Athena

by Jasper Blood

When the orphaned niece of Johann Schmidt discovers the American forces, her unique, serum-induced strength and tesseract-spawned abilites are enlisted to defeat the infamous Red Skull. But when secrets are unfurled, she's torn between justice and family.

21. The Trial of the Tormented

I present to you today, my esteemed and honorable readers, Chapter 21. GUYS! This is the first chapter I will be publishing IN COLLEGE! EEEEKKK! … Ok, ok, so maybe it's only exciting for me…. But, I promise you that I will update as (in)frequently *coughs* as I did while writing this during the madness that was high-school. I.e., well…. Every three or four months. But! I will try my absolute darnedest to keep updating consistently! And, I will never publish a chapter shorter than 20 some pages on a word document… because it would be criminal of me to publish a 3,000 word chapter after making you all wait like five months. I won't do that to you. And if I do, throw something at me.

ANYWHO… My humble thanks and sincerest gratitude to all who continue to read, review, follow, and favorite this story! Words cannot describe my appreciation and gratefulness to all of you!

So, without further ado – Chapter 21 of Athena. Enjoy!

Best Regards,

Jasper Blood

This chapter has been inspired by Kiss of Fire and Without You by Symphony X; Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, Op. 43 – Moderato con Moto and Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 47 – Moderato by Shostakovich; and Waking Eye by Leaves' Eyes

Cornell University

Ithaca, New York – 1942

0900 Hours

Victoria Bradleigh was a very small woman, standing at barely five feet, with delicate, almost ethereal features. Her bright, attentive emerald eyes hinted at the advanced level of intellect that she possessed, but her slight stature was deceiving. Although some of her university colleagues had begun to suspect that her career encompassed more than simply the role of an adjunct mathematics professor, none would ever have deigned to suspect that she was and had been a seasoned military operative. Her intellect was at its prime in the realm of engineering and machinery, while her physical abilities honed their strength in fencing, archery, karate, and judo. She also fancied herself a fairly skilled pilot, although the Army refused to let her man its fighter aircrafts – to her chagrin.

However, she had learned via dismal trial and error that the quiet, normal, and generally very unexciting occupation of a university professor was much more suitable to her. One didn't find themselves leading two very separate, yet hopelessly intertwined lives while lecturing easily bored undergraduates.

Nervously, she fingered at the pendant at her throat, carefully concealed by the high collar of her blouse. She glanced up at her surroundings – an empty auditorium, the last of her students having exited moments before. Satisfied that no stragglers remained, she unclasped the chain of the pendant and held it in her hand. A small octopus roughly the size of a quarter, its head shaped like a skull and covered with tiny, finely-cut rubies. The swirling tentacles that extended from it were lightly sprinkled with even smaller diamonds, sparkling in the morning sunlight. Her throat tightened as she looked at it. She had worn that pendant every single day for over ten years, carrying its often burdensome weight as a painful reminder of her own humanity – if she ever began to feel even slightly cocky, it reminded her that she too was imperfect, prone to the same downfalls as everybody else.

After all, it was her own overconfidence and carelessness that had led her to be in possession of the strange looking pendant to begin with – the object that now served as a constant reminder of her failures.

Above all, it reminded her of the man that had given it to her – a visionary, a self-proclaimed revolutionary; a man that had once been an insecure little boy, beaten, bruised, pushed down, and rejected. And when finally he felt secure in his own skin, she had been the one that had dealt him one final, crushing, resounding blow. And it had shattered her heart. To watch him suffer, to be the cause of his suffering – it sickened her. For she had loved this man – loved him with all her heart and soul. He had been cold, prickly, maddeningly egotistical – but, beneath all that, funny, adventurous, exciting, and genuine. And deep within, beneath the thick defensive walls of cold aloofness that he had constructed around him, he had had a heart – a human heart that had simply longed for affection and attention.

She had loved him – and he had loved her. He had held her in his arms, made her laugh, made her smile – made her weep and made her shout in frustration – made her entirely comfortable with herself. Before him, she did not have to put on a costume – for he would have seen right through it. He did not expect her to act the part of what she was not – the part of a fragile, useless, empty-headed china doll, the part that women were expected to play. He did not make her feel inadequate, he did not treat her as if she was easily broken. He treated her as if she were a human being – an equal, equal of mind even when he surpassed her in strength.

He had been the first real person she'd ever met – he didn't put on a public face, a façade. He was who he was; he did not try to hide anything. He was brilliant, and unabashedly so. He was far superior to his superiors and did not make any attempt to conceal the fact. He was rude and insulting and sour and utterly frustrating. He refused to cooperate with anyone and seemed intent on being as difficult as possible. He was and did all of these things and he never apologized for any of it. He was opinionated yet honest. Outspoken, yet quiet and introverted in his way. Always skeptical, yet trustworthy and loyal. He had never once attempted to change himself. He had bettered himself, yes, but he always adhered to strict standards of integrity. He had impressed the most powerful regime in the world – by being exactly who he was.

And she, the child of a wealthy Charleston plantation-owner, who had been sent to prestigious northern preparatory schools, who had attended glamorous debutante balls, who had had every luxury at her fingertips – she felt forced to hide behind a mask – the image of a proper bourgeoisie lady, the image that society expected of her.

This man – who had been beaten and abused, who had been orphaned, who had been forced to wander the streets, who had been starved, who had been taunted and ridiculed and rejected – he had spat in the face of all who had ever told him that his dreams couldn't possibly come true.

Victoria felt tears well in her eyes, as she did every time she looked at the pendant. She remembered him pressing it into her palm, closing her fingers over it, closing his hand over hers.

"I want to change this world." He had said. She had smiled at him softly. There had been tears in her eyes, even then.

"I know you will." She had answered, truthfully. "I wouldn't expect any less of you."

He had chuckled, smiling at her. And he had taken her in his arms, and kissed her deeply. And he had gazed in her eyes and he had quietly told her that he had fallen deeply, madly in love with her. He had told her that living a life without her in it would destroy him. He had held her and stroked her hair and kissed her and given her the security and comfort and contact that she had always longed for.

He had loved her. And she had loved him. When they were together, it felt as if time itself had stopped. Until, their love was forced to an abrupt and devastating end.

And she had been the one that had had to break this man's heart. He had been broken so many times – he had mended together the shards of his past, he had fallen so far, yet had always managed to rise higher than he had ever been before. But this – this final denial, this rejection – it had crushed him. And to watch him be crushed had broken her heart in two.

Victoria was a scientist. An engineer, a researcher – she belonged in a laboratory, tinkering with molten metals and volatile chemicals, piecing together engines, and languishing in grease and grime. She was not an actress – she didn't know how to lie, how to persuade, how to seduce, how to manipulate – how to be someone so fundamentally different from the person she truly was.

Yet, she had done all of those things.

The clarity with which she remembered it was painful – vivid in her mind, not at all jaded by years passed.

She had been in her mid-twenties, a recent university graduate, and she had only just landed a job with the Army. She was intended to be a weapons designer and a researcher – her degree was in mechanical engineering, after all, and the Army had been intrigued by the designs she had drafted in college, particularly for aircraft models. And so, she had spent her first months out of university drafting blueprints for a series of projected stealth bombers – concept aircrafts that had become objects of interest as the government wearily monitored the progression of Germany's budding new regime.

In hindsight, she would have been quite satisfied with her position had a certain Chester Phillips neglected to enter so unceremoniously into her affairs.

She remembered that first meeting so vividly – the now-Colonel had only been a Major then, his hair darker, his eyes a tad brighter, his face every bit as steely and stoic as it was now, years later. It had marked the first of many meetings – the first of many joint operations, although she had only volunteered for one of them.

Phillips had been assigned the task of finding an educated, "fetching" woman, and an army employee at that. No easy feat, given that "fetching" young women didn't usually haunt Army undergrounds.

She supposed being the only woman within a five-hundred-yard radius had made her immediately "fetching". Her Cornell diploma had merely sweetened the deal in Phillips' eyes.

A woman, an intellectual woman no less, was to be assigned to the difficult task of undermining what was becoming one of the most powerful authoritarian regimes in the world – the NSDAP, the Nazi Party. And, she was to do so by effectively seducing one of the most brilliant, dangerous, and murderous men in the entire world. And, contrary to popular belief, that man was not Adolf Hitler.

Rather, he was – at least to the uninformed – a somewhat obscure young man from Bavaria, a man with no ancestral titles, no formal education (that is, prior to having completed a degree at Heidelberg, and in less than two years), and no pre-existing ties to the party. Quite literally, he had appeared out of thin air, a nobody who had become in a matter of months the second most powerful man in Germany. According to his files, he had overtaken hundreds of other candidates for the revered position of the head of Nazi Espionage and Sabotage. He was a terrorist and a killer, and worse still, one that was employed and encouraged by the government to inflict fear and destruction upon any that stood in the way of Hitler's rise to power.

It had puzzled her – why him? She was thankful it wasn't Hitler – the sight of the man made her skin crawl – but why this man? What made him less vulnerable than Hitler himself? Hitler was talk and propaganda – this man did the dirty work, this man worked in the shadows while publicists glossed over the glaring atrocities of his career and Hitler lauded his services to the country and its people. This man surely represented pure, raw, and unadulterated cruelty – a cruelty that even Hitler could not possess, for all his bravado. No, there was a darkness in him – his position had made him responsible for the massacring of thousands of innocent Germans that dared to disagree with Nazi politics – Jews and Christians and Atheists alike. Religious denomination was obviously of no importance – this man did not discriminate. Death was death – inevitable, a fact of life. Bloodshed and slaughter were merely adjectives associated with it.

A man such as this was cold and calculating – confident, but constantly looking over his shoulder.

Why then, did Phillips and his superiors so firmly believe that this man was the soft underbelly of the Nazi regime?

