The lights in the briefing room came back on. For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the tap tap of Dugan's fingers against the table. Everyone wore complicated expressions—shock, doubt, and a faint spark of excitement.
Hydra. Energy weapons. Super soldiers.
Each word landed like a heavy stone in the hearts of these battle-hardened veterans, stirring up no small waves.
Logan was the first to break the silence. He stood up from his chair, cracking his knuckles with a series of sharp cracks, his face a mix of impatience and bloodthirst.
"Enough talk. When do we move? Where do we kill people?"
He didn't care about Hydra or octopuses, Captain America or the President of the United States. There was only one thing that mattered to him—whether the enemy was tough enough to be worth killing. The footage of Hydra soldiers turning men to ash with energy weapons hadn't scared him at all. If anything, it had awakened the ferocity buried deep in his bones.
Dugan gave him an approving look, clearly appreciating such a straightforward attitude.
"Easy, Logan. Dealing with Hydra isn't something brute force alone can handle." He gestured toward the door. "Come on. I'll show you your new quarters first, then we'll pick up some nice toys. Get a good night's rest—at first light tomorrow, we move out."
Their so-called "new home" turned out to be a large barracks. More than a dozen camp beds were arranged neatly in two rows, blankets folded into perfect squares. Compared to the foxholes they'd been digging on the front lines, this place was practically paradise.
The moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere relaxed noticeably. The teammates who'd barely spoken earlier began introducing themselves.
The Black guy with the harmonica was Gabe Jones, a technical specialist who knew his way around all kinds of machinery.
The bespectacled Japanese-American was Jim Morita, an explosives expert.
The Frenchman with the pipe was Jacques Dernier, skilled in infiltration and poisons.
Each of them had a specialty.
Back in his old corporate life, Levi had been the type who could chat with anyone. He took the initiative to greet everyone, pass out cigarettes, and before long, he'd blended right in. He knew these people would one day be comrades he could trust with his back—building rapport now could only help.
Only Logan was different. He immediately claimed a bed in the far corner, tossed his battered leather jacket onto the pillow, and began methodically cleaning his combat knife. His entire presence screamed do not approach.
Levi didn't try to force conversation. He understood Logan too well. The guy was a lone wolf by nature—getting him to integrate into a group was harder than getting him to quit cigars. That was fine. As long as Logan knew who his allies were on the battlefield, that was enough.
While joking around with Gabe and the others, Levi was busy running numbers in his head.
Four days.
His copying ability still needed four more days to come off cooldown.
And the mission would start tomorrow morning.
The time gap was brutal.
That meant he had to ensure both he and Captain America stayed alive for at least four days after the mission began—and within that window, he needed to engineer a chance to "accidentally" make physical contact with the Captain.
That was no easy task. Hydra bases were absolute death traps. Anyone who'd seen the movie knew that Bucky fell off a cliff there. Levi had zero interest in following the same path.
"Hey, Levi." Jim Morita adjusted his glasses and leaned closer. "I heard from Colonel Dugan that you and Logan are… well, really hard to put down. Is that true?"
Levi knew what he was getting at. He smiled and pointed to his uniform, still riddled with bullet holes and stained with dried blood.
"Battlefield luck, that's all."
Of course, he couldn't mention the healing factor. He kept it vague. The others were smart enough to sense his reluctance and didn't push the issue.
After the noise died down, Dugan led them to the base armory.
The moment the heavy steel doors opened, a wave of cold metal and gun oil washed over them. Levi's eyes lit up instantly.
This armory dwarfed the little supply shed he'd known before. The walls were lined with weapons—Thompson submachine guns, M1 Garand rifles, pistols of every kind. On the tables sat neatly arranged grenades, explosives, and stacks of ammunition, all gleaming ominously under the lights.
An old quartermaster handed over a checklist.
"Standard loadout: one submachine gun, one sidearm, four grenade magazines. Pick what you like."
Logan didn't even look. He grabbed two Colt M1911 pistols straight off the wall, shoved them into the back of his belt, stuffed a fistful of ammo into his pockets, and casually pocketed several cigars for good measure. That was it. To him, his claws were better than any weapon.
Everyone else began choosing gear suited to their preferences.
Levi, however, didn't move.
Instead, he stood there replaying Captain America: The First Avenger in his head.
The Hydra factory where the rescue took place—wasn't it in the mountains of Austria? Freezing cold. Complex interior layout. Platforms, catwalks, huge vertical drops.
An idea formed.
He walked up to the quartermaster and put on an especially sincere smile.
"Sir, besides the standard gear… could I request a few extra items?"
The quartermaster barely looked up. "Say it."
"I need a set of the thickest cold-weather thermal underwear you've got—wool, preferably. Also, a set of mountaineering grappling hooks and at least fifty feet of rope. Oh, and high-calorie rations—compressed biscuits, chocolate. As much as possible."
The armory fell silent.
Everyone stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
Dugan frowned. "Levi, what do you need all that for? We're assaulting a factory, not going on a winter mountain vacation."
Levi had his explanation ready. He scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed.
"Sir, it's just experience from past fights. You said the target's deep behind enemy lines—we don't know the terrain for sure. If it's in the mountains and it's cold, extra insulation never hurts. Frozen soldiers can't fight. As for the rope and hooks—those come in handy everywhere. Scaling walls, crossing drops, pulling wounded men out of holes."
He paused, then added seriously,
"And high-calorie food matters too. We don't know how long this mission will last. If we get trapped, a mouthful of food can mean surviving another day. I've seen men die not from bullets, but from starvation."
His reasoning was solid, all grounded in real battlefield logic. There wasn't a single flaw to pick at.
Dugan fell silent. He studied Levi with a new level of scrutiny—and approval. He'd assumed this Eastern kid was just another fearless brawler like Logan. He hadn't expected such careful planning.
"You're right," Dugan finally said, nodding. "Issue those supplies—to everyone."
Then he looked back at Levi. "Anything else?"
Levi's eyes flicked to the sticky explosives on the table.
"Sir, could we get more of this C2 plastic explosive? I've got a feeling it'll work better against metal targets than grenades."
This time, even demolition expert Jim Morita looked at him with newfound respect.
Once all the equipment was issued, everyone looked like a walking arsenal.
Logan scowled at the thick clothing and extra gear forced on him.
"Troublesome," he muttered.
Levi, on the other hand, was perfectly satisfied. He knew these items would be invaluable—maybe even lifesaving—during the mission. Not just for himself, but for the entire squad. His own strength had limits. The more teammates survived, the higher their success rate—and the better his chances of eventually copying Captain America's ability.
Preparations complete, Dugan gathered them in front of a C-47 transport plane. Its massive propellers were already spinning, producing a low, heavy roar.
"Target: Klausberg, Austria. Hydra weapons research facility," Dugan said, pointing to a red mark on the map. "Your mission is to infiltrate the perimeter, create chaos, and draw enemy attention—covering the Captain's rescue operation. Remember: you are both bait and backup. Understood?"
"Understood!" everyone replied in unison.
"Board the plane!"
The team filed up the ramp one by one. Levi was last. He glanced back at the brightly lit base, then looked up at the pitch-black night sky.
He took a deep breath. The air was cold, thick with the smell of aviation fuel.
His heartbeat quickened. His blood warmed.
This wasn't fear—it was exhilaration.
He was finally stepping directly into this vast, turbulent era.
The plane shuddered violently, then slowly lifted into the air, flying toward the unknown darkness. Levi found a seat and closed his eyes.
In his mind, the cold countdown continued to tick away, unhurried and merciless.
[Remaining cooldown time: 3 days, 9 hours, 46 minutes…]