With reports of planned missile strikes from the US to the USSR, tension was raging between our two nations. Pre-emptively, we aimed our Perishing II missiles at the capitalist pig-pen and agents were deployed to investigate rumours of DEFCON one.
A small handful of agents from Department X - comprised of me, Alexi, James and Yelena - were to be deployed immediately to Belgium, under deep cover. We were dressed in the same clothes as the American troops and given false identity cards - perfectly replicated we were assured. James' hand was covered by a pair of gloves he wore.
It required I learnt a language not yet known to my tongue: French. I picked it up naturally with the amount of languages I had been tutored in over the years. How many years, I wasn't sure. But that was just one of many things I wasn't sure of, thanks to Alexi enlightening me.
I was escorted to a new unit of the Red Room training facility I'd never seen before.
In a snake of people, with armed soldiers escorting us at head and tail, we were lead to an airstrip.
The winter air was cool and crisp around me, and sharp in my lungs. Clouds of my breath billowed before me and wisps of it trailed in the snowflake-studded air. Beneath my boots, snow crunched, conforming to the shape of my shoe as I plunged my foot into uncharted terrain.
Being early November, the black tarmac had been compromised with a sheet of ice and snow and hazardously eaten up with potholes. The airstrip was the forerunner to the hangar; a building of such scale I hadn't seen since - the name escapes me - my home town.
"I didn't realise there was an airstrip..." I uttered to Alexi, my brain trying to comprehend the enormity of the structure.
"That's because they don't want people knowing there's an easy way out of this facility..." He whispered closely, remnants of his words twizzling in the air. "This is where I spend most of my time..." he hummed happily back, smiling down at me.
I could only imagine the dazed look on my face as I gazed up at the building.
"How come?" I cast my eyes over to him as we approached the corrugated iron structure, it trembled and flexed in the wind.
"I'm a pilot..." He snapped me a friendly wink and held the door open for the string of people to ensue.
Once inside, we were lead to the AN-72 jet with its open hatch and already woken engine. James and Yelena climbed in ahead of us and settled in the interior which was nothing more than a cylindrical body with plastic seats.
"How do you fancy being co-pilot?" Alexi offered, smiling nonchalantly at me and leaning against the small plane.
I'd never been in a plane, let alone flown one. "I can't fly a plane..." Guilt slowly spread across my features and embarrassment ignited in my gut.
He nudged me familiarly with his shoulder and looked me up and down with a secretive smirk. "You don't need to. But I'll teach you what I can." Something about the optimism in his eyes convinced me it wasn't such a bad idea.
"You're on."
And a sunny smile bloomed on his face. "After you..." With a gentlemanly swing of his arm he gestured me to lead on.
I clambered into the tin-can of an aircraft just in time to see Yelena canoodling fondly with the man I had been so deeply infatuated with, her lips pressed to his neck and palm splayed across his chest. She gave me the same malicious grin from through his knotted strands.
I wouldn't give her the reaction she wanted. I wouldn't allow emotion to poison my expression, actions or words. I didn't bat an eyelid and headed for the cockpit, with Alexi trailing behind.
The funny thing was, suppressing it outwardly helped me suppress it on the inside. But as much as I crammed it down, it still remained, like a kidney stone throbbing in my side.
We both settled in the cockpit and he shut the door behind us. Presented with a switchboard that covered the space above and below the windscreen, I shrunk back in the lumpy leather seat - which, by contrast was luxurious to the ones James and Yelena occupied.
I shied away from the flashing lights and beeping buttons, some of which remarked 'danger' or 'emergency'.
With the same fluidity as a pianist presented with a piano, his fingers danced over the dashboard and tripped and flicked switches. The plane hummed musically, and vibrated with the force of the turbines strapped to either wing.
He blabbed into the microphone that hovered inches from his mouth. "Can you please open the hanger bay door?"
I lodged the headphones on my head, mirroring my colleague.
I watched in astonishment as the whole panel before us rolled back and revealed the treacherous road to the skies. The wind was sending snowflakes slanting at an angle and kicking up into the air. It was practically a white-out. The runway was thickset with snow and I winced.
With a grin, Alexi clasped the lever between us and eased the plane forward.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I crossed the seatbelts across my chest and rested my hands on the wheel.
"Certain."
And we eased forward, the wheels towing us towards the bleakness. I could feel the bumps in the hangar as the speed increased and we jostled in our winged ting-can. Then we broke out into the dim daylight and snowstorm.
The wheels skidded, but we didn't lose momentum. We screamed through the whiteness until the plane was rattling itself apart with the uneven turf.
Then, as if by magic, I felt the wind catch us and the ground drop from beneath us. My stomach furled at the jolt as we were catapulted into the sky. I gripped the steering wheel tight, and tried to recapture my breath.
"No need to look so ill, little lady." He had the confidence to glance at me as we soared into the white gloom.
The turbines were sputtering dangerously as they chugged the white snow, but we were still angled for the sky. The wings flexed and the metal creaked, but Alexi looked nonchalant - and completely focused.
Then, like a breath of fresh air, we pierced the cloud cover. And I remembered how to breathe again.
He chuckled happily to himself - clearly feeling that combination of exhilaration and relief I was. I joined him in trivial jovialities. And once I'd recovered from that shock, I managed to appreciate the view out of the windshield.
"It looked like you were going to kill us all for a second..." I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Fallaces sunt rerum species..." he smirked.
I cocked my head, the movement posing the question.
"Latin, 'appearances can be deceptive'." He flexed his fingers on the wheel and pulled the lever that quietened the roar of the engine.