"This man has been wronged." Phillips' voice rang cold and bitter in her ears. "Why all of a sudden would a man with incomparable power, wealth, reputation – everything he could ever possibly want – why would he suddenly fall off the map? No press, nothing. He's suddenly not there anymore – another man's replaced him, his name's been erased from the records, wiped clean. I suspect that this man got a little too full of himself – he wanted more power and Hitler and Himmler just weren't putting out. So he took matters into his own hands – that's how this HYDRA came into being. HYDRA – a research division – fully dedicated to this man's every whim, with enough weaponry and devoted soldiers to launch an initiative. Hitler felt threatened by that – so he had him fired. Stripped of his rank, publicly shamed – disgraced. Exiled him to this HYDRA, based in the Alps, in the middle of nowhere, removed from society and out of the public eye entirely. So HYDRA has become his pet-project, if you will. He focuses his all of his energies, all of his rage and vengeance into this organization – it's a ticking time-bomb. What if this organization becomes powerful enough to overtake the Nazis – to overtake any of his adversaries? He has the tools to do it – and that's why we're going after him first."

This man had been wronged. And he nursed a grudge – a personal vendetta against Hitler, and anyone that had been even minutely involved in his complete and utter ruination. A grudge that perhaps, if handled strategically, could in turn ruin the Nazi regime. Or it could ruin the entire world. Apparently it depended on the mood of this man, and whether or not Victoria could single-handedly woo him into revealing certain deep, dark secrets about Hitler and his grand plans. For this man had developed quite an agenda of his own, after being subsequently removed from his former position in the Party, and with his newfound independence and complete detachment from Hitler's paranoid surveillance, he had freedom to do whatever he pleased and however he pleased.

Freedom to build up an organization with the aims and the means to take over the world. Or, perhaps spare it, if with luck Victoria could undermine him.

She remembered how enthusiastic she had been then – how eager she had been to prove herself. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity – to prove herself an asset in a world dominated by men. Phillips had grilled her – could she act in character at all times? Could she manipulate, could she persuade? Could she completely separate her real personality from this character and remain always fake, always a façade?

How difficult could it be, to be a spy? According to the assignment, she was to seduce a particularly passionate, impulsive man, with little remaining regard for the Nazi party. A passionate, impulsive man who, if handled delicately and with patience, could be convinced to – inadvertently – spill the secrets of Hitler's regime and his future plans. He had been fired and branded as an outcast and a misfit by the Nazis – he certainly had no reason to protect them.

So how hard could it be? She hadn't seduced anyone before – but she could rest assured that she wouldn't actually develop any real feelings for this man. He was obviously a power-monger, and a psychopath – accidentally falling out of character and betraying her true emotions was not likely to be a risk. So why couldn't she lay it on thick? Who or what was to say that she wasn't capable of caking on some theatrical makeup and charming this man? She could act however she wanted – staying in character was no matter at all.

Despite enduring countless interviews and having passed the expectations of Phillips' superiors, Phillips himself had seemed to doubt her abilities. Perhaps she was too young, completely inexperienced and completely unprepared to operate under deep cover. What if she fell for this man's bravado? What if she revealed too much about herself – what if she let her emotions get in the way of the objective – what if he discovered who she really was, and what she was really there for?

Of course, Victoria had been young, and inexperienced, and overconfident. She had never imagined that she really would fall hopelessly in love with this man – had never imagined that playing a part would become completely futile. She had never dreamed that she would effectively seduce him – and that she would be effectively seduced by him.

And even when it had become painfully evident that she was in love with him – that she was no longer playing a part, and that she was no longer capable of carrying out her mission – she did not back out.

She saw it through to the very end, and because of that – she had made the ultimate sacrifice.

She gave up the man that she had loved so dearly. She willingly destroyed his security – if nothing else than in a desperate last attempt to protect him. She had gotten the information she needed, yes. This man was no friend of the Nazis – but he was no friend of the United States either. He had his own agenda, and his own plans for the world – a world that he vowed to control alone. She had realized his madness, but had been so in love with him that she made herself believe that he could be redeemed when he simply could not. She could not sway him to her cause – she had, for all intents and purposes, failed her mission. And she was forced to withdraw.

He had asked for her hand in marriage – had asked that she spend the rest of her life with him. To do so would have been to give up her allegiance to her country, to be branded as a traitor and hunted down and imprisoned. He would have suffered with her. Perhaps she could have asked him to give up HYDRA, to give up his own near-fanatical allegiance to his plans, to give up everything he had worked so tirelessly to accomplish, everything he had scraped, and saved, and earned. But then what? Would he immigrate to America to be with her? He would be arrested by the Army almost immediately – he was, after all, an enemy, the leader of an organization deemed too volatile and too dangerous to reckon with.

So, she had made her decision. She had rejected him, and vanished without so much of a word in farewell.

He would never know that her love had been genuine. He would never know how she would weep over that strange looking pendant nearly every day, for over a decade. He would never know how desperately she had wanted to protect him, how desperately she had wanted to redeem him. He would only ever know her as a spy, and a liar, and a traitor.

That man's name was Johann Schmidt. And he was perhaps the most powerful man in the world – possessing destructive power far beyond anything that Hitler or the Third Reich could ever comprehend. He was a madman and a monster – he had killed, and would continue to kill to achieve his goals.

He had been ridiculed and humiliated and beaten and betrayed by so many people – and she had been one of them.

Victoria held the pendant in her hand now, tears brimming in her eyes.

A throat cleared quietly. "Dr. Bradleigh,"

Immediately she looked up, hastily tucking the necklace back into her collar. She bit her lip, stifling the tears in her eyes. A young Army corporal stood at attention in the doorway of the auditorium, looking stoic.

"Oh… you're early." She tried for a laugh, but it was strained. "They don't expect me in the city until tomorrow."

"Actually ma'am, there has been a change of plans. Colonel Phillips requires your presence at the Underground base in London. I am to escort you to Newark– your transport has already been arranged."

Damn him. She hadn't heard from Phillips in over six months – life had finally started to fall into a routine pattern. Phillips had called on her time after time after time after the botched operation in Germany – to her shock, and utter chagrin. Forcing her to remain ever involved with his operations, and ever involved with the memory of….

"Please tell me you're kidding." Her tone was flat, and she did not bother to hide her vexation.

The corporal lowered his eyes. "I am afraid not, ma'am. Colonel Phillips said that it was absolutely urgent – he expects you in London by tomorrow morning."

"Hmm, not even a free day for jet lag? How considerate of him. How long should I be expecting to stay?"

"It is expected to be an extended project, ma'am. Of course, the Army has arranged for your duties here to be suspended for the duration of your absence."

Victoria sighed heavily. "Just when I think I'm free and clear from having to deal with Phillips." She muttered. "You'll at least give me some time to pack?"

"Yes, ma'am. Your flight is scheduled for an 18:45 departure. You're expected to arrive in London at 0900 hours."

"I don't suppose Phillips disclosed to you exactly why my presence is being requested in London?"

The young corporal looked decidedly stiff. "It is currently classified, ma'am. The Colonel intends to keep the operation under the radar – apparently the Brits haven't been overly cooperative regarding the latest developments."

She nodded. "I see."

"I will leave you to your preparations then, ma'am. I will return to escort you in two hours' time."

Victoria closed her eyes tiredly. "Thank you, Corporal."

She waited until he had clicked his heels, in the customary salute, and his footsteps had faded into the distance before opening her eyes again.

She blinked, breathed in deeply, exhaled, and promptly walked out of the empty auditorium, not once looking back, and thinking only of the heavy weight of the pendant against her throat. Her dealings with Phillips had involved HYDRA more and more frequently, now that the war was in full swing and the organization had risen to the status of a formidable foe. But, such dealings had also remained squarely in New York City – she had not gone abroad on the account of Colonel Chester Phillips since that operation in Germany.

And, she could not shake the feeling in the pit of her stomach that this time, HYDRA would be a prominent feature in whatever Phillips had planned for her.

XXX

American Barracks

London, England – 1943

24 Hours later, 0900 Hours

Colonel Chester Phillips eyed the woman sitting before him skeptically – a bleary-eyed red-headed woman, her beige army uniform disheveled, no doubt due to sitting on a plane for six hours.

"Why, Dr. Bradleigh, you look like hell."

The woman practically seethed, and Phillips offered a catty smirk.

"I'm sure that when you haven't slept in twenty-four hours, you're aren't exactly the beauty queen either." She retorted, her eyes narrowed.

"I always make it a point to put on my makeup when I'm hosting visitors."

"What the hell do you want with me, Chet? You haven't called me in six months – what is it now that's so damn important?"

"Oh I don't know, I thought it would be nice to say 'hello'. Do some catching up…."

The woman rolled her eyes.

"I need your expertise on a matter."

"You couldn't have telephoned?"

"It's a bit more complex than that. You know HYDRA better than anyone else – better than Steve Rogers, better than I do."

She looked up, but he couldn't read the expression on her face. "I wouldn't say that. And I thought that HYDRA had been neutralized – as a result of Captain Rogers' death."

Phillips shook his head. "We thought that until HYDRA launched an attack on our laboratories approximately – seventy two hours ago."

"They couldn't have regrouped that fast – not if Joha – not if Schmidt was killed." Her voice cracked as she stumbled over the HYDRA leader's name, and somewhere, albeit buried deep, Phillips felt a twinge of a sympathy for the red-headed woman. Victoria Bradleigh had had quite a traumatic experience with HYDRA – on his watch, no less, and he felt responsible for it. Never the less, Victoria was his last resource; she had known Johann Schmidt intimately, and she was the only person that might have any inkling of where he would be likely to retreat to in a time of urgency. The girl had failed to provide any input on the issue – Dr. Bradleigh was his only other chance. Either that, or they were forced to start from square one, playing a game of cat-and-mouse with HYDRA already in the lead.

"We suspect that Schmidt wasn't killed; we think it's the other way around – Rogers was set up by Schmidt, and successfully taken down. Schmidt had ample opportunity to escape during that fight, and the only one who could have witnessed it would be Rogers."

Victoria looked pensive. "And dead men tell no tales."

