sight of severed limbs like a pansy. Like the skinny little shrimp I still felt like...
The talkies I watched back in the States don’t prepare you for war. Nothing does, I guess. Pretending to punch a guy dressed up as Hitler over 200 times definitely didn’t. There are things that you can’t understand unless you experience ‘em. I helped press on a guy’s stump and told him he was going to make it. I promised him he’d see his wife and daughter again. I pulled so hard on that tourniquet, and still, more and more blood just kept… pulsing through it.”
”He uh,” muttered the Captain, grimacing as his lids lowered. “He didn’t make it. Lots of guys didn’t. I made promises I couldn’t keep, but at least I still… remember their names...
Steve lifted his eyes back to the interviewer and tightened his lips into a grim line. ”I remember all of them.”
And all those guys I had to hurt - had to kill... I remember them, too. There was one guy that begged me, in German, to spare him. ‘Bitte, nicht,’ he said. ‘Please, don’t.’
I… I tried. It was too late, though. He was a goner the minute he got between me and my friend. He pointed his gun at me and I just… I just…” murmured Steve, clenching his jaw.
...Look, I didn’t deserve the ribbons I got, much less ones for ‘exemplary behavior.’ Red Ribbon or no, though, I did what had to be done. For the men. For Bucky. For my country.”
Steve appraised the interviewer posing him this phrase at him with a dubiously raised brow as he laced his fingers together atop his lap.
“Red Ribbon? I… I don’t really have anything strictly tied to ribbons. I know a girl that has ‘em in her hair sometimes, but I--” he began, before cutting himself off as his face went momentarily slack. A memory returned to him, like an old photograph flashed before his eyes.
“Oh,” he breathed softly. Gathering his senses again, the Captain cleared his throat and leaned back in the comfortable, over-stuffed leather chair he sat in. He moved his gaze from the interviewer’s face allowed it to drift to the side while he went about sifting through the vaults of his mind.
”Well, there is… one thing. It’s not actually ribbon, but… it may as well be. The ‘Good Conduct Medal’ for the U.S. armed forces is called the ‘Red Ribbon,’ ‘cause the soldiers think… thought it was a glorified spelling bee prize.
“Everyone who served for at least a year during the war, or three years after apparently got one, as long as you didn’t break any laws.
S’funny; of all the medals I got awarded, that wasn’t one of ‘em. I broke a whole lotta rules, going behind enemy lines. Gave a lot of the higher ups a real headache,” he said, a bit of a smirk quirking into his lips. What followed was his best interpretation of now long-dead superiors, hands waving willy-nilly in the air in a theatrical display. ”‘Look at him, glorified chorus-line gal, wearing star-spangled tights, waltzing across the Nazi barricade like he owns the place!’”“Heh,” the veteran tittered sardonically. “Dumbest thing I ever did.”
“It was worth it to save all those men, of course. To save my best friend. I didn’t even know if he was alive when I made up my mind to charge in there... If there was even a shred of hope for it, though, I woulda done way nuttier things. I know he would have done the same for me, in my shoes.”
A pause was taken, during which neither person moved, the interviewer not wishing to break the train of thought Steve was on. At length, the Captain took in a long, chest-expanding breath, and sighed. “Even when I freed the others and found him, though, I still had a job to do. Protocol said I should cover as many troops as I could and high-tail it out of there, but there were a few that couldn’t stand on their own. There were a coupla field medics amongst the POWs ripping up uniforms, trying to make tourniquets to stop all the bleeding. Those were the real ‘red ribbons’ that mattered, right there - not the kind that you pin to a fellas chest so he can prance around with it like a prize pig. Little, inconsequential strips of cloth, soaked through with the blood of men laying down their lives… those were the ‘ribbons’ I could take a little pride in...”
Steve trailed off and shifted again, sliding his palm up his forearm, subconsciously belying his discomfort with having to face what he’d seen, what he’d done, all those decades ago.
“...God, there was… so much blood. I’m real glad the serum squashed my gag reflex… Woulda been tossing cookies in the middle of a firefight with HYDRA. Wouldn’t that be somethin’? 6’2”, 240 pound Captain America, losing his lunch at the sight of severed limbs like a pansy. Like the skinny little shrimp I still felt like...
The talkies I watched back in the States don’t prepare you for war. Nothing does, I guess. Pretending to punch a guy dressed up as Hitler over 200 times definitely didn’t. There are things that you can’t understand unless you experience ‘em. I helped press on a guy’s stump and told him he was going to make it. I promised him he’d see his wife and daughter again. I pulled so hard on that tourniquet, and still, more and more blood just kept… pulsing through it.”
”He uh,” muttered the Captain, grimacing as his lids lowered. “He didn’t make it. Lots of guys didn’t. I made promises I couldn’t keep, but at least I still… remember their names...
Steve lifted his eyes back to the interviewer and tightened his lips into a grim line. ”I remember all of them.”
And all those guys I had to hurt - had to kill... I remember them, too. There was one guy that begged me, in German, to spare him. ‘Bitte, nicht,’ he said. ‘Please, don’t.’
I… I tried. It was too late, though. He was a goner the minute he got between me and my friend. He pointed his gun at me and I just… I just…” murmured Steve, clenching his jaw.
...Look, I didn’t deserve the ribbons I got, much less ones for ‘exemplary behavior.’ Red Ribbon or no, though, I did what had to be done. For the men. For Bucky. For my country.”
Moderators: Wordsmith (played anonymously) Fandral the Dashing (played by Bananasaurus) Fenrir (played by Bananasaurus) Donaghan Whitehart (played by Bananasaurus) Bananasaurus