Red America: Western Front
Chapter Two: Hard As Iron
Commissar-Colonel Elisabeth Braddock paced back and forth like a caged animal, while the man strapped into the metal chair in front of her spat a bright splatter of bloody spittle onto the tiled white floor. Elisabeth examined her fingernails for a moment or two before she leaned closer to the man and let him smell the light scent of rosewater that she had deliberately sprayed herself with earlier. She didn't hold with wearing perfume while in uniform under normal circumstances – she felt it compromised her image as a commanding officer – but these were definitely not normal circumstances. Besides which, Elisabeth liked to demonstrate to her captives that while she could be delicate and feminine if she wanted, she could also beat them senseless if they annoyed her.
Dr Bruce Banner was beginning to understand that. "I don't understand this! What do you want from me?" he asked again, through split lips that wept trickles of saliva and gore.
"I think we made that clear two hours ago, Doctor," Elisabeth said in a honeyed tone. "We simply want your research on gamma mutation. High Command feels that it would be helpful to our efforts to pacify this area of the country if we had troops with that kind of power." She paused, and ran her fingers down one side of his bruised face tenderly, like a lover. "Now… we can ask you for it, and you can be… rewarded… for helping us." She leaned closer and kissed him on the lips, licking away a small line of blood on his chin and looking hypnotically into his eyes. For a moment, she stayed silent, holding Dr Banner's gaze to her own effortlessly, like a cobra about to strike – and then, as he was still trying to process the kiss, she slapped him hard across the cheek, sending a spray of bright blood arcing across the room. "Or, alternatively, we can take the information, and you can rot in a labour camp for the rest of your wretched life. It's your choice, of course, but I would advise against the second option."
Dr Banner coughed, something in his throat briefly catching as he began to speak again. "Ask away. What do you want to know?" he said in a small, broken voice.
Elisabeth smiled, her Cupid's-bow lips curving upwards briefly and her eyes beginning to glow with pinkish energy. "Excellent. Now just lie back and relax, Doctor Banner – this won't take very long…"
Dr Banner's scream echoed through the corridors of the Soviet headquarters like a banshee wail.
Kitty watched the other members of her squad as they sloshed through the sewer's knee-deep water, and silently thanked her lucky stars that she could stay phased while moving underground. It wouldn't help the parts of her clothing that were already wet, of course, but she liked the idea of not getting any more water and filth on them than was absolutely necessary. She looked towards the end of the tunnel and wondered if there were any nasty surprises lurking around the next corner – she'd heard from Logan that there were alligators living in the sewers in this part of the country, which didn't worry her all that much, but she'd also had uncomfortable thoughts about a residual Soviet presence in the sewers around sensitive areas. Since she had very little idea about the layout of this city, she didn't particularly want to run into heavily-armed Russian troops defending a facility she'd never heard of, especially when she was with a group of untested rebels who she'd never seen fire so much as a single round of ammunition. It didn't exactly put her at her ease.
"Got any idea where we're going, Kit?" Madrox said, breaking her out of her private thoughts. She simply pointed down the tunnel.
"That way," she said dryly. "I figure we should leave the sewers the minute we find a manhole – I don't want to get completely lost and end up miles away from where Logan said we'd find Stark."
"I like the sound of that," Cecilia agreed, looking with disgust at a particularly bold rat as it chewed casually on a piece of rotten meat while gazing back at the humans with beady, pitch-black eyes. "I spend enough time with rats as it is."
"Hey, Cece, does Hank know you call him that?" Danny piped up, in an attempt to raise the mood. Cecilia raised an eyebrow and flipped up a middle finger.
"Laugh it up, short-stuff," she said scornfully. "Hank knows exactly what I call him, don't you, baby?" She brushed her hand down Hank's stubbly cheek, and murmured something in his ear as she did so, kissing his earlobe when she'd finished speaking.
"Oh yes – but let's not spoil it by telling these idiots, shall we?" Hank chuckled, before he nodded towards the dripping ceiling of the tunnel and continued "That looks like a manhole cover to me, Kitty. Do you want to have a look to see if the coast is clear?"
"Absolutely," Kitty said with a deep sense of relief. She had felt something slithering past her leg a few seconds beforehand, and she had had no desire to find out what it was. Getting a leg-up from Madrox, she phased her head through the steel disc that sealed the manhole, and took a look around. She couldn't see any Russian troops, which was a good thing, and she couldn't hear any vehicles either, which was an even better thing. The only matter that really concerned her was the fact that they still seemed to be in a very sparsely populated area, and that meant there was probably still a very small chance of finding the man for whom they'd come to search. From what Logan had told her, Kitty knew Tony Stark was very much a "people person", and liked to be around them as much as he could, if only to shift any suspicions about him onto others, and give him an excuse to hide confidential information and equipment in places other than his own territory. Kitty had decided that Stark being that sneaky marked him out as someone she'd like to meet, which meant that the squad's search would have to start in earnest sooner rather than later. Fortunately, however, Logan had also given her a list of Stark's favourite bars, so the search would have a few good starting points, which she was extremely relieved about. Pulling her head down through the manhole cover, Kitty said "Coast's clear. We should get moving."
