Textbook-Perfect Coordination

The footsteps drew closer.

"Tap, tap, tap..."

Heavy and rhythmic, they were the distinctive echoes of German military boots striking concrete. In this underground corridor, where nothing broke the deathly silence except dripping pipes and the distant hum of machinery, the sound was amplified several times over, like Death's pendulum, striking Chu Hang squarely on the heart again and again.

He crouched low like a cat preparing to hunt, keeping himself tightly hidden behind a pile of miscellaneous items covered by a heavy tarp. Every muscle in his body had tensed unconsciously, like a string pulled to its limit. He could even hear his accelerated heartbeat, made thunderous by the Super-Soldier Serum-enhanced hearing.

Honestly, was he scared?

A few minutes ago, when he had just crawled out of that stinking sewer, he had definitely been terrified. But now, that fear had been replaced by something far hotter.

It was a strange feeling mixed with tension, excitement, and a faint bloodthirsty impulse.

What the hell was this lineup?

He glanced to his left. Steve Rogers, Captain America, the peak of human physical ability, a tactical master who could turn hand-to-hand combat into an art form, a living legend. He crouched in the shadows, seeming to blend into the darkness itself. Only those blue eyes, still bright in the dim light, calmly watched the direction of the approaching sounds. It was absolute focus, the confidence of someone with complete control over the battlefield.

Then he looked to his right. Logan, Wolverine, an old monster who had lived for decades, perhaps centuries—a mutant with beastly instincts and an immortal body. His posture was far less refined. He was practically lying on the ground, his body rising and falling slightly, an incredibly faint predatory growl rumbling from his throat. The ever-present cigar clenched between his teeth was nearly bitten through, while undisguised primal bloodlust flickered in his brown eyes.

Then there was himself. Chu Hang took a deep breath, feeling the new strength surging endlessly through every limb and bone. The Super-Soldier Serum had brought him more than strength and speed; it had remade him from the ground up. He could clearly sense the flow of his blood, hear every beat of his heart, and smell the complicated mixture of motor oil, rust, and food scraps drifting from afar. His brain was like an overclocked supercomputer, coolly and efficiently processing the vast amount of information delivered by his five senses.

With a team like this, they were dealing with two Hydra patrol soldiers who sounded distracted and were probably still complaining about the food?

This was no longer using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. This was bringing an aircraft carrier to blow up a fishpond.

So Chu Hang was not afraid. He was merely nervous—the kind of nerves an elementary school student might feel before performing on stage for the first time. He felt like a rookie tagging along with two legendary veterans to scope out the territory, terrified that he might mess up somewhere and embarrass them.

The voices of the two Hydra soldiers were already close. They were speaking German, and Chu Hang could not understand a single word, but that did not stop him from judging their condition by their tones. One voice was lazy, weary, and impatient. The other kept complaining about something, speaking quickly and overflowing with negative emotion.

Chu Hang's mind raced: two targets, relaxed emotional state, extremely low vigilance. Threat level: zero.

The moment the shadows of those two unlucky men appeared around the corner, Steve, who had stood motionless like a statue, moved.

His movements were light and slow, yet filled with a unique sense of rhythm.

First, he extended one finger, perfectly steady in the dim light. He pointed to himself, then toward the corridor, silently mouthing, "One."

Then his gaze turned to Logan. There was nothing in those blue eyes but a pure tactical order. He likewise raised a finger and pointed in another direction, mouthing, "Two."

Finally, his gaze settled on Chu Hang. In that instant, Chu Hang felt as though a sleeping lion had fixed its eyes on him. A powerful pressure bore down on him, but there was even more unquestionable trust in that gaze. Steve did not signal a number. Instead, he pointed toward both ends of the corridor, then pointed at his own ear.

The meaning could not have been clearer.

He, Steve Rogers, would deal with the first one.

Logan would deal with the second.

And Chu Hang's most important mission was to use his unmatched superhuman hearing as the team's ears, keeping watch on their surroundings and ensuring that nothing unexpected happened during the few seconds they made their move.

Chu Hang understood instantly. A surge of heat rose from his chest and spread through his entire body. He nodded heavily, his eyes firm.

In that moment, the nervousness of his first real mission vanished without a trace, replaced by indescribable excitement and a powerful sense of belonging.

So he was not just here to make up the numbers.

So even in a team made up of legends, he was an indispensable part!

Those two unfortunate Hydra soldiers knew nothing of the disaster about to descend upon them. One seemed to be bragging about stealing a sausage from the Kitchen last night, while the other cursed him enviously. Neither noticed that, less than three meters away in the shadows, three apex predators had already bared their fangs.

The instant the two men walked side by side past the pile of clutter, completely exposing their unguarded backs.

Steve and Logan moved!

Those were not movements a human could make.

They were like two prehistoric cheetahs suddenly pouncing from the darkness—silent, yet fast as lightning!

Chu Hang's eyes could barely keep up, even though his dynamic vision had already been enhanced by the serum to an unbelievable degree.

In his vision, Steve's figure became a stretched blue blur. In a flash, he was pressed against the back of the soldier on the left. One large, corded hand clamped over the man's mouth and nose like a precise iron vise before he could make a sound. The soldier's cry of alarm had only just reached his throat before it was forcibly smothered.

At the same time, Steve's other arm coiled around the man's neck like an iron python, carrying a cold, cutting force. He lifted his body with the motion, then violently twisted his arm sideways and backward!

