An army camp on the Italian front.
On a temporary, open-air stage.
A tall man in a tight-fitting Stars and Stripes uniform was holding a round shield, making exaggerated performance gestures.
"Come on, fellas! Let's give Hitler a punch on the jaw!"
Below the stage, several hundred dusty soldiers stared at him expressionlessly. The air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
A sergeant with a stubbled face spat and yelled, "Hey! Bring out the dancing girls!"
"Yeah! We want to see the girls!"
The crowd erupted in laughter and jeers. Some started whistling, and others threw stones at the stage.
Steve froze on the spot, an undisguisable embarrassment on his face.
Just then, a blond man stood up in the crowd, exuding an intimidating aura. It was Rosen, disguised as Dio.
"Look what we have here?"
Rosen drew out his words, his voice cutting through the noisy crowd. "America sent a doll with an ass like a woman's to inspire us?"
"Look at those tights!" he pointed at Steve, a mocking smirk on his face. "I bet those old geezers at the Pentagon dream of copping a feel at night!"
The soldiers were stunned for a moment, then burst into even louder laughter.
Steve's face instantly turned bright red. He looked around, his gaze finally settling on Rosen.
A barely perceptible red light flashed in Rosen's eyes. With a thought, he activated Dio's hypnotic ability.
An invisible mental wave quietly spread, targeting Steve's consciousness.
But Steve showed no reaction.
"Huh?"
Rosen was startled. He increased the intensity of the hypnosis, but Steve's expression remained unchanged.
Rosen frowned inwardly. Dio's hypnotic ability was less effective against people with stronger willpower; it seemed to be almost useless against Steve.
Looks like he'd have to try another approach.
"Hey, Dio's right!" a drunk soldier shouted. "The Captain's ass really is nice!"
The entire crowd exploded with even more ferocious laughter.
These soldiers, who had returned from the brink of death, were already filled with disdain for this kind of political propaganda.
"He's right!"
"Hahaha! An ass like a woman's!"
"Send him to Berlin to dance!"
On stage, Steve Rogers took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Fellas, I know you just got back from the front..."
"You say that like you've been there!"
Rosen interrupted with a look of displeasure. "You only pretend to fight a paper Hitler on a safe stage in the rear!"
Steve opened his mouth but couldn't find the right words to retort. He knew the other man was right.
"Don't worry, everyone!" The host, seeing the situation was getting out of hand, rushed to save the show. "And now, please welcome the Star-Spangled Girls for a performance!"
"Uh... thank you for watching."
Steve said dryly, tucked the shield under his arm, turned, and quickly walked off the stage.
As the music started, a group of girls in short red, white, and blue skirts bounced onto the stage.
The soldiers immediately cheered, and the previous awkward atmosphere vanished.
Steve went to a small tent behind the stage, sat down heavily on a wooden crate, and leaned his shield against the wall.
He took a sketchbook from his pocket, opened it to a blank page, and began to draw with a pencil.
A few minutes later, the paper showed a monkey in a Stars and Stripes uniform, juggling on a unicycle.
The self-deprecating image made him smile bitterly.
Super-Soldier? The hope of all America?
Others were fighting for their lives on the front lines, while he was just a circus clown in a ridiculous costume.
Did Dr. Erskine sacrifice himself just so he could be a performing monkey?
"Feeling a little out of place?"
A woman's voice suddenly came from behind him.
Steve quickly turned to see a female officer in uniform standing at the tent's entrance.
She had brown, curly hair and bright red lips, and her every move exuded competence and elegance. It was Peggy Carter.
"Just doodling." Steve closed his sketchbook and stood up awkwardly.
"Don't pay too much mind to that man earlier. That's Dio. It's just his personality; he hates political shows."
"You know him?" Steve recalled the blond man's mocking gaze.
Carter nodded. "His performance on the battlefield is quite astonishing. He's saved many soldiers' lives. If it weren't for his terrible personality, he would have been promoted to Captain long ago with his abilities."
Steve grunted, his gaze falling back to his sketchbook. "He's right."
"No." Carter looked him straight in the eye. "Dr. Erskine chose you. You just haven't found the right battlefield yet."
"Thank you, Peggy."
Just as he finished speaking, the sound of urgent engines and shouting erupted outside.
"What's going on?" Steve shot to his feet.
A soldier threw open the tent flap, his face panicked. "Ma'am! The wounded are back, and it's bad!"
Peggy and Steve exchanged a look and rushed out of the tent together.
It was chaos outside. Several military trucks loaded with wounded soldiers had just driven into the camp.
The wounded were carried off the trucks one by one, some screaming, some unconscious, their blood staining the stretchers.
A young soldier was carried off a truck. His right leg was just a bloody, mangled stump, his face as pale as paper.
Steve stood rooted to the spot.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen blood—he'd taken countless beatings in Brooklyn—but this was something else entirely.
"How about it, Captain America? Seen real war now?"
A mocking voice came from behind him.
Steve turned to see Dio standing there, a sarcastic smile on his face.
"This is the battlefield," Rosen said, pointing at the wounded. "Not those fake moves on your stage. Severed limbs, loss of bladder and bowel control... this is the daily life of a soldier."
Steve's gaze shifted to a soldier groaning in pain on a stretcher, and he swallowed hard.
He had never experienced a real battlefield. He had no right to argue.
Clenching his jaw, Steve strode toward the nearest truck and helped the medics carry a wounded soldier.
"Which unit are these wounded from?"
"Mainly the 107th Infantry," an officer answered hastily. "They were ambushed by the Germans. Heavy casualties."
"The 107th?" Steve looked up sharply, his face changing. "Bucky's unit?"
He quickened his pace. After helping carry several wounded soldiers into a tent, he strode toward the command post.
...
Inside the tent.
Colonel Phillips was talking in low tones with several officers, maps and documents spread across the table.
Phillips looked up, his brow furrowed. "Rogers, you shouldn't be in here."
"Colonel, I want to know the status of Sergeant Bucky Barnes," Steve said directly.
"I'm sorry."
Phillips paused. "Sergeant Barnes is on the list of the dead. I'm very sorry."
Steve's body trembled slightly. "What about the rest of them? Is there a rescue plan?"
"Rescue?" Phillips pointed at the map. "They're trapped at a HYDRA factory, thirty miles behind enemy lines. I've already lost over two hundred men. Now you're asking me to risk more to save a few dozen who are probably already dead?"
"They're our men, sir."
"Hmm?"
Hearing this, Phillips looked Steve's Stars and Stripes uniform up and down. "You, in that uniform, what do you think you are? A decision-maker? A general?
You're a performer, Rogers. Now, go back to your stage. Leave this to the real soldiers."
Steve clenched his fists but said nothing. He took one last look at the battle map, then turned and strode out of the command tent.
It was still chaotic outside. Steve walked straight to the temporary dressing room set up backstage.
He went to his luggage, unzipped it, and took out a leather jacket and dark combat pants.
Then he took out the shield that had been with him through dozens of performances.
"Just once, at least I can do something truly meaningful," Steve muttered to himself, slinging the shield onto his back.
But he knew very well this wasn't a performance. This was a real fight.
Thirty miles behind enemy lines, heavily guarded. He had no combat experience and no support.
Even with the Super-Soldier Serum, he was no different from an ordinary person against shells and bullets. Rushing in alone was a suicide mission.
"I'm guessing you're not getting ready for another performance?" Peggy's voice came from the doorway.