The Winter Soldier - Testing 1,2,3
Two Years Ago
Armin Zola dislikes this man intensely.
He is rude, obnoxious, and never takes Armin seriously. And now he is sat directly opposite him, discrediting Project Winter Soldier.
"It will never work!" he proclaims to anyone and everyone who will listen. "We are throwing good money at bad ideas. It is just one of Armin's pet projects. I mean, come on now, how long has he been at it? And by his own admission he is no further forward! It's not his fault, he's a scientist, not a military man, he has no knowledge of fighting a war and that is what this is! We are at war, gentlemen!"
George Morgan the Third, lights his cigar and settles back in the chair, full of the knowledge that he is right and the Swiss is wrong. The board will find in Morgan's favour and this project of Armin's can be discontinued. And then the whole of the base (and not forgetting the money) can be handed over to him and he can use the extra space for more important things - soldiers - feet on the ground.
All this for just one soldier. For one assassin. What rubbish!
The board need to make a decision. Do they continue funding Armin's project at the risk of failure, or pull the plug?
They keep both Zola and Morgan waiting for four hours. They respect Zola, he was Schmidt's right hand man, the work he has done keeping Hydra together after Schmidt's death is amazing. His projects always bear fruit - but this one? This one seems to have been going on forever and he appears no further forward. Morgan however, although his plans are more amenable, is disliked by nearly everyone on the board. He is to brash, to arrogant. To full of himself and his own purpose.
Whatever the decision is, it has to be the right one for Hydra.
The men file back into the room, and soon afterwards Morgan is striding out of the building, bellowing and furious. As Zola leaves shortly afterwards, the board remind him he is running out of time. They will only continue to fund him for so long.
"That is all I need gentleman, thank you." Zola says. He appears calm and polite. Inside he is nervous and unsure. How is he going to move forward? How is this ever going to work when they have been having nothing but problem after problem?
*
Present Day
The meeting is held as before with Lehmann, Fennhoff, Zola, Peter, and Elise. The Winter Soldier is ready but there is just one more thing they need to do.
A trial run.
A test.
Everything is in place, but they do not want his first mission to end in disaster if something does not work correctly with the programming. If there is something they have overlooked. If their pet doesn't return home to its masters.
Oh, they have done tests. Instructed him to do things. He has followed all commands to the letter but he has not been sent out to kill someone yet. Not had a mission encoded. They need to do a test.
Testing 1, 2, 3. Come in, Winter Soldier. Do you copy?
They need a victim. One close by...but not so close that the mission would last but a few minutes or hours.
"I have just the mission. Unofficial...but there is a message I would like delivered." Zola says, smiling coyly. And, cleaning his glasses, he tells them more.
*
The camp that the project is part of is roughly the size of a small town, but always seems to be expanding. At the last count there were over 53,000 soldiers and personnel. They were running out of space. Even though Project Winter Soldier is mostly housed underground, even this space is wanted by other projects, by other people. Fortunately as the project has come to fruition there is no chance of it being handed over now and so there is an idea for a new camp being floated. A camp that will hold the Winter Soldier and a new project to set up STRIKE teams - but that is some way off on the horizon.
Most of the camp is run by General George Morgan III, a man Zola has never forgotten. A man Zola has never forgiven; someone who still belittles the project even in its success. He is not popular but he has too much power back home to be discounted and pushed to one side. He is an older man, nearing his sixties, but still has years of service ahead of him...years in which he could and would cause problems for Zola.
*
To the Winter Soldier, this is a mission. To the programming team and Zola, it is a test.
Will he perform his duty? And will he return home afterwards?
They sincerely hope so.
No one else is told bar the two men who are responsible for monitoring him. The tracking device in his arm will tell them where he is, but that is the only way they will know what is happening. They are biting the bullet; they have to. They have to trust him to know he will do what they have programmed into him. They have to let him run on his own.
Everyone else is told he will be away training for 24 hours.
They take him to a small wooded area of the camp just inside the boundary. The wood is there as a deterrent, to stop people from seeing what is happening inside the camp. It is sometimes used for soldiers training for combat.
They let him go. They let him loose.
He is now on his own.
The clock is ticking.
*
He can smell the pine trees, the fresh air. Feel the soft earth below his boots. For once his head is clear. He knows his mission, remembers what he has been told. It takes him two hours to make his way to the other side of the camp. No one sees him, although he sees them. They pass within inches of him but he is hidden, quiet.
They have no idea of how close they come to dying.
He is within half a mile of his target on a slope hidden by a derelict hut. He looks through his binoculars. No sign of the General arriving back at his bungalow yet. The Winter Soldier looks at his watch. He knows he has another hour at least to wait. The General is always punctual. He will arrive home and will not leave again until morning unless there is an emergency.
I run a tight ship he has often bragged, emergencies never happen on my watch.
The Winter Soldier runs through his mission details once more in his mind. He carries a gun and a knife - but it is the knife he is to use.
