Post by Wachter on May 27, 2018 3:19:27 GMT
The Initiative #1
Didn't Sign Up For This
First In, Only Ones Out Pt. 1
Malibu, (Present)
The beautiful mansion sat atop a cliff face, at the very edge overlooking the crashing waves of the Pacific below. It was the only structure within miles or rather the only structure like it, a single road leading to and from the home. There was a rounded appearance to it. Almost organic. Kinda like a seashell or so the hooded man thought as he made his way through the premises' security as only he could. The windows gave him pause while he stood alone on the tiled floor inside. There were so many of them. The room was a circle and nearly half of it let in the light from the stars and moon. The design was ostentatious at best. Unsecure, as he proved, at worst.
He wondered what would happen if he didn't have permission to be here. Would supposedly unbreakable sheets of metal slide down, keeping him locked in as some automated defense system attempted to do what many had failed to do? It annoyed him more than it should. His footfalls were silent as he padded across the floor to the stairs, instinct and senses told him where to go. The scent of oil and gas, of machinery wafted up from below. He went up instead, fingers trailing along the smooth bannister. There weren't many doors. Everything was open. So very open. It made his hackles rise.
One door was a bathroom. He doubted he'd find what he was searching for there. Another was a closet. Maybe but his gut said no. In the pale illumination of stars and technology that ran on a different system than what he'd disabled had him look up. Even a place like this had an attic. Unfortunately, he had no way to get up there. No string like a normal household, not even most manors. Automated like everything else here probably was.
His tenacity would not be found wonting. And the owner's insurance would cover it. Probably. If not, he certainly had the money to hire a contractor to fix the damages.
No windows. Only darkness. And dust. Nobody came here. Old awards, magazine covers, paintings worth millions wrapped up and forgotten. The hooded man's fingers tingled. The scent of film drew him to it. His search was finished.
It took time, but soon enough he had a projector set up. And the first slide lit up the darkness. In black and grey, he saw two men huddled next to each other. One giant, the other tiny. Both hairy despite their military garb. They carried no weapons. They were the weapon.
He remembered this.
It unnerved him how silent the plane was. Silent with no noise of the wind whipping by outside. Silent despite the two soldiers who couldn't be more different that just sat there while he took their picture. Silent except for the deafening pounding of his heartbeat between his ears. And the quickening of his breath.
They called it the Trinjet, brought to European theater of war by the good graces and genius of Howard Stark. Ahead of the times beyond simply the three engines his sources said both the Germans and Soviets were attempting to utilize. More expensive than probably all the jets in the joint Allied Forces combined. Silent. Undetectable by radar. Visually invisible unless you had incredibly good eyesight. Why it was assigned to this scruffy band of murdering misfits was, well it was exactly part of his personal reason to find out but otherwise beyond him.
"How you likin' that fancy new camera, Snapper?" A rough hand grabbed him by the shoulder and offered what must have been a soldier's embrace.
The bowler cap of the man hid most of his hair but like nearly everyone else in this outfit, Snapper included, it was longer than regulation. Stocky, built like a boxer, in need of a mustache that had accidently caught on fire the first day the photographer found himself in this strange hell, Dum Dum was anything but dumb and he certainly was strong. An ex-circus performer. Kaley's or Haley's. Something like it. He could break the photographer in half without need of his knee.
"Careful. It's worth more than you."
Another Stark innovation. Compact yet durable, somehow able to take snapshots in the dark without need of a flash. Able to zoom in or out as desired. With its fancy rolls of film, he could throw out dozens of photos before needing to change almost like a movie. In fact, with a few switches he could keep a video reel record. It pained him to use it. Felt like a bribe. Yet… it was so beautiful.
"Hell, son, everything in here is worth more than me. The just ain't half as good lookin'." Dum Dum slapped his back one more time then turned back around to head farther into the plane towards the cockpit. For all intents and purposes, it was his job to keep the photographer safe. Based on the bruise he could feel brewing beneath his skin, their definitions differed.
The pair of soldiers looked up from their huddle. Feral eyes focused on something, someone, behind Snapper. He felt the presence of command, of the ultimate assurance that he was god to the men beneath him, suddenly at his side. Tall, dark haired, sideburns that ended at his chin yet somehow weren't quite mutton chops. He put doubt to Dum Dum's implication that he was the best-looking thing aboard the Trinjet. This rugged warrior, not a solider, was the leftover from some forgotten era when civilization was supposedly less civilized (a doubt he voiced silently every time he came upon a new atrocity in this god forsaken war). The barbaric charisma he possessed made his voice the voice of reason even in the face of insanity.
"Dog, Runt," a gruff tone from a lifetime of cigars barked out their names. "Batman says we'll be over your drop zone in less than a minute."
A wild mane of blond hair nodded and grinned, revealing slightly enlarged canines. His smaller companion, Runt, gave no reaction at all.
"You two know what to do."
