Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Twenty-Six: Fury

The base wasn't much at the surface. It was a clearing with boggy ground marred by tire tracks. It was a few rudimentary concrete buildings, weathered and eaten by lichen and moss. We trod our way through the central circle, and I could feel the heat of snipers trained on us and lookouts on raised sentry-posts.

"Have you guys even been out to Belgium before?" The junior agent chirped merrily as ever. He had a spring in his step; I'd never seen anyone so pleased to be abroad in the freezing cold.

A few of us shook our heads, but James did all the nattering - making us all seem a little less like communist puppets. All that was needed was a slight accent-bleed or syntax-stumble to give away our true identities; and I didn't trust myself to speak.

We were led into bleak building that resembled barracks. We came to steel door with a hidden panel. The young American slid away the cover and quickly input ten digits with a flourish. The reinforced steel door slid side to unveil an elevator.

"After you..." Phil cooed, jiggling his head happily as he permitted us entrance to the high-security premises. If only he knew he was letting in the most highly-skilled USSR agents that our government had - he wouldn't be so smug then.

We were all crammed tightly into the lift, shoulder to shoulder. I hadn't been pressed so close to James since we'd been in... Well, relationship is too farfetched a word. My face was practically planted in his chest and I felt my face heat with ignominy whilst my stomach jerked with repugnance. All the while, Yelena was draped on him like a second skin.

Sensing my discontent, Alexi grumbled an apology and wriggled between the two of us. He snapped me a wink and was flush chest-to-chest with James.

The S.H.I.E.L.D agent prodded a button and he took us down, listening to the clicking and rattling as the lift cranked down. The brakes made alarming scraping sounds and the whole canister shook. I felt my ears pop as we dropped such a significant distance.

After the longest minute of my life, being suffocated like I was wearing a corset, the doors prized open to unveil the thrumming military base.

It was like a colony of ants, the underground base looked to have miles of tunnels and personnel dashed around in flocks - engineers working on the piping that was affixed to every walls like the veins of the body of the base, soldiers charging around in troupes; strides matched perfectly and go-fors traversing lonesomely with files tucked under their arms.

I couldn't help but immediately make comparisons to the water-logged corridors that I called my home. This place was lit decently, the floors were fitted with panels rather than grates, and it had ventilation.

"Welcome to Able Archer," Phil announced, striding out into the corridor amongst the hecticness. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way to the central communication room - I've a conference call with President Reagan to take..." And he tittered like it was a joke.

That left us to find our way through the base with all of its blaring sirens and glaring lights. It was like some ridiculous game, trying to dodge the swarms of people bombing down corridors at us.

As we made our way conspicuously through the base - the only people not running like it was the end of the world - we observed the signs flashing all around the base. It appeared that all of the rumours were true. 'DEFCON 1' was in bolded black letters on a white background.

Some followed signs that read 'control room' whilst others splintered off to the 'nuclear warheads'.

Now, I'd never been one to truly believe in our cause, in all of the conspiracies they spoon-fed us. I'd never really believed in the authority of the KGB or even the USSR supremacy. I'd never really digested the propaganda with belief it was genuine. But from the moment I locked eyes on that sign and saw the armies of men flocking in that direction it suddenly became clear that there was a very real threat to the USSR.