"Do you know where Atlantis is?" Namor's eyes were full of anticipation, hoping to uncover the secret of his own life by finding the lost city.
Alan held his chin with one hand and said seriously, "You should ask Diana over on Paradise Island. She should have a way."
"Please, take me to Paradise Island."
"I don't know the way."
He didn't know the way, yet he had spoken so seriously, as if he were intimately familiar with it. Namor was so angry that veins bulged on his forehead, the realization dawning that he was being mercilessly tricked.
The people around were just confused. Atlantis? Paradise Island? Why not the dark side of the moon while they were at it? A suspected sunken continent from history, a place from Greek mythology. A mentally ill man was deceiving an amnesiac. Both of them, it seemed, had serious problems.
"Pirate King, take your time to recall the past. Atlantis isn't going anywhere," Alan said, hooking his arm around Namor's shoulder. He winked. "Think about it. You appeared on land inexplicably. There must be a conspiracy. If you go home now, it would be like walking straight into a trap."
"That seems to make sense." Namor was stunned when he heard this. There was nothing he could do; the memory loss was his own fault. He decided to give up the idea of looking for Atlantis for now. The main reason was practical: the city was located in the ocean, and humans did not have the ability to conquer the vast seas. Even submarines could not dive in high-pressure waters.
After cleaning up the battlefield, the soldiers took a rest. The capture of the city of Bethel was undoubtedly a great victory for the Allied forces. At the very least, it would cut off the enemy's supply routes in several key battlefields, or at least extend their supply times.
Alan, Nanaue, and Namor sat together, roasting potatoes over a fire. On the European continent, the staple food was potatoes. If you wanted to eat noodles, you had to borrow pasta from the Italian army, and the Italian army's belief in pasta was unwavering. You could lose a battle for your country, but you must win the battle for pasta.
"Guys, this is my good friend, Bucky Barnes," Steve said, finally reuniting with his old friend during some free time. Meeting on the battlefield was an unexpected and welcome surprise. Moreover, Bucky felt a pang of jealousy when he saw Steve, once a scrawny kid, transformed into a muscular man.
"Hello, Bucky."
"It's good to meet you."
"So, you're the crazy one Steve mentioned," Bucky said, already guessing Alan was the psychiatrist his friend had written about. Seeing him in person was certainly worse than hearing about him.
After a brief introduction, they got to know each other.
"Potato, potato," Nanaue said, holding out a baked potato on a stick to Bucky, who politely declined. "Thank you, I've already eaten."
Nanaue stuffed it into his own mouth and savored it carefully. Namor, meanwhile, tried hard to recall his past, a bitter and resentful look on his face. He didn't want to talk to anyone, but unfortunately, his mind was a complete blank.
"I'd like to invite Bucky to join the commando team," Steve suggested. After the first battle, the commando team had been reduced by half. Three had been killed and three wounded. As a result, except for Carter, the three who were safe and sound—Steve, Alan, and Dum Dum Dugan—were not ordinary people.
Therefore, commandos performing high-risk missions could not be ordinary soldiers. The casualty rate was too high, and frequent replacement of team members would hinder coordination and cooperation. Steve must have had his own considerations when inviting Bucky to join.
At this, Alan lay down, raised his hands and feet, and said sincerely, "I welcome you with all four of my limbs."
Nanaue followed suit. "Nanaue also welcomes with hands and feet."
Namor stared at the man and the shark, wondering whether he should learn to do the same action, and couldn't help but wonder if this was the human way of welcoming someone.
"Bucky, I told you they wouldn't mind," Steve said, giving his friend a smile. Bucky responded with an awkward one of his own. In fact, he was thinking, Damn it, I agreed too soon. If I had known they were this kind of group, I would have definitely refused.
Alan, for his part, never mentioned Bucky's fate. In the original timeline, during a mission, Bucky had been attacked and had fallen off a cliff, only to be rescued by Hydra and transformed into the Winter Soldier. Let go of the desire to help others, he thought. Just obey fate.
Bullshit. How could Alan follow the original plot? Not doing things in this timeline would mean the whole trip was in vain.
"Bucky, since you don't have any special skills, I'm going to make a piece of equipment tailor-made for you." Alan hurried to the castle. With so many materials and equipment, it would take more than just his hands to build what he had in mind.
Ignoring the objections of the soldiers and officers, Alan picked and chose materials and immediately started to develop an arm armor. He just wanted to see if, by interfering with Bucky's fate, there would still be a Winter Soldier in the future.
That night, a soldier on guard suddenly grabbed his neck, blood oozing from between his fingers. Out of nowhere, a set of footprints appeared in the snow, heading toward the city. Silently, several sentries died in assassinations, as if an invisible god of death were reaping their lives.
At the same time, several figures hidden in the distance sneaked toward Bethel City. How could the Axis powers allow their research results to fall into the hands of the enemy? They naturally sent special forces to destroy the castle to prevent future troubles. In this world, there were mutants with superpowers, and the Nazis could not turn a blind eye. Research and militarization were imperative. Mutant teams often relied on the coordination of various abilities to complete their missions by surprise.
The invisible man would take care of the sentries, then enter the castle to plant a time bomb, and then retreat according to the plan, trying to avoid direct conflict as much as possible. If the operation failed, the remaining mutants would be responsible for fighting their way out by force. Normally, the invisible man had enough time to complete the task of secretly installing the bomb, with more than enough time left to evacuate.
Alan put on his goggles, tightened the last screw, and put a piece of arm armor on his hand. He clenched his fist and swung his arm to test its flexibility.
Alan looked to his side and asked calmly, "Have you seen enough?"
"…" Everyone in the laboratory looked at Alan with puzzled eyes. He was speaking to the air. Could it be that he was sick again?
"Hah!" He raised his hand and punched.
In an instant, a beautiful blonde woman appeared out of nowhere, holding her eyes and grinning in pain.
"Hah!" Before the invisible woman could react, she was hit by Alan again. For a moment, she held her hands to her eyes, which were tearing up.
"Didn't I mention that my goggles have thermal imaging capabilities?" Alan said proudly, wiping the fog off his lenses. "You can't just wear an aluminum foil blanket and go out for a stroll." Thermal imaging was invented in 1971. How could the invisible woman predict the future and use an aluminum foil blanket for heat insulation?
"Look at how ashamed you are. You must feel that you have suffered from your lack of education." Old God Alan said, "As a human being, you must believe in science."
The invisible woman shed tears. Bullshit, I'm so ashamed of myself. I can't even open my eyes because they hurt.
The invisible woman, who was useless except for her invisibility, surrendered decisively.
***
(End of Chapter)
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