Western Front, France.
Mud and the smell of gunpowder were the constants here.
A young soldier pulled a folded, frayed copy of Stars and Stripes from inside his jacket.
On the front page was a man in a red, white, and blue skintight suit, holding a round shield.
He wore a radiant smile, with cheering crowds and waving flags behind him.
"Hey, look, it's Captain America! My sister said in her letter that she saw the captain with her own eyes. He bent a steel beam with his bare hands!"
"My mom spent all her milk money on war bonds, just because the captain said on the radio that every penny was a bullet fired at the fascists."
The soldiers' faces shone with a fervor bordering on worship.
That fervor was utterly different from the awe and fear with which they regarded another "god."
Not far away, Soldier Boy leaned against a destroyed Tiger tank, polishing his shield with a blank expression.
Every word of the soldiers' conversation reached his superhuman ears.
Captain America?
A monkey in a costume, hopping around on stage?
His story, the fairy tale of that scrawny kid gaining power, was spreading among the soldiers faster than a virus.
It was even overshadowing the record of victories he had just written in blood!
Soldier Boy's hands paused.
He recalled what Lynn had said to him before leaving.
"A bigger stage."
But now, the spotlight on that stage was shining on someone else.
He was the hero who had crushed German positions with his own body amid a storm of bullets and smashed enemy heads with his shield.
He was the god of war whose name struck terror into the enemy and brought Allied soldiers to their knees in prayer!
Why?
Why should a performer who stayed safely in the rear, selling smiles, share in his glory?
No, that wasn't sharing.
It was theft.
Crack.
Without realizing it, he pressed harder as he polished the shield, leaving dents in its sturdy edge.
A nameless anger quietly kindled in his chest.
Allied frontline headquarters.
Colonel Phillips was laying out the next phase of the battle plan, spittle flying as he spoke.
Soldier Boy sat at the head of the long table, idly playing with a captured Luger pistol.
Ever since Lynn had left, Phillips had held this man in the utmost awe and fear.
He was terrified that one wrong word would send his head flying like a baseball.
The atmosphere in the meeting was tense and oppressive.
"...In short, those Hydra dolls have put us under tremendous psychological pressure, and the soldiers' morale is very low."
A staff officer concluded with a worried look.
Colonel Phillips cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood.
"It's not all bad news."
He picked up a report from the rear and forced a smile onto his face.
"War bond sales back home have been breaking records, all thanks to Captain America's nationwide tour. Public enthusiasm is at an all-time high, and our supply lines will receive a tremendous boost."
He even showed everyone a newspaper photo of Captain America with evident interest.
"Look at this young man. He's driven the entire United States wild. He represents hope, and that's exactly what we need most right now..."
Bang-!!!
A deafening crash rang out.
Phillips fell silent mid-sentence.
Everyone looked toward the source of the sound in terror.
The long conference table in front of Soldier Boy, made of thick oak, had split cleanly down the middle.
Wood chips flew everywhere.
He stood up and looked down at Phillips, whose expression had turned grim.
His eyes no longer held their usual defiance and disdain, but a rage and killing intent cold enough to freeze a man.
"I'm here, crushing Hydra scum one by one like bugs."
"And you're praising a coward who sells his ass on stage in a skintight suit?"
Every officer froze, forgetting even to breathe.
Looking at the man radiating a terrifying aura, they felt as though they were facing a prehistoric beast that had been driven into a fury.
Cold sweat broke out on Colonel Phillips's forehead.
He could sense that the almost tangible killing intent had locked onto him completely.
If he dared say "yes," his head would meet the same fate as the table the next second.
"Are you saying..."
Soldier Boy advanced step by step, his shadow completely enveloping Phillips.
"...a hero who kills enemies is worth less than a performer?"
His hand was already resting on Phillips's shoulder.
Phillips felt his shoulder blade groan under the strain, and the intense pain nearly made him faint.
He had no doubt that this madman really would tear him apart alive in front of everyone.
"No... of course not..."
The instinct to survive forced a few dry syllables from his throat.
"Soldier Boy... you... you're our one and only god of war..."
Soldier Boy stared at him for several seconds, as though studying a bug he could crush at any moment.
Finally, he snorted and let go.
"Tell Lynn."
He turned, kicked open the headquarters door, and walked out without looking back.
"My patience has limits."
Only after he had disappeared from sight did the people in headquarters dare to take deep breaths.
Colonel Phillips touched his shoulder.
It was already black and blue.
Fear after his narrow escape left his whole body trembling uncontrollably.
"The backup transmitter... quick!"
Phillips roared hoarsely at his adjutant.
"Now! Contact that bastard using the highest level of encryption!"
At that moment, Lynn was holding a glass of champagne and considering his plans for his next move.
Captain America's tour had been a resounding success.
The war bond sales were only the most insignificant part of it.
Through the tour, his connections, wealth, and influence were expanding.
That genius Howard had finally lived up to his expectations as well.
Guided by those "manuscripts," he had gradually translated the complete formula for the Super Soldier Serum into "plain language" Lynn could understand.
Everything was going according to his plan.
A secretary in a black suit hurried in and respectfully handed him a freshly decoded message.
"Sir, it came from the European front, with the highest level of encryption."
Lynn took the message.
It contained only one short line.
[The beast is out of its cage. A beast tamer is urgently needed to calm him. Return at once.]
Sender: Phillips.
Lynn looked at the telegram, the smile on his face unchanged.
He held the paper to the nearby candle flame and watched it turn to ash.
Soldier Boy was throwing a tantrum?
This was... wonderful.
A tool could only demonstrate its "user's" value when it was difficult to control.
To him, Colonel Phillips's telegram was not a plea for help.
It was an invitation.
An invitation to go to Europe and collect more payment.
"It seems it's time to see how my other work of art is coming along."
Lynn drained the champagne in his glass.