Zola's getaway gets away from him...
Not beta-ed for expedient posting's sake, so please point out any typos!
Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. The ironically named chapter title was picked out well in advance of my writer's block though. My only excuse is that this chapter required a fair bit of research into WWII rubber shortages and early 20th century psychology. Read Maslow's paper if you get the chance - fascinating stuff.
Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.
Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola's lab – Morning, Day 20 of testing (2nd November 1943)
He'd woken early. Today held too much of import for lying in. But Zola would not let his excitement get the better of him and drive him to impatience, not today. After a quick breakfast he headed straight to the isolation cell where he found both Feltz and Koller awaiting his arrival outside the door. Zola chose to act as though the issue of Corporal Koller had already been addressed and gave his full attention to Feltz.
"Sergeant, how is our patient this morning?"
The corner of Feltz's mouth twitched up "Surly Sir."
"I doubt that what we have in store for today will do anything to improve his demeanour." Zola half-smiled back at Feltz, "Well not the morning's proceedings anyway." Who knows, after a few more sessions in the chair even Barnes might become agreeable. "Has he eaten?"
"No Sir, not yet."
Zola pondered entering the room, but decided that he had more pressing matters to attend to than satisfying his curiosity.
"Remind him of our agreement. No details. I want to test his recollection. Bring him to the chair in two hours whether he's eaten or no." He probably wouldn't enact his threat at this point but it was a useful tool non-the-less.
The Sergeant nodded and entered the room with Koller hard on his heels. Zola would discuss new personnel with Feltz later. First he needed to go check on how arrangements were progressing for their departure later that day.
First he reviewed the lab. All of the equipment still here had now had replacements ordered for his new workspace in the factory to the East. It was imperative that this still looked like a fully-functioning lab. It wouldn't do to have his plans foiled by some over-eager underling reporting that he was 'moving out'. After a moment of careful observation Zola headed over to the procedure table and wheeled the Vita Ray generator into position at the foot of the bench. It was best to imply that Stage 4 was imminent in case Schmidt made enquiries or things did not go entirely to plan. When did they ever. Contingencies were vital in this war within a war they were now waging.
With one final assessing look around the room, Zola exited the lab with what could almost be construed as a bounce in his step. On the whole he was feeling cautiously optimistic about today. He headed down the corridor, down several flights of stairs, and along a few more walkways until he heard the unmistakable sound of the machining workshop ringing down the concrete hallway to greet him.
He looked around for Rheinhard and spotted the Major supervising work at one of the forges on the far side.
He stepped into the over-heated, noisy interior of the metalworks. For some this environment with its oppressive temperatures and constant din might seem like one of the lesser circles of hell, but to him it was the future in motion.
After a few moments the solidly-built Major was made aware of his presence by one of his workers - all Hydra here, the work was too skilled to trust it to the prisoners - and he quickly crossed the floor to greet his superior.
Rheinhard nodded his close-cropped dark-haired head in a respectful greeting "Herr Zola, you've come to inspect the containment unit I presume?"
The Major was a skilled engineer as well as an able officer. Zola had more time for him than the other lackwits that made up Hydra's upper ranks on the whole. The officer pointed towards one of the doorways that led off the left-hand side of the main work space. "This way if you please Sir."
Zola followed the thickset Major into the assembly room he'd indicated, and past various bomb parts and half-assembled engines he saw his commission. The six-foot-six unit resembled a cut-off torpedo tube more than anything else. Only the glass window and the external pipework at the sides that marred the otherwise clean lines revealed that it was anything different. The Major hung back by the doorway, allowing the Doctor to advance and examine this realisation of one of his more innocuous-looking but highly revolutionary designs in near privacy.
He checked the back of the unit where it rested against the wall. It looked perfectly flat. Good, it would need to be easily transportable and that would mean it would have to be able to be transported lying down. He quickly evaluated the dimensions, and was pleased to see that despite being marginally longer than he'd specified, it should still easily fit into the back of one of the transport trucks he'd requisitioned.
He moved back around the front and examined the fitting of the glass in the observation window. "You were able to attain the glass I requested?" he asked Rheinhard without turning around.
"Yes Doctor Zola, though my contact in Naval supplies warns that he will not be able to procure any more from this point on. The party pay too close attention to all things related to the U-boats."
Zola frowned. Yet another inconvenient repercussion of Schmidt's hasty divorce from the Nazis. If he'd been given more notice - any notice - he could have stockpiled useful and hard to construct materials such as the pressure and temperature resistant glass he'd required for this project. It was a necessity and yet not something he could justify setting up his own production line for.
He examined the triple-layered insert that would allow him to keep a careful eye on Barnes' condition once he was contained inside. He'd ordered enough for three replacements (or additional units) as the likelihood of this batch being destroyed by a super-strong individual was even higher than that of the last device he'd used it in.
Next he moved around to the side with the latch and undid the pressurised seal. The front of the unit swung open with an effortless and smooth motion that raised a smile on the Doctor's face. Glorious. The interior looked featureless and basic but everything in it had been machined with pinpoint precision. There was nothing that could be damaged, broken loose or used to cause injury to the occupant. The working of the door were inaccessible and the interior was too confined to allow any freedom of movement for arms or legs. In short it was inescapable. Zola smiled again; it was truly a beautiful piece of work.
