Chapter Forty-Four: The Final Battle Approaches

A night had passed.

Early the next morning, Kyle was awakened by the communications officer, delivering the colonel’s order to report directly to the underground command center. Wasting no time, Kyle washed up quickly, let Venom wrap itself around his body to form a black combat suit, strapped on his sodium-carbon steel sword, and hurried toward the underground passage.

Arriving at the brightly lit command room entrance, Kyle was surprised to find Steve, already in his Captain’s uniform, waiting ahead of him. But the colonel’s call for assembly wasn’t just for the two of them—Howard, Carter, Fury, the colonel himself, and a dozen intelligence analysts were present, nearly filling every seat at the long command table.

“With such a large turnout, it seems we’ve gotten some very important intel from that professor,” Kyle remarked as he strode into the command room.

“Good morning, Major Kyle!” The intelligence personnel greeted him eagerly, saluting with admiration gleaming in their eyes.

Howard shook his head with a wry smile. “Man, you’re the last one here for this operation briefing. We were just waiting on you.”

“I thought you, of all people, would skip out on this mission for once,” Fury grinned, his dark face breaking into a bright smile.

“Kyle, over here,” Steve called, waving him over to the empty seat beside him.

Carter, still silent, sat at her place, her icy expression betraying a trace of lingering anger from the night before. Yet when Kyle arrived, a subtle relief softened her features.

The colonel by the strategic map gestured for Kyle to sit. “I was just about to begin the briefing. You’re not late. Find your seat.”

Kyle nodded, exchanged brief waves with his acquaintances, and took the seat next to Steve.

No matter the situation, Kyle’s presence eased the tension in the command room; the grim faces of those gathered relaxed, a sense of assurance settling over them. Such was the unique charisma of America’s symbol of strength—not only a title, but a reputation forged through real feats and a staggering tally of enemies felled.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” the colonel began, coughing to clear his throat. “Last night, our intelligence officers extracted a critical piece of information from the professor who recently joined HYDRA.”

“HYDRA’s founder—Schmidt, the Red Skull—his goal isn’t merely the conquest of Europe. He intends to destroy half the world, then rule what remains!”

At this shocking revelation, most in the command room furrowed their brows deeply.

“That lunatic belongs in an asylum. Does he actually think he’s a god?” Carter scoffed.

Fury murmured thoughtfully, “It’s madness. Maybe that’s why the German army refuses to cooperate with HYDRA any longer.”

Howard frowned. “We can’t let him run loose. Schmidt wields power far beyond what we imagined—those energy weapons are proof enough.”

Kyle nodded in agreement; after all, he knew better than anyone what Red Skull possessed.

The Cosmic Cube—a space gem imbued with the laws of the universe. Its basic use alone could generate limitless energy, and the explosive power of its residual energy dwarfed any conventional bomb.

The colonel’s voice grew grave. “There’s more. Schmidt plans to fly to America today. Once he crosses the Atlantic, it would take him less than an hour to devastate the entire East Coast. From there, he could escalate to half the globe.”

“How much time do we have?” Kyle asked bluntly.

“Less than twelve hours,” the colonel replied quickly.

“That’s enough,” Kyle said with quiet confidence.

The colonel shook his head. “The real challenge is HYDRA’s final base. Unlike the factory you stormed before, this one lies five hundred feet beneath the Alps—an almost impregnable fortress.”

“I have an idea,” Steve broke his silence. “If we attack with our full force, Schmidt will simply seal the entrance and escape. We need someone to lure them into opening the gates. Then our troops can seize the moment to launch a coordinated assault.”

“I’ll go,” Kyle offered with a careless shrug. He had more than enough tricks to keep himself alive—even charging into HYDRA’s base alone, he was confident he’d make it out unscathed.

“No,” Steve objected. “You’re better suited to leading the assault from outside. Besides, if you show up, won’t Schmidt just run away?”

His last remark was half-joking, but no one disagreed—in fact, they all nodded in silent agreement.

The German executioner, the battlefield butcher, the embodiment of American might—the demon whose very name struck fear into hearts. Sending such a man to lure the enemy? The notion was laughable.

The colonel, half-serious, half-amused, added, “Truth be told, if I were Schmidt and saw Major Kyle charging in, I’d run too.”

“Don’t make me sound like some inhuman monster,” Kyle replied coolly, arms crossed as he shot them a glance.

“I proposed the plan. Let me go,” Steve insisted, rising to his feet. “I’m Captain America. As the decoy, I’ll draw HYDRA out. I’m the best choice for this mission.”

Kyle looked at Steve’s resolute face, and the phrase came unbidden to his mind: “I, Captain America, bear the hardest shield and take the hardest hits.”

“The situation is urgent—we can’t afford to delay. The plan stands. Every available unit at the base will support your operation,” the colonel concluded, slamming his palm on the table to underscore his resolve. “Let’s move out! We’ll destroy HYDRA’s last bastion and send Schmidt straight to hell!”

Three hours later, near the Alps.

The midday sun shone brightly, the snow in the mountain forests reflecting the dazzling light.

The roar of engines suddenly shattered the silence. Steve, shield strapped to his back, sped through the snowy woodland trails on his motorcycle.

Gripping the handlebars, he pushed the bike to its limits. Blue flames and exhaust burst from its tail as wheels shredded snow and branches, tearing toward HYDRA’s main gate at full throttle.

Behind him came a chorus of whistling engines—more than a dozen enemy motorcycles, shadowing his every move.

“The fish has taken the bait,” Kyle muttered from atop a snowy mountainside, his gaze cold as he watched the chase below, poised like a hunter awaiting the coming showdown.

Clad in his Venom combat suit, he could feel the suit’s own excitement, mirroring his own anticipation for the battle ahead.