After Peggy helped him through his troubles, the big-hearted Captain America regained his confidence once again.
After saying goodbye to his former lover, Steve Rogers rode his motorcycle back to the S.H.I.E.L.D.. training base.
As I passed the open-air training ground in Area A, shouts of "Hey ha!" drifted over.
Several muscular young agents were practicing close combat. Their movements were swift and flashy, making a powerful impact in the setting sun, drawing cheers from several civilian staff members nearby.
But in Steve's eyes, these moves were no different from the worst disco in a nightclub.
"That's too much of a move, kid."
Steve stopped and looked at a blond recruit who was covered in sweat.
The recruit had just completed a beautiful roundhouse kick and was basking in his comrades' praise.
"You're raising your leg too high. If your enemy isn't a punching bag, but a desperate thug with a gun, your femoral artery would have been pierced by a bullet within 0.5 seconds of you assuming that position."
"This is the latest Krav Maga, Captain."
The blond recruit wiped his sweat, his eyes filled with respect for a legendary figure as he looked at Steve, but beneath that respect lay an undisguised arrogance.
"This is the latest ' Krav Maga ' fighting system, Captain."
He straightened his chest and answered loudly, wanting everyone to hear his expertise.
"The instructor said that this set of movements, simulated by a supercomputer, can maximize the use of human biomechanics and achieve 120% striking efficiency."
Several other new recruits around him cast approving glances, and some even whispered among themselves.
"The captain's outfit is an antique from World War II; we live in the data age now."
"I heard that none of his missions since his return have been successful..."
Steve didn't argue; he just shook his head and continued walking.
Peggy's words echoed in his mind.
Times have changed, but that doesn't mean things from the past are worthless.
Some principles and tactics are truths won with blood, not probabilities calculated in a laboratory.
" Captain Rogers."
Nick Fury appeared at the end of the corridor at some point, his black leather trench coat gleaming coldly under the light.
"Someone is waiting for you. I think you'll like this surprise."
"If it's a psychologist or a public relations team, then forget it."
"Go check it out, he's in the retro lounge in section B3."
Fury, unusually, didn't have a stern face.
"He smoked an entire box of Cuban cigars while waiting for you, almost triggering the fire alarm."
Unaware of what was going on, Steve pushed open the heavy iron door.
The room was filled with smoke, and the pungent smell of tobacco gave him the illusion of being back in the trenches of 1944.
In the dim light, a burly figure stood with his back to the door, fiddling with an old-fashioned Tom submachine gun.
That iconic bowler hat, and that brown leather jacket that looked like it was about to burst from his muscles, made Steve's eyes well up with tears.
"Damn it, the firing pin on this gun is loose. Are all arms dealers cutting corners these days?"
The man turned around, revealing a thick mustache and wrinkles on his face like dried orange peel, but his eyes remained bright.
" Dugan!?"
Steve sounded somewhat surprised.
I never expected that some of my comrades would still be alive, and that they would be no different from what they were decades ago.
"Looks like you haven't rusted yet, Steve."
Dum Dum - Dugan grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow by tobacco.
"Come here, let me see if you're still as hard as you used to be."
Two men, separated by more than half a century, embraced tightly.
"How could you...?"
" S.H.I.E.L.D.. got some random serums, claiming it was a welfare benefit."
Hearing this, Steve's thoughts suddenly drifted far away. If Peggy had also been injected with this serum, then the two of them...
Dugan nonchalantly sat back on the sofa and poured himself two glasses of whiskey.
"Anyway, I don't want to die in a hospital bed. As long as I can still pull the trigger, I don't want to go to a nursing home and play chess with those old men who only wet their pants."
"I thought you were all dead. Nick Fury didn't tell me you were still alive, and neither did Peggy."
"That old black man is no good. He deliberately stopped me from seeing you. Otherwise, the first thing you'd see when you opened your eyes wouldn't be a pretty little nurse."
That night, the two drank quite a bit of Fury's treasured stock.
We talked about everything from landing craft in Normandy to blizzards in the Alps, from Red Skull's laser gun to the unpalatable luncheon meat in the cafeteria.
Of course, the conversation inevitably turned to that person.
Bucky isn't dead.
Steve stared at the amber liquid in the glass.
He became like that... It's because I couldn't hold onto him.
"Don't wallow in self-pity like a girl, Steve."
Dugan slammed his glass down on the table, spilling wine onto the back of his hand.
"Since that kid's still alive, even if he's mentally damaged, we have to get him back. If it's Hydra or that Shocker thing, we'll blow their lair to smithereens, just like before."
"Just like before..."
Steve repeated the sentence, the confusion in his eyes gradually fading.
Howling Commandos!
Tony Stark is too selfish; that megalomaniac only trusts his Ironhide and is completely unsuitable as a teammate.
To rescue Bucky and to fight Shocker, a monster who doesn't play by the rules, he needs a team that truly belongs to him.
A team that doesn't need to write action reports or wait for authorization, but only charges into battle for its goal.
" Dugan."
Steve stood up; the alcohol hadn't numbed his senses, but instead made him incredibly clear-headed.
"Are you still able to fight?"
"Ha!"
Dugan drew a large-caliber revolver from his waist and skillfully twirled it.
"When I was using this thing, those Joker in tight suits were still wearing diapers."
"I want to rebuild the Howling Commandos."
Steve looked at the yellowed old photograph on the wall.
"Not for S.H.I.E.L.D.., but for ourselves. For Bucky."
Dugan took a puff of his cigar, and smoke billowed from his nostrils.
"That's what I've been waiting to hear, Captain."
Dugan pulled a crumpled list from his pocket and slammed it on the table.
"I haven't been idle these past few years. Most of my old buddies have gone to meet God, but their grandsons and some tough guys I've taken a liking to are still here."
Steve picked up the list, which contained strings of names and brief notes:
Gabe Jones' grandson, a demolition expert, was fired for blowing up his boss's sports car.
A former SEAL Team Six sniper is currently serving time for insubordination.
A three-time underground boxing Champion, skilled in disassembling joints with his bare hands.
"They're all a bunch of troublemakers," Steve laughed. "Just like we were back in the day."
Only a madman can deal with another madman.
Dugan straightened his bowler hat.
When will the recruitment program begin?
"Now."
Steve downed the drink in his glass in one gulp.