A/N: Beware of time jumps!
5 September, 1950
Zola, Dr. A.
Codename: Winter Soldier Progress Report
Location Undisclosed
Today the asset attacked and injured several aides, operatives and myself after an apparent memory recovery. This is the second major incident in the last 4 months. Several minor outbursts have also occurred, but were easily corrected.
When having flashbacks, Sergeant [Redacted] seems to be unaware of his surroundings and is prone to fits of rage accompanied by violence. Before today, the first attack four months ago occurred shortly after a more intense session of sensory deprivation and mental implantation than the standard used in past testing. That fit resulted in the first short-term memory reset since the asset's latest activation.
While this was a setback, the reset was successful. Consequently, we have made the pairing of electroshock and mental implants the immediate and automatic response following any suspected memory recall. This has been the longest period of time the subject has spent outside of stasis while conscious.
If further improvement is not seen within a short amount of time, Department X will resort to returning the asset to cryostasis until technological advancements can be made. If this is necessary, he will be transferred to the Siberian bunker and remain in stasis until further notice.
17 July, 1952
Department X Communications log
Сибирь
Return delivery of Codename: Winter Soldier requested by Zola, Dr. A. to previous location. Maintain cryostasis through transport.
11 October, 1954
Zola, Dr. A
Project WS progress report
After several difficult reprogramming sessions and short periods of cryostasis, the asset is clearly showing progress. Maintaining 1 ml scopolamine and 3 ml phenobarbital mixed infusion daily (detailed information and protocol noted in asset's medical file. Note increasing dosage in compensation for metabolic changes). Subject no longer hostile towards aides. Violent behaviour typically reserved for physical conditioning. Overall docile and obedient to commands. Completely unquestioning and mostly silent.
Especially promising in sniper-rifle and knife combat areas of expertise. We will be ready to begin field testing within a month. Positive outcomes in all operations expected.
The success of this project is becoming well known in elite circles of the Soviet intelligence and science communities. If Winter Soldier continues to progress, great things will come for Hydra, Department X and the Soviet Union as a whole.
I open my eyes to the sight of the same low ceiling I must have seen hundreds of times. And so another day begins. I mechanically go through the process of showering, getting dressed, and checking my biometrics on the watch-like device I was given a few months ago. The room I now sleep in doesn't have a black button. I do not dictate my own schedule. I wake up automatically, do what I need to do, and wait. Once I am retrieved from my quarters, I am taken to the lab and "eat breakfast" which consists of some kind of IV supplements and a bland, thick, pinkish-gray and chalky drink. My mind is mostly vacant during the monotonous parts of my routine. I just do what I'm told, and avoid pain.
Every day after breakfast, I train with Alexei. Every day, we begin with normal exercise. Then we train hand-to-hand. Then knives. Then guns (assembly, target practice, disassembly). Then explosives. Every day. Alexei is so dull he can't even think of the idea of mixing up the routine. The only time I can let my frustration out is when we fight hand-to-hand. I don't complain out loud. Anything other than "yes sir" or "whatever you say sir" or "right away sir" in Russian is just asking for punishment. I've spent plenty of time in the laboratory chair where Dr. Zola does whatever he wishes with my body and my brain. So if I can avoid pain in the other parts of my life, I will do so.
Of course, Alexei isn't the only one involved in my training. I have several other attendants that take up my time. I'm instructed and tested in language skills and culture, logic, and strategy by multiple people in lab coats or military uniforms. I'm always closely observed by people holding electric prods and sedatives. This wasn't always the case, but procedure and expectations have changed over time, likely based on my behavior.
Once in a while Viktoriya works on my arm and I always feel slight improvement in my training the next day. She is obviously very competent in mechanics and electronics. However, she is very scared of me. I can see it in her eyes and movements. Early on in the beginning of everything, she would talk to me and her body would relax when she concentrated on whatever she was doing with my arm. But she no longer speaks. Her posture is stiff. I've hurt too many of her comrades, I think. I can't bring myself to care at all, though. Ultimately, she's just another person capable of causing me pain if she so chooses. So I sit in my chair and look straight forward as she works.
I silently go through my days, barely learning anything new, and craving a mission. All I want is to be used for what my true purpose is here. They all know that I can do what is required of me. I don't know why they wait so long to take action. The longer we wait the more powerful the West gets. But I'm not supposed to question, so I don't. There is a reason for everything here.
After getting dressed and waiting a few moments in my room an aide whose name I don't know arrives and silently escorts me through the halls of brownish-green brick and tile to the laboratory. I hope I won't be spending too much time there today. Inside, Alexei, Dr. Zola, Viktoriya, and another scientist named Ivan are standing around a desk strewn with documents and talking enthusiastically. They all look up when they hear me come in. I salute and stand at attention near the door and my escort joins the group, standing next to Viktoriya.
Dr. Zola saunters over to me and smiles. "Good morning, Soldier. I have good news for you," he says eagerly. Whatever news it is, I doubt it's as good for me as it is for him. "You have been very successful lately. Because of that, tomorrow you will undergo your first field test! This is the next step towards assigning you to active operations. If you pass, we may finally commence regular field missions," Zola announces.
