France.
Several military jeeps bounced across the muddy, frozen ground, their tire tracks cutting deep into the cold, wet earth.
Captain America, Steve Rogers, sat upright.
He had gone from a mascot on a stage to a true warrior, proving himself in a single mission.
He was no longer alone.
Beside him was an elite squad known as the Howling Commandos.
Every member was an elite soldier he had personally selected from among the survivors of the 107th Regiment.
They had witnessed the captain's valor and were grateful for what he had done for them.
That mix of admiration and trust made them willing to follow Steve anywhere.
Even into Hydra's most heavily guarded heart.
Steve sat in the jolting jeep, the cold wind rushing down his collar, but it did nothing to cool his overheated brain.
He looked over the resolute faces around him. There was no fear in their eyes, only a desire for victory.
"Captain, are we really going to charge straight in?"
Driving the jeep was Dugan Dum Dum. Beneath his trademark bowler hat were a bushy beard and a mouth that always held a cigar.
A thin layer of frost had formed on his beard.
"Intelligence says they have at least a battalion there, plus heavy armor."
Steve's gaze never wavered. He tightened his grip on his shield.
"We're not going in to fight a frontal assault."
"Our objective is decapitation."
"Destroy their command system, create chaos, and then retreat."
That was the tactic Lynn had devised for him over the phone.
Simple and brutal, but aimed straight at the heart of the matter.
In the distance, the outline of the Hydra base was already flickering into view in the dim light.
It was a fortress converted from an old factory. Searchlight beams crisscrossed the sky like watchful eyes.
"Move out!"
Steve gave the order.
All the vehicles in the Howling Commandos switched off their headlights, their engines dropping to a low rumble as the men quickly melted into the night.
Steve was the first to jump out, crouching low. His super-soldier eyesight let him clearly make out the watchtowers and patrols in the distance.
He was like a cheetah poised to strike. The feel of the Vibranium Shield against his arm filled him with reassurance.
Belgium.
An old manor surrounded by forest.
It was a Hydra supply transfer station in the Low Countries, as well as a private playground where senior officers indulged themselves.
Soldier Boy kicked open the ornate doors and swaggered inside, an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth.
Behind him came twelve of the fiercest, most fearless soldiers selected from the Western Front.
They called themselves "Blood Debt Repaid in Blood."
Because their families had all died under Hydra's bombardment.
Revenge was their only creed.
In the manor's main hall, dozens of Hydra officers were holding a banquet.
The graceful classical music and rich red wine stood in absurd contrast to the bloodshed at the front.
Soldier Boy's sudden appearance brought the music to an abrupt stop.
A fat Hydra major recognized him. His face, red from indulging in wine and women, turned as pale as paper.
The wineglass in his hand fell with a clatter onto the expensive carpet and shattered.
"It's... it's the God of War!"
Soldier Boy smiled contemptuously and rubbed his nose with his thumb.
"Party's over, scumbags."
He spat out his cigar.
"Time to settle the score."
As soon as he spoke, the Blood Debt Repaid in Blood squad behind him raised their submachine guns and pulled the triggers without hesitation!
"Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!"
A dense barrage of gunfire tore through the banquet hall.
The crystal chandelier was shot to pieces, sending shards of glass and blood flying together.
Terrified screams replaced the graceful music.
Soldier Boy did not join in. He went to the doorway and leaned against the frame, enjoying the massacre he had directed.
He enjoyed the feeling of watching these "elites," who usually threw their weight around, scurry like headless flies before being torn apart by bullets.
A Hydra officer who had recovered his wits drew a pistol and aimed it at Soldier Boy.
"Bang!"
The bullet struck Soldier Boy in the head, but failed even to break his skin.
Soldier Boy's smile vanished. He walked slowly toward the officer, his gaze indifferent.
He reached out, grabbed the officer's head, and slammed him hard into the velvet-covered dining table.
"Next."
Czechoslovakia.
On the snow-covered border.
Colonel Phillips stared at the impregnable Hydra fortress in the distance, his brow deeply furrowed.
The fortress, codenamed Winter Wolf, guarded a crucial route to the plains of Eastern Europe.
The Allies had launched several direct assaults, only to be bloodied and beaten back by its dense crossfire and sturdy fortifications, leaving fields of corpses and wrecked vehicles behind.
"Colonel, are we really going to pin our hopes on that man?"
An adjutant asked worriedly.
Colonel Phillips did not answer.
He simply raised his binoculars again and looked toward the gray sky.
He was waiting, waiting for a miracle.
Just then, a thick bank of clouds turned golden.
A figure made of light and heat descended slowly from the clouds.
It was the Human Torch, Jim Hammond.
He hovered in midair, curiously examining the "fortress" of steel and concrete below.
Before he came, Mr. Lynn had told him that many "bad things" were hidden inside.
What were bad things?
Mr. Lynn had said they were things that hurt others and made the world less beautiful.
He did not understand.
But he remembered another instruction from Mr. Lynn-to purify them.
The Hydra soldiers in the fortress also spotted him, and a piercing alarm rang through the valley.
Antiaircraft guns began to turn, aiming at the human-shaped sun hovering in the sky.
"Fire! Shoot him down!"
A commander roared himself hoarse.
Countless shells streaked toward the Human Torch, trailing tracer light, only to be detonated by the invisible heat several meters from his body, turning into brilliant bursts of fireworks.
The Human Torch tilted his head and held out a hand.
A fireball the size of a basketball formed in his palm, and he gently tossed it out.
The Human Torch followed it in a downward dive.
Hydra headquarters.
Johann Schmidt, Hydra's supreme commander, silently watched the live battle reports coming in on three screens.
France, Belgium, Czechoslovakia...
Three fronts had suffered devastating blows at the same time!
On the screens, the red markers representing his elite forces were winking out one after another at an astonishing rate.
Three of the sharpest pieces had pierced his empire's defenses at once.
Extreme fury twisted the Red Skull's scarlet face.
"Bang!"
He threw another punch, smashing the last intact monitor in front of him to pieces.