Chapter 13: Violations
December 16, 1991, somewhere between New York and Arlington, Virginia
He grabbed the target's white hair and yanked him up. The target looked up at him. "Sergeant Barnes?"
Barnes. Embers of pain in his skull eradicated the mutilated thing that stirred in the Deep.
"Howard…" a weak voice cried from the car. Female.
Mission: Sanction and extract. No witnesses.
Two blows to the front of the target's heat. Sanction complete.
"Howard…." another weak cry.
The Soldier dragged the corpse to the car and rested the dead man's head against the steering wheel. Then, the Soldier walked around the vehicle, slid his hand through the open passenger door, and wrapped his hand around her slender neck.
Witness terminated.
Extraction complete.
Eliminate evidence. Security camera destroyed. Security tape retrieved. Package secure.
Return to handler.
February, 1991, Siberia
Colonel Vasily Karpov stared at the five bags of serum. A job well done deserved acknowledgement. "Molodets, Soldat."
He and his father knew different versions of the Soldier standing silently a few inches away. His father spoke of a man who was soft, unstable, and difficult to control. Those descriptions seemed contrary to one another, but when Vasily took over the Winter Soldier program from his father, he found the Soldier to be efficient, fearless, and obedient, so long as the proper protocol was followed—extraction from cryo followed immediately by a memory wipe and the activation sequence. It was all described in detail in the book. When followed without deviation, the Soldier became the perfect Asset.
Now, they would have five more just like this one, perhaps better because they were willing subjects that would likely not require memory wipes or activation sequences. They eagerly served Hydra. They were Hydra's most elite death squad with more kills than anyone, including the Winter Soldier.
Colonel Andrei Galkin would be arriving soon to observe the new crop of Winter Soldiers. Karpov didn't like newcomers in the program, but politics infested even Hydra. Galkin was the son of an important General, and from what Karpov knew of the man, he took full advantage of his connections.
-0- -0- -0-
Get me out of here!" Karpov demanded, stepping behind the Soldier with a gun in his hand as the guards lost control of the five new super soldiers. The Soldier complied. Mission: protect and extract. He shielded Karpov and led the way out of the cell, taking out anyone who got in the way, then slammed the cage door closed.
Karpov ordered him to the safe room. He followed. The newcomer awaited, eyes on a monitor, brow furrowed. Colonel Galkin. Caucasian male, 49 years old, five-feet-eleven inches, brown eyes, graying temples.
"This is an utter failure!" Galkin exclaimed in Russian, gesturing to the screen.
Russian was the language the Soldier had become most accustomed to, though he was fluent in many. It was the language spoken almost exclusively in the bunker.
"They are an elite death squad. They follow Josef's lead. He is the most aggressive, and the serum enhances that aggression."
"What is to be done?"
Karpov peered at the monitor. The Soldier made note of the conditions in the cage. Reinforcements had arrived with the appropriate stun batons and chemical restraints.
"They will be placed in cryofreeze until we develop means to control them."
Galkin approached the soldier, his gaze probing. "Like this one?"
"Yes." Karpov nodded. "This one is reliably compliant."
Galkin raised an eyebrow and tilted his head at Karpov. "He will comply with any order I give him?"
"When ordered to do so, yes."
"Order him to do so."
Karpov tensed and shifted on his feet. "Once the situation with the others is resolved—"
"I wish to test his compliance now. He failed against Josef. Punishment must be swift."
"Colonel, I don't think—"
"My father wishes a full report on the Winter Soldier program. How shall I explain that we used all five doses of serum on unstable individuals?"
Karpov cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "Soldier, you will follow the orders of Colonel Galkin."
Galkin nodded approval. "Has he ever turned on a handler?"
"Not since I took over the program. Early in his conditioning, in the 40s and 50s, I'm told he did."
"He will not defend himself?"
"Obedience is programmed into his brain. He has no choice but to comply."
Galkin's mouth parted, lips turning upward to reveal yellow teeth. "I will be putting that to the test. See that a guard is stationed outside my room. He is not to enter unless I call for him."
Karpov took a deep breath. "He must not be permanently injured. He is the property of Hydra. Our most valuable property. Is that understood?"
"I understand he heals remarkably quickly. Don't worry, Colonel. I will not permanently damage Hydra's Asset." Galkin turned to the Soldier. "Follow me."
The Soldier followed Galkin to a windowless room. It was utilitarian in nature, with a desk, bureau, toilet, sink, and bed. The colonel locked the metal door behind them.
"Remove your clothing, Soldier."
The Soldier complied.
Galkin removed his clothes. "Have you been with a man before?"
The Soldier did not understand the question and therefore did not respond.
"Are you able to speak, Soldier?"
"Yes."
"You are an empty vessel, aren't you?"
