Secret Origins: Rise of the Winter Soldier

[Trav McBang!]

Secret Origins: Rise of the Winter Soldier
RP #1 (of 2) vs The Illuminati

A Brief History Lesson:

In the year 1970, the forces of East and West Germany combined to form an underground military operation known as The Krieg. After a dozen years, the Commander Josef Erskine died. In wake of this, Lukas Reinhardt took reigns of the organization despite strong opposition from Wolfgang Kohler. Reinhardt did not turn Kohler away entirely, choosing to make the more ruthless soldier his second in command. As his first act as commander of the Krieg, Lukas Reinhardt created Operation: Maschinen, abducting two foreign children and raising them to be Germany’s next great soldiers.

Kohler did not see eye-to-eye with Reinhardt in this regard, as he felt that German-born Christoph Lindemann was more deserving of the Krieg’s attention than two children born in third world countries. Lindemann fell out of favor with Reinhardt during the abduction of the child Somba, leaving the commander to place Lindemann out of field action indefinitely.

Eight years have passed since Commander Reinhardt took Lindemann out of field action. Despite a relatively spotless record, the massacre of civilians during Somba’s extraction seems to have permanently spoiled the Commander in regards to the once promising soldier. With his potential being wasted, Lindemann finally took matters into his own hands.

Munich, Germany
August 22, 1990

Lukas Reinhardt raised a cigar to his lips and took a slow drag from it. He blew the smoke into the warm summer’s breeze, watching it waft away. The Commander turned his gaze to a nearby playground where his daughter, Kaja, was playing with other children from the neighborhood. A bemused smile spread across Lukas’s lips, watching the daughter of the Krieg’s commander associating with the sons and daughters of welders, factory workers, and mere salesmen. Although the pressures of each were vastly different, it seemed that all had found their way to the park to enjoy one of the fleeting weekends of summer. Lukas Reinhardt approached his wife, Malene, from behind and embraced her in a loving hug. “We’ll long for these moments after she’s grown…” Lukas softly whispered as he pointed towards his daughter.

“I know,” Malene cooed in agreement. The happy couple took a moment to watch their daughter, the same proud smile fixed on both of their faces.

---

A half block away from the serene park, a fresh faced young soldier sat silently in his quarters, twelve stories higher than the laughter and joy. In a room shrouded by darkness, young Boris Makarov was meticulously cleaning the pieces of a disassembled Dragunov SVD. A faint grunt of approval came from his lips and he attached the scope to his rifle. He knew that this job could potentially make or break his career with the Russian military. He was also aware that his superiors were expecting failure. The source of intelligence for this mission was not to be trusted. The only reason that Makarov was given this assignment was because he was expendable.

“Has he arrived?” The voice came from behind Makarov.

Without turning around, the shrewd Russian responded in a gruff tone, barely above a whisper. “He has. Good work.”

The man behind Makarov walked closer and placed a hand on the young soldier’s shoulder. “It is my pleasure, comrade.” The word ‘comrade’ sounded like more of a sleight than a compliment, but Makarov merely shrugged it off. He looked up at his source of intelligence, a man whose hair line was beginning to recede and whose beard is beginning to show gray. Christoph Lindemann took a seat next to Makarov and peered down at the families enjoying their summer afternoon.

“Forgive me if I am being too forward,” Makarov mumbled as he began to reassemble his rifle. He peered at Lindemann, who offered a passive wave to assure the Russian that he didn’t mind. “But why would you betray the hope of your own military? How could you feed intelligence to the Russians? Are you not ashamed of what you’re doing to the nation of Germany?” Makarov paused momentarily, turning to face the German soldier.

“You’re a young man,” Lindemann chuckled. “I do not expect you to fully understand the situation.” Lindemann turned back to the window and looked out over the German skyline. “The wrongs that have been done to me must be atoned for.” The German took off his cap and tossed it onto a nearby table. The breeze carried the distinctive odor of alcohol towards Makarov’s nose.

“I am not that young,” Makarov protested, despite barely being 20 years old. Lindemann scoffed, but Boris pressed his side of the argument. “While it is true that I haven’t seen as many years as most distinguished soldiers, my eyes have viewed far more than most normal men have seen.”

“There’s your mistake, Comrade Makarov,” Lindemann whispered back, his eyes fixated on his motherland. “You must learn to stop comparing yourself to normal men. We, my friend, are cut from the same cloth. We were born with a need to serve our country in any way possible, am I correct?” Lindemann paused, giving Makarov a chance to nod his head. “What if I told you that a minor mistake, something so unimportant, would cause your country to lose faith in you?”

