Time flew amidst preparations.
Ancient One made progress studying otherworldly magic, particularly item-based mana storage.
Kamar-Taj was buzzing with wands, a new combat style emerging: one hand wielding a sling ring for distance, the other firing stored spells from a wand—a kiting tactic.
Casting costs remained, but pre-stored magic softened the blow.
The Adjutant's reverse-engineering of the leech serum was slow-going. Without the internet, her resources were radio broadcasts and books. Su Ming was impressed she'd self-taught chemistry expertise.
His factories expanded beyond food lines. In two years, his team developed instant mashed potatoes, powdered juice, canned coffee, and vacuum-packed chicken legs and eggs.
The school gained regular students. War's scars ran deep, and Su Ming worried about finding enough orphans. Now, the school was nearly full.
Younger kids coped better, not grasping "death." Older ones, aware their parents were gone forever, showed mental strain—depression, withdrawal, rage. Textbook villain origins.
Su Ming hired psychologists to bolster the infirmary.
With the school livelier, he grew busier but found life fulfilling.
June 1944: Normandy landings.
December 1944: German counteroffensive in the Ardennes.
Dates shifted slightly, but history seemed normal, save for Hydra and Captain America. Their shadow war was brutal.
The Invaders were fine, but the Howling Commandos, ordinary men, suffered high casualties. Parachuting behind enemy lines, they faced blue energy beams beyond their limits.
In the Ardennes, Steve and SSR forces held a corner of the vast forest.
At the field hospital, Steve watched a Howling Commando close his eyes forever.
He saluted his fallen friend.
His hand trembled. He could face war bravely but never accept it.
Tents offered little warmth, the ground frozen solid, the air thick with blood.
After a while, the chaos snapped Steve back to reality.
SSR's position at the rear was safer, receiving many wounded.
Doctors and nurses rushed about, treating patients.
"Don't worry, soldier, just shell shock. You'll recover."
"Malaria, corporal. Common here. I'll get you some quinine."
"Nurse, morphine, now! This kid danced with a Bouncing Betty!"
Thanks to the Avenging Angel, Steve picked up medical terms, which only deepened his gloom.
Shell shock was psychological—patients felt a barrage of 105mm cannons, the world shaking.
"Bouncing Betty," a German S-mine, sprang to waist height, spraying shrapnel, mowing down soldiers.
Morphine, a precious painkiller, was reserved for the dying as palliative care.
"Avenging Angel, go help. They need more hands," Steve said.
Howling couldn't stand the doctors' butcher-like methods. But as a covert team, using powers openly risked security breaches.
Colonel Phillips forbade showing abilities to avoid enemy spies.
Steve's order changed that. Defying Phillips wasn't new.
Howling rushed to a bed, snatching a nurse's stethoscope, shouting, "Stop! No amputation! I can save him!"
Steve sighed, glancing at Monarch, asleep on a cot, brow furrowed.
The Magic Prince had faced a squad of German warlocks, wielding eagle banners, submachine guns, and magic shields.
Monarch won, but the casting cost broke his mind, muttering gibberish until sedated.
Torch was loaned to the British for some mission, leaving Steve and Namor idle.
Steve's view of Namor was lukewarm.
The Atlantean king leaned against a tent pole, arms crossed, calmly watching men die.
Captain America and the Sub-Mariner weren't allies. Namor fought for revenge and to crush U-boat factions, not for America's cause.
"You're bored, you can leave," Steve said.
Namor grabbed his trident and left. War meant death—watching fallen comrades helped nothing.
He wasn't one for words, unlike Steve. He'd prove himself on the front, killing scores of Germans.
Steve watched him go, then surveyed the chaotic hospital. He was in the way.
He stepped out, found a stump in the snow, sat with his shield, and sank into thought.
"Hey, Steve."
Peggy's voice broke his reverie. She knelt, her breath forming a misty cloud.
"Peggy."
He nodded, inviting her to sit beside him.
"I'm sorry about Thompson. He was a good man," she said, choosing her words.
Steve sighed. No one's fault but the war's.
"It's taken too many good men. All I can do is end it faster."
Peggy slipped her hand into his, trying to pull him up, but lacked the strength.
Steve shook his head, standing. Agent Carter nodded encouragingly. "We'll all help end this war. But right now, Phillips has a guest you'll want to meet."
Confused, Steve let Peggy drag him to the commander's tent.
He saw a familiar face: a man with an eyepatch, in a stylish wool coat.
"Well, well, my little Steve, Captain America!" he laughed, hugging Steve, clapping his back.
"Mr. Wilson, what are you doing here? It's dangerous," Steve said, glad to see him but worried. Wilson had always looked out for him.
This was the Ardennes. German artillery or V1 rockets could hit anytime.
"Don't you know I'm an SSR sponsor now? Let's see if you're wearing Wilson Enterprises' long johns."
Su Ming jokingly tugged at Steve's pant leg.
"No, sir, stop!" Steve dodged, glancing at Peggy, not wanting to look like a kid in front of her.
Su Ming was teasing. He was here to check on things—Hydra seemed too quiet, up to something.
Long johns were practical: warm and elastic, doubling as tourniquets.
Soldiers loved them.
Peggy blushed—Wilson Enterprises' women's long johns for SSR were bright red. She wore them now.
"While you boys fight, I can't just sit back. I brought supplies to boost morale," Su Ming said, scanning the camp discreetly.
SSR's discipline outshone Leviathan's. The camp was tidy.
"Thanks, Mr. Wilson. You're as generous as ever. Stark was here recently. Want to meet him? You tycoons must have plenty to talk about," Phillips said, thrilled at the supplies.
"Nah, he's a genius scientist. I'm just a humble businessman. I feel safer with soldiers," Su Ming replied.
Steve glanced at a nearby airstrip, spotting a plane with a "W" logo, but no pilot or crew.
Wilson had flown a transport through German air blockades alone.
Safety? What safety?
Steve bit back a retort, rubbing his chin.
Phillips saw Su Ming as a cash cow. You don't let a donor deliver supplies without offering lunch.
He dragged Su Ming to the bunker, insisting Steve join.