And with that, they did. They each grabbed two straps from the ceiling, their heads first resting against each other in a silent exchange of words before focusing on the floor. Snapper felt himself suddenly yanked back as something snapped onto his belt. Dum Dum had returned, and he was currently attaching a cord to the photographer, to their Sergeant, and lastly to himself. The strongman grabbed his own thong from above.
He went to do the same.
"Not you," the non-com halted his hand, "Might want to use the camera's though."
Snapper said nothing yet he could feel the flicker of a primal grin from Dog directed at him.
"Don't worry. Dum Dum won't let you die on your first mission. Maybe your fifth but not tonight. Tonight you do the job you signed up for as the Official Chronicler for the Howling Commandos."
"I didn't sign up…"
"Then maybe you shouldn't have published those pictures of Sokovia," growled Runt. The first words Snapper recalled ever hearing from him.
"Do your job, Reilly, and we'll do ours."
That's when the floor slid open at their feet. The whole world right there at the tip of his toes. If not for the cord stretching taut holding him back… His body reacted on instinct even as Dog and Runt simply let go, their eyes piercing what his could not through the night sky, tumbling into a freefall. The camera clicked and clicked and for a moment as he hovered on the edge, he thought he glimpsed a castle.
There was a thud. The sergeant closed them off to the world below. Air found its way back to lungs that had forgotten to breath at the sight. As did reason and an understanding over what had just been witnessed.
"Sergeant Logan, I couldn't help but notice your men weren't wearing parachutes."
"Amazing observational skills you have there, son, remind me to make use of them later. Now unstrap yourself and find one of those unused 'chutes. We'll be needing them."
"Nor did I notice them carrying any weapons."
"Uncanny even. Get your chute."
Snapper felt himself unclipped from the wall and when he turned himself around, Dum Dum had the pack ready to go, a grin on his lips. For a moment, he marveled over the fact that somehow that hat had remained on that round head during the whole ordeal. Dum Dum's shit eating grinning could tell he wanted to ask more. That he wanted more.
"Time to learn how to howl," Dum Dum joked as helped Snapper strap in. "Don't worry about Dog or Runt. I usually don't. They're better weapons in Sarge's pocket than the brass knuckles in mine."
War journalism had taken a turn for the strange back in Sokovia. Now he had even more questions and no editor to ever ask him the answers. Just a premonition of his pictures sealed away in folders stamped with a big bold restricted on them.
They'd been here for days. Weeks maybe. Snapper didn't know. The Commandos prided themselves on being the first ones in and the last ones out. And only recently had he joined. Not long enough to meet them all, to know all the nicknames. Yet not once since the trek from the forest to the village to the now beating heart of fear and chaos had Sergeant Logan treated him as anything except another one of his men. His talents, his tech, were Sarge's to use. It was a bit disconcerting considering he hadn't been given a sidearm.
"Fireworks… Ready." Snapper repeated the message aloud before turning to Logan. "Fireworks?"
Logan smacked the back of his head for asking the question then waited for Snapper to signal back.
Zemo.
"No."
"Damn it."
"We're after Baron Zemo?" The name was familiar to Snapper from the days when he was simply Reilly (odd thought to have considering until that ride on the Trinjet, he still thought of himself as such). A brilliant mind behind Germany's secret scientific division. Tracking him and his experiments down was half the reason he'd stumbled upon the death and destruction the Howling Commandos left in their wake. It was said that he rivaled Stark though without the same moral compass.
After seeing what the Commandos did with the American entrepreneur's gadgets, Snapper wondered if their moral compasses were instead the same. Only their true north was different. Stark preferred machines… Zemo, people. And yet, what of Dog and Runt? Surely the rich man knew of them or did Sarge keep their secret because even though it hadn't been expressed explicitly, they were expecting to come across the pair any moment now.
Snapper thought he knew why.
They were the source of the gunfire and flames inside the castle. They were why soldiers were dragging people out of their homes to hole up for the expected onslaught.
"Did you think we'd find Hitler or Hydra Supreme in some shithole like Hassenstadt? Now where the hell is," Logan looked around just in time for a man to fly out a window from the second story and land with a broken neck on the stone cobbles, "Dum Dum..."
Bowler cap and all, the strongman came out of the nearest home with a young woman carrying a babe in her arms. The little bundle was deathly quiet making the photographer fear for the worst.
"It's okay, lil' girl. Ain't no harm gonna come to you while Uncle Dum Dum is around." Cooing answered him.
A vein appeared in Logan's neck as he clenched his jaw.
"What? We needed somewhere to stay until we got the signal and that bastard was hiding behind a mother and her baby girl in case we showed up."
"We got the signal already."
"Really? Fresno worked fast this time around. Maybe you should put him up for a recommendation."
"Corporal… Do you ever wonder why you're still a Corporal?"
"Nope."
A piercing scream rang out from the castle. Impossibly loud. So full of pain and terror. Snapper had his lens up just in time to see a figure fall from the battlements centered around the gatehouse. The drawbridge lowered over mount and moat while a massive man stood framed in the middle, bodies littering the ground around him. As far as Snapper could see, no weapon was in that giant's hand.