There was a plateau of grey clouds beneath us, put just peeking above that, like a ship sinking on the horizon, was the sun nestled in cloud. It's luminescence was blinding, and it painted the sky orange with its wings of light.
"It's..." I was at a loss of words. "Beautiful..."
"And you wonder why I spend most of my time flying..." He dipped his hand into his pocket and placed his shades on his face, and gazed philosophically at the horizon.
The journey across Europe was reasonably quiet, as he took control of all piloting affairs, and he explained to me what all of the ticking dials and tilting displays meant. Every now and then, the green land mass would peep through holes in the cloud, then be swallowed up again by the frothing mass.
And as the sun finally dipped in the sky beyond our view, the conversation took a more official turn.
"They say this is the closest we've been to nuclear fallout since the Cuban Missile Crisis..." Alexi said, eyes dead ahead, focused on the dying of the light on the horizon - blood reds merging with the navy sky.
"Do you think they'd do it?" I hypothesized.
"I don't even think the Americans are that stupid...But we have our spies, and they say what they say..." He gritted his jaw as he mulled over his thoughts. "Then again... Not all spies can be trusted. They very literally find and give away secrets for money..." He clicked his neck and rolled his shoulders in the seat. "And every now and then, you stumble upon a defector..."
A flush of sudden linguistic inferiority came over me. It was a word that I had never come into contact with before. "A defector?" I proposed casually, crossing my arms over my chest.
"They really do censor everything in the lower ranks..." he gave a wry snort. "They call them traitors, to you. The ones who sell our secrets out; like Vanko. But there are others that work for the Americans and only the Americans. They defect, so to speak." My understanding was nurtured. "It isn't a onetime deal. The Americans protect them so long as they report on goings on." His un-condescending tone made me feel a myriad of appreciated and understood.
"The Americans would protect us?" And with those words just a glimmer of betrayal lit within me.
"Only if we helped them," he snorted and shook his head as if it were a joke to him.
It seemed simple the way he explained it. Share some secrets and I'm untouchable. Life away from the red room, life beyond those grey walls and life as a free woman. I thought of living in my own private space. I thought of having an ordinary job. I thought of having a complete mind.
"And no one is that stupid..." He scolded, choking back laughs.
It was shortly after that that we touched down in the forest that bordered Casteau, under the cover of night. It was a rural town, decorated with the same frosty linings as back in Russia. Besides the sprawl of buildings at the centre, it was a sea of trees, woodland framing it.
It wasn't a long trek through the woodland - skipping over bunnyhole and molehill - until we reached the barracks. And throughout the whole journey, I could hear sloppy kisses and Yelena cooing behind us. And every time a soppy noise rang out, I felt Alexi's eyes on my gauging my reaction. Obscured by woodlands and crafted of the colours of the surrounding earthiness they were perfectly camouflaged.
There was a sentry post by a large gate, and beyond that, there was a long dirt track that lead to the main camp and quarters. The place didn't look much, but I suspected more spanned under the surface.
Alexi took charge, wandering up to the post and beginning a conversation in French. We were all beckoned over and showed our identification and then lead to the back of a truck. The door was clamped shut.
Just as the engine revved to life, the engine coughing out clouds of black fumes, there was an American voice that cried out.
"Hey! Wait!" There was the sound of fumbling and apologising and then the door reopened.
A weedy man in a suit with dark hair and an exuberant demeanour was crammed into the back of the van with us. "Sorry to keep you all!" He tried to laugh it off. "I wasn't sure when the next truck would be by... And my boss might actually murder me if I'm late again!" He grinned at us and everyone remained frosty. "Do you guys speak English?"
James grinned broadly at him. "Yeah! It's a treat to bump into a fellow American so far from home!" And his true identity bled through. It was saddening to hear his pre-brainwashed life reincarnated just for undercover work. "Officer James Barnes." He offered the man a hand.
"Junior Agent Phil Coulson," the other said, clapping their palms together and giving his hand a firm shake. Hands still clasped, Phil tilted his head. "Funny... A guy I know once knew a James Barnes..." And a sadness was evoked into the Junior Agent's eyes.
James dragged his hand free and smiled awkwardly.
"Where are you from, James?" Phil's energy returned and he slung the Able Archer pass around his neck, it dangled side-by-side with another and quickly became tangled - the disorganised and flustered man was quick to unpick it to stop it garroting him.
"Brooklyn," he chirped. "Born and raised."
Phil's brow creased but he nodded casually. "Are you out here with the American Army?" He said conversationally.
"Air Force..." James hummed considerately. "And you..?"
Phil's face lit up with a bright smile and he puffed out his chest. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division." It was like a child saying supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, that same pompous look a child would have on their face as they say it to their friends without stuttering.
"You should shorten it," I grunted, an unimpressed frown in his direction.
Phil threw his hands up in the air. "I know right?! That's what I said to Fury on my first day!" He grinned happily, cheeks and nose flushed in the cold winter air. "And you are?"
"Natalie..." I sniffed. "Natalie Roman."
A/N - It took me the best part of today to write this! I wanted to include this historical event in the book because it's a critical part of The Cold War. Unfortunately it was rather hard to write about because all of the declassified information has been so thoroughly redacted, and a lot of it is just conspiracies. I've literally been trawling through released CIA documents today to find information on this.
Whilst I have your attention, I would highly appreciate it if you checked out my other stories. Particularly 'Vagabond Chronicles: The Diary of Charles Xavier' and 'Daredevil VS Hawkeye' as they're brand new and I would love some concrit! Thank you!
Dedication goes to shield135 for asking so politely! x