11. Hope you understand the way that things are gonna be
He was walking through the forest. Fresh snow blanketed the ground, and the world was silent around him except for the trudge of his footsteps. The leather he wore creaked occasionally as he moved. His eyes traced the ground carefully, identifying barely-noticeable indentations under the new layer of snow. His left side ached with cold, which leaked from his metal arm to his flesh.
The target had been alerted to his presence. He did not know how. When he had arrived at the house, it was empty. There was clear evidence of flight, as papers and clothes were flung haphazardly around the bedrooms and office. The suitcases nested: the second largest was clearly missing. He had walked around the house as the snow started to determine which way they had gone. No cars were missing. Had they turned to unforgiving nature at their doorstep rather than risk his finding them in the city? It was not a wise choice.
He had left men to keep an eye on the house, and sent others to search the roads. They could communicate with him if they were found. He went into the trees alone when he found some poorly covered tracks heading west. And now he marched along, knowing by the space between the indentations that he moved faster than they did. It was bitterly cold. They could not stay ahead of him for long.
There was a cabin up ahead. No lights shone from it. He approached silently, readying his weapons. The tracks clearly came to a stop at the door. He walked around it, crouching below the windows, to ensure that they had not left again. Satisfied, he leaned against the wall near a window and listened. Not a sound came from inside. He waited. Still nothing. He would be unable to report that the kill was confirmed if he did not see the target inside.
He walked back to the door and wrenched it off its hinges with his left hand, immediately ducking back behind the frame as shots rang out. He swore as he pulled a flash grenade from his belt. When he threw it into the cabin, he could hear the scrambling of feet as they tried to get away. He covered his eyes with his arm when it went off, then quickly entered the room.
It was a small cabin, only twelve feet in diameter. Sofas faced a fireplace on one wall, while a narrow bed rested against another. There was a sort of kitchen area immediately to his right. To his left, hiding behind one of the sofas and covering his face, was his target; early forties, one hundred eighty five pounds, five foot six. He strode over to him and lifted him with his left arm. The man cried out in surprise, reaching for his weapon. He flung him out the window with a crash.
He ran across the field toward the stalled tank. When he was close, he rolled across the dirt to it and leaned against its tread, where he could not be shot at by its occupants. To prevent it from moving further, he wrenched off some of the wheel mechanism with his right hand. He shook it afterward; it hurt. He stood up and tossed a grenade in the opening above his head. There were screams and shouts for a few seconds. Once it went off, there was silence.
He climbed to the top and pulled experimentally on the hatch with his right hand. It didn't budge. Checking around him for any threats, he lifted his new left arm, moving it hesitantly toward the task. The hatch ripped off the tank with barely any effort on his part, though the connecting tissue hurt a little from the pressure. He smiled.
He moved stealthily toward the camp at the bottom of the hill. It was dark, though they had a fire going. It made finding them simple. He wore his battle gear for the first time, the leather jacket made of multiple layers to stop anything up to small arms fire. He had two pistols and a rifle attached to the harness he wore. A knife was tucked into each boot, as well as two on his waist. He had five grenades and extra ammunition on his belt.
They had woken him violently, as always. The men who had filled the room when he woke filed out while he dressed. It took some time to arrange his gear. The jacket had only one sleeve so it would better show off his new arm. It would provide more range of motion without cloth wrapped around it, and he supposed there was no reason to be concerned about it being attacked. The weapons had not been giving to him while in the chamber, so he had been at a loss about how to wear the harness.
When he was successfully attired, he walked to the door and waited patiently until it was opened. The small man some part of him recognized was there, talking excitedly in Russian with some men in suits. They were nodding and looking at him appraisingly when he entered. He waited. "I am sure our Winter Soldier, the new fist of Hydra, will be able to take care of your little problem," the little man said happily.
"He looks like he might," one of the suited men said, taken aback.
"We used state of the art techniques to train him just for this purpose. Come, we will get in the helicopter so we can see him in action," he said, motioning them to follow one of the guards. Then he turned back to him, giving him a look full of warning. "Use deadly force. No survivors. Show them what you can do." Then he left. A guard had led him to the armory.
Standing above the camp, he counted its inhabitants: thirty men, the youngest appeared eighteen and the oldest fifty. They ranged from one hundred seventy to two hundred five pounds, with heights between five foot six and six foot two. They were dressed in body armor, and all wore pistols. Twelve of them had rifles as well. There were six tents, a jeep, and a tank. Two men did sentry duty, each covering half of the camp. He waited while the men settled down. Three tents were full.
He estimated the area a grenade would need to cover to address each tent, and paused, considering what had been said before he was sent out. Perhaps getting it over quickly was not the desired procedure. He looked back to the sentries. Moving quietly down the hill, he drew his smallest knife from his belt. Tossing it carefully, it struck the furthest sentry and he dropped. He had thirty seconds until the other sentry crossed the path and noticed the absence.
He walked silently down the hill, lifting his rifle. As the sentry saw his fellow, he shot him through the heart. A man was approaching the path of the sentries. He had ten seconds. He stopped, lined up his shot, and took care of the threat. He sprinted to the next man, slitting his throat before he had noticed his presence. He moved quickly and quietly around the camp, dropping five more men. A senior officer left a tent immediately to his left. He reached out with his metal hand and snatched him by the neck. He squeezed and was surprised by how quickly bone snapped.
A cry went up. He had been seen, and only killed ten of the men. He rolled behind the jeep as bullets rained after him. He pulled out one of his grenades and listened carefully to pinpoint where the majority of the gunfire came from. He pulled the pin and counted to two, then tossed it over his head. Two of the tents caught on fire, men screaming as their flesh burned. Six men had been killed immediately and four were not going to last long. They were no longer a threat.
The tank was occupied. He counted the men outside of it and determined that only two men had made it to the armored vehicle. He did not believe he had any grenades that would penetrate the metal. He removed his rifle from his shoulder and began to shoot those who had not found cover, doing little to disguise his location. As expected, the tank roared to life and moved in his direction. As the gun turned to aim at the jeep, he jumped up onto it and ran right at it. Leaping, he landed on top of it and ran to the hatch, ripping it open with his left hand. He tossed a grenade in with his right and jumped away.
There were only four men left, scattered and hiding around the camp. He listened carefully, and was able to find them each, checking them off one at a time. When they were all down, he did as he had been trained to do. He set fire to the whole area, destroying the evidence of his involvement.
"He is impressive," a suited man said, smiling at the familiar little man, who beamed. "I must admit I did not expect a single man to take out a whole unit. And so stealthily! Half of them were gone before they even noticed."
"Well, we only train the best."
He sat, listening to them. The memory of pain was etched into his head, and he was having restraints removed from his arms.
"We will be glad to make use of this asset, this Winter Soldier," the first man said.
"Splendid! It's wonderful to have you on board, General," the small man replied. They were drinking something; champagne. They studied him unabashedly, as though he were not really there. When he was free of his bonds, he stood. They backed away. He smiled.