Once all of the squad had cleared the manhole cover, Kitty watched as Tabby drew both of the Russian Army-issue pistols she had at her waist and chambered a round in each. "Bullets are like condoms – better to have one and not need it," she explained with a smile, the scar on her face twisting as she spoke. "It's always worked for me so far." Then she nodded towards the nearest street, which was strewn with garbage, discarded weapons, and pools of drying blood. "So are we gonna get moving, or what?"
"Sounds like a plan. Let's go, guys," Kitty said, adopting a crouch as she ran towards the safety of the nearest building. It was a fairly redundant gesture, given that there were no Soviet soldiers around, but Kitty had found that old habits died especially hard – and when she glanced back at the rest of her squad, she saw that they were having trouble shaking their old habits off, too, which made her feel slightly better. When they were all with her, Kitty silently gestured towards the next intact building, which was about fifty metres away. If they were going to get anywhere, she decided, they were going to have to go for it in manageable leaps, rather than simply tiptoeing around.
The bar was dark and dingy, but Tony Stark didn't mind that, all things considered – there was alcohol being served, and it wasn't warm or imported from Russian factories. He did, on the other hand, mind that there were several Russian soldiers warming seats around the fringes of the place, their weapons lying provocatively next to their drinks. If he was going to enjoy a drink, Tony preferred not to be looking over his shoulder all the time. The other thing that Tony minded was the entertainment; the girl who was supposedly trying to sing in the corner was apparently ignorant of basic musical tenets, and worse, seemed like the sort who thought she could sing like a goddess. Her warbling efforts screeched out over a sound system that didn't disguise anything, and Tony wondered how long it would take one of the Ivans to pull his gun and send her to a gulag for disturbing the peace. He closed his eyes and drained the glass in his hand. The whiskey burned on its way down, but Tony didn't mind. He opened his left hand and took one more look at the crumpled scrap of paper in his fingers, as if he couldn't believe it was still there. The paper was a note from his old friend Jim Logan, which had been sent through unofficial channels – the Ivans were monitoring everything these days, even the mail – and which had told him of the Soviets' plans to seize every major scientific talent in the country for their occupation effort. He'd heard of Reed Richards' kidnapping, of course, but he hadn't thought it was anything other than the usual brutal muscle-flexing on the Soviets' part. Now that he'd learned it was all part of a concerted effort, Tony had decided that he had to hide. He'd figured the bottom of a whiskey bottle was as good a place as any, but then he'd seen the Russkie uniforms begin peppering the bar as the evening wore on, and his plans to escape it all had fallen apart faster than a house of cards hit by a gust of wind. Now he was stuck, and he liked that idea even less than he liked the tuneless girl's singing. He could try to leave, of course, but then he'd really get recognised, and the game would be up even faster.
No, the best thing to do right now was keep his head down, endure the screeching, and hope none of the Russians tried to buy a lowly American a drink.
He damn near jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand suddenly land on his shoulder, like a hammer on an anvil. He swallowed, pushing his heart back down to where it ought to have been, and looked around to see who had given him such a shock.
"Hi, Tony!" said a perky, cheerful young girl whose floppy black hair framed her pretty face, who was already pushing a small note into Tony's hand. Tony allowed himself to breathe out, and then gave the girl a searing glare to make sure she knew how annoyed he was.
"Jesus, Jubilation," he said wearily. "Did you have to scare me like that?"
"No," Jubilation chuckled. "But I thought it'd be fun, so I did it anyway." She gestured to the glass in his hand. "You going to get me one of those, or what?"
"No, I'm not," Tony snapped. "I told you before – you're not ready for this kind of booze. Hell, if I had my way, you'd never have touched any kind of booze in the first place."
"Spoilsport," Jubilation said, sounding disappointed, before she called over the bartender and handed him a bundle of notes. "Guess I'll have to do it myself, then. Barkeep, I'd like a scotch on the rocks, please." She leaned over the bar then, and planted a kiss directly on the surprised bartender's lips. "And make it quick, honey – my friend and I are busy."
When the bartender had finished pouring Jubilation her drink, she nodded towards the note she had given Tony, saying "Looks like you and I are going to have company. When are they getting here?"
"I'm getting company, yes," Tony began, "and if everything's gone to plan, they should already be here. Jim Logan told them to find me – and knowing Jim, he's probably given them a roadmap right to me. He's good like that."
"Really?" Jubilation said, with a degree of scepticism. Then she took a sip of her whiskey – and immediately started coughing at its strength, her eyes beginning to water as the alcohol hit the back of her throat. Tony laughed.
"Told you, kid," he said with a smile.
"Fuck you, Tony. I can handle this," Jubilation snarled at him, before she deliberately put her glass to her lips and swallowed the rest of her drink in one go. Triumphantly, she slammed the glass down on the bar. "See?" she said, obviously fighting the urge to vomit.