The General arrives home on time. He lives alone, and once his adjutant has left he will be on his own until he is picked up in the morning. The Winter Soldier settles down to wait. He drinks from his water canister, eats the food they sent him with; even the serum cannot repair flagging sugar levels.
He waits until nightfall.
When it is finally dark, he begins to move down the slope. There are very few people about. This is the part of the camp that houses the more important people such as the General - the family quarters are over a half a mile away, with the rest of the rabble. It doesn't do to mix them.
A door opens in one of the other bungalows and in the light of the doorway he sees an older woman leaving. He knows it is that person's cook. She will drive away and then there should be quiet. He looks at his watch. It is 10pm. The General will be thinking of going to bed; he is an early riser. The Winter Soldier can feel his heart beating fast, can feel the adrenalin running through his body. This man he is going to kill is an enemy of Hydra; he causes chaos wherever he goes. He must be eliminated.
The Winter Soldier has both a message and a knife blade to deliver to him.
He knows the layout of the bungalow. He saw the bedroom light go on a few minutes ago, followed by the bathroom light. He eases himself in through the door, the lock giving him no difficulty at all. It will need to be secured after him when he finally leaves. He stands in the hallway, listening. The bungalow is really too big for just one man and is empty of anything that makes it personal. He moves through to the living room. There is not much light here; he can see furniture, a few photographs showing the General being awarded some commendation or other. There is a radio on the side. He can smell food. It makes his feel slightly queasy.
He takes one of the photographs and removes it from the frame, being careful not to make any noise. He defaces it in the way he has been instructed and then puts it back in the frame and back on the shelf.
He is suddenly thirsty but he left his water bottle up on the slope with his rucksack. He still has time, he can hear the General is still in the bathroom so he moves to the kitchen. He has gloves on. He finds a clean glass and pours himself some water and drinks. Then when he has finished he calmly washes and wipes the glass and puts it back where he found it. He wipes his arm across his mouth and then goes back into the hallway and towards the bedroom.
He crouches down against the wall, knife in hand, and waits.
His mind is still clear, still on his mission as he runs through the details again. He can hear no noise other than the General getting ready to retire for the night. Finally he hears him climb into bed. Another quarter of an hour before the light goes out and the Winter Soldier stands listening. Nothing. No noise outside, no noise inside.
He walks quietly up to the door and eases it open and slips inside the dark room. He waits a few minutes until his eyes adjust to the dark. The General is asleep on his back, snoring. The Winter Soldier is so quiet, so stealthy. He pads over to the curtains and pulls one back slightly to allow a bit of light into the room. He turns and surveys the room. It is military perfect, no fuss, clothes neatly hung up, no bric-a-brac; only personal items that have a purpose. A set of drawers with a clothes brush and a comb on top.
The General's uniform is hung on the outside of the wardrobe. A laundry basket stands next to it.
He walks up to the double bed. The General is on the left hand side. On his bedside table an alarm clock ticks away. There is a lamp, and a paperback book which looks to be a military book of some type. A glass of water and some tablets. The General has recently started to wear glasses...just for reading, he blusters but he leaves them at home, only uses them when he reads before bedtime. It's the only time I need them.
He is getting old.
After tonight he won't be getting any older.
The Winter Soldier looks down at his target. His mouth is open, and his snoring is getting on the Winter Soldier's nerves. The man is revolting. The Winter Soldier turns slightly so he can sit down on the edge of the bed, which he does slowly so as not to wake his target. He listens once again to make sure he cannot hear anyone abroad, but there is silence except for the snuffling of the man next to him. Knife in hand, he leans over and switches on the lamp and then turns and places the blade at the General's throat.
The General makes a noise and starts to come around. He tries to move but feels the presence of someone next to him. He opens his eyes; they are blurry and he blinks when he sees the dark shape.
"What the..." He begins to sit up but he can't. The Winter Soldier is sat on the bedclothes, pinning the man down.
The General's eyes begin to clear, and he looks at the man sat beside him.
"Don't move," the stranger hisses and the General feels fear at the tone of the voice, at the look in the figure's eyes. Cold, hard, uncompromising but there is something else there. The man is grinning at him. It is a death mask grin; there is no humour in it. Long dark hair falls around the man's face, and his blue eyes are inhuman. The man wears gloves but there is something wrong – no, not wrong, different about the left arm. It seems to be covered in metal. Something rings a vague bell in the back of his waking mind but he cannot grasp it.
"Who are you? What do you want?" The man is silent. "If it's money you're after then my wallets in the bedside drawer. Take it and get out!" The General tries to inflect anger into his tone but instead he sounds querulous, even to his own ears.
"I have a message for you."
The voice has what he thinks is an American accent. One of the soldiers on the base? If so, he will have him found and court martialled. If he had his way the man would be whipped in front of the other soldiers.
He is beginning to feel indignant now. More sure of himself. "Do you know who I am?" he demands.
That cold smile again. The man replies with it still on his lips. "George Morgan the Third. Tell me, do you know who I am?"