"With HYDRA attacking so quickly after Rogers' death – I hate to assume but the assumption that Schmidt's alive and well and that this whole thing was a set-up seems to be the best idea to go off of. He had no other present successors, and even if he had – he was the mastermind, the master planner. Like you said – there's no way they could have regrouped so quickly and so effectively."

"So what do you need me for? It sounds like you have a game plan – go after HYDRA again and see if you can finally destroy it, once and for all."

"That would be nice if we had a location for HYDRA. After Rogers' apparent death, HYDRA fell off the map. We have all of their bases occupied – every single one of them. With their last attack, which we believe was probably nothing more than a surveillance mission – we attacked first – they came out of nowhere. We have no idea where they're operating out of."

"What makes you think that I can provide you with a location? I've been in Ithaca for the entire war."

Phillips rested his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers. "You're the only person I've got that knows Schmidt personally. Whether you want to admit it or not, he confided in you – a great deal. I'll take anything you can give me, Victoria – a favored location, a holiday home – a place that Schmidt might have had in mind if he needed to go under the radar for an extended period of time. Something as mundane as that – did he ever talk about places he preferred, places he intended to build in – anything."

Victoria looked rigid. "I assume that Germany and Austria are off the table?"

"And Switzerland – he had a few under-the-table strongholds there, for emergencies – we cleared all of them."

He watched her carefully as she folded her hands in her lap, looking downward – her expression a mixture of apprehension and hesitation.

"Victoria, you know that Schmidt would kill you in a heartbeat if you stood between him and his goals. Stop trying to protect him."

"I'm not trying to protect him! I'm just – I'm just thinking." Her voice trembled.

Phillips narrowed his eyes, but waited silently, watching her face carefully.

"He – he always liked France. Paris but – Paris is too crowded. He wouldn't go there – it's crawling with Allies as it is. Not Marseilles –he hated the ocean and there were too many tourists."

She was silent for a moment, but her eyes suddenly lit up. "Alsace – it reminded him of Germany. He always felt that Germany had been cheated out of Alsace in the Franco-Prussian War. He had always talked about building a chalet there – as an 'escape' from the political pressure in Germany. It's more rural, quieter – he speaks fluent French, nearly accent-less. He could easily slip under the radar there."

Phillips nodded, encouraged but he refused to let his confidence spike. Victoria's memory could easily be faulty – and Schmidt was far too good at playing them for fools. He couldn't get his hopes up yet.

"May I go now?" Victoria's voice rang faintly in his ears.

"No, you may not. Not until we've neutralized HYDRA's threat. I want those bastards wiped off the face of the earth."

The corner of her mouth twitched – with either anger, or something deeper, he couldn't tell.

"I have classes, Phillips." Her voice was quiet – measured. "I can't help you with HYDRA. Whatever I know about it – knew about it – it's all in your files. Assuming you haven't misplaced them."

"Didn't Corporal Brown tell you? Your classes have been suspended – Cornell's aware that you'll be absent for an extended period of time. That's all taken care of. I need your help, Victoria."

"No, you really don't."

Phillips spread his palms across the desk, eying her levelly. "Victoria, you know HYDRA's weak points – you know what I'm up against. Your knowledge could be invaluable – especially if Schmidt's wised up to us and it turns out he's not in Alsace."

"If he's not in Alsace, he could be in a million other places. How the hell should I know where he spends his time? It's not as if I write to him." She spat petulantly, but her emerald eyes glistened.

"You cannot protect him, Victoria." Phillips kept his voice neutral, but he knew that he'd struck a nerve in her. Her expression visibly faltered, but she remained composed. "He's a homicidal maniac and he's hell-bent on destroying the world. He's past the point of no return. There's no use in you wasting your time and energy trying to convince yourself that he can be helped."

Victoria studied her hands in her lap. "He was used."

"So weren't the rest of us."

She looked up at him bleakly. "He could have been helped."

"Victoria,"

"You have made me suffer enough, Phillips." She stood up, her eyes gleaming with tears and anger. "Do you do it just for laughs – just to see me make a fool out of myself? I took the job at Cornell to get out of the Army but you've forced my hand and kept me chained like a dog to the service so that I have no choice but to cater to your every beck and call. Every day I'm reminded of just how badly I screwed up – the last thing I need is for you to drag me into the middle of this. I'm not useful to you, I'm a mental wreck. What in God's name do I offer you now? If he's not in Alsace, he's not in Alsace. I don't give a damn where he is! God damn it, I can't help you! Didn't you figure out the first time? I'm an engineer – not a damn soldier. I build planes, I don't map out strategy. This isn't my war – it's yours. Now, damn it, let me go home!"

"Victoria, I'm not trying to rub that mission into your face. If anyone botched up, it was me, because I didn't pull you out soon enough. I really do need your help – I have someone of interest, someone I want you to meet. I've talked things over with the New York base – you'll serve as the chief weapons designer at the labs forty minutes north of here, if you agree to stay on. Give me twenty four hours – after that, you're free to go if you choose. But I need you here, now."

Dr. Bradleigh swallowed and cleared her throat, but she made no further protests.

"Who am I to meet?" she asked quietly.

Phillips sat back in his chair. "Several weeks ago, we successfully captured Wilhelmina Hofstadter – Johann Schmidt's niece. Do you know of her?"

At this, Victoria's eyes went wide. "His – his niece? Yes, he mentioned her – once or twice. She lived with her mother, his sister, in Regensburg. The father had been killed before she was born. Johann rarely ever saw her – he couldn't stand the father and didn't want to have anything to do with her – his niece, I mean. What does she have to do with any of this? Johann made it sound as if his sister was completely ignorant to his – his ideas."

"Apparently his sister died of cancer when the girl was ten. Schmidt adopted her, and has raised her since then. He's been feeding her HYDRA propaganda – primarily because she has something that he wants dearly. Somehow, someway, this girl was able to successfully reign in the power of the Tesseract –" He waited for Victoria's nod of recognition before continuing, "and is able to control it independently. Her own body is practically a catalyst for the power."

"That would be attractive, to his purposes. You captured her?"

"Rogers first encountered her – he pushed for us to go after her; we have a pretty good reason to believe that she's dead set against supporting HYDRA; she had been isolated in Berlin for the past several months, Schmidt's way of hiding her I suppose after Rogers caught wind of their 'using' her as a weapon. She attempted over sixteen escapes – unless she's a damn good liar, she was itching to get out from under Schmidt's thumb. We've already interviewed her extensively, we've seen her in the field – this girl's our last chance against HYDRA. Otherwise, we might as well throw up our hands and surrender."

"You make her seem like she's sympathetic to the American cause. Why do you want me to meet her? What good would it do?" Victoria asked quietly.

"There are – complications. She doesn't know yet that Johann Schmidt and his alter-ego the 'Red Skull', as he's called by the Nazis are… the same individual. Schmidt apparently wanted to keep that other side of him separate from the role of devoted uncle. The girl's loyalties are torn in half – you can tell just from talking to her that she desperately wants to keep Schmidt and this 'Red Skull' character as separate as possible, despite the fact that we've been strongly hinting that they're invariable. She's been taught to hate the Red Skull – or rather, Schmidt provided that persona as a vehicle for her to direct her hatred of HYDRA at. She thinks that Schmidt is merely a senior officer that's been brainwashed into believing that HYDRA is righteous; she thinks that the Red Skull is the leader of HYDRA, and not Schmidt."

Victoria sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. After a moment, she spoke.

"I suppose then that the Super Soldier Serum worked out for him, flawed as it was."

"The new makeover seems to be the only thing that's covering his ass. If I were that girl, I'd have seen straight through that bullshit in a heartbeat. But then again, the things we do for love, I suppose."

Victoria flinched. "So what do you want me to do? Convince her that Johann and the Red Skull are the same person and have done with it?"

"Not exactly. What she doesn't know doesn't hurt her – we risk turning her off to our cause if we try to force on her the fact that Schmidt and the Red Skull are the same person. We've barely broken the ice with her as it is – we would completely destroy it if we pushed her too hard into that direction. Schmidt's misled her enough – she's fragile. It's best if she figures the truth out on her own. However, that being said, it is making things difficult. She's too caught up trying to redeem Schmidt – I'm worried that that could make her indecisive on the battlefield if she comes up against him. She might be firmly on our side, but if she's hesitant about fighting him in battle, he could easily take advantage of her. What I want you to do is to see if you can get into her head at all – don't push her, but see if you can get under her skin, convince her that Schmidt knows exactly what he's doing and that he's not being brainwashed at all. If we can at least convince her that Schmidt is past the point of being saved, it'll make things a hell of a lot easier."

Victoria was silent.

"Well," Phillips prodded.

"You are asking me to get inside her head and to win her trust by pretending to be someone that she can trust, even though any information I can glean from her will be going immediately to your files. You are asking me to manipulate her."

Phillips grunted, irritated. "Try not to make it sound so dismal."

"This isn't a joke, Phillips. You are asking me to do to her what you had me do to her uncle. And I cannot, in good conscience, do that again. I will talk to this girl – but only if I am allowed to be one hundred percent honest with her. No lies, no persuasion. I have found that people are much more accepting of change if they are certain that they are not simply being taken advantage of." Victoria replied firmly. She eyed him defiantly – a telltale sign that she would not budge from her stance on the subject.

Phillips finally sighed and gave in to the woman. "Fine."

Victoria nodded her thanks, and Phillips barked at his aid, shadowing the doorframe. "Bring Miss Hofstadter to my office –"

Victoria cut him off curtly – "No, no. I'll go to her barracks." She looked pointedly at Phillips. "I don't need an audience and I doubt that she does either. I'll go and talk to her there – in private."

Phillips bristled slightly at having his authority challenged, but he nodded curtly to the aid. "Fine then. Show Dr. Bradleigh to the girl's quarters."

Victoria stood to leave.

"Dr. Bradleigh,"

"Yes, Phillips?"

The colonel eyed her grimly. "Don't get too cozy with her. We're still acting as though she is the enemy – a prisoner. She hasn't been cleared yet."

