Echoes

One

As the soldier breathed in fresh air, the more his mind and vision cleared. Not fully, only enough for him to be able to function. He still felt terrible. How was he still alive? A miracle maybe, but a miracle at the wrong time could also be a curse. 

For he felt as if his breath were unnatural and so was the beating of his own heart. It would have been more natural to have been a frozen corpse at the bottom of a valley. 

Alas, he could not complain about life, for life had not proven to be a curse yet. But he felt as if his body had been torn apart and put together again. He lay in the casket for a few moments, groaning, trying to find the nerve to raise himself. 

He found that he still had a metal arm. Yes, it was real, it was all too real. It was cold and lifeless, and it drew all the warmth out of him. The room he was in was much like a prison cell, bare and simple. And like his arm, it too drew out warmth and life from him.

Then he heard a voice near him. A foreign tongue he could not understand. The soldier's eyes snapped open. "Get up, soldier." The man who spoke was of medium stature and wore a Nazi officer's uniform. His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his eyes were cold and hard. 

"Who are you?" the soldier rasped.

The officer gave no answer. The did not look at the soldier, but rather above him. "You will do great things. You will help change the world. You will be our biggest asset and our greatest weapon. Now kill me." The officer drew his gun and set it on the table. 

The words were so unexpected that they hit the soldier like a bullet. Yes, he had killed before, and yes, this man was dressed as an enemy, but he could the one who had saved the soldier's life. 

But, what if this was a test? Not from the enemy, but from his own commanders? The soldier approached the gun. What if it was a fake? What if this was a test of loyalties? 

The soldier hesitated. He looked up at the officer, whose eyes betrayed no emotion. The officer had not proven himself worthy of death - not to the soldier's knowledge at least. The men he had killed before were certain enemies. This man could be innocent. 

He let the gun clatter to the floor. " I will not kill you." Had he passed a test? Had he failed one?

The officer said nothing. The silence was unbearable. Yet the soldier did not dare to break it. In one swift movement, the officer pulled out another gun from his holster and fired it at the soldier's leg. Boom.

The soldier screamed in pain. Blinding, white-hot pain. Warm blood soaked his pants and seeped onto the floor. His hands became stained red as he pressed them to his wound, trying in vain to lessen the flow of blood. 

All the while, the officer stood by, expressionless, reciting words that seemed all too familiar to the soldier. The words from the Hydra base. He did not understand them, but as he lay there, shivering on the floor, they only seemed to hold malice. 

The officer spoke in English once more. "Kill me."

The soldier knew it would be better for him to obey, but he could not bring himself to do it. Previously, his other thoughts behind the trigger were casualties of war. This was murder. "No," he whispered. 

The officer began reciting the words again as the soldier lay helpless on the floor. The words worked their way into his mind. He could never forget them. The officer advanced, loaded his gun and fired. Boom.

The soldier screamed again as new pain surrounded him. The officer's face was as hard as stone, uncaring as the lonely mountains themselves. 

"Hail Hydra!" the officer chanted before bringing the muzzle of his gun to his forehead and pulling the trigger. The gun fell to the ground and so did the officer. Dead, empty eyes and all.

 Hail Hydra.