"Why should I?" The General starts to move but the knife is pushed hard against his adam's apple and a hand appears and pushes him back down on the bed.
That querulous voice reappears. "I'll have you whipped for this! You can't do this to me!"
The Winter Soldier feels no sympathy, just hatred for this pompous man who believes he is so important. They told him that if it was up to this man then he wouldn't exist.
"I have a message," he repeats and this time the General looks at him.
"Well then...deliver it and then go."
"It's from Armin Zola. He just wants you to know there are no hard feelings."
The General frowns, and then begins to realise just how sharp the knife blade is as it begins to dig into the side of his neck. His eyes widen.
"What? No, wait!" There is desperation in his tone now. He tries to rise for the last time but the man is strong and all he can feel is pressure on his chest where one hand is holding him down and the other is being used to dig and pull the knife across his throat. The rest of his words are lost in a gurgling sound as blood begins to soak the sheets and run in rivulets down the General's bedclothes.
The Winter Soldier leans in closer.
"I am the Winter Soldier and you didn't stop them from making me. I am the future, not you."
He pulls the blade the rest of the way and blood sprays onto his face, hands and body. The General's feet vibrate up and down as his body goes into its death throws. The gurgling noise continues for a few seconds more and the Winter Soldier watches as the light dies in the old man's eyes. His heart is thumping and he can smell the iron smell of the blood, watch it soak into the white sheets, feel the life leaving the man.
When he is sure the man is dead he wipes the blade on a clean part of the sheet and stands. He leans over and switches off the lamp and then pulls the curtains fully shut. Glancing back once at the bed he listens, then opens the door and leaves the room leaving bloody footprints across the carpet and down the hall. He stops at the bathroom and goes in, switching on the light as he does so. He starts as he sees a figure but then realises it is his refection in a mirror above the sink. The image is black and red.
Blood and death.
He walks forward slowly and watches his own eyes as he gets closer. He loses time and doesn't know how long he stands there. He comes to when he realises his head is hurting and his hands shaking. He looks down at them, at the knife clutched in them. Then he looks away from the mirror and down at the sink and throws the knife in there.
He cleans himself up as much as he can, wipes his face clean. He can still smell and taste the blood. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Breathe deeply, he tells himself and he does so, closing his eyes. This is programmed into him, to counteract any feelings he may have that they do not want him to feel. No regret, no remorse.
He opens his eyes. His head is clear once more. He must complete his mission which will end when he gets back to his side of the camp.
He leaves the sink and the soap stained red with the General's blood. His clothes feel damp with the water and the blood residue and his gloves are ruined. He returns his clean knife to its sheaf. He leaves the towels neatly on the towel rail, red with bloodied water.
He doesn't look in the mirror again before he leaves. He daren't. Seeing his own face covered in blood made him feel strange, frightened almost; panicked. It made his heart hammer, made his head hurt when he tried to analyse why.
Quietly, and with no one seeing him, he lets himself out of the bungalow and makes his way back up the slope. He picks his rucksack up and heads for the trees, heads for home.
*
They track him right back to his getting into the lift, and when the doors open they are there waiting. Nothing is said, he is just led away for debriefing where all the questions will be asked. All the instructions are gone over and then they will wait for news from the other side of the camp. Judging by the blood on his clothes he has definitely killed someone; they just want to make sure it is the right person. He is then led back to his rooms and given over to his Constant. She is told nothing, but they see her eyes widen when she realises it is blood staining his clothes.
He barely says anything to her. He needs sleep, she can see it in his eyes, the way his body leans slightly to the left. She takes him through to the bathroom, strips him and stands him under the water. She gets in with him and soaps and washes him until he is clean, until the water finally runs clear.
"Do you want anything to eat?" she asks quietly and he shakes his head no so she leads him to his bed and holds the covers whilst he gets in. She wants to ask what happened. Where has he been? What did they make him do? But she can't, she knows that.
As she goes to walk away he catches hold of her hand and pulls her into the bed with him. He needs the company, he doesn't know why. He just does. He needs the warmth of her body, to hear the sound of her beating heart. To know she is alive.
*
Colonel Morgan's adjutant finds him at 7am. He enters the bungalow, surprised and wary that the curtains are still drawn, and apprehensive when he smells the iron smell of death in the hallway.
What he finds in the bedroom shocks him. So much blood. He will never forget the horrified look in the General's eyes: the look of utter terror. His head has almost been severed from his body. It would have taken a great strength to cut that deep.
He waits in the living room for the others to arrive, for the procedures to start. He is sat on the sofa but cannot stay still and gets up. Who could have done this? His glance lands on the photograph of the General receiving his promotion and he frowns. He picks up the photograph and studies it. Someone has carved the General's eyes and mouth out of the photograph. The adjutant hastily puts it back on the shelf, finding this just as horrifying as the General's dead body.
Someone he feels, has sent them a message. He does not understand but he is sure those higher up will.
Will the truth ever be known? He doesn't really want to know.