Victoria nodded in affirmation. "Right."

Phillips waited until she had exited the office, silent and stoic. After a moment, he called for a young Corporal.

"Round up Captain Leigh, Dog Company and Beta Company – and get headquarters on the phone – I don't care if it's three in the morning in Washington. Alsace is our next point of attack – we need to start planning ASAP."

XXX

Johann Schmidt's Private Chalet

Alsace, France – 1943

Approximately 1100 Hours

Perhaps the most beautiful addition to his French chalet – a glorious Austrian Bösendorfer grand piano, a newer model of the piano he kept at his Berlin residence – equally as priceless in the quality of the music it produced. He stroked it lovingly with long, slender crimson fingers. The Moderato of Rachmaninoff's second piano concerto issued softly from the phonograph, its pulsating, chaotic, yet majestic rhythm eliciting a sense of the purest pleasure in his otherwise troubled psyche. Rachmaninoff's lilting melodies always evoked a sense of romanticism and longing in him – a sense that was too often absent from his hardened façade. Alas, he had grown jaded– there had once been a time when he could evoke such passion in his music, as his slender, pale, and human fingers had traversed the length of his piano hundreds of thousands of times, creating such beauty, such astounding sound. Now, he was only capable of producing chaos and cacophony from his piano – in itself, a demonstration of the vast transformation he had experienced. From a young, passionate romantic to a practical, calculated man of purpose.

Perhaps it was a shame – perhaps it was a blessing. He could not tell, and did not particularly care to. The man he had once been – rather, the young lad he had once been – had died along with his crumbling physical shell, weak and easily taken advantage of.

Johann stretched out his limbs and probed at his jaw thoughtfully – now an unnecessary movement, but old habits die hard. He was ill at ease – anxious to begin planning for HYDRA's next strike, yet dreadfully cautious and careful, fearing the discovery of his secluded hideout, should his actions be too obvious, too careless. Now was not the time for bravado and blatancy; this situation required the utmost care.

His contacts in London were closely surveying the American barracks there, simultaneously monitoring the Allied headquarters. The Americans would not be able to resist retaliating to his attempt at surveillance – failed though it had, the Americans were now most certain of HYDRA's survival, and he wagered that they would be impatient to attack with the full force of their weapons. He had hoped that without Rogers' guidance, the Americans would be floundering like gaping fish. But now, that hope had been positively decimated; those imbeciles were in possession of his weapon, and they now contained power far more potent than anything that that pitiful simpleton Rogers could have ever dreamt of. No – he had to tread carefully. So far, their actions had been futile. They had no idea where HYDRA was located, and he could be confident that it would be some time before they discovered his hiding place. A pity, as he so lusted for a good dose of action, but none the less, it afforded him time to regroup and recalculate, now that his original plans had been so drastically altered.

The airfield in the Alps, now occupied by American soldiers, was his first and most important target. No doubt much of his original air fleet had been destroyed, but whatever machinery they could salvage would prove vital in allowing his plans to proceed on schedule, with little interruption. To start from scratch once again, rebuilding every aircraft, every tank, every proverbial rifle – it would take years, and years he did not have. The war in Europe would soon be taking a turn for the worse – the Americans were already planning their invasion into France, and Hitler's regime would be doomed when the full force of Allied military power came down upon them. Hitler possessed superior weapons, yes, but the Allies had strength in numbers. Although he had lost count of the grievances he had against the Nazis, they served as a most convenient distraction – so long as Hitler continued his hopeless battle, the Allies would be perpetually obligated to fight against him. Every American from New York City to the middle of Wyoming knew of the Nazis. He reckoned that the number of common Americans who knew of HYDRA's existence could be counted on one hand. Although it was a pity that he had yet to make an appearance on the front page of the New York Times, not being in the limelight had very strategic advantages.

HYDRA was not a threat to the Allies directly – for their people knew nothing about it. Tales of anti-HYDRA propaganda graced no allied newspapers, no recordings of HYDRA rallies were being warily scrutinized by Winston Churchill or Dwight Eisenhower; Roosevelt was not delivering poetic speeches, calling for hellfire and damnation to be cast down upon HYDRA.

He sighed and poured himself a glass of Cognac from a crystal decanter. Regrettably, his contacts in the Nazi party had dwindled down to a mere few – and, although they were trustworthy, they were undoubtedly suffering the scrutiny of Hitler's closer confidantes.

Thus, he sadly could not arrange an instant distraction for the allies. He swirled the remaining golden liquid around in his glass, taking in its strong aroma before downing it in a single gulp.

Patience. That was what he needed desperately, and it was something that he had absolutely no tolerance for whatsoever. Patience required time, and time he did not have. It required tedium, and the tedious very nearly drove him mad. And so, when forced to bide his time, he contemplated. He found it rather odd – perturbingly odd, actually.

He had had little to contemplate before Mina had entered his life – or rather, he was not forced to contemplate quite so often, for indeed he was forced. Contemplation seemed to be his conscience's cruel way of reminding him of his failures – failures that had been deliberately allowed by others, and failures that he himself had been the cause of. He didn't like to think of his life before Mina, simply because it had held such a potent bitterness and virulent nature. He had been full of himself, malicious, and spiteful. He supposed it had been the side effects of a new job, a new title – a lavish salary, a reputation. Power had made him selfish and resentful of his past. Resentful of a past that was utterly tied to him, in the form of his sister.

Angelica and her daughter had come to embody all that he had come to resent. It was something he did not wish to reflect upon, and had not reflected upon for some years. But now, in this period of tedium and seemingly endless time, his conscience had thrust it upon him. Angelic represented his past life – hunger, poverty, ridicule, harassment, and abuse. Angelica had not been afforded the opportunities that he had – while the Nazis took him under their wing, under the tutelage of Baron von Strucker, Angelica was left behind, the reality of what his life had been before. He, a spiteful bellhop with a decided chip on his shoulder; she, a vaudevillian dancer, her dreams of studying theater a far-flung fantasy that would never be realized. But Angelica had been always at ease with herself, happy with what she was.

He had always been ashamed of his "humble" origins, whereas Angelica had come to accept them for what they were. She moved on with her life, untroubled, whilst he fixated on that which had prevented him from succeeding. Perhaps it had been the few years of abuse that he had suffered at the hand of his drunken father – a few years that had seemed longer than centuries. Perhaps it was the impoverished orphanage where he had spent the better half of his childhood – beaten and bruised by the older, stronger, more agile boys who accused him of being weak, cowardly, and overly emotional. He was a man after all – meant to be strong, a warrior, a hard shell incapable of experiencing fear or pain or sadness. Perhaps it was the aftermath of his brief, innocent love affair with Esther. The Jewish shopkeeper's daughter that had treated him with kindness and compassion; the pretty young thing that had accused him of assault and had successfully expelled he and his sister from that dreadful orphanage permanently, throwing them both out onto the streets with only the clothes on their backs and the common sense in their brains. Even the lowest of street urchins had called him "rapist" and "murderer" and "monster" for months after the event.

He had kissed her – a mere peck on the cheek. She recoiled – he apologized hastily, and retreated for the alleyways, in which he found his one true safe haven. Perhaps a few mere minutes later – Esther had been killed by a truck-driver who had apparently dozed off and lost control of the wheel. The only bystander, he had run to the scene to check young Esther's vital signs. The truck-driver having fled, and Johann having been the only witness of the accident, the Jewish shopkeeper felt it perfectly acceptable to accuse him of sexual assault and murder.

The filth that he had accrued during his childhood had never rubbed off on Angelica, despite having defended him, nurtured him, and protected him. While he would spend years attempting to cleanse himself of the "street urchin" persona that was so often associated with him by his contemporaries, Angelica remained just as she was – exactly herself. While he had spent hours studying aristocratic culture, thrusting himself into the social circles of the nouveau riche, the bourgeoisie, and Germany's oldest money, Angelica was content to remain ever a part of the working-class. She represented all that he had worked so tirelessly to erase from his life. And, she was perfectly happy, being just the way she was. That in itself had puzzled him to no end. Why – why, when he had the means to provide for her, as she had so often provided for him – why did she not want to better herself? Why was she content to remain uneducated, to remain so rooted to the poverty that he had scorned? He could pay for her education now – he could pay for her to better herself, to blossom into some beautiful socialite like she deserved.

First, it puzzled him – her blatant refusal to join him in taking advantage of every luxury afforded to the cream of society. Then, it angered him. He grew more and more despondent as his fame and wealth increased, and finally, he chose to distance himself from her – and the memories of their shared, troubled past – entirely.

Enter, the Baron Wolfgang von Hofstadter. The man who would "replace" him after his acrimonious discharge from the Nazi party. Although really, it felt so much more like a usurpation.

The man who had served as the eclipse of his past life – the manifestation of everything that Johann had come to despise so vehemently, so murderously – this man would sweep his sister off her feet, and give her exactly the kind of life that Johann had so desperately wanted to give her himself.

But, even that no longer mattered. Wolfgang would die before he had seen his third anniversary. However, he had had plenty of time to father Angelica's child.

That child, named Wilhelmina after Wolfgang's younger sister, who had died in early childhood of smallpox, would evoke in Johann a hatred and a loathing so intense that he could not stand the very sight of her.

Small, sallow and sickly, altogether innocent. And yet, he could not bring himself to look at her, to have anything to do with her. Her father had beaten him, pushed him down, mocked him, humiliated him. He had taken his dear sister away from him – providing her with everything that he should have given to her, giving her comfort, wealth, luxury. Angelica represented his past, filthy and corrupted; Wolfgang represented the eclipsing of his past and present lives, the meeting of filth and perfection, only to end in betrayal, loss, sorrow, shame, and the deepest humiliation and disgrace. Both of them manifested in this child – so innocent and weak, yet so evil and so cunning and so horrid that he could not bear to look at her, to even think of her existence.