"Dog and Runt finished their mission I assume." Snapper muttered out of the side of his mouth.
"That they did." Logan rubbed his chin. "Looks like I'm taking on more work. Dum Dum, get that woman and her babe out of the village then rendezvous with us two hours after dawn to meet up with Batman. Next time, don't forget my rule about seeing their faces."
"Aye aye, chief." Dum Dum's back slap sent Snapper down to his knees. "Have fun, rookie."
As the big man walked off with his wards, the photographer couldn't help but to take their picture. Their giant savior masquerading as a fool. Looking dumb in that goddamn hat. A picture nobody would ever see but with the smoke framing them, it brought out the artist in him.
Logan, however, yanked him to his feet and pushed him into a brisk jog towards the lowered bridge. His rifle was held tight in his hands. His face dark, brow furrowed. If Snapper had to guess, that rule involved knowing the faces of the people they didn't come to save.
"Aren't we finished? The castle is yours." Taken with only two men and at least one other he added silently.
"My boys are done. And we would have been two weeks ago. But thanks to you, we have more work to do."
When his boots touched that wooden bridge and he saw the bodies that looked as if they had been mauled by animals, Snapper questioned exactly what work he had to offer beyond chronicling these events.
Maybe that was exactly why they had to occupy it. A country willing to salute a face of fear wouldn't necessarily be willing to roll over and embrace their ideals. He wished he could remember what Hassenstadt was the capital of. He was missing something important in not knowing.
Along the way they ran into a Japanese soldier in a green Imperial Hydra uniform. The man was obviously not from around here and the fact Sergeant Logan didn't shoot him in the face identified him as "Fresno." He didn't bother to salute. Only grimace when he saw the pair of Dog and Runt.
"Pinky is ready to go whenever you are, Sarge."
"We'll blow this joint as soon as Snapper finishes his assignment downstairs."
The fake Hydra soldier looked the photographer up and down. Noticing the camera for the first time.
"Phillips and Ole Happy thought it'd be in our best interest for the future if we showed off what exactly we're putting a stop to with our rather extreme tactics."
"I was afraid you'd say that. Good thing Dum Dum's not around but you might be better off waiting up here while Dog finishes escorting him…"
"I can stomach it, soldier."
"Yeah… but we're the ones who have to fly back to base with you."
"Lead on." And from Logan came the voice of their god. One of unbending metal.
Seeing the Sergeant's face when they finally arrived in the bowels beneath the castle, Snapper wished he had listened. He also wished he could have stayed too. It was cold, illuminated in a garish green glow. His breath frosted the moment it left his lips. However, the temperature had nothing to do with his desire. There were the tubes.
Dozens of them.
Full of bodies, some grotesque in their malformations. Others, those of tiny unborn children. All floated in some repugnant liquid. Dog stopped before one holding a single arm strange only in that it had what appeared to be three bone spikes protruding from its knuckles. He glanced over at their Sergeant, saying nothing per usual. Runt sat on his haunches at the door, keeping watch for all intents and purposes, yet he too shot the non-com a look.
Logan looked ready to go back upstairs and unleash a fiery hell upon the dead men all over again. To litter their corpses with bullets, defiling them more than could be imagined.
"Zemo… Zemo did all this? The rumors are true?"
Silence met Snapper's inquiry.
"Dog, Runt, are they his – "
"Take your fucking photos before I shove that arm up your ass, Reilly. I intend to blow this place to kingdom come."
Snapper followed orders except it felt different this time. In walking through the courtyard full of the bodies Dog and Runt left behind, he thought he was on the side of monsters. Just as he had when he sent those pictures to the Bugle from Sokovia of enemy soldiers with their throats ripped out and bodies torn to shreds. It had been a concentration camp visited by a single band of brothers in this damnable war.
Now… Now, he had an inkling what the Howling Commandos were fighting even if as of yet, he couldn't agree with their ferocity.
So he snapped the pictures.
He followed orders.
As a soldier was supposed to do.
The last slide featured the mother holding her child close to her breast as she looked down upon the crater that had once been the Royal Palace of Hassenstadt. Her village had been denied as any potential asset to the Axis Powers. The Commandos had seen to that in one of the most savage ways possible. The blowback of the explosion alone would have killed them if not for one soldier in a silly hat positioned as it was close to the old castle. Dirty work. Necessary? Maybe. Maybe not.
The Hooded Man leaned towards the latter.
Yet many ideals were born that eve. They sprouted in the hearts of more than one person. A pretty boy from Queens learned something new about a group that would become his family. A woman would tell the story to her daughter who in turn would tell it to her son. Brothers renewed their vows to each other.
Were those vows kept?
He –
His nose twitched far too late. The sharp whine of a weapon charging up stung his ears in the close confines of the attic.
"I'm sorry," he turned around to see an armored glove aimed at him, "only one iron man lives here and I don't appreciate unexpected guests."
The Hooded Man grinned, clenching his hands into fists. This was going to be a fun ride.