The Soldier did not know how to answer or whether an answer was required, so he remained silent.
"You allowed Josef to gain the upper hand in combat."
The Soldier nodded.
"Failure must be punished."
The Soldier nodded.
Galkin removed files and a notebook from the desk and placed them neatly on the bureau. He opened the top drawer of the bureau, pulled out a whip tipped with short tassles, then turned to face the Soldier.
"You will not move until I tell you to, and you will make no sound," Galkin commanded. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
The whip sliced through the air, connecting with the Soldier's right nipple. He stood still and silent. The whip came down again and again, leaving slivers of hot pain on his nipples, stomach, and thighs. Galkin's penis hardened with each stroke until he was fully engorged.
Galkin moved behind the Soldier and resumed the punishment. The shoulder blades. The buttocks. Between the legs.
"Impressive." Galkin said, breathless. He ran his fingertips down the tender areas.
An involuntary shudder ran through the Soldier.
"I ordered you not to move." The whip connected on the small of his back. "The marks are barely visible. You're a tough one, indeed. I look forward to finding out just how tough. Bend over onto the desk."
The Soldier complied.
-0- -0- -0-
The Soldier woke disoriented, in pain, with a sickness in the pit of his stomach. He was in a room, laying on his stomach with a limp body draped over his back, pushing him into the firm mattress. Flesh pressed against his ass. A soft mass filled him—limp, unmoving. Arms encircled him, pinned beneath the Soldier's weight and the mattress.
The Soldier tensed as memory returned. The punishment had been severe. The aches of his body took form. A heat on his back and above his groin. A sharp pain on his thigh and ribcage. An ache inside. His throat throbbed. There had been something around his neck….
The mutilated thing from the Deep screamed. He closed his eyes, silenced it.
A soft snoring came from behind. Warm breath on his right ear. The smell of tobacco.
Galkin.
Status, Operational. Mission, None. Standing orders, None.
Galkin stirred, rolled, and slid out of the Soldier. "You are a worthy lay, Soldier," he sighed. "Give me a blow job. Choke me a little. Just a little."
The Soldier sat upright. The burning of his throat dimmed, but the motion awakened other aches. A bite mark was on the inside of his right thigh. A cigar burn marred the flesh above his groin.
"Hurry it up, Soldier. Stick some fingers in my ass, too."
The words no longer bound him. He raised his flesh hand to the hot-tender skin on his neck. He'd suffered restricted blood flow to his brain, a loss of consciousness.
He straddled Galkin, staring down as the man looked up at him with a smile, eyes glistening, tongue flicking beneath his upper lip. The Soldier wrapped his metal hand around Galkin's throat and squeezed.
Hard.
No sound escaped the colonel as he struggled. His eyes bulged, and his heart stopped beating. Then the Soldier sat on the foot of the bed and waited. Hours passed. Eventually, there was a knock on the door, followed by Karpov's voice.
No question was directed at him, so the Soldier did not respond. The knob jiggled, but the door remained closed. Keys jangled. The door swung open.
Karpov stood in the doorway. His gaze went to Galkin's corpse, then to the Soldier, traveling downward. He frowned, brow furrowed. The Soldier's flesh grew warm under the inspection, his chest constricted.
Finally Karpov sighed and lowered his head. "Get dressed, Soldier. I will explain this. Somehow."
The words no longer compelled him. The Soldier did not have to comply, but he did. He covered his flesh, hid the markings of the man now dead. He had killed a handler. He was as unstable as the others. Punishment would be swift.
"Come with me, Soldier."
The Soldier stared at Galkin's stiff body. An image bubbled up from the mutilated thing in the Deep. A dark room. Another dead body. A young guard decaying on the floor. Dark blotches on the eyes, the lips. Swollen, glistening skin. A blank stare.
Karpov's hand swung upward. The Soldier faced the muzzle of the gun, noting the flicker of fear in Karpov's eyes. Fear was a thing most familiar to the Soldier. Fear in Galkin's face. In the soldiers assigned to the bunker. It was an ever-present companion, with him on every mission. It was something the mutilated thing in the Deep understood in a way the Soldier did not.
"Soldier," Karpov stepped outside the doorway, "Walk in front of me. You've been out for too long. You're going back to cryo."
The Soldier complied.
2009, Odessa, Ukraine
The Soldier's body ached from damage sustained during the previous mission, but the injuries were superficial. It would not interfere with his present mission. The strike team casualties were more significant. They had been too slow and too weak, but their sacrifices provided distractions necessary for him to complete the mission.
The target was in a vehicle driven by a Black Widow. He held his position in the mountainous terrain, perched on a rock and hidden by brush, 90 meters from the road. As the car rounded the bend above a cliff, he aimed for the front tire and fired. The vehicle swerved and skidded over the edge.