Johann stared dismally into his empty glass, feeling a mixture of remorse and darkest hatred. Remorse for the love he could have given Wilhelmina – the young girl that he had provided for and nurtured as best he could for the several years. Hatred for the woman that had, poignantly and ironically, given him a newfound reason to love and care for his niece, rather than spite her and resent her.

He had Victoria Bradleigh to thank for his sudden decision to participate in the upbringing of his niece. The woman he had once loved with every fiber of his being had ultimately driven him to take his niece in with open arms and a shattered heart that could, perhaps, be mended by her happy innocence.

After Victoria had left his arms forever, he had felt so indescribably lonely, so empty and hollow – devoid of all emotion. Retreating to Angelica had seemed at first pointless, and weak. He had spent so much of his life existing in bitter, yet miserable isolation – for his every attempt at human interaction and acceptance had been spurned. Why was this heartbreak any different from everything else he had endured? He had been pushed down, harassed and ridiculed, spat at and insulted. Why was this different? His enemies had toyed with his emotions the same as this woman had. And yet, the contact that she had given him seemed utterly irreplaceable. Without it, he was empty, a vast and hollow pit of nothingness.

Angelica had been widowed for at least three years at that point, and he had only spoken to her sporadically during that time. He remembered it so vividly – the strange transformation he had undergone. Losing Victoria had driven him to devote himself utterly to his work and to HYDRA; it had given him a new sense of purpose, a new reason why he must cleanse this world and better it. Losing her had also fostered in him a new desire – a desire to provide care and contact to his now fatherless niece, his sister surviving only on the inheritance that Wolfgang had received and his government pension.

It was really something so unexplainable, so indescribable – it had baffled him, but none the less, he responded to this sudden change in thought, this sudden desire. Mina, the innocent child of everything he had resented and hated so fervently, now represented a new future – a future in which she would be integral to. He desperately wanted this young child to have all that he could not have as a child – he wanted to educate her, to allow her to blossom into the perfect, superior model that he had dreamt of and envisioned for the world.

From dark hatred, rage, and frustration, he had found a sense of purpose and finality and perfection. And, fulfillment.

Teaching her, teasing her, spoiling her, disciplining her, loving her – Mina had brought a certain unrivaled joy into his life, filling the void of emptiness within him.

Johann watched the sky beyond the windows of his Alsatian study, thickly veiled with black storm-clouds, drifting ominously, filled with heavy rain drops. He missed her, awfully. He had allowed himself to grow so sentimental, so terribly attached to that girl – the little child that he had taken under his wing. At times, he despised it – his pathetic attachment and devotion to a rebellious child, lacking common sense. At other times, he ached inwardly for her voice, for her presence, to know that she was safe.

He felt so empty and so utterly betrayed – again. He had thought that losing Victoria would be the most devastating tragedy he would ever suffer. He had expected to lose his sister – the progression of her illness had become inevitable. But now – losing Mina felt like yet another crushing blow, another tragedy to add to his list. And try as he might to view her as merely a variable in his equation, it was so heart-wrenchingly difficult. He felt utterly twisted.

And it made his hatred for all those who had wronged him escalate.

They were to blame for making his life so miserable, so hellish. He had spent so much of his life trying to amend the imperfection, attempting to simply better himself and the crumbling civilization around him. He had been called mad, accused and disgraced – now his niece had aligned herself with the very imbeciles that had been responsible for his ruination. They were the reason that he had been forced to live a life of agony, misery, bitterness, and eternal hatred. They were the reason that his niece hated him now, and it only strengthened his desire for vengeance.

Time and tedium were required of him now; but time he did not have. He would wait no longer to carry out his plans.

"We will take back the Alps." He said softly, flatly. It was not a suggestion, it was not some pitiful attempt at trying to regain control over his wildly fluctuating plans. It was fact – it was reality. It would be. The alpine base was vital to his revolution – if the Americans had not already destroyed his air fleet, he would destroy them before they were given the chance. He would not wait – he could not wait. Now was the time for action – not simply hiding away in the French countryside, hoping that his bumbling foes would lose hope and give up entirely. He knew that they would not – therefore, he had to strike first, firmly and decisively. Tragedy and woe would only continue to terrorize his mind and soul, paralyzing him. He could not let that stand in his way, as he had for so many long years.

He called for his staff officers and poured himself another glass of Cognac. They would strike the Alps within forty-eight hours' time. His revolution would proceed undaunted by those imbecilic Americans. He would demonstrate to them, and to his niece, that he was in no mood to negotiate. He would destroy them, all of them. He would drag Mina from the flames and wreckage of his battlefield, her humbled form begging for his forgiveness – for his protection.

This is what would be.

XXX

American Barracks

London, England – 1943

Approximately 1100 Hours

Obediently, Phillips' aid had led Victoria to the tiny, cinderblock, cell-like barrack that currently housed Wilhelmina Hofstadter, the niece of Johann Schmidt and apparently the most powerful weapon that the Allies possessed. She reckoned, although, that over half of the Allied forces were unaware of her power, never mind her existence.

She had never met Johann's niece, although she had briefly glimpsed a picture of the young girl. A small photograph, badly creased and, she recalled distinctly, shoved haphazardly into the far corner of a drawer, beneath a stack of unopened letters from Hitler's illustrious staff. She had managed to retrieve the photo from its prison beneath dusty letters that no doubt criticized, objected to, and even scandalized the actions of Johann Schmidt, the offensively narcissistic leader of HYDRA. On the back of it, a hand-written caption had appeared:

Wilhelmina Abigail Hofstadter – December, 1929

A very young girl, perhaps three or four at the most, with a gap-toothed smile and curling hair that had been woven into a braided halo about her head. She was the essence of innocence, happy and full of warmth.

She remembered holding the photo in her hand, holding it up to the light that had always shone so brilliantly through the panoramic windows of Johann's laboratory – and, having had it snatched from her grasp so violently that the photograph had nearly been torn in two. She had inquired who the young girl was, to which Johann had responded with bitter fury. She was his niece, his 'god-child', and he had left it simply at that, refusing to talk about her further. Victoria had managed to eke out more information about the child in the days following the instance, out of her own genuine curiosity. Johann had told her in painful detail about his childhood and the suffering that he and his older sister had endured together – the tale had tugged at her heartstrings, as so many of his tales had. But why then did he spurn this young girl, his sister's daughter? If anything, she would have thought that he would have loved her like his own child, for he was so close to his sister – or, so he had led her to believe.

Johann had reminded her then of his bloody battle with the young girl's father, the man that would ultimately replace him after he was ousted by the Nazi party and exiled to his organization's headquarters in the German Alps – far removed from mainstream society. Her father was the primary reason he could not bear to look at her – for she reminded him so painfully of the humiliation and disgrace he had suffered at the hands of Wolfgang Hofstadter.

And that had been that, at least in Johann's mind. There had been nothing left to explain; he simply hated her, and had thus made the decision to have little, if not nothing, to do with the girl – even though the girl had not been the cause of his suffering. His sister had been recently widowed and was being forced to depend on government aid and her husband's ancestral inheritance to survive while Johann was living in the lap of luxury – despite having been excommunicated by the government himself. He basked in wealth while his sister and her daughter were forced to make do.

Victoria had pushed Johann nearly to the edge by questioning his decision, and she had urged him – albeit unsuccessfully – to have more contact with the girl and his sister, that it would be beneficial to his happiness as well as theirs. Alas, Johann Schmidt had been frustratingly stubborn and set in his ways then – and, according to the generous amount of reports that the Allies possessed regarding his activities, that stubbornness had only escalated in the years since their brief and star-crossed love affair.

She had been shocked to learn that the young girl had been legally adopted by Schmidt – and saddened to learn that his sister had died prematurely. Perhaps his sister's death had softened him – she hoped that he had softened sooner, but of course, she had been busy attempting to preoccupy herself with work, to ward off the ever pervasive feelings of heartbreak and pain that she had experienced ever since. For her own mental sanity, she had tried so hard to distance herself from the memory of him; yet, the news of his ever escalating status as a potential independent and menacing force in the world was impossible to avoid.

She was nervous to meet the young girl – no doubt, if she had been raised by Johann for any period of time, she would be incredibly intelligent. Nervous that she would not be able to contain her emotion in seeing her, and, in learning of what Johann had become. But, none the less, she felt compelled. There was no doubt that this girl was lonely – alone in a foreign country, thrust from the familiar into a world of uncertainty and danger. Perhaps Victoria could comfort her, and perhaps, the girl could offer her some closure in return, in the form of information regarding HYDRA's most recent activity.

She nodded to Phillips' aid, silently dismissing him. She wanted to have a private conversation with the young girl – she had been interrogated enough. Quiet, confidential conversation would hopefully be welcomed. Hesitantly, Victoria rapped on the door, waiting until a muffled, soft voice permitted her to enter.

"Hello," Victoria said softly as she entered the small room.

The young girl looked up at her with a face different and yet, exactly the same as the one that she had seen all those years ago in the photograph. Of modest height, the girl was a head taller than her, with a softly angled, pretty face and caramel colored waves. Her eyes were a light grey color, like spring storm clouds, and they held a deep sadness within them that made Victoria ache inwardly.

"Hello," the girl responded, tentatively.

Victoria held out her hand. "My name is Victoria Bradleigh. You are Wilhelmina, yes?"

"Oh – how do you do? Yes uh, please do call me Mina, though."

She shook Victoria's outstretched hand delicately; Victoria smiled at her, hoping that the expression was warmer than she felt and asked if the girl would mind if she sat down. The girl nodded, and Victoria sat in the chair across from her, pulling it up closer to the cot where she sat.

"Have you been sent by Colonel Phillips?" The girl – Mina – asked quietly.

"I'm afraid so. But don't worry – I promise I'm not here to interrogate you. Just here to talk – casual conversation, if you will."

Mina seemed to brighten at this, so Victoria continued. "Why – why don't I tell you who I am first? I mean, well, you know my name but that's not much to go off of. Uh, let's see… well, I'm a professor at Cornell University in New York. And I'm also the weapons designer at the New York Allied Headquarters – although, I'm apparently now the weapons designer here in London. I'm sure you've noticed how effectively news circulates here – I was transferred to London yesterday, and given the news of my transferal today."

