The Stars and Stripes, European Theater Edition, June 1943, front-page headline.
The title was in striking bold print: "The Angel of Sainte-Mère-Église: One Soldier, One Miracle!"
A photograph occupying half the page became the bible passed around by all the soldiers in the muddy trenches.
The composition of the photograph was perfect.
The afterglow of the setting sun pierced through the smoke of war, gilding the figure standing atop the church bell tower.
He held a peculiar triangular shield, overlooking the war-torn town below like a god of war stepping out of mythology.
The text of the report was filled with passion and incitement:
"When our warriors were pinned down in the killing zone by the German Army's crossfire, he appeared."
"Bullets were like ineffective raindrops before him; sturdy fortifications were like paper in his presence."
"He is not fighting alone; behind him stands the will of God, and the souls of all who yearn for peace!"
"We do not know his name, we only know that when he appears, victory follows. The soldiers call him 'Soldier Boy,' a name enough to make Berlin tremble..."
This report, carried by supply trucks and transport planes, spread across the entire Western Front in Europe with unprecedented speed.
From Normandy to the Apennines, every Allied Forces soldier still fighting tooth and nail against the Germans knew of the existence of this "Super Soldier" who had descended from the sky.
He became the hope in despair, a ray of light in the darkness.
...
Inside Colonel Phillips' command tent, the atmosphere was somewhat strange.
He slammed the newspaper, still smelling of fresh ink, onto the table with a crisp "snap."
"The Angel of Sainte-Mère-Église?"
Phillips stared fixedly at Lynn.
"Mr. Morris, your pen has more power than all the artillery shells in our division combined."
Lynn responded with composure, "Colonel, I am merely a chronicler. Recording the facts as I see them."
"Facts?" Phillips sneered, pointing at the photograph in the newspaper, "You call this a fact? You are creating a god! An uncontrollable god!"
"Colonel, people need gods."
"Especially at a time like this. A god who can create miracles is far more useful than a thousand empty phrases of 'Hold on, reinforcements are coming.'"
Phillips fell silent.
He had to admit that after the battle of Sainte-Mère-Église, the morale of his troops had reached an unprecedented peak.
Those new recruits who were too scared to lift their heads against the MG42 yesterday were today clamoring to follow Soldier Boy to take out Hitler's office.
Fanaticism is a contagious plague.
And right now, this plague is beneficial to the Allied Forces.
"Damn it, Lynn, you really are an detestable fellow. I will meet all of your demands."
Phillips stood up from his chair and walked to the map.
"We have prepared the best barracks, steaming hot steaks, and this."
From a locked iron box, he took out two bottles of Scotch whisky with worn-out labels.
"A 1926 vintage, a Christmas gift from my daughter. I've never been able to bring myself to drink it."
Phillips placed the liquor in front of Lynn.
"Now, it is yours."
After saying this, Phillips came behind Lynn, leaned down, and whispered into his ear, his voice extremely low.
"Remember, the one you are holding on a leash is not a decorated hunting dog, but a tiger that has tasted blood. Do not let him lose control, or the first thing he swallows will be you."
"Rest assured, Colonel."
A smile finally appeared on Lynn's face.
"Only when a tiger is full will it be too lazy to hurt anyone."
This was a transaction, and also a warning.
...
The conditions in the barracks were more than a notch better than Phillips' command post.
An independent room.
A soft bed.
A warm fire burning in the fireplace.
Soldier Boy sprawled on the sofa like a king, holding a bottle of liquor in one hand and a sizzling, greasy grilled steak in the other, his mouth covered in grease as he ate.
"Ha, did you see that, kid?"
Soldier Boy said indistinctly, "The way those guys look at me, it's like they're looking at God! This feeling... is ten thousand times better than walking the red carpet in Hollywood!"
Lynn sat by the fireplace, silently wiping his precious camera.
The light of the flames danced on his face, casting a calm shadow.
"This is just the beginning."
He said without even looking up.
"What?"
"I said, this is just the beginning."
Lynn put down the camera and looked up at him.
"Sainte-Mère-Église is just a backwater place where nobodies stay. The reason those soldiers worship you is because they haven't seen the world."
Soldier Boy's movements stopped.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that this little achievement is unworthy of your power."
Lynn's tone pierced through Soldier Boy's extremely inflated ego.
"Are you satisfied with being worshipped by a bunch of privates who haven't even seen the German elite? Is your legend only worth this much?"
"Bullshit!" Soldier Boy threw the steak hard onto the plate, "I..."
"Can you destroy a full-strength German Tiger tank battalion head-on in a single battle?"
Lynn interrupted him.
"Can you storm into a heavily guarded German Army command headquarters and drag out their general like grabbing a chick?"
"Can you, by yourself, turn the tide of a battle involving hundreds of thousands of people?"
With every question Lynn asked, Soldier Boy's expression grew uglier.
His pride, built up by alcohol and flattery, was being peeled away layer by layer by this questioning.
"You can do it."
Lynn's tone suddenly softened, carrying a sense of seduction.
"Your power is far greater than this. Sainte-Mère-Église is just your first poster; next, I want to help you paint an epic oil painting that can hang in a war museum."
"A painting... with the entire Third Reich as the background."
Soldier Boy was silent, staring fixedly at the dancing flames in the fireplace, his heavy breathing echoing in the room.
He found that he couldn't refute it at all.
This kid, who looked weak and frail, could always easily see through his deepest desires, and then, in the most tempting way, paint an even bigger picture for him.
A damn picture that he actually wanted to eat!
...
In the barracks, the firelight from the fireplace illuminated the profiles of two young women, turning them bright red.
They were laundry women sent by Colonel Phillips.
At this moment, they were sitting nervously on the edge of the sofa, stealing glances from time to time at the man who was pouring whisky into his mouth.
Soldier Boy was shirtless.
His bronze muscles glistened with sweaty sheen under the firelight.
He gave a rude burp, reached out, and pinched the chin of one of the girls, forcing her to look up.
"What, afraid of me? I'm a hero, you know."
He enjoyed this gaze mixed with fear and admiration, just like a male lion patrolling its territory.
Lynn stood quietly at the doorway watching this scene, then silently turned and gently closed the door, shutting out the warmth and decadence inside.
A tiger needs amusement.
He, the animal tamer, also needed a moment of respite and quiet.
He walked along the shadows at the edge of the camp, avoiding patrolling soldiers and the occasional drunken humming.
Finally, he found a perfect corner behind a pile of discarded ammunition crates.
It was secluded enough.
Lynn leaned against the wooden crates and closed his eyes.
[Achievement: First Glimmer of Fame]
[Condition: Successfully recruit or create the first superhero]
[Comment: You have lit the first spark, but be careful, it can light the way ahead, or it can burn down the entire forest.]
[Reward: One draw opportunity]
This was the reward given when Soldier Boy was summoned.
But he only had time to redeem it now.
Soldier Boy was a bomb that could explode in his hands at any moment.
What he needed now was not another bomb.
But a more stable, more controllable helper who could make up for his shortcomings.
A "helper" in the true sense, not an "ancestor" that he had to rack his brains to coax, lie to, and scheme against.
"Don't let it be Homelander, don't let it be Homelander..."
Lynn prayed silently in his heart.
He couldn't control those characters who were lawlessly powerful right now.
Give me someone whose abilities aren't so exaggerated, but who has a better brain, or has stronger functionality.
For example... an assassin who can infiltrate behind enemy lines and gather intelligence?
A scientist who can create black-tech equipment?
Even a healer would be better than another Soldier Boy!
"System, start the draw."
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