Makarov sat speechless. He had not been able to educate himself on Lindemann, as the records of the Krieg had been hidden well since their inception. The older German soldier reached into his pocket and pulled from it a flask of scotch. With a sullen sigh, Lindemann threw the liquor down his throat. With a slight cough, he held out the flask for Makarov, who politely declined. “Smart man,” Lindemann said with a laugh. “You don’t want to blur your vision for a mission such as this.” Lindemann twisted the cap back on and pocketed the small container. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “But you know, scotch is not all that can blur a man’s vision.”

“There is also vodka,” Makarov said in a serious tone, the dryness of his humor not lost on Lindemann. The German chuckled at the Russian’s love of their hallowed potato water. Makarov, sensing a humanity to Lindemann that he had not expected, decided to make another quip. “Or perhaps Tabun gas?”

Lindemann shook his head with laughter. “Very well,” he admitted, amused by the quick wit of Makarov. “But I was referring to anger. Tell me, Boris, do you know anger? Are you angry with the German man that you are mere moments away from killing in cold blood?”

The question caught Boris Makarov off guard. The stocky Russian sat the pieces of the Dragunov down and sank back into his wooden chair to ponder. The secretive organization of the Germans moderately annoyed him. Being placed as the trigger man in this operation depressed him slightly, as it showed him that he was expendable. But anger? There was no anger in the Russian’s heart. “No,” Makarov confirmed after several moments passed. He shook his head, meeting the stare of the German operative. “I feel nothing.”

“You are a better man than I am, Makarov,” the German assured him. “I would assume that your curiosity wants to know why I, Christoph Lindemann, am now on a side of this war that will only harm my homeland?” Lindemann turned back to the window and peered out. “How I could do something that would make the forces of my country weep?”

Makarov nodded his head. Despite their brief meeting, he felt that Lindemann was a man not unlike himself. To be able to filter intelligence past the German defenses and to the Russian military, it would take a skillful man. However, Lindemann seemed to be a man who had not seen war in several years. Why? That was the question that Makarov could not quite put a finger on.

“Years ago, I was a young man not unlike you, Makarov. A great young military mind, but deemed ultimately expendable by my own government?” Makarov turned away from Lindemann, focusing on his rifle instead. He did not want to risk exposing himself to the German. “I can see it in your eyes. Trust me, comrade, after this mission is a success…you will never be deemed expendable again. You will be the great Boris Makarov…the man who dealt the killing blow to the German military. You will have more commendations than one could wear.” This drew a smirk from the stoic Russian’s mouth. “Things were not so fortunate for me…” The German looked back down at the park, glaring across the grass at Lukas Reinhardt; the man who cost him everything. The memory of Samoa was permanently imbedded in Lindemann’s head.

“I was given a simple task,” Christoph recalled. “In its simplest terms, it was a kidnapping. Lukas Reinhardt did not even trust me with such a menial task. It was my mentor, Wolfgang Kohler, who was the only reason I was involved with the mission.” Lindemann turned his attention back to Makarov, losing focus of his story for a moment. “Do you have a mentor?”

“No,” Makarov answered. “I have never been interested in the politics involved with promotion. If I do my job to the best of my abilities, nothing should keep me from achieving the respect of the country.”

“You’d think so…” Lindemann responded, a hint of sarcasm present in his voice. “After today, you will never need one. Men and women alike will be coming to you, pleading for you to mentor them…to pass down your knowledge. Funny how that works, isn’t it?” He began to reach for his flask once more, but stopped himelf short.

“Funny?” Makarov questioned, not understanding Lindemann’s train of thought.

“Your knowledge? Ha. The reason people will assume that you have knowledge to begin with is because you were unimportant enough to be given this mission, Boris. Your future relies solely on the validity of the information supplied by a German, does it not?” Makarov did not budge, not wanting to give Lindemann the pleasure of holding so much power over the young Russian. “It matters not,” Lindemann waved a hand dismissively. Despite his knowing chuckle, Lindemann decided that it was best to not press the matter. “Where was I?”

“You were discussing a mission that you were nearly left off of,” Makarov confirmed, snapping the final part of his rifle back in place. He raised the gun and placed it into a fixture on the window sill. “And the reason you turned on your own country.” The last sentence came out with a sneer, as Lindemann could tell that Makarov could not fathom why a man would abandon his homeland.