I was wrong. This is exactly what I've been waiting for. "That is wonderful to hear, sir. I hope to perform to your satisfaction," I reply.
"It is not my satisfaction you should be concerned with, Winter Soldier," he points behind himself at the men who are always standing on the other side of the tinted window, "but theirs." The people who have been watching me from day one. The real men in charge. The obscured faces with whom I've never interacted will decide my future.
"Understood," I say.
The conversation ends there and my day begins as normal. I sit at a table and Dr. Zola starts an IV in my right forearm. A nameless aide sets a metal cup filled with the same cold sludge as always on the table in front of me.
I take my time drinking the concoction since I won't be leaving the lab at least until the IV bag has emptied into my bloodstream. Behind me, I can hear Ivan - an older man with receding, long white hair - and Zola conversing in hushed tones. After about an hour I slam the final dredges of the drink down my throat and the infusion is nearly finished. Alexei returns to the lab after leaving about twenty minutes ago. He takes a seat at the table across from me and glances at the IV machine, then checks his watch.
"We will be doing things a little differently from normal today," Alexei says in slightly accented English. "We will focus on tomorrow's field test. You will train, but then you must be prepared and briefed on your upcoming mission." This is more information than I ever expect to get in advance about any day's agenda, especially from my trainer. Usually the present and current instructions are the only thing I'm aware of.
I give a slight nod. "Yes, sir."
Two minutes later, beeping from the machine signals that the IV is complete. A young male aide detaches the bag, then draws a few vials of blood from the catheter in my arm before removing it.
Alexei and I leave the lab. We head down the hallway in a direction I'm not used to. We go up a narrow staircase, and through a metal door that leads to the outside.I haven't seen the outdoors in over a month. The sunlight is so bright I have to blink and squint to see where I am going. I take a deep breath of much-needed cool, fresh air. The outdoor area is grassy. There is an obstacle course that I ran several times, I don't know how long ago. The area is surrounded by barbed-wire and chain link fencing. There is a watchtower in the far-left corner of the fenced-in area. Beyond the fencing, a field of short brown grass and weeds stretches out, parallel to a road which is about 100 meters away, running from the far horizon past the side of the building we just exited that reaches a distance beyond the fencing.
Alexei instructs me to run the obstacle course as quickly and smoothly as possible. He will be timing me and recording any mistakes. I run over to the beginning of the course and wait for him to give me the signal. Then I take off down the course as fast as possible. I reach the low wall and quickly hurdle myself over it without any difficulty. I continue to run and reach the low rope and begin climbing. This obstacle is substantially harder than the first, but with my metal arm and boots with good traction, I'm able to get myself to the top in a timely manner. The rope rubs my right hand a bit raw. I continue sprinting the course, clearing the barbed-wire crawl, and several other obstacles. When I reach the end, I've worked up a considerable sweat and am out of breath. Alexei writes some things down, then motions for me to follow him back inside.
Alexei leads me to the shooting range. When we get there he gives me a .22 caliber and puts in some earplugs, then tells me to shoot the targets. I'm used to this test. We do it every day. The targets begin popping up randomly around the room, and I shoot each of them in turn. I hit most of them in critical areas. We go through several different types of guns until he is satisfied. I have very little trouble hitting the targets near-perfectly every time. Once I'm finished shooting, Alexei blindfolds me and instructs me to disassemble and reassemble several weapons. This takes about 40 minutes, and then it's time to move on.
When we exit the range, my language instructor Desya, who mostly just tests me and corrects my accent in the five languages I already know besides my native English, is there waiting. I follow him into our usual classroom and to my surprise four people are there waiting for us.
"Everyone here is an expert in some of the languages in which you have known ability. You are to have conversations in Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, and Japanese. You can start with me," Desya informs me.
We sit down at a long table and Desya starts speaking to me in Russian. We talk mostly about military things, such as hypothetical issues that I could run into while working an operation. He writes some things down on a clipboard while we talk, and after about ten minutes he gets up. One of the men who was sitting a spot down takes Desya's place and we begin conversing in Japanese. Each tester takes their turn and I speak in Spanish, Italian, and then German. I have a little difficulty with the Spanish, but other than that, things go by smoothly. After about an hour and cycling through the speakers a few times, we finish testing.
"That could have been worse," I say in English. None of them except Desya seem to understand what I say.
The day continues and I am tested further. I even have the chance to beat Alexei and several others into submission in hand-to-hand combat testing. Overall, everything seems to go very well, and I'm happy with my work. I just hope that I'm not the only one who is.
They send me back to my room by myself to wait for someone to get me later. When I get there I go over to the sink to freshen up a little. I splash water on my face and rub some on the back of my neck. I stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are slightly sunken in and are encircled with black bags. My hair is getting long and ratty and my face is shadowed with stubble. The shirt I'm wearing is dirty, so I take it off and throw it in the corner, then get myself a new one from a drawer in the desk that was added to my room a while ago. I slip the shirt on and then sit on the edge of the cot with my elbows resting on my knees. I think about the fact that I'm to be leaving the compound for the first time in this life tomorrow. I can't help but to feel a little on edge.
