"Come on, fellas, we're all on the same team here," Steve said helplessly, trying to keep his smile.
"Hey, Cap! How about an autograph—right here?"
A grinning soldier stood up, turned around, and dropped his pants, proudly offering his bare backside.
The rest of the troops roared with laughter. Someone even hurled a few tomatoes, splattering red across Steve's shiny blue uniform.
He raised his shield instinctively, blocking the flying projectiles. When he finally lowered it, the cheers and jeers from the soldiers hit him harder than any tomato could.
Without a word, he stepped down from the stage, his expression unreadable.
Moments later, a squad of chorus girls in short skirts and high boots bounded onto the platform. The soldiers' mood flipped instantly — whistles and thunderous applause filled the air.
After all, these men had been fighting for months without seeing a single beautiful woman. They drank in the sight like it was salvation.
Backstage, an aide to one of the visiting congressmen gave Steve an awkward smile.
"Don't worry, Captain. They'll come around. They'll like you eventually."
But his words did little to comfort Steve.
He might be a performer in the public's eyes now, but deep down, he was still a soldier — and being mocked by his own brothers-in-arms hurt far worse than enemy fire.
As if sharing his mood, the sky soon darkened. Rain began to fall.
Later, Steve sat alone under a makeshift canopy behind the stage, quietly sketching in a notebook as rain pattered against the muddy ground.
Thunder rolled overhead, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Hello, Steve."
A familiar, soft British voice came from behind him.
He turned — and froze for a moment. Standing there, framed by the rain, was none other than Agent Peggy Carter.
While Steve and Peggy exchanged their first words in what felt like ages, thirty miles behind the German front lines in Italy, a vast industrial complex nestled between two mountains was operating at full capacity.
Hundreds of ragged prisoners labored under the watchful eyes of HYDRA soldiers, hauling heavy machinery and crates of ammunition. Exhaustion was written across every face, but fear kept them moving. Anyone who slowed down was met with the butt of a rifle — or worse.
In one section of the sprawling facility, dozens of enormous bombs stood neatly stacked.
Each was massive — several meters long — their ominous design alone hinting at the devastation they could unleash.
HYDRA's technology made sure of it: every single one could level a town.
Standing beneath those monstrous weapons was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark overcoat — bald, cold, and radiating menace.
Beside him, a nervous engineer wrung his hands as he spoke.
"Baron Strucker, sir… we're already working as fast as possible. The number of bombs you requested is—well, enormous."
The baron's steely eyes cut toward him.
"The Führer grows impatient! That damned Schmidt!" Strucker spat the name like poison. "He transferred the Valkyrie project from the Alps headquarters to my base and crippled our production speed! The Führer has demanded that I finish the Goddess of Valkyrie on schedule — the key to his world-dominating plan!"
The hatred in his voice when he mentioned the Red Skull was unmistakable.
Once, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker had been HYDRA's supreme commander, entrusted directly by Hitler himself. But Schmidt's rise had changed everything.
Through cunning, charisma, and the discovery of Tesseract energy, Schmidt had won the Führer's favor — seizing command of HYDRA and pushing Strucker into obscurity, exiled to a Polish base far from the front lines.
Outwardly, Strucker had submitted.
But inwardly, he had never stopped plotting his revenge.
"Still," he sneered, a twisted smile forming on his lips, "perhaps I should thank him. If he hadn't transferred the project to me — and then vanished without a trace — I wouldn't have had the chance to take back control of half of HYDRA's forces. Once again, I serve the Führer directly!"
"He thought he controlled HYDRA completely," Strucker said with a cold laugh. "But the moment he loosened his grip, HYDRA returned to its rightful master's hand. The Führer's sword was merely stolen — and now it's been reclaimed."
In truth, Schmidt — the Red Skull — had indeed disappeared for months.
Those bases that Chen Mo had chosen to abandon now considered their former leader missing, perhaps dead.
Most of them had either remained loyal to Hitler or harbored ambitions of their own.
Without Schmidt's overwhelming power keeping them in check, rebellion was inevitable.
Under Strucker's leadership, these splinter factions pledged themselves once more to the Führer.
Whether that loyalty was genuine or simply opportunistic, no one could say.
The facility's current overseer — a thin, pale man with a nervous twitch — hesitated before speaking.
"But… sir, Schmidt's disappearance — could it be a trap?"
Strucker's gaze darkened, but his tone was full of arrogance.
"Let him plot whatever he wants. Apart from the Alps headquarters and a few hidden bases buried in the wilderness, we now control nearly all the major HYDRA installations.
"Those so-called secret labs of his — even if they exist — are insignificant. The Strategic Science Reserve may have destroyed two of our forward bases, but our power still eclipses Schmidt's remnants. The main weapons factories are all in our hands now. What can he possibly do with a handful of mountain bunkers?"
Years of suppression had blinded Strucker to how far Schmidt had truly advanced HYDRA.
He had no idea that Schmidt's "hidden bases" were anything but weak.
In truth, those secret sites housed HYDRA's most advanced technologies — energy weapons, aircraft, even prototypes of global weapons far beyond Allied science.
The "abandoned" factories Strucker now ruled over were little more than scraps — relics of an older, obsolete HYDRA.
Red Skull had never trusted men like him, and wisely so.
The core of HYDRA — its true strength — remained firmly under Schmidt's personal command.
Ironically, that very paranoia now made Chen Mo's task much easier.
Perhaps Schmidt himself had once planned to purge these splinter factions — but before he could act, Chen Mo had already done it for him.