Mina smiled, the soft, demure smile of a cultured young lady – a far cry from the gap-toothed little girl of the past, but the same warmth and innocence was there.

"What do you teach at Cornell?" She asked, her German accent so faint that Victoria had to strain to pick it out. She noted that it was the accent of a high-class Berliner. Not the accent of the Bavarian countryside, where she was raised.

"Mathematics. I'm a mechanical engineer by trade – mathematics seemed a natural fit, as I'm really only an adjunct professor. Designing aircrafts and rifles for the Army was my first real job, I suppose."

Mina nodded, seemingly approving of her explanation.

"Tell me about yourself, Mina. Colonel Phillips did not elaborate very much."

The girl looked somewhat sheepish, eyeing her shoes. "There is little to tell."

"Well, where in Germany are you from?" Bavaria, that much she knew. Johann had been a native of Regensburg, although he absolutely detested the place. Too reminiscent of his past.

"Regensburg, in Bavaria. I was raised there until my mother died – after that, I moved to Berlin to live with my uncle."

"Your uncle is Johann Schmidt, yes?"

Mina nodded.

"Are you – are you close to him?"

There was a sharp glint of sadness in the girl's grey eyes. She nodded again, somberly. "Yes, very close." She looked up at Victoria, the pain clear in her expression. "He is all I have. He has taught me and given me – everything. When my mother died, he was the only relative I had left. My father had died just before I was born – in some sort of clandestine mission for the military. My mother was never given the details – he was never officially declared dead, only missing. Mama never accepted his death – never wanted to accept it. She remained convinced up until the day she died that perhaps, he could still be alive somewhere. But, of course, he never materialized out of thin air before me, so I assume him dead. Thus, Uncle Johann is really the only person I've ever had in my life to really – look up to. I mean, I was ten when my mother died. But I had never had a father figure. My mother refused to remarry after my father's death, despite Uncle Johann's urging. I suppose he didn't want anything to do with me, and my father's death sort of inconvenienced him – considering that my mother looked to him to provide me additional 'parental' guidance."

"Inconvenienced him?" Victoria asked, although she knew that it would have. But, never the less, she wanted to hear Mina's take on Johann's – past dislike of her. If she knew of it at all.

"My uncle and my father never got along well. I don't know exactly why, but Uncle was furious when my mother and father married. Oh yes, he participated in the wedding – he was the only living representative of my mother's family, after all, but he didn't condone it. My father was of a wealthy family, of old money – I suppose Uncle felt that my father could take care of my mother then, and that he was not needed to support her. I think he took it personally – as an affront to his ability to provide for my mother. He was younger, but I think he felt that it was his civic duty to provide for my mother, since they were both orphans. They depended on each other for support, and when my mother married, I think he felt – almost betrayed. He and my mother had supported each other and looked after each other for so long – I think that Uncle felt that he was the sole provider, the man of the house, the bread-winner. When my mother married, there was no reason for him to take care of her, at least financially, and I think he felt – lost. Neglected, even."

Mina paused and cleared her throat. "His dislike of my father transferred to me, I think – at least when I was younger. He rarely if ever came to visit us, and I think it hurt my mother deeply. But, she was always the mother hen, always worrying about him, always telephoning him. I suppose I can understand why he would want stay away – she could smother sometimes. But, he was always very bitter, from what I can remember of my very early childhood. Very bitter, never happy – very short-tempered. He would typically brush me aside or ignore me entirely, and for a time it upset me. But, Mama always stressed that he was like that to everyone – even her – and she tried so hard to amend his behavior. They would always argue over something whenever he did come to visit – Mama felt that he could be kinder to me, even if he disagreed with the choices my mother had made."

Victoria nodded, silent, and waited for Mina to collect her thoughts and continue.

"So, for a time, I suppose we were not close – until, quite suddenly, he became a part of my life – a part of my mother's life, again. Just sort of out of the blue – he started to visit more often, he would bring me gifts, he started to… take part in my upbringing. I remember he bought me a brand-new bicycle, put it together for me, taught me how to ride it. He'd bring me all sorts of little trinkets from wherever he had traveled. When he would visit, we would read together, as I was just learning how. I would recite from my books aloud for him, and he would read to me or tell me stories of his own, since he generally thought mine were too childish. He was a very good actor – I remember we made up a sort of game, called 'knights and damsels'. I would be the knight, of course, and Mama would begrudgingly be the damsel. Uncle was always the villain – usually some sort of dragon or beast; I liked that the best. I would be the hero – he'd let me wear his jacket and cap and I'd parade around pretending to be a soldier. I was still so young, it never really occurred to me until I was older, the sudden change in his behavior. I remember asking my mother when I was oh – eight or nine – why he had suddenly had a drastic change of heart, from bitter to so strangely generous. She said that… that something had happened to him – something deeply emotional, traumatic almost. But she never told me what it was. I asked Uncle some time later, after my mother had died, what had happened and – he got this look in his eyes, so deeply sad, so painful, so – ashamed, even. But, he said something – something that I remember so clearly, something that is beginning to apply to me even more deeply, given the current circumstances."

She looked up at Victoria, her grey eyes glinting in the dim light of the room. "When one is deeply wounded, when one is afraid, when one is uncertain – we retreat to the ones we love, the ones that have supported us and fought for us and suffered hell for us. We retreat to the haven of what we know – the haven of what is certainty, what is routine. We retreat to the ones that we have spurned, and disowned, and selfishly betrayed."

Tears were streaming down the young girl's face now, and Victoria felt her throat constrict, her own eyes brim with tears.

"And we retreat to them because that is what we know – all that we know, and we surround ourselves with that sense of safety, that sense of security." She continued. "That which we know is the safest place in the world. We shun the outside world and withdraw, folding into ourselves, hiding away in our shells. We reexamine ourselves, and we realize the value of the ones we spurned and disowned and selfishly betrayed – we realize how truly a part of our lives they were, how integral they were to our success, to our happiness. And we realize our own mortality, our own foolishness, our own weakness, our own… Oh look at me, I'm rambling."

She wiped at her eyes feverishly. "I'm sorry – surely you've come to simply reassure yourself that my files match up with what I say to you. I'm wasting your time."

Victoria opened her mouth, but she could not find the words to speak. She was silent for several moments – several long moments, watching the young girl search her face with lonely grey eyes. After a time, Mina looked down at her shoes.

"You are not wasting my time, Mina." Victoria said at last. "You feel alone. I understand that loneliness – believe me, I do, more than anything."

Mina looked up at her, her ashen face streaked with tears. "I feel – I feel like I've betrayed him." She whispered. "I feel like I've given up on him – that I didn't try hard enough to change him, that I didn't try hard enough to make him see that – that what he's doing is – is – "

"Mina, Mina you are a child. You are still growing up, you are still learning – about yourself, about life, about everything. And Mina, this should not be your burden, this should not be your responsibility. I know that you've had a lot hefted onto your shoulders – a lot of responsibility, responsibility that should not have to be yours. But sometimes, well – sometimes that's just the hand that life deals us. And, when life deals us that hand – we work with it. I know what you're going through now – believe me, I really do. I've felt the same way before, not long ago actually."

"Have you been forced to abandon the ones you love? Have you been forced to question that love, that loyalty? My uncle is the only family I have left in this world. I don't condone what HYDRA does, but he is so inexplicably tied to it – he refuses to see its wrongness. I want so terribly to save him from HYDRA; I want to show Colonel Phillips and Captain Leigh that there is goodness in my uncle but they refuse to believe me. He is tied to HYDRA and thus they consider him a threat that needs to be eliminated. I don't know what to do – I want to save him but he doesn't want to be saved, and I can't disobey Colonel Phillips' or else I risk raising his suspicions. I want to help you – the Allies, I mean – HYDRA wants to destroy the world and I cannot support that, no matter how emotionally tied I might be to my uncle. But – I – I can't just willingly support his destruction. Colonel Phillips is convinced that my uncle is the 'Red Skull', the leader of HYDRA. And I – I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know what or who to believe. My uncle has fed me so many lies in the past – I know that he keeps much of the truth from me. He believes that because he is my only remaining family, I will be loyal to him to the end. But I know that Colonel Phillips keeps much of the truth from me as well; I understand his reasoning, since I am technically a prisoner but…. You understand my indecision, don't you?"

"Mina, you have not betrayed your uncle. You have not given up on him. You cannot make his choices for him; only he can see the wrongness of what he is doing, and if he does not want to see that wrongness, there is nothing more that you can do for him. You have expressed to him your feelings; if he is too stubborn to accept your feelings, and to take the time to understand your feelings, then he is proving that he wants to believe only that which will support his plans. I am by no means trying to turn you against him, Mina, and neither is Colonel Phillips, believe it or not. We really do want to help you – and, although I can't vouch for Phillips, I will not force you to do anything that you do not want to do. These are uncertain times for all of us – I understand your feelings. Perhaps it may seem like I don't, but I have stood where you stand now. You are not alone. Phillips, myself – we are all here to support you. But we need your trust."

Mina looked up at her. "You have stood where I stand? How have you gone through this?"

Victoria met her eyes. "I know what it's like to feel as though you've betrayed someone you love." She answered simply. "I know how awful it feels – feeling as though a part of you has been torn out, that your heart has been twisted. But you have not betrayed your uncle; you tried to help him, he refused to accept that help. You tried to help him see what you and I believe is unmitigated destruction; he refused to see it. You did not betray him. You did everything you could to attempt to help him; he rejected that help. That is not your fault." She looked down at her shoes, contemplative. "I betrayed someone once, Mina. I could have helped them, I could have saved them, I could have been there for them and loved them more. But I didn't. Because I was selfish, because I was over-confident, because I was a coward. You are not a coward, Mina. You have done all that you can – you cannot beat yourself up over this. It will eat away at you, and it will destroy you. Do not let that happen. I let that happen to me, once, and I still have yet to recover from it. You need to move on with your life, and do what you think is best for you. Not what is best for your uncle. Your uncle can make his own choices, I'm sure of it. And if he loves you, truly Mina, he will see that what he is doing is wrong."

