In the farmhouse under the cover of night, the campfire was the only source of light.
The flames licked at the damp firewood, crackling softly.
Soldier Boy sat in front of the fire, meticulously wiping the bloodstains off his shield with a rag.
He was no longer roaring or venting.
This silence satisfied Lynn more than any roar.
The Beast was thinking, rather than just tearing things apart.
This was a good start.
Lynn finished his own hot can of rations at a leisurely pace and tossed the empty can into the fire.
The sound of an engine came from outside the farmhouse, moving from afar to near.
Finally, it stopped at the door.
A minute later, a U.S. Army lieutenant carefully walked into the farmhouse with two soldiers.
When their eyes fell upon Soldier Boy, their wariness turned into a complex emotion mixed with awe and fear.
They had heard their comrades describe it—how this man had strolled casually through the German Army's machine-gun fire.
The lieutenant's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
He tried his best to make his voice sound calm enough.
But his gaze involuntarily drifted first to that tall figure.
"Sir... Colonel Phillips of the Allied Forces would like to invite you for a friendly meeting."
Soldier Boy stared at him for a moment with those aggressive eyes.
Only after the lieutenant broke into a cold sweat on his back did he jerk his chin toward Lynn, who was on the other side of the campfire.
"Ask him. He calls the shots."
The weight of this sentence shocked the lieutenant more than the German Army's artillery fire.
His eyes shifted back and forth between Soldier Boy and Lynn.
His face was filled with incomprehensible confusion.
What was happening here?
He quickly turned to Lynn, his attitude even more respectful than before, even carrying a hint of imperceptible flattery.
"Sir, Colonel Phillips invites you and this... gentleman to the Allied Forces command post."
Lynn, having anticipated this, was not surprised.
The jeep bumped violently on the muddy dirt road.
Lynn stared expressionlessly at the trees rapidly receding outside the window, but his mind was racing.
How to explain Soldier Boy's existence?
He had to find a reason that could demonstrate his power, fit the cognitive limitations of this era, and at the same time firmly bind himself to him.
This concerned whether they would be treated as saviors and worshipped in the future, or treated as a threat and locked in a cage.
When the jeep drove into the Allied Forces' temporary command Base, the entire camp was in an uproar.
Those soldiers who had just withdrawn from the front lines, covered in exhaustion and the smell of gunpowder, all stopped what they were doing when they saw Soldier Boy's figure.
"Look, that's him!"
"My God, he's truly unscathed..."
"I heard from Tom, bullets hitting him are just like scratching an itch!"
The whispers gathered into a tide of awe.
Soldier Boy instinctively straightened his back, enjoying this baptism mixed with fanaticism and fear.
That worship born from power and slaughter intoxicated him more than any alcohol or drug.
Colonel Phillips' command post was set up in a canvas tent.
Maps, documents, radios... mixed with the smell of cigars and wet soil, formed the core of the war.
Phillips was a man around fifty.
The wrinkles on his face were deep enough to pinch a fly to death, but those eyes were as sharp as an eagle's.
Seeing the unruly Soldier Boy enter, he quickly stood up and picked up an unopened bottle of whiskey and two glass cups from the table.
"Welcome, friend. What should I call you? What you did today saved the lives of at least a hundred of our boys!"
He poured a full glass for Soldier Boy and then poured one for himself.
Soldier Boy unceremoniously took the glass and downed 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 almost got your head blown off by a sniper just to take a photo of a German Army tank."
Phillips shifted to a scrutinizing gaze, as if wanting to see right through him.
"Yes, Colonel. I was lucky; I survived."
"Lucky?"
Phillips moved his gaze between the two of them, the sense of dissonance making his brows knit tightly.
"As far as I know, you were injured by an artillery shell and sent to a field hospital. And now, you appear here with a... super soldier, and tell my lieutenant that you call the shots?"
Here it came.
Lynn pulled over a folding stool and sat down calmly.
"Colonel, before I explain, I'd like to ask a question first."
Phillips lifted his chin, signaling him to speak.
"If I told you he was an Angel sent by God to end the war, would you believe it?"
Phillips looked at him silently, his eyes becoming even more dangerous.
Lynn smiled.
"See, you don't believe it either. So I won't insult your intelligence with such nonsense."
Lynn organized his thoughts and began his carefully woven story.
"He has no name, or rather, he has forgotten his name. You can call him... Soldier Boy."
Lynn glanced at Soldier Boy, who was bored and pouring himself another glass of wine, and continued: "He is not some government secret weapon, nor is he the product of a scientific experiment, at least not a product of this era."
"I am a reporter, Colonel. My job is to dig up those unknown stories, especially those that have been deliberately buried."
Phillips' brows furrowed even deeper, and he made a "continue" gesture.
"Before coming to Europe, I had been investigating an urban legend circulating among politicians and old veterans—about a discontinued 'prometheus Project' during the First World War."
"Legend has it that the War Department at the time tried to create a living weapon that mortals could not reach. They succeeded, and they failed."
"Because the thing they created... could not be controlled."
"So, this only finished product was sealed away, all data was destroyed, and it became a taboo that no one wanted to mention again."
Lynn's expression carried a depth of reminiscence, as if he had truly seen those dusty archives with his own eyes.
Phillips snorted coldly.
He wanted to see what kind of tricks this young reporter could come up with.
"At first, I also thought it was nonsense. Until, following an obscure lead, I 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, and I thought I had discovered a shocking historical secret."
"And then?"
"Then the war broke out, and I was sent to the front lines. And then came that artillery shell that almost killed me."
Lynn pointed to his own temple.
"Perhaps it was a near-death experience, or perhaps the violent explosion activated some kind of connection. When I woke up from my coma, I found that I could feel his presence and hear his voice."
"So he came to the front lines to find me. Currently, it seems only I can communicate with him normally, and only I can... to some extent, soothe his emotions."
"Colonel, I am not his Commander; I am more like a translator, a navigator. He is a weapon from a past era, and I am his only 'manual'."
"I brought him here because I know that this is where he is needed most."
Phillips stared intently at Lynn, trying to find traces of lying on his face.
"His World is simple; it only has fighting and keeping him satisfied. And I happen to understand how to keep him satisfied."
Phillips leaned back in his chair.
"Living weapon... manual..."
Phillips repeated these two words in a low voice.
"The most important point, Colonel, do you know what it is?"
"What?"
"He is American."
"Mr. Morris..."
Phillips suddenly stood up and raised his glass.
"I don't care about any bullshit projects or legends; let the politicians in Washington worry about that!"
"I only ask you: are you, and this 'weapon' behind you, willing to help us twist the heads off the Germans?"