Mud splashed up by the wheels smeared the windows.
Soldiers hurried through the Allied forward command headquarters.
Their faces were tense with suppressed anxiety, and even a truck engine backfiring could make them instinctively duck their heads.
Phillips looked paler than the map on his desk.
He seemed to have aged ten years overnight.
When he saw Lynn and Peggy Carter get out of the jeep, he seemed to have found his last lifeline and practically ran to meet them.
"You finally made it."
Lynn looked around. The camp was a mess.
A large, irregular hole had been punched through the wall of a barracks building, and several engineers were patching it up.
Not far away, a Willys jeep twisted into a pretzel had been carelessly abandoned in a corner, its shape possessing a distinctly postmodern aesthetic of violence.
"Looks like our god of war isn't in a very good mood."
Phillips gave a wry smile. His hand trembled as he lit a cigarette, and it took him several strikes to get the match to catch.
"Not in a good mood? He nearly tore my headquarters apart! Now no one dares get within fifty meters of him. Even the cook delivering his meals has to leave the tray at the door and run."
He lowered his voice and leaned close to Lynn's ear, a rush of tobacco-scented breath and anxiety spilling out.
"He's locked himself in the barracks and won't see anyone. All our operational plans have ground to a halt because of him. Lynn, you have to..."
Lynn raised a hand to interrupt him.
"Colonel, he's a weapon, not your soldier. What you need for a weapon is an instruction manual, not orders."
With that, he paid Phillips no further attention and headed straight for the barracks building that had been isolated from the others.
Peggy Carter followed him, her hand instinctively resting on the pistol at her waist, her expression grave.
The closer they got to the barracks, the quieter the air became.
The barracks door was ajar.
After signaling for Peggy to stay outside, Lynn pushed the door open and went in.
The room was a mess.
Expensive furniture had been smashed to pieces.
The map hanging on the wall had been slashed to shreds with a sharp blade, and empty liquor bottles littered the floor.
Soldier Boy sat with his back to the door on the one remaining chair.
He was playing the knife game at breakneck speed with a captured German dagger, stabbing between his fingers.
The blade darted madly between the wooden tabletop and his outstretched hand, producing a rapid series of taps.
"Ding~"
The dagger struck the back of his hand, and its sharp tip split apart.
"You finally came."
Soldier Boy casually tossed the dagger aside and turned around.
"I thought you'd wait until that actor in tights had toured all of Europe before remembering the old weapon you left at the front."
Every word was thick with resentment.
Lynn ignored his sarcasm.
He walked over to the table and tossed down a rolled-up copy of Stars and Stripes.
The newspaper unfurled, revealing a huge front-page photograph of Steve holding a microphone aloft in Philadelphia Independence Square, basking in the cheers of the masses.
His smile was dazzlingly bright.
Soldier Boy slammed a fist onto the table.
"Bang!"
"Did you bring this to humiliate me?"
"Or do you think I'm too even-tempered?"
Lynn pointed a finger.
"Look at the supplement."
Soldier Boy froze.
He looked down suspiciously.
His gaze shifted from the glaring front-page photograph to the other side of the newspaper.
The headline was printed in bold black type: "The forgotten hero: who still remembers Soldier Boy, who faced the devil alone in Puppet Town?"
The article was short.
Yet its prose was filled with mystery and reverence.
It gave no detailed account of the battle.
Instead, in a tone bordering on legend, it told how a lone god of war had single-handedly purified an entire town overrun by demons, in a corner forgotten by the world.
"...While Captain America basks in flowers and applause beneath the spotlight, another true hero walks on the edge of hell, in the company of horrors beyond mortal comprehension."
"His deeds will never be made into songs, his story will never be brought to the stage. For mortals cannot comprehend the battles of a god, much less look directly upon the terror of the abyss."
"His name will be uttered again and again only in the nightmares of Hydra's higher-ups, becoming a source of fear they can never shake."
Soldier Boy read every word.
The anger in his chest, blazing with jealousy, subsided at a visible pace.
"Do you understand now?"
Lynn's voice sounded beside his ear.
"Captain America is an idol, a mascot for the civilians back home who need hope. Idols are there to be consumed. Today they can put him on a pedestal, and tomorrow they can grind him into the mud over some little thing."
Lynn walked over and stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
"But you are a legend."
"Legends don't need the cheers of the masses or exposure in the media. Legends are spoken of only by a select few and appear in the nightmares of their enemies."
"Your value isn't measured by how many war bonds you sell. It's defined by how many enemies you keep awake at night and how many allies you inspire with awe."
Soldier Boy said nothing.
He looked at the short article, then at the brightly smiling Captain America on the front page.
A sense of superiority welled up inside him.
That's right.
Only monkeys need to perform somersaults in front of a crowd to win applause.
A real lion only needs to let out an occasional roar in its own territory to make all the beasts submit.
The humiliation and anger in his chest, which had nowhere to go, found an outlet he could feel at ease with.
"Heh..."
A low chuckle of unclear meaning escaped Soldier Boy's throat.
The fury on his face had faded, replaced by a cruelty tinged with pride.
"That stage really was too small."
He picked up the newspaper and, in front of Lynn, tore off the front page bearing Captain America's image, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into the fireplace.
Flames leaped up and swallowed that brilliant smile.
But he kept the supplement.
Soldier Boy turned and sat back down in the chair.
"What kind of new stage have you prepared for me this time?"
"A stage worthy of you."
A smile finally appeared on Lynn's face.
"A stage built for you from the bones of Hydra's senior officers and the fear of all Germany."
With that, Lynn turned and walked out of the barracks, leaving Soldier Boy watching his retreating figure with immense anticipation.