Mina shook her head somberly. "You don't know my uncle. He will not give up."

Victoria smiled sadly. "I know him better than you think, believe me."

Mina looked up at her inquisitively. "What do you mean?"

"It's a very long story." Victoria answered quietly. "One that I will tell you, when we have a little more leisure time." She glanced at her wristwatch. "Colonel Phillips wishes for me to get inside your head. If I am to get inside your head, I think it only fair that you get inside mine. But, unfortunately, I am only allowed limited time with you. The reason I'm here, Mina, is to simply tell you that your uncle has made his choice. And you have made yours. I understand your feelings – you want to redeem him. But, sometimes – sometimes people don't want to be redeemed; they don't want to change their ways or accept their flaws. Your uncle has made his choice, and that is his burden to carry alone. You do not deserve to carry that burden, and you should not carry that burden. You have made your choice here, by choosing to align yourself with the Allies, with Phillips, with me. If your uncle wants to be saved, he has every opportunity to do so. But only he can make that choice – not you. And as someone experienced in this type of thing, I know that you will only cause yourself more heartache and more anxiety if you try to assume his faults as your burdens. I'm not telling you this because I want you to put all of your energies into supporting the allied cause, I'm not telling you this in an effort to distract from your devotion to your uncle. I'm telling you this as a friend, Mina, as honestly as I can. The irony of this is perhaps the hardest thing to bear, but in worrying over your uncle, you aren't helping him. It's the kind thing to do, and the considerate thing to do, but I don't think he's losing any sleep over your desire to right his wrongs. In worrying about him constantly, you are only hurting yourself in the long-run."

"You have said that I can trust you?" Mina responded, pointedly.

Victoria nodded. "I will not lie to you, ever. I have told too many lies and faked my way out of too many responsibilities. I was young then, and I still have not forgiven myself for doing it. Everything I tell you is the absolute truth."

"So you are saying that you are here because Phillips wants you to be here, he wants you to talk to me?"

"That is true. But, I am not adhering to Phillips' strict instructions. Phillips wants me to manipulate you because that is the practical thing to do, in his eyes. That's the way a military-man would go about it, because you are an object of interest, not yet a concrete ally – although, you are very close to one, so don't worry too much. But you can trust me, Mina. And I, in turn, would like very much to trust you. Because I can tell that you are a magnificent young woman, and I would like very much to be your friend. You must be lonely here – I would like to offer you friendship, to ease the tension. And, if at any time you don't want to talk to me, or you don't want to talk about your life or your uncle, just say the word. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable. And if you ever just want to talk to someone, I'll be here. A life of solitary confinement can drive a person insane."

Mina blinked, her eyes gleaming, and Victoria thought that she had glimpsed tears there.

"Thank you," she said, half smiling. "Thank you, Victoria. I really do appreciate it. My uncle is the only family I have, the only confidante. I am so accustomed to his presence, to his guidance; he was always watching over me, always advising me. I feel quite disoriented without him here. And, I miss him quite a lot."

Victoria smiled at her softly. "You're very welcome, Mina. And thank you for giving me your trust. I promise I won't betray it. I understand your feelings – new place, new routine. Loneliness sets in quickly. But, you get used to it. You get used to going through the motions and soon it becomes second nature."

A rap at the door echoed throughout the small cinder-block barrack. Victoria stood up hesitantly – if it was Phillips, she would surely smack him – but alas, standing in the doorframe was merely one of Phillips' aids, looking decidedly sheepish.

"Dr. Bradleigh, Miss Hofstadter – Colonel Phillips requests your presence in the war-room immediately."

Victoria raised an eyebrow. "Has something happened?"

The aid nodded stoically, although there was a glint of fear in his eyes. "Yes, ma'am. The colonel says it's urgent."

Victoria sighed and looked to Mina, who sat at the edge of her cot with curious grey eyes.

"And, as per usual, Colonel Phillips has interrupted a valuable conversation once again." She smiled apologetically at Mina, but the young girl seemed nonplussed.

"It is what it is, I suppose." Mina shrugged. "It has been far too quiet. HYDRA will be planning something – a retaliation to their last attack. Or, they are biding their time. Perhaps Colonel Phillips has intercepted something important over the radio waves?"

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

Victoria felt her heart skip a beat, and her nerves were unsteady.

It had been over a decade since she had last had any direct involvement in the initiative against HYDRA. The prospect of being faced with the emotional dilemma of fighting against the man she had loved posed as a wrenching obstacle before her. But she knew Johann well – well enough to know that he would not react kindly to the loss of a valuable possession – one that was, in this case, deeply personal. No doubt he would retaliate with a vicious force, unrivaled by anything the Nazis could produce. Johann was also stubborn – and she knew that the chances of him giving up his beloved HYDRA, no matter how murderous it was to the outside world, were slim. But, perhaps Mina's devotion to him – albeit wildly flailing – would change his tune.

For the young girl's sake – and for her own – she hoped that this was true.

XXX

American Barracks

London, England – 1943

Approximately 1300 Hours

Chester Phillips surveyed the long table before him, empty chairs gradually being occupied by a broad range of officers, enlisted men, scientists, minutes-takers – men and women from every possible nook and cranny of the sprawling military base, only a minute portion of which he oversaw. He felt confident – more confident than he'd felt in quite a long time. Several phone-calls to Washington and frantic surveillance of the French countryside had enabled the Allies to narrow down a specific radius in which Schmidt's hideaway could be located – the rural hills of Alsace, far removed from the nearest town or city center. Finally, they were making real progress – narrowing down HYDRA's path, Johann Schmidt's final destination. The bastard couldn't run forever – he'd taken Phillips' finest men, young kids with their whole lives before them, and he'd blown them away like dust, sneered at their suffering. Schmidt had always been one step ahead of them, from the very beginning, artfully twisting and manipulating their every move to suit his needs – and to crush their progress. Advancing from square one was nearly impossible – they had been running in circles, like a chicken with its head cut off, while HYDRA basked in the glory of its spoils.

Alsace was his last hope. If he could succeed even once at successfully getting ahead of Schmidt, it would allow him the headway to finally corner him, to finally get rid of him entirely. HYDRA's troops were depleted, their weapons' reserves had either been destroyed or were confiscated by Allied occupiers – there was nowhere left for them to run, and if they did run, there would be no way for them to cover their tracks.

But, there were certain caveats that could not afford to be left unexamined. Schmidt was cunning and resourceful. What with HYDRA's botched surveillance mission merely a few days earlier, he would not be so stupid as to continue his progress carelessly; he would either retreat ever further into his hideout, or, he would sense the urgency of his predicament and take drastic measures to protect that which was his. HYDRA was severely outgunned – the bulk of its magazine lay in Allied hands at the main base in the Alps. If HYDRA were to catch wind of an Allied initiative in Alsace, would they instead run to the Alps? Would they risk fleeing safety in France to take advantage of an unwatched Alpine base, to retrieve their weapons, or attempt to take back the base entirely?

Phillips had played Schmidt's game for far too long now. He could not afford to leave his bases uncovered. The colonel barked at his aid.

"Corporal, I want double the amount of troops occupying HYDRA's alpine base. We can't afford to leave any holes that HYDRA could take advantage of when we're not watching."

The aid nodded and scurried off to carry out the order.

"What are you thinking of, Colonel?"

Phillips glanced up at Leigh, just entering the war-room. Phillips pursed his lips grimly. "I'm thinking that we can't afford to screw up again – if we go after Alsace, we might just catch Schmidt and his entourage. Or, we might crash into a completely vacant lot – we can't afford to leave any bases uncovered here. Schmidt's too good – he could easily intercept our progress and make for the Alps. The majority of his weapons' reserves are in the Alps, currently occupied by our boys – it's a prime back-up target for him. If he thinks we're sitting ducks, he might stay where he is, or, he might make a jump to take back his main-base when he thinks we're not paying attention. I want surveillance on that base doubled – that way, we're prepared if Schmidt pulls any drastic disappearing acts. If he doesn't go to the Alps, he's a damn fool, but at least we'll still have his entire magazine. But if he does go to the Alps, I want allied guns trained on him. I won't let him get away without a proper fight this time."

"I suppose the question becomes then, who do you want at the Alps and who do you want in Alsace?"

Phillips sighed heavily. "I hadn't got to that point yet. I want Athena in on this – she's proven herself for the most part, but I need to see if she can handle the reality of battle against HYDRA. I can't have her being distracted by any emotional ties to them. The sooner she's forced to come up against Schmidt personally, the sooner I can report back to Washington whether or not she's trustworthy."

"And if she's not trustworthy we eliminate her immediately."

Phillips eyed the young captain levelly. "Affirmative."

"So what is your gut-feel? Alsace could very well be his hideaway of choice, but it would also be a classic move for him to act impulsively and go after the Alps. HYDRA's powerless without their weapons, especially since we now possess Athena. If Schmidt thinks we're sitting ducks, with no lead on his location at all, he could very well jump at the Alps out of the blue and take us by surprise. And, knowing Schmidt, there's always the chance that he's caught on to our advances on his location in France. He'll shut down HYDRA completely until he thinks the threat's subsided."

"Or, like you said, he'll act impulsively and jump at the Alps. Of course, that's all speculation. But either way, I want all of our bases covered. Leave no stone left unturned – I've learned that the hard way in the past." Phillips added.

Captain Leigh cleared his throat. "You want Athena at the Alps, sir?"

Phillips was grim. "The minute I start feeling confident about something, another caveat materializes out of thin air. The selfish part of me wants Schmidt to suffer – I want him to be forced to go up against Athena in combat, if nothing else than to see how he plays the game then. And, I need to know if Athena is trustworthy or not, and the only way to prove that one way or another is to force her into combat against HYDRA. But Schmidt could be anywhere – if he's in Alsace, and Athena's at the Alps, or vice versa, we could be screwed. For more reasons than simply my selfishness – the girl's our key weapon. Without her, we're about as useless against HYDRA as we were without Rogers."