I wonder if the events today really mean anything about my future. Are they happy with who I've become? Will I spend any more time restrained in the lab? Am I good enough now? I've learned to stop asking questions, it's not my place. I know how to avoid pain. Even so, sometimes it comes anyway with no explanation. All I have to do is focus on what they want. That I want it too. Everything happens for a reason. I used to focus on helping the world. But by now, I don't care about the world. I care about putting down the enemy. I care about obeying orders...
I hear a knock on the door and get up. I open it and an aide is on the other side, looking up at me. I stand there and wait for him to say something. Then he finally speaks.
"They are waiting for you in lab 2." Then he immediately turns and walks in the opposite direction of the laboratory. I step out, close the door behind me and make my way to the place where I've been summoned. I pass two soldiers in dark green uniforms with red stars along the way. They are trusting me to get to places on my own more lately. I've well learned the halls of the department in all my time living here. I reach the door to lab 2, knock, and immediately enter.
I see Dr. Zola with three other men behind a window in the wall directly across from the entrance on the far side of the lab. The scientist beckons to me through the window. I walk hesitantly across the long room, past machines, desks and chairs, and open the door in the wall next to the window.
Inside the narrow and cramped room, all of the men besides Zola are wearing military officer's uniforms and sitting around a circular table with a detailed map of the city - or rather cities - of Berlin spread out in the middle. I've seen the map eight times since I woke up what must have been a year ago covered in heated blankets on a first time I saw it, they told me that political unrest had spread from the West and made its way into East Berlin. I had to study the geography of the area in case I was needed there.
The man who appeared to be the highest ranking officer based on his uniform gestures to the empty chair across from him. "Take a seat soldier," he says in Russian.
I pull the chair out and sit down. My eyes scan the room, looking at all of the officers faces, the map, and up at Zola who is standing next to some diagrams pinned to the cork board on the wall across from me.
"We commence your field testing tomorrow at 0500 hours," the goateed man across from me says. I look him in the eye and nod. "You will be driven to your starting destination and arrive at approximately 1700 hours." The man points to a spot on the map in the middle of the border between East and West Berlin. "You will be dropped here. Cross the border at this checkpoint and make your way into this district," he points again to a section in the middle of the city with many bars and clubs. He looks at me and I nod to indicate I understand. "Dr. Zola will explain further," the officer says.
"Thank you, Colonel Karpov," Zola responds, also speaking Russian, however accented it might be. "Winter Soldier, your mission tomorrow depends on this device," he taps the diagram on the board with a metal pointer in his right hand. There is a picture of a disc shape and another of it with its layers separated. "When you reach the city you will notice a particular club that attracts American soldiers. Your goal is to use the skills you have learned to place this magnetic device on a military vehicle and detonate it when the time is right." He moves his pointer to a part of the diagram which shows a remote switch. "Use your ability to blend in with the Americans to your advantage. If you can collect any intelligence in the process of the mission, it could be very useful."
Zola pauses and gives me a moment to think. I place my elbows on the table and fold my hands under my chin, contemplating the map and what I've just heard.
"Any questions so far?" The colonel asks.
I let a slow breath out through my nose. "Is the goal of this mission to kill, or to sabotage?"
"The goal of this mission is to kill and to sabotage," the colonel says. "Make it appear as an accident. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Colonel Karpov continues. "When you have completed your mission and assessed the outcome, you must cross the border again without being seen." He points to an area where the river branches across the Southern tip of the border. "Cross here, and then meet nearby for your extraction. They will be waiting next to the river."
I study the map carefully and memorize what he's told me.
"Any further questions?" he asks.
"No, sir," I reply.
"Very good," the younger officer on the right of Colonel Karpov says. He pulls a file he had been holding on his lap out from under the table out and places it in front of me. "This file contains your cover profile including documents and an overview of your background. You will use the documents to cross into West Berlin. Study the background story tonight as it may be needed in the process of your mission. We expect you to spend time among the American servicemen without being suspected."
He opens the file and points at a few pages. "These are detailed instructions on how to use the sabotage devices on the most common vehicles used by Americans in Berlin. Study this as well and if you have any concerns take them to Dr. Zola in the morning." I look up again at Zola and he gives me a smirk.
"If you have nothing further, Colonel Karpov, I think the Winter Soldier has been briefed enough for tonight and we can continue with any more information tomorrow," Zola says. As soon as Zola mentions further information, questions pile up in my mind about emergency protocols. They can wait.
The Colonel nods and stands with the rest of the officers. I stand as well and salute. They file past me and out of the tiny conference room, leaving me and Dr. Zola behind.
"We have one last thing on the agenda today, Winter Soldier," Zola declares in English. "Your hair is too long. Not fitting for active duty," he smiles, "a little bit of grooming, and then pictures for the documents." He indicates the file on the table in front of me.
I pick up the folder. Zola strides out of the room and I follow after him.