“Ah, yes,” the German recalled. Lindemann took another deep breath and his shoulders began to sag, making his appearance look far older and worn down than he truly was. “The mission. Anger, comrade, in a brief moment…that’s what caused this descent to what I am now.” The German leaned back, motioning to his aging appearance and stench of alcohol. “As the mission went sour, I used my training and decided that a few civilian lives did not outweigh the importance of the mission. Commander Reinhardt did not like that…but I suspect my allegiance to Kohler played a role in the punishment.”

“What?” Makarov scoffed at the notion. “You were punished because you placed the mission above civilian lives?” The Russian shook his head in disbelief. “You would have gone far in the Russian military, comrade. I am sorry that the German military abides by such morals.” Makarov smirked proudly. He was glad that he was born into an understanding nation.

“Don’t be,” Lindemann assured him. “It’s merely a façade that must be enforced due to the sins of our fathers. However, there comes a point where keeping a façade harms the organization itself, don’t you agree?” Boris offered a weak shrug. “For eight years, I have been held out of the field. My suggestions to enhance missions have done little to alter Reinhardt’s distaste for me. I am nothing more than an old man in a job that offers no more advancement. For a minor mistake, a harsh punishment cast me down to insignificance. Never mind the mission being a success. Do you see now, Boris Makarov? Do you see why I chose to betray my country?”

Makarov peered up from his rifle and looked Lindemann in the eyes. Despite the German army uniform, Makarov saw a man who had been broken a long time ago; punished for doing everything he could to complete a mission…to help his country. Clearing his throat, he offered a firm nod to the German. It seemed as if words would simply be wasted at this time.

“I did not betray my country,” Lindemann muttered, dismissing his earlier claim. “My country betrayed me years ago. It is only now that I return the favor.”

Christoph Lindemann stood up, placing his hat back atop his head. He cast one more icy glare to the park below, where Lukas Reinhardt embraced his wife in a hug. With a scoff, Lindemann patted Makarov on the back. “I must go, you understand?” Makarov nodded and turned his attention back to his Dragunov. “Remember; Reinhardt wears body armor at all times. Aim for the head, Boris.” Lindemann turned and walked away, pausing only momentarily at the door to offer his parting words. “You will now be given the respect that I never had, young soldier. This is my gift to you. One simple shot will give rise to a Russian hero. Good day, comrade.” This time, the word ‘comrade’ seemed sincere as Lindemann marched out the door.

Makarov took a deep breath and readied his rifle…taking aim at commander of the German Krieg.

---

“Lunch is ready,” Malene Reinhardt informed her husband. “Do you want to go get Kaja?”

Lukas stood up, but decided better of it. He sat back down, a smile spreading across his face. “Malene,” he said with a smile. “It seems as if I carry that girl everywhere. While being her father means everything to me, I must make sacrifices. One day, she’s going to have to learn to carry herself.”

Malene leaned over and gave her husband a kiss on his forehead. “That she will. I’ll go and fetch her.”

“Okay,” Lukas said with a knowing nod. “But no carrying.”

“No carrying,” Malene confirmed as she walked towards the playground, calling out her daughter’s name.

Lukas sat back and watched the events unfold before him. Kaja reached her arms upwards, trying to goad her mother into carrying her. Malene responded with a quaint laugh and rubbed her back, mockingly showing Kaja that she was too heavy to carry. At first, Kaja looked disappointed…but after a few more words from her mother, she displayed a proud smile. Hand in hand they walked, both of Lukas’s girls. The Commander’s lips turned upwards, forming a huge, proud smile.

…the Krieg’s Commander lurched forward and fell to the grass. Malene’s eyes opened wide as she rushed to her husband, tears flowing from the corners of her eyes. She hit her knees and took Lukas’s head in her hands. It was then that she noticed the holes piercing through both sides of his skull. She lowered her face down, touching foreheads with her husband. Unable to scream, Malene Reinhardt wept silently in the crowded park.

Ten feet away, Kaja Reinhardt fell to her knees. Unlike her mother, she was unable to contain her shriek. [/font]

In life, there are events that can shape the course of a being. With that one bullet, three lives were forever altered on that day.

Christoph Lindemann, filled with grief over his betrayal, fled the country. He would spend the rest of his days in a drunken stupor, fighting with other vagrants and trying to fill the hole in his heart that was once occupied with pride over helping his homeland. He would not meet his end for several more years, eventually paying for his crimes against Germany.

Boris Makarov, once the expendable soldier, became a military hero in Russia. The assassination of Lukas Reinhardt opened doors to bigger, more successful missions. A great military mind, the intel of Christoph Lindemann allowed one bullet to bring more opportunities than Makarov could have ever imagined. That bullet gave rise to the Winter Soldier.

And because of one bullet on that August day, Kaja Reinhardt learned to carry herself.