He re-sealed the door and traversed around to the other side of the unit to investigate the external hinges and the pipe system he'd requested as a late addition. Everything was meeting his exacting standards, until he looked at the intake port and noticed granules of some material around the edge of the connector valve. He stepped in and adjusted his glasses to improve his focus. At first glance he'd assumed they were left-over metal filings - sloppy but excusable - but on closer examination they clearly weren't metallic in nature and within moments he'd identified the source. Much to his displeasure.
"Major, the pressure valve on this isn't fit for use. The rubber seal has perished. Bring me your spares."
Zola had expected the typically efficient Rheinhard to eagerly run to fulfil his request, considering the embarrassment this kind of oversight would be causing him. Yet there was no movement behind him.
Zola readjusted his glasses and turned around.
Rheinhard looked mortified "Sir, we have no spares. That was the last of our stock. The rubber shortage..."
Zola felt his eyes narrow. Incompetents. What had he done to deserve being surrounded by so many incompetents?
"Then use the phone and see if any of our other facilities have any on hand you fool. Without it the ventilation system is compromised and my subject a good as dead. We must have it here today."
The ruddily-complexioned man was now noticeably pale "Of course Herr Zola. Forgive me. I'll see to it at once."
He most assuredly would. Or otherwise he'd answer for it. Zola needed to get Barnes out of this installation before Schmidt arrived. He was aware of a growing feeling of disquiet rising up through his body, and as much as he hated such primitive instincts dictating his behaviour, he couldn't help but feel that somehow, this once, it was justified. That somehow any failure in this regard would cost him dearly in terms to what was most precious to him; his work and his autonomy.
But he quickly stamped down on his dread. He'd promised himself years ago-after finally escaping the clutches of school-yard bullies-that he would never let anyone, or indeed anything, control him through fear. He even stood up to the Skull when the need arose did he not?
He waited impatiently for Rheinhard's return, giving the chamber a more thorough examination now that his faith in the man's competence had been so totally undermined. On visual inspection alone it appeared adequate, but he had already determined that he'd run it through the full gamut of structural integrity tests before he put it to its true intended use. He had no intentions of loosing as important a creation as his Soldier was sure to be to some minor machining defect.
He heard the heavy thudding footsteps of the head engineer, and turned to see the officer re-enter the room with a hesitance that was vaguely ridiculous for a man of his size and stature. Zola could already feel himself tensing in anticipation of the pitiful excuses that were undoubtedly about to issue forth.
"Sir, I regret to inform you that our colleagues report that the closest available part is in our Czechoslovakian stock room. With the German patrols it will take a day at the very least..."
At least the man had the courage to look him in the eye as he reported his failure and he knew his place. Not all of the Hydra-militia now he supposed-were as self aware.
"I see." He knew his displeasure was clear in his tone. But there was no point in taking out his anger on Rheinhard who was usually one of the marginally more intelligent cogs in the Hydra machine. "Tell them to get under-way and see if there is anything they can do to expedite the delivery. That will be all Major."
"Yes Sir." Rheinhard threw him a salute-not usually something afforded to him by the military types-and eagerly left the room to carry out his orders.
Zola took a deep cleansing breath. It would be counter-productive to allow this anger to influence his behaviour. He was above this. Fostering such negative emotions would only cloud his judgement and potentially skew his observations and decision making. His earlier good humour now seemed impossible to re-capture.
He stood staring at the contraption that was the source of his current frustrations. If he had more time then perhaps he could have come up with an alternative method of reliable transportation for Barnes, but as things stood he'd simply have to wait and hope that for once the fates would decide in his favour. It was regrettably out of his hands.
He checked his wristwatch. There was still at least 40 minutes until his scheduled appointment with Barnes. And it was most assuredly a good idea for him to regain his composure before that encounter or his work, and most likely Barnes as well, would undoubtedly suffer as a result.
Zola paused before deciding his best course of action was to head to the kitchen for a quick bite. After all if he didn't meet his base needs how would he ever attain his highest self? He found himself biting back a chuckle as he stepped back into the workshop. Any sign of levity would undermine his stance of extreme displeasure towards their recent failure. That wouldn't do.
He headed down the empty hallway in the direction of the factory kitchens.
He must go back and re-read Maslow's paper. After the first session with Barnes perhaps? His Hierarchy of Needs was a wonderfully insightful study of the human condition, one he fully intended to use to help shape and control the asset he was sure the Sergeant would become. And he needed a distraction from his current inability to shape his desired outcomes - planning the first steps of a conditioning process for his Soldier would be at least a productive use of this unwanted extra time he now had to endure.
He would freely admit that his mood was still far from optimal. Not that there was anyone here who would enquire.
Anyway, some quick refreshments would work wonders on that he was sure. Then he could return to his efforts to 'change the world'.
Maybe a slice of that exceptional ginger cake if they had any freshly prepared? Yes that would most certainly do the trick.