"So why don't we play into Schmidt's game, Colonel? If he thinks we're sitting ducks, which there's no doubt that he does – why don't we let him play our cards for us? Let his hubris lead him on – if he thinks we're floundering to find his location, no doubt he'll get cocky and make the first move. That's how Schmidt plays. We can station a reconnaissance team in Alsace, have them scout out the area – while the bulk of our forces can be stationed at the Alps, ready and waiting. But we can deceive Schmidt while we're at it – we can remove our current occupiers from the Alps and move them into Alsace – make Schmidt think that we've found his location in France and challenge him to make the first move, to flee. If he knows that we've 'abandoned' the Alpine base, he'd be likely to make a jump for it. If he takes back the Alps, his magazine's completed and his troops are outfitted with weapons. Meanwhile, he thinks we're in Alsace standing around like gaping fish because he's disappeared. But – we'll have men stationed at a point slightly distanced from the Alps – make him think we've abandoned it. He'll come out eventually – he has to, or else his plans can't progress. We can afford to play the waiting game, Colonel. It's our best bet – otherwise we risk splitting our forces down the middle at Alsace and the Alps. And if he attacks at one point or another, we'll be outmanned. And, we'll risk having Athena in one place when Schmidt might be at the other."

Phillips nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. We'll give it a go. We'll withdraw all but a fraction of our troops from the Alps – Schmidt might get suspicious if we remove every man from the base, just out of the blue. We'll dispatch Beta Company and the boys at the Alps to Alsace within two days' time. Dog Company, Athena, and myself and my underlings – we'll be stationed thirty kilometers from the Alps, wait for Schmidt to make the first move. This is the base he cares about – he's got no choice but to make a go for it at some point in time."

"Shall I give the orders, sir?"

Phillips nodded grimly. "STAT, Captain Leigh. And for your sake, hope like hell that this works. It's your idea."

"Roger that, sir."

XXX

Johann Schmidt's Private Chalet

Alsace, France – 1943

Approximately 1900 Hours

"Sir, we've intercepted Allied activity at the base in the Alps."

Johann leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, a slender crimson hand delicately holding a long cigarette holder, blue-grey smoke curling from its tip. He brought it to his lips, inhaling languidly. "What sort of activity, Lieutenant?" He did not open his eyes, keeping his tone level – almost lilting.

"It would seem as though the Americans are systematically removing troops from the base, mein Herr. They have been removing shifts of surveillance guards and transporting them out of the Alps via mass convoy. We managed to track their progress to central France."

At this, he opened an eye, licking his lips in curiosity. "France, you say?"

"Yes, sir. According to latest coordinates that we have managed to pick up, it would seem as though they are progressing towards Alsace."

He almost grinned. "Ah, so they have found us?" he purred. "No doubt thinking that they will catch us by complete surprise, lounging about in our little paradise in the countryside. Well then, we shall give them something to find when they arrive at my chalet – no doubt they'll be pounding at the gates in a fury within days. A pity we will not be present to welcome them – how dearly I would love to converse with my niece – so much to catch up on. Ah, but alas – unto each life a little rain must fall, I suppose. And won't they be surprised when they find that in Alsace, their vicious foes are not?" He lifted his cigarette holder to his lips, allowing a few moments for another lingering inhalation of its soothing smoke. "And did you say, Lieutenant, that they are removing their troops from the Alps? Really? Those fools – clearly they do not understand textbook warfare. They choose to sink all of their men into a single initiative whilst leaving all other valuables undefended. How typically American. But – we cannot leave them disappointed – we must act. They are preparing to declare war on Alsace? We shall declare war on the Alps – and take back what is rightfully ours. Ready your men, Lieutenant."

"Yes, mein Herr. Hail HYDRA!"

Johann grinned wickedly. "Indeed, Lieutenant. Indeed. How shocked those imbeciles will be when HYDRA rises once again to its rightful status in the world – as ruler."

XXX

American Barracks

London, England – 1943

Approximately 1900 Hours

"Alright men, here's the mission." Phillips kept his tone level, although his heart pounded in his chest. "We've removed all but a third of the troops from the HYDRA base in the Alps and are dispatching them by battalion to the coordinates we were able to weed out in Alsace, France. The goal is to convince Schm – " He stopped short, catching Wilhelmina Hofstadter's somber face in the corner of his eye, "HYDRA that we have discovered their location in Alsace and are advancing towards them, as if to launch an attack. HYDRA's weapons reserves are severely depleted – we've managed to confiscate more than half of their air fleet and a substantial portion of their weapons' magazine, all of which is either being kept under lock and key at the Alps or being shipped to Washington for further examination. Our hope is to spur HYDRA to flee Alsace and head to the Alps – after all, they wouldn't run away from a fight unless they needed weapons, and weapons are currently in the Alps. Meanwhile, the bulk of our troops – Dog Company led by Captain Leigh and the rest of the battalion, along with subject Athena – that's you Miss Hofstadter, by the way – will be stationed at the HYDRA base in the Alps waiting for HYDRA to attempt to sneak in. If HYDRA chooses to remain in the Alps and put up a fight, I have reinforcements being pulled in from all over France. We're leaving no base uncovered here – I've had two strikes; one more and we're all out. Are we clear?"

A moment of silence; then, "When do we move out, sir?" Captain Leigh's eyes were glittering, and Phillips felt his own heart skip a beat.

He surveyed the men before him, his hands splayed across the long table before him, surrounded by his best officers. "Immediately."

XXX

Johann Schmidt's Private Chalet

Alsace, France – 1943

Approximately 2100 Hours

He stood before his troops, bedecked in black leather, a crystal goblet of Schnapps held delicately in his right hand. It was his custom – to toast the dawning of a new age, the dawning of the new world order, a world order that would be led by him and him alone. Today would mark a most revolutionary event – for his men would take back their bases, take back their weapons, take back their bloodied pride. They would not stop at the Alps – no, they would crush those American imbeciles. No doubt, they were marching with foolish pride towards Alsace now, only to happen upon an abandoned hideaway. He licked his lips in anticipation, envisioning their shock – no – their outrage at having once again been foiled. The image sent tingles of delight coursing down his spine, his veins alight with a raw, savage energy, the thrill of the hunt, his cunning about to be unleashed on his unsuspecting prey.

"Gentlemen," his voice rang cold and hard, like steel. "Tonight, we celebrate the dawning of the new world order – the first victory of many in this new era, in which HYDRA shall stand master of the world, and master of a race of slaves. We have been beaten back, we have been wounded, we have been humiliated – but this will not stop us from achieving our goals. We will crush those American fools, we will destroy the Allies, we will annihilate the Nazis – we will decimate all that stand in our way. And we will stop at nothing to take back what is ours. We will take this crumbling world and we will revive it!"

"Hail HYDRA!" Hundreds of voices shouted at the top of their lungs, filling the air with the most beautiful cacophony.

"We will revolutionize the human race – we will raise it up from the dust and we will revitalize it!"

"Hail HYDRA!"

He held his glass up, offering his soldiers a final salute. "This time, gentlemen. We will not fail. We will not flee. We will not cower. We will stand before our foes and we will show them no mercy."

"Hail HYDRA!"

Over and over, they shouted it, their spirited voices setting alight the most beautiful fire within his veins.

This time, they would rise. And they would be victorious. He lusted for a battle – for bloodshed, for slaughter, for decimation. And he would have it, by the Gods. He would have revenge, at long last.

XXX

HYDRA Base

The Alps – 1943

Approximately 24 Hours Later

Mina stood in the open airfield, the biting wind stinging her cheeks and gnawing at her bones. She stared out into the open, white abyss, recalling that months ago – it felt like mere days – she had first laid eyes on the monster her uncle worshipped like a god, here in this airfield, alone and defenseless. He had manipulated her. He had tortured her. He had twisted her, toyed with her as if she were a puppet on his string, forced to abide by his will.

Dressed in the beige uniform of the American Army, outfitted with weapons of her own, backed by the force and loyalty of men that were hundreds of times more admirable than anything HYDRA could ever dream of creating.

And for the first time in months, she felt so wonderfully empowered, so sure of her strength, so eager to test it, to demonstrate her loyalty to the men who had saved her from sure destruction.

She thought of Victoria Bradleigh's words then. The woman had been right – Johann was more than capable of making his own decisions; if he had wanted truly to see the wrongness of his actions, he would have, and he would have understood. But he did not. He did not want to understand. He was not interested in compromise, nor redemption, nor anything that overshadowed what he believed to be his grand, righteous plan for the world.

And, she wondered. Victoria had spoken the truth – but could she accept it? Could she accept that Johann simply could not be saved? If he wanted to be saved, then he could be. But he did not want to, and that knowledge twisted so cruelly at her soul. She had to make a choice – it was being expected of her. She had to choose where her loyalties would lie – she could not afford to waver on a fine line somewhere in between – she had to choose. HYDRA, which represented bloodshed and destruction, but also, it represented family – the only family she had left. Or, the Allies, which represented rationality, loyalty, trust, honesty, and genuine goodness. But they were strangers – were they not? But they had saved her – they had treated her as if she were a human, whilst HYDRA had treated her as if she were the contents of a petri dish.

So who would she side with? Those who fought for humanity, and for peace? Or those who fought for their own selfish desires, thinking only of themselves, not of others?

Then, she remembered the Red Skull's final words to her. "I will not stop carrying out my mission…. And when you have fought your battle, cemented your allegiances, lived your life – when you think that all of your worries, all of your foes, have disappeared – HYDRA will still be there."

No. Johann had made his choice. He had cemented his allegiances – he would be every loyal to HYDRA, willing to sacrifice his life and the lives of thousands to please his lunatic master.

Now, she would cement hers. And she would make the Red Skull pay.