Crack!

An exceptionally soft yet crystal-clear snap of breaking bone rang abruptly through the dim corridor. To Chu Hang's enhanced hearing, it sounded like a dry branch breaking right beside his ear.

The Hydra soldier's body stiffened violently, then crumpled limply like a rag doll with its bones removed. Steve pulled him smoothly into the deeper shadows without making a sound.

The entire process flowed like water, filled with a violent kind of beauty—so clean and efficient that it sent chills down the spine.

Logan, on the other hand, had a completely different style.

If Steve's attack was a textbook-perfect precision assassination, Logan's was pure, unvarnished savage violence.

He lunged out almost at the same moment as Steve. He had no intention of covering anyone's mouth. Instead, he chose a more direct and brutal approach.

The instant he charged, his body dropped sharply, his shoulder driving forward like an enraged bull as he slammed into the complaining soldier's back.

Bang!

With a dull impact that made teeth ache, the poor man flew forward like a kite with its string cut. The air was instantly crushed from his lungs, and his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

But it was not over yet.

Before the man hit the ground, Logan followed like a shadow. One hand seized the back of his neck like an eagle's claw, while the elbow of his other arm tore through the air as it smashed viciously upward into the back of the man's head.

Thud!

Another dull impact rang out. The soldier could not even manage a groan. His head lolled weakly to one side, and he passed out on the spot.

Logan lifted him one-handed like a dead dog and casually tossed him behind the pile of clutter.

From the moment they attacked to the end of the fight and the cleanup, Chu Hang counted silently. Four seconds.

No more, no less. Exactly four seconds.

Chu Hang stared from behind cover, dumbfounded. His heart even skipped a beat.

Holy hell!

This... this was what professionalism looked like!

He had watched countless spy assassination scenes in movies in his previous life, but only after witnessing this art-like two-man hunt firsthand did he realize that compared to these two, the movies were child's play!

Steve's calmness and precision. Logan's savagery and efficiency.

One was a scalpel, the other a splitting axe. Two entirely different styles, yet both had achieved the same perfect result.

Chu Hang swallowed unconsciously, then hurriedly shook off his scattered thoughts and forced himself to fulfill his duty. He closed his eyes again and pushed his hearing to the limit, carefully scanning every corner of the corridor like radar. He did not even overlook the ventilation ducts in the ceiling.

Good. No new footsteps, no alarms, nothing.

That brief yet deadly clash had been like a pebble tossed into a still lake, disturbing no one.

He lightly shook his head at Steve and Logan, who had finished dealing with the "trash" and turned back toward him, using an internationally recognized gesture to indicate that everything was safe.

Steve gave him an approving look. There was a faint, almost imperceptible smile in his eyes, as though he were saying, Good job, kid.

Logan merely snorted a dismissive puff of hot air through his nose, but Chu Hang noticed that his constantly tense shoulders seemed to relax slightly. He began roughly searching the two unlucky men on his own. Before long, he found several spare magazines and two German stick grenades, which he unceremoniously stuffed into his pockets.

Chu Hang followed suit and went over to search them as well. When his hand touched one of the corpses, still warm, his heart gave a jolt. But he quickly suppressed that discomfort, removed a fully loaded magazine from the man's weapon belt, and hung another grenade from his own waist.

Even a mosquito had meat on its bones. In a place like this, any resource could save a life at a critical moment. This was war, not a dinner party.

After a brief rest, Steve did not say another word. He simply pointed at the rusty metal staircase leading to the next level and gestured for them to continue.

The three of them became ghosts melting into the darkness again, moving silently along the cold wall toward the staircase.

After that textbook-level display of perfect coordination, Chu Hang's confidence grew by far more than a little. His steps became steadier and more assured. As he walked, he listened intently to everything around him, willingly serving as a living, mobile radar for the two veterans.

Before long, they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The staircase was an old hollow iron-frame structure, its steps covered in iron plates with anti-slip grooves. It was easy to imagine that the moment someone stepped on it, it would make a huge clanging sound.

Steve stopped and looked back at Chu Hang, his eyes full of inquiry.

Chu Hang understood immediately. He closed his eyes once more, focusing all his attention on his ears as he carefully listened to the sounds coming from above.

Unlike the nearly abandoned maintenance passage below, the upper level was clearly much more "lively."

He could hear a continuous low hum, the distinctive sound of countless powerful currents running through massive transformers. He could also hear the regular clicking of huge machine gears meshing and turning.

Beyond that, there were footsteps. Not two sets, but at least four distinct sets moving back and forth in different locations, forming a crisscrossing patrol network.

"The power distribution room is up there." Chu Hang lowered his voice until it was barely more than a breath. "I can hear strong electrical currents and transformers operating. But there are more guards too—at least four patrolmen. Two are conducting regular patrols along the outer walkway. One is mostly stationary, probably in front of some control console. The fourth... his footsteps are erratic, with no pattern. He might be supervising, or he might just be wandering around."

Steve nodded without showing much surprise. The power distribution room was the energy heart of the entire factory. Naturally, its defenses would be tight.

He looked up toward the stairwell above, where a massive square iron plate sealed the opening shut, leaving only a narrow crack through which light could pass.

"Looks like we'll have to give them a big surprise." A cold, confident curve lifted at the corner of Steve's mouth.