Tony sighed and scratched his brow with one finger. "If you haven't puked that all back up by the end of the evening, kid, then we can say you can handle that kind of drink. Until then… don't try to fool me with that hardass act. You couldn't con a blind man." Jubilation opened her mouth to reply, but then her gag reflex kicked in visibly, and Tony couldn't help but grin as she rushed off to the ladies' room with one hand clamped firmly over her mouth. As she rushed off, Tony couldn't help but laugh. He raised his glass to her fleeing form, and said "Listen to your elders, Jubilation. It's always a wise choice." Then he swigged back the last of his drink and chuckled to himself. He wondered if Logan's little rescue party would be as much fun as his sidekick, and decided that probably wasn't all that likely.
Pity, really, he found himself thinking. I could do with a laugh these days…
Commissar-Colonel Elisabeth Braddock cracked her knuckles one at a time as she left the interrogation cell, a cruel, satisfied smile crossing her perfect lips as she did so. She placed her cap on her head after making sure that her hair was secure in its bindings, and began marching purposefully down the corridor towards the Research area of the Soviet compound. The information she had taken from the dead, drained husk that was all that remained of Dr Bruce Banner would keep the Soviet army one step ahead of the rebel filth infesting the country – that she knew for certain. What she didn't know was how it might be implemented… but that was what the scientists imported from all areas of the country and beyond were supposedly for. She would pass it onto them, and see what developed.
Her adjutant appeared at her side suddenly, with the familiar residual tang of brimstone hanging in the air as his teleportation effect faded. "Sir, may we consider your business here concluded?" Lieutenant Wagner asked, saluting as soon as he was able to stand to attention.
"Yes, Lieutenant, you may," Elisabeth replied, returning the salute almost absently, before she pointed back towards the cell with a single fingertip. "Organise a clean-up team for that room, would you? Dr Banner was most co-operative, but his body won't move itself, I'm afraid."
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Wagner said quickly, and Elisabeth smiled as he quickly began to gather soldiers as they walked down the corridor, directing them to the room she had indicated so that her orders might be carried out as quickly as possible. Lieutenant Wagner was an obedient soldier, Elisabeth had discovered, and she wondered how long it would be before she was able to recommend him for the appropriate decoration – she felt it was only fair that he received recognition for his efforts thus far. Leaving her adjutant to finish the task she had set him, Elisabeth marched purposefully down the corridor until she came to a dead stop and then stabbed the button in the wall that would call the elevator. She had to pass on the information she had gathered as quickly as possible, or it would essentially start to gather dust in her head, and become much harder for her to access.
The elevator came to a soft halt, and Elisabeth stepped inside as its doors hissed open. Then she pushed the button that would take her down to the basement level. When the lift had stopped at its destination, Elisabeth stepped out into the sterile, white corridor beyond its doors, and headed down the hall to her left, towards the laboratory area. She swiped her coded card-key through the lab's door, and marched inside, tucking her cap underneath her right arm as she did so. When the lab's sole occupant noticed she was there, he put down his soldering iron and stepped away from his workbench. "Colonel Braddock – this is an unexpected pleasure," he began, before Elisabeth cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"We both know you loathe interruptions, Dr Pym. Don't pretend otherwise – especially to a telepath. I know when you're lying and when you're sincere more easily than you do, so let us not have any illusions that my presence here is anything but an annoyance to you, all right?" She smiled thinly, glancing at the robotic death masks that were scattered across the scientist's desk and workbench. "Believe me, if I did not have to be down here, I would never have come. I have information you might like to examine, culled from the brain of Dr Bruce Banner."
"Banner? I thought he was dead?" Pym asked curiously.
Elisabeth chuckled, her violet eyes glittering. "The reports of his demise were, shall we say, premature – but they were accurate, nonetheless. Dr Banner has just told me everything he knew about his gamma research. I would like you to help put that information into helping the Soviet war effort here in America."
Dr Pym shrugged. "I'll do my best. Do you have any notes to which I could refer?"
"No, I don't." Elisabeth tapped the side of her head then, with a single gloved fingertip. "But I have all the information you'll need in here." She reached forwards with both hands and clasped Dr Pym's temples firmly. "Just relax, Henry," she said in a soothing tone of voice as she hammered every last scrap of data into his frontal lobes with the force of a cannonball. Dr Pym's nose exploded in a torrent of blood then, and he fell to his knees panting and gasping for air.
"I'd… I'd have preferred to read the notes," he managed to splutter through the river flowing from his nostrils, which he hurriedly managed to stem slightly by holding his handkerchief to his face.
"I'm sure you would have," Elisabeth replied calmly, as she waited for him to stagger to his feet. "But time is of the essence, Dr Pym. Besides, notes can be lost or burned, or betrayed to the rebels. What I have just given you is impossible to copy without my knowledge – if you try to write it down, I will know. If you try to pass it on, I will know. If you try to put it to disk for any reason other than research, I will know. I will know, Dr Pym, and you will die." She smiled thinly. "It's that simple, really."
Dr Pym swallowed his fear, and nodded. "Yes, Colonel. I understand."
"I'm glad we had this talk, Doctor," Elisabeth replied. "Don't disappoint me."