Chapter 17


Lobnya, (Ло́бня), Russia, February 7th 1945-The Red Room

It was foreboding sanctuary where demons of human flesh lurked. There was no escape. Death was the key to gain freedom. Many lives had been butchered and slaughtered behind the iron and shoddy brick walls of the desolated building. To unseen eyes it had the appearance of an old boarding school, but once footsteps breached through the rusted gates. Deception unveiled the truth hidden inside the ominous darkened windows. Chains rattled in the folds of shadows, and screams bellowed for release. Every room was filled with young captives -orphans and forgotten soldiers collected by the Russian military. Corridors were lit with tarnished light and cervices in the wall were utilized as prisons to secure uncooperative assets. They were treated like animals and weakened until docile humanity adapted to the natural selection of order within the ranks.

Inside a vast boarding room, a man of a six foot stature stood in the doorway of the locked down room. He carried a pungent stench and wore sleek leather with red emblems of the Soviet shoulder that etched on his sleeve. His bald head gleamed against the dimming sunlight streaming from the grime covered windows and seawater colored eyes narrowed at clipboard. He interjected harsh words in Russian to a group of young men standing before iron spring beds of a vast and damp room of the prison."Today marks a new era of warfare. I am here to give purpose and make you loyal to Mother Russia."

He cuffed his hands behind his back, and moved with purposeful and disciplined steps while looking down at a clip board. He looked at one young man with rakish dark locks, broad Western features-chiseled jawline, cleft chin and piercing blue eyes whom stood stiff and frozen in front of his stern gaze- a new volunteer. Studying, the handsome soldier, he wrote down notes-height, eye color and weight. He inched closer with a menacingly blank face and tapped his pen over the bandaged limb and observed the pain welled in the soldier's glazed eyes. Left arm had been amputated after suffering severe exposure to cold temperatures.

The soldier was silent. His blue eyes vacant, posture rigid, lips broke part, "I live to serve Mother Russia." he finally said in a robotic thrum.

The Major General folded his arms coldly over his chest. "Do you know why I allowed you to live?"

"I don't know, Sir," A strangled groan was his response of defiance. He started feeling pressure building in his skull. Something didn't feel right to him.

"The purpose of your existence is to follow and obey commands without compliance. You are a new breed of soldiers-submissive operatives who used silent communication as defiance against opposing forces." He flipped the pages, and scribbled a few words in red ink. "Boys and men like: the reason why you are here is to serve your country. This is home: here you will be taught how to fight in combat, how to obey and how you must not be afraid to kill without hesitation in the glory of mother Russia. You are the first of many that have been selected to become weapons to make objectives achieve…Only a few of you will survive the next months…Fail and you will be eliminated. Welcome to Department X."

"Comrade Karpov," Came the voice from a chiseled face man in matching black uniform who stood at his side, stationary. "I have obtain the acquired details you have requested from Allied databases. All information has given us a clear understanding that the man before you was Captain America's partner… A soldier from Brooklyn USA…

Name: James Buchanan Barnes.

Rank: Sergeant of the 107th infantry also known as the Howling Commandos.

The battery of blood tests also intake that his background is Irish American-and he carries the "super" formula in his system."

The Major General Vasily Karpov removed a swathed combat knife and held it against the soldier's throat. He watched the beads of sweat roll down the clean shaven jaw, and then he slapped his gloved hand across the man's unreadable face, jerking the head to the side. "Tell me are you afraid to die, soldier?" he taunted and read over the documents. "It says that you fell off a speeding train and Doctor Armin Zola brought you back to life by using administered electricity, Cardio- Pulmonary Resuscitation which pumped fluid back into your heart. I must say that you are very much dead…You have no reason to live except to serve me…And the Soviet Army as hollow and organic weapon."

Spilling out a gob of blood, the young dark haired man held his full lips firm, and then he answered in low and yet incoherent voice, "I am not afraid…To die for Russia." he growled with deception laced in his strained voice. His pale Aegean eyes glared at Karpov, icily. His mouth formed into a cocky, and brazen smirk. Not acquiesced to the rules. "I'm not afraid of you…Bald head pig."

The moment Karpov caught resistance surfacing his monotone voice; he was snatched by the throat, thrown against crumbling wall and coshed against the face by a hand. The soldier managed to raise his head, and spit into his face. Disgusted, Karpov had just enough pressure to the thorax, and listened to his newest victim wheeze. "You have much to learn…I see now the only way I can have you on leash to break you apart from the inside."

With that, the Major General stepped back methodically aback, and glared darkly at the other vacant subjects aligned against the bed posts. "This man has American blood running through his veins…It will soon be extracted once the injections commence." he hissed, and with a snap of his fingers, his assistants emerged from the doorway, each one holding a filled syringe. "Roll up your sleeves, and try not to scream…"

Karpov shot an displeased glower at the American, as he came into contact with piercing blue embers. "Disobedience will not go unnoticed. You will thrown in cell and starved until you learn proper respect." He crouched down to the soldier's level, and clasped his hand over the young man's throat, and then he ripped a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and latched them to his wrist and his own arm. "Do I make myself clear, boy?"

"Yes, sir…" The young man breathed, smoldering tears which welled in his eyes and flooded down his ashen cheeks. The handlers didn't care. Soon, he was dragged onto his feet and yanked out of the doorway while listening to ear shattering screams of the young boys echo through the long corridors before everything begun to dull inside an eerie silence of darkness.

"Bucky!" Steve roared out with solace gleaming in his teary blue eyes. His hand trembled against the flecks of snow. His chiseled face fractured with pain. A lot of pain that tore out of his lips as he listened to his friend and brother fall and disappear, with one heart beat he felt the cruel, unbidden and ugly defeat."Bucky..."

"Steve..." He unleashed a cry, horrified and hateful tears streaked over his face. Red, white and light flashed in his unfocused eyes. He fought against the restraint, and pulled himself closer to the faint stream of light expelling from a crack in the hollow wall. He was reaching to grasp an invisible hand. They wouldn't let him extend his right arm. They yanked him, pinning him to a wall. He had to come back. He had to find Steve. "Take my hand..."