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~o~
Steve Rogers stood at the podium, looking out across the sea of faces before him.
The Army had come calling and, this time at least, he felt like he couldn't ignore the call. They were commemorating the 67th anniversary of the D-Day Landings in Normandy, and had requested Captain America come to the ceremony and speak to the gathered guests.
So, he'd put on the vintage uniform Tony Stark had provided for him, adjusting the medals as he remembered receiving each one. There were two new ones to go with the rest: the Purple Heart he'd been awarded for his supposed death in the line of duty when he went down with the Valkyrie, and the Medal of Honor, for the same reason. He'd blushed nearly scarlet when the President had hung the Medal of Honor around his neck and had the Purple Heart pinned to his chest.
Steve wasn’t sure he deserved either of them, because he'd been doing his duty and hadn't done it for any type of recognition, but he supposed that was the very reason he'd been granted each medal.
Now, he stood before the gathered crowd, more aware than ever before that he'd survived when so many others hadn't. He recognized some of the men in the audience. They'd somehow convinced the remaining Howling Commandos to make the trip, and so he could see Jim Morita and Montgomery Falwell sitting in the front row, beside his wife, Maria Hill. She looked stunning in a navy suit and matching hat, every inch a lady, despite her skillset and the lethality hovering just under the surface.
He took a deep breath, feeling inadequate to the task but willing to jump in anyway.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, my fellow veterans," he began as the waves behind him lapped at the shore. "When I was asked to address you today, on the 67th anniversary of the D-Day landings, I'd originally planned to decline. I didn't come ashore with the Americans as part of Operation Overlord, so I thought perhaps a different speaker, one who'd lived through that day, would serve you better today.
"But a good friend reminded me that, whether or not I'd landed on D-Day, I was a soldier in this war. Some of us fought side-by-side through Europe, and some of us, despite the fact that we crossed the same territory, never met at all." He took a deep breath, grateful to Tony Stark for his words as he watched the assembled crowd, rapt with attention, hanging on his every word. "For many of you, your first taste of war began right out there behind me. For others, it was just the latest in a long line of battles you had to survive.
"You carried the hope of many nations with you as your feet touched the sand that day. You were scared out of your wits, wondering if you'd make it off the beach, or if a German gun would get you before you could even reach dry land. The only friends you had in the world were the men you came ashore with, and your gun.
"You endured rough seas and sheeting rain to get to this beach, only to be pinned here—at the beach codenamed Omaha—under heavy German fire, unable to push inland and unwilling to retreat," he said. He'd heard the stories from some of the Commandos, about that day and what it had cost. To this day, most wouldn't even talk about it, the memories were so terrible. "But you fought, and you persevered, and finally, finally, you made your way inland. Your courage under fire was the turning point of the war. Never before had the enemy faced a foe that wouldn't wilt under heavy fire, wouldn't give up despite overwhelming force, and wouldn't retreat even when retreat was the safer option."
He took a deep breath, casting his memory back to those dark days of the war, when it wasn't a guarantee that they'd win, and they kept going anyway. He hadn't thought it was courageous then; he'd thought the only choice was to keep going, because to sacrifice so much only to give up simply wasn't an option.
"We were young, most of us, when this war started. We were 19, 20, 21 years old, away from home for the first time, thrown into the chaos of war with only enough training to keep us alive, and no promise that we would survive to see the next day. We gave our best years, sacrificed our youth and innocence to protect the rest of the world from the threat of Nazi occupation. The world owes us a debt greater than they can pay. Medals and a hero's welcome are pitifully little thanks for all we gave to protect the freedoms we all hold dear, but we don't ask for either because we were only doing what had to be done.
"It was General Douglas MacArthur who summed it up best when he said of the American soldier, 'In his youth and strength, his love and loyalty, he gave all that mortality can give. He needs no eulogy from me; or from any other man. He has written his own history and written it in red on his enemy's breast. But when I think of his patience in adversity, of his courage under fire and of his modesty in victory, I am filled with an emotion of admiration I cannot put into words. He belongs to history as furnishing one of the greatest examples of successful patriotism. He belongs to posterity as the instructor of future generations in the principles of liberty and freedom. He belongs to the present, to us, by his virtues and by his achievements.'"
"We're all old men now—though some of us look older than others." A chuckle rippled through the audience. Steve smiled, glancing over at his friends, wearing looks of wistful sadness, smiling through the tears standing in their eyes. "But I will never forget you as you were: young men, running toward the sound of gunfire because that was the job. Your courage, your willingness to sacrifice, your humility, are inspirational to this day.
"If there's one thing I want you to remember, it's this: there will always be men and women who answer the call. It's our job, those of us who remain, to never forget what they've done for us. That living memory is the only way we can breed courage and sacrifice into the next generation, and the one after that. I learned it from my father, and I hope one day to pass it on to those who come after me.
"The next time you meet a veteran, consider thanking him for his service," Steve said. "He gave up a lot to protect the freedoms you enjoy today. You might not think that your words will mean much, but to him they're priceless, because it means we haven't forgotten him."
He stepped back from the podium and saluted the men seated in front of him. Not just Jim Morita and Montgomery Falwell, but all the men who'd fought on the beach behind him. One by one, they stood and returned the salute. Steve lowered his arm and nodded at them before returning to his seat.
Maria smiled at him as he sat down to the swelling sound of applause. He wasn't comfortable with the accolades; he'd given the speech for the veterans who'd served, fought and died beginning on this beach and extending all throughout Europe. Their gratitude was the only thing that mattered.
Maria took his hand, squeezing gently. "You did good," she said, whispering into his ear so he could hear over the applause.
He smiled at her, grateful to have her by his side on this day more than most. The ceremony went on, but he barely noticed. His mind was occupied with memories of a different time, and the faces of young men and women who'd given their last full measure for each other.
~Finis