In the farmhouse that night, the campfire was the only source of light.
Flames licked at the damp firewood, crackling softly.
Soldier Boy sat in front of the fire, leisurely wiping the blood from his shield with a rag.
He had stopped shouting and was no longer venting.
That silence pleased Lynn more than any roar.
The beast was thinking instead of simply tearing and biting.
It was a good start.
Lynn took his time finishing his portion of piping-hot canned food, then tossed the empty can into the fire.
Outside the farmhouse, the sound of an engine drew closer.
It finally stopped at the door.
A minute later, a U.S. Army lieutenant entered the farmhouse cautiously with two soldiers.
When their eyes fell on Soldier Boy, their wariness gave way to a complicated mixture of awe and fear.
They had heard their comrades describe it.
How this man had strolled through a web of German machine-gun fire.
The lieutenant's Adam's apple bobbed.
He tried to make his voice sound sufficiently calm.
But his gaze went involuntarily to the towering figure first.
"Sir... Colonel Phillips of the Allied forces would like to invite you to a friendly meeting."
Soldier Boy stared at him for a while with his intensely aggressive eyes.
Only after the lieutenant's back had broken out in a cold sweat did he jerk his chin toward Lynn on the other side of the fire.
"Ask him. He calls the shots."
Those words shook the lieutenant more than German artillery fire.
His gaze moved back and forth between Soldier Boy and Lynn.
Utter incomprehension was written all over his face.
What was going on?
He quickly turned to Lynn, his manner even more respectful than before, with a trace of barely perceptible flattery.
"Sir, Colonel Phillips invites you and this... gentleman to the Allied command post."
Lynn, who had expected this, was not surprised.
The jeep jolted violently along the muddy dirt road.
Lynn watched the trees race past the window, his face expressionless, while his mind raced.
How was he to explain Soldier Boy's existence?
He needed a reason that would demonstrate Soldier Boy's power, fit within the limits of what people of this era could understand, and firmly tie the two of them together.
It would determine whether they would be revered as saviors or locked in cages as threats.
When the jeep drove into the Allied temporary command base, the entire camp stirred.
The exhausted, smoke-scented soldiers who had just withdrawn from the front lines all stopped what they were doing when they saw Soldier Boy.
"Look, that's him!"
"My God, he really doesn't have a scratch on him..."
"Tom told me bullets hitting him were like tickles!"
The whispers swelled into a wave of awe.
Soldier Boy instinctively straightened his back, basking in the mixture of fanaticism and fear.
The worship born of power and slaughter intoxicated him more than any alcohol or drug.
Colonel Phillips's command post was in a canvas tent.
Maps, documents, radios...
Mixed with the smell of cigars and damp earth, they made up the heart of the war.
Phillips was a man of around fifty.
The wrinkles on his face were deep enough to crush flies, but his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's.
When he saw the unruly Soldier Boy enter, he quickly stood up and picked up an unopened bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the table.
"Welcome, my friend. What should I call you? What you did today saved at least a hundred of our boys!"
He poured Soldier Boy a full glass, then poured himself one.
Soldier Boy took the glass without ceremony and drained it in one gulp, letting out a satisfied sigh.
Phillips smiled before turning his gaze to Lynn.
"Reporter Morris, I remember you. A week ago, you nearly had your head blown off by a sniper trying to photograph a German tank."
Phillips grew appraising, as though he wanted to see right through him.
"Yes, Colonel. I was lucky enough to survive."
"Lucky?"
Phillips shifted his gaze between the two, his brow furrowing at the incongruity.
"As far as I know, you were injured by a shell blast and sent to a field hospital. And now you show up here with a... super soldier, and tell my lieutenant that you call the shots?"
Here it comes.
Lynn pulled over a camp stool and sat down calmly.
"Colonel, before I explain, I'd like to ask a question."
Phillips raised his chin, gesturing for him to speak.
"If I told you he was an angel sent by God to end the war, would you believe me?"
Phillips looked at him in silence, his eyes growing more dangerous.
Lynn smiled.
"You see, you don't believe it either. So I won't insult your intelligence with that kind of bullshit."
Lynn gathered his words and began his carefully woven story.
"He has no name, or rather, he's forgotten it. You can call him... Soldier Boy."
Lynn glanced at Soldier Boy, who was bored and pouring himself another glass of whiskey, then continued, "He's no government secret weapon, nor is he the product of a scientific experiment-at least not one from this era."
"I'm a reporter, Colonel. My job is to dig up stories people don't know about, especially those that have been deliberately buried."
Phillips frowned more deeply and gestured for him to continue.
"Before I came to Europe, I was investigating an urban legend circulating among politicians and old military hands-about a canceled World War I program called Project Prometheus."
"According to the legend, the War Department tried to create a living weapon beyond the reach of mortals. They succeeded, and they failed."
"Because what they created... couldn't be controlled."
"So the only finished product was sealed away, and all records were destroyed. It became a taboo no one wanted to mention again."
Lynn wore the solemn expression of a man recalling the past, as though he had actually seen those long-buried files.
Phillips snorted.
He wanted to see just what this young reporter could come up with.
"At first, I thought it was nonsense too. Then I followed an inconspicuous lead and found him in an abandoned defense mine deep in the Appalachian Mountains."
"He was sleeping in a metal coffin, as if in a deep slumber. I thought I'd uncovered an earth-shattering historical secret."
"And then?"
"Then war broke out, and I was sent to the front. After that came the shell that nearly killed me."
Lynn pointed to his temple.
"Maybe it was the near-death experience, or maybe the violent explosion activated some kind of connection. When I woke from my coma, I found I could sense his presence and hear his voice."
"So he came to the front to find me. As things stand, I'm the only one who can communicate with him normally, and the only one who can... soothe his emotions to some extent."
"Colonel, I'm not his commander. I'm more like a translator, a navigator. He's a weapon from a past era, and I'm his only 'instruction manual.'"
"I brought him here because I know this is where he's needed most."
Phillips stared hard at Lynn, trying to find signs of a lie on his face.
"His world is simple: there's only fighting and keeping him satisfied. And I happen to understand how to keep him satisfied."
Phillips leaned back in his chair.
"A living weapon... an instruction manual..."
Phillips repeated the two terms under his breath.
"Do you know what the most important point is, Colonel?"
"What?"
"He's American."
"Mr. Morris..."
Phillips suddenly stood up and raised his glass.
"I don't give a damn about any bullshit plans or legends. Let the politicians in Washington worry about those!"
"I'll only ask you this: are you and the 'weapon' behind you willing to help us twist the Germans' heads off?"