168 Hours Chapter 9
Epilogue
Southwestern Crimea, 50 km South of Balaklava
Midnight
Brock's side itched. It had, ever since the surgery. The doctors and techs had looked into it repeatedly, but could never find a cause. Ultimately, they told him it was psychosomatic. He didn't like that answer, but there wasn't much he could do about it.
The physical therapist had suggested that it might go away if he simply stopped focusing on it, so he had. In the months since he'd been released from observation, Brock had focused on rebuilding himself and his former team.
He'd suffered burns over a large portion of his body, and well as severe internal injuries when the Helicarrier had crashed into The Triskelion. When the doctors reached the point where conventional medicine could do nothing more than keep him comfortable, they'd sought more extreme measures. By that time, S.HI.E.L.D.'s remnants had broken up Cybertek and its American subsidiaries-and specifically the Deathlok program which had been his only hope of a significant recovery.
Brock had been forced to go further afield, to the source of the program that John Garrett had nurtured for twenty years. That led him to the Ukraine, and Kronas Oil's former CEO Aleksander Lukin.
Lukin's HYDRA cell had first repaired Garrett after his near death in Sarajevo. Garrett had a personal interest in furthering the cybernetic advancements of the program, and he had helped expand it through "Project: Centipede" into a worldwide effort. Centipede was defunct-as was Garrett-but Lukin's original research facility had survived, and Brock was its latest success story.
Months of hard work, and not an insignificant amount of pain, had paid off. Brock had his full range of movement back, his artificial lung was equal to his original, and thanks to a few extra enhancements, he was almost twice as strong physically. He no longer needed the bulky oxygen filtering mask, though he still carried it as a precaution. Skin grafts had repaired some of his burnt flesh, leaving only his face scarred, and a distinctive X-shaped pattern across his torso. His colleagues had taken to calling him "Crossbones."
Though initially offensive, the name had grown on him.
Brock's second objective-gathering his scattered S.T.R.I.K.E. team members, who had either gone underground or shifted into other HYDRA cells after the battle in Washington-was the easier of the two. Most of those who had survived were eager to re-enlist. A few had found safer jobs in other HYDRA organizations. His hotheaded but trustworthy second, Rollins, had been the first to return.
His reconstituted team had spent the previous six months doing odd jobs for HYDRA's leadership, mainly Lukin, Strucker, and Whitehall. After years of hunting down terrorists for Fury, now Brock and his squad hunted former-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and targets of special interest.
It was one of those that held Brock's attention now.
"You are up late, Mr. Rumlow," Lukin said as he entered the study. Cane clicking across the floor, the white-haired octogenarian shuffled toward his desk. Brock straightened to attention, showing respect to the man whose technological breakthroughs had saved his life.
"Yes, sir. I thought you might want to hear the news."
Lukin smiled easily as he sank into his cushioned chair. "I believe everyone heard Zola's announcement. Has it been confirmed?"
"Not directly," Rumlow replied, shaking his head. "But, we do have new evidence. A hard drive was taken from the vault in Washington last year. We received a homing signal from it earlier this week. Someone finally powered it up and accessed the files."
"Are we certain?" Lukin asked. It was hard to gauge the old man's interest. He played his cards close to the proverbial vest. However, he always insisted on firsthand confirmation of any lead, and Rumlow's agents had returned earlier that evening with just that.
"Montclair, New Jersey. A boy by the name of Riddley had the drive for at least two days."
Lukin grinned. "Excellent. He really is quite resourceful. Always was."
Rumlow knew he wasn't talking about the boy. "Do you want me to take a team to New Jersey?"
"No," Lukin shook his head. "It is too late. He will not be there, and the boy cannot have uncovered any information that would be of relevance to anyone else."
Rumlow activated a small digital map, highlighting the locations known so far. He pointed at each. "New Jersey, then Africa, and we got a hit on a keyword search performed in an internet cafe in Aden."
Lukin leaned forward, examining the display with his good eye, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"Do you know what this means, Mr. Rumlow? Joyous news, indeed." Lukin sighed happily. "Our Winter Soldier is coming home."
END
A/N: S.T.R.I.K.E. was Rumlow's team in the film. It stands for "Special Tactical Reserve for International Key Emergencies." To paraphrase Grant Ward, someone really wanted it to spell "Strike."
Rollins was Rumlow's second in the film. He is the one who asked "is he wearing a parachute?" at the beginning when Cap jumped out of the jet.
It seemed logical to connect Rumlow/Crossbones with the Deathlok project from AoS. It has the added benefit of making him more intimidating to our heroes.
Comic fans will recognize the old man here.