The Soldier dropped to his feet silently and approached the precipice with slow, even strides, the muzzle of the Vesper held at ready. Visual confirmation of the kill was imperative. Sixty meters from the cliff's edge, he saw a slender female hand grip the edge. He shifted his trajectory and slipped behind a tree, a shadow among the shadows.
The Widow pulled herself up, and crouched, her gaze sweeping the area, gun in one hand while she used her other to help the target ascend. She remained close, using her body as a shield. The target was on his knees, panting, eyes wide, face covered in dust and blood.
The Widow continued to scan the terrain, searching for him, but no one saw him unless he intended them to. His weapon was as dark as the shadows. He aimed at the target behind her, unconcerned by her presence.
When her eyes drifted toward his position, pausing a moment in their search, he held his breath, curious what had caught her attention. Then, he squeezed the trigger. The bullet's trajectory remained true, piercing her left side and continuing through the engineer's skull. An eruption of red and the crumple of the target's body confirmed the kill.
The Widow was down, clutching her side with one hand while the other slid along the ground in a frenzied search for her dropped weapon.
Mission complete. He vanished, leaving the Widow to mourn her failure while her blood spilled over the hand pressed to her wound and poured onto the ground to mingle with the target's.
Five hours and fifty four minutes later, he stood in front of Karpov, who held an open file in his hand, and gave the mission reports.
"Well done, Soldier." Karpov commended in Russian as he scribbled something inside the file and set it down on a desk. "Report to maintenance immediately."
The Soldier complied. The young female technician inside the lab was already prepared for his arrival. Three armed guards stood along the perimeter.
"Strip, Soldier," she commanded.
He complied.
Her exam was thorough but efficient. The mechanics arrived next to inspect and tune his arm. He sat in the chair, stiff and silent, and flinched only once when an electric jolt snaked through his chest, up his spine, and into the base of his brain, leaving him with an instant throbbing in his skull.
Yelling outside the room drew the attention of the guards, and a moment later, the Alpha Leader of the decimated strike team stormed into the room, face red, grit and dirt embedded in his forehead. His dark eyes fixed on the Soldier.
"You!" He stopped in front of the Soldier as the technician scurried to the far corner of the room. "Mission Report."
The Soldier complied.
"Not that report, you brainless fuck. The other one."
The soldier complied.
"How many members of my team did you let die?"
The question confused the Soldier, so he did not respond.
"How many of my men died?" Alpha Leader asked, leaning so close, the man's spit sprayed the Soldier's face.
"Six."
"My brother was one of them."
Irrelevant but, "Affirmative."
The strike leader eyed a collection of tools on a nearby table and grabbed the enhanced stun baton. He held it inches from the Soldier's nose. "You didn't have their backs. Why the hell not?"
"Their protection was not part of my mission objective."
"Well, that's too fucking bad for you. Karpov put me as one of your approved handlers in that robot brain of yours, and I'm going to make sure you never forget how you failed those men today. I'm just sorry I can't fucking kill you, you brainless freak."
The tech stepped forward and shifted on her feet. "Uh, I'm preparing him for cryo. I don't think Karp–"
"I didn't ask you!" He waved the baton at her, then eyed the guards. "Any of you got something to say?"
The guards did not.
The strike leader swiveled his head back to level a hard glare at the soldier. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his respiration was fast and shallow.
"Turn around, Soldier and spread your legs. I heard a rumor that you'll take it like a shlyukha."
He complied.
The baton entered him, carving a path of pain in its path. He couldn't even take a breath before the current tore through him, seizing his lungs and setting fire to every nerve. There was a ringing in his skull and the taste of metal in his mouth when the punishment ended. He was face-down on the floor, his cheek pressed against the cement until a kick to his chin snapped his head backward.
Alpha leader grabbed a fistful of the Soldier's long hair and yanked. A flicker of hot rage whipped through the soldier as his head came off the ground. The thing from the Deep was closer to the surface, then the rage vanished, and the protocols in his brain slid into place.
Clean black boots came into view. The strike leader shot to his feet.
"Explain," Karpov demanded.
The strike leader's voice was loud and trembling as he relayed the mission report and spoke of the team's losses.
"I see. The loss of your brother is a painful one," Karpov said. "He was a good soldier, and I will make sure he receives the proper honors." His thumb unhooked the holster, and in one swift motion he shot the strike leader once in the head. The man's body hit the floor a few feet away from the Soldier. Slipping his firearm back in its holster, Karpov turned slowly to take in the others in the room. "Damaging valuable Hydra property is a serious offense. If the Asset requires re-education or punishment, that is to be decided by me or my superiors. Is that understood?"
"Y-yes," the technician stammered.
"Yes, Colonel," the guards responded in almost perfect unity.
"Excellent. Now, finish your prep and put him in storage."