Talk about a thick, homegrown accent. Reminds Bucky of some of the boys he met back in basic, before they all got their orders. Bucky tugs his sweater closer around him, like that'll help; seems like everywhere the rain touches, his skin itches and the thread begins to unravel, and now it's got more holes than a block of Swiss.

Huddling under the makeshift tarp, Bucky winces in sympathy; that grin looked like it hurt. Come on, let's find an open doorway, take a breather there.

"If you see some bozo with a busted nose, that's the guy," Bucky jerks his chin at the uniform, "Which unit're you with?"