Soldier Bucky Barnes Novels & Stories

I yelled, sprinting toward the first soldier who cleared the inner threshold. The soldier turned toward me. His face was a mask of scar tissue and titanium implants. His eyes were not silver or violet; they were a dull, dead grey, fixed on me with a terrifying lack of recognition. He didn't see a woman or a doctor. He saw an obstacle in a path of pre-programmed coordinates.

The doors parted on silence and soft wealth. Phil Barker moved through the room with a curious lightness, as if the night had pared him down to his sharpest edges. He wore a black suit that didn’t fit his frame yet—rented, rushed—but he wore it like he’d been born in it. The scotch warmed him without softening him. On the main monitor, a replay looped: the armored car breaching the warehouse wall, debris blooming, men spilling like chess pieces knocked by an impatient hand. Jack’s head ducking and lifting, his rifle stitching clean angles through chaos.

The mirror shattered into pieces as the figure of that Dashan man appeared in Buck's mind. He recollected the time he was ambushed by an opponent. Despite him killing his opponent in the end, the battle had left a large wound on Buck's belly. Buck thought that he would have died from the battle, only for a Dashan man to appear just as he was about to lose consciousness. That man was Fremont Skye, and he nursed Buck back to life.

Many tents dotted the space, fires burned in metal drums, and people were everywhere. Dirty, exhausted, wounded people who looked up as we entered. The conversations died instantly. A woman near the entrance dropped the bandage she'd been wrapping around a man's arm, and a child that was peeking out from behind a tent ducked back inside. An older man with a grey beard and a missing hand stood from where he'd been tending a fire. They all stared at me like I'd crawled out of hell itself. "Marcus." A soldier approached, young, maybe twenty, with a crossbow slung over his shoulder and burns covering half his neck.

Guy’s a cockroach. He got the gate open, though, and they all piled through it. The other American soldier, who Jackson now recognised by his frame as Coleman, was helping Bridget carry the doctor. Jackson and his sergeant were the last to follow, and they slammed the gate shut behind them—just as a Sleeper emerged from the alley. Baker reached through the fencing and pulled the bolt home. It wouldn’t hold them for long, but it was something. ‘What now?’ asked Jackson. His sergeant just looked at him. ‘We continue on with the mission, soldier. And we survive. We survive.’

He did not honestly expect the title to make a difference to his treatment, however the longer he upheld the role of outraged human mayor, the longer he could delay, the more chance he had at escape – and there was the chance that he could seed just enough doubt in the minds of the soldiers that they would let him go. They ignored his protestations. “Hey!” He cried out when he saw the 4WD containing Cameron turn off. “Where are you taking my friend?” “Shut the f-k up. Honestly,” the soldier in the front seat twisted in his seat. “You were always such a f-king loudmouth, Heath.” “F-king Guy,” Heath’s jaw dropped. He recognized Guy Barnham’s voice although his face was hidden behind the visor

"I saw Liam Marsh do much the same thing for my friend Ashley. He purposely stepped in front of her, protecting her from these lunatics. He and Jared are in this hospital right now, fighting for their very lives. There were many more acts of incredible courage and sacrifice as these cowards, armed with guns and covered in explosives, attacked innocent, unarmed students and teachers. "I had a discussion with my boyfriend a while back. I told him I was going to be a doctor and he told me he intended to follow family tradition and join the Army. Then he revealed that he was going to be a US Army Green Beret, like his father before him. I argued that doctors saved lives while Green Berets took l

The idea scared the group, but Archer’s words were powerful, encouraging the team to pull together they successfully made it out alive and returned their fallen leader to his family. Archer had faced a lot of battles that day, his armour had failed him, a grenade had smashed through the barrier of a building beside the compound, splattering dust and shrapnel everywhere. Despite his evident injuries, Archer soldiered on, hissing through the pain on every step. He refused any first aid until he knew his team was safe and out of harm’s way. Johnson admired his fellow soldier for his determination and quick thinking when no one else would stand up to the plate.

Jason released a jaded sigh, "Each one of us in the cancer research department has a story similar to mine. It's what drives us. It's what motivates us. It's what made me give up my early mornings and my late nights in the pursuit of a cure. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears and each time all I ever did was fail. I failed everyone, not just myself. There was no human cure available. None that any of us could find at least." My unseeing gaze began to clear, the blurriness subsiding to grant me the sight of the white linoleum floor. I kept my head lolled in the uncomfortable position it was in so Jason wouldn't catch on that the wolfsbane was finally being broken down by my immune system. He h

the man looks at Charlie and in a firm voice speaks, "why are you holding her hand?" I look down at Charlie, her hand tight in mine, "Ma'am, Sir, I'm going to take her out of here, to a safe place that will help her." The woman gasps and the old man's brows shoot up into his hair line, "uh huh, what's your name and where exactly do you think your taking this young girl? I chuckle, "Right, my name is Braddock Westfield, I'm a licensed phsyciatrist and I'm taking her to a center that specializes in trauma that seems to be happening to her. She will receive help."