I can’t actually hear him. I can see his lips move, I can... almost make out the words, but I know what he’s saying. Combined, it’s enough. My own voice is even difficult to hear over the sound of the wind and the roar of the engine, the scream ripping from my throat, a protest that goes unheard by fate, God, or, I assume, Bucky.

No, I think, No. No. No. When the plane explodes, as I knew it would, as it couldn’t help but do, the heat and force of it slam into me and send me rocketing into the water. It’s like an ice cold wall coming up to meet me, to shatter and surge up around me, washing the billowing orange smoke in murky green as it pulls me down. It fills my mouth and my nose as well as my eyes but it can’t block out what’s emblazoned on them and will be for the next half a century. Then I’m numb, from the shock and the icy waters, and then the world is gone.