I returned to the brigade command post set up inside Weymouth City Hall.
“Colonel, you’re back?”
Helga greeted me. The first-floor lobby of the city hall had already been completely converted into an Imperial Army command control room.
Radio traffic crisscrossed from every direction, and markers representing each unit were continuously updated on the operational map.
I took off my coat and placed it on the desk as I asked,
“How is the battle situation?”
“Proceeding very smoothly.”
Helga reported, flipping through documents.
“The landing forces continue to push north. The enemy is conducting a delaying action, but they can only slow our advance; they are insufficient to turn the tide of battle.”
Capturing Weymouth Harbor had been a tremendous boon. Thanks to the uninterrupted supply of materiel from the homeland, the culminating point of the offensive was being meaningfully delayed.
“What is the situation in the Weymouth urban area? Are there any items requiring my direct approval?”
I sat down and began skimming through the stack of documents Helga held out.
The contents themselves were fairly heavy administrative tasks, but my hands passing them for approval were remarkably light.
*Much smoother than Soissons.*
It was partly thanks to me and my unit having grown… but back then, the remnants of the Revolutionary Army had been vicious, and local resistance had been severe.
Now was different.
“Public sentiment is largely favorable.”
The reason was simple. Justification.
The communization of the United Kingdom had been extremely radical, and internal opposition had been considerable. In the midst of that, we had launched the war by presenting Charlotte as the legitimate ruler. So the Empire’s justification for war held considerable persuasive power for the residents here.
Of course, these were the times, so some lingering resentment toward the occupiers and anxiety that the communists might return remained.
“In that regard, the efforts of the government-in-exile have been significant. Our army doesn’t even need to step in; they are keeping the locals in line on their own,”
Hanna, who had just entered to report, added.
“Our brigade merely parks tanks throughout the city as a show of force. The actual order maintenance is being handled one hundred percent by Director Wellesley’s Intelligence Bureau.”
This time, I skimmed the documents Hanna handed me.
“The list is…”
I swallowed. The list was endless.
“Collaborators who aided the Communist Party, underlings connected to the Civic Labor Party, even provocateurs from the League nations. Their skill at rooting them out is extraordinary.”
In truth, Weymouth was like the Intelligence Bureau’s own backyard. A major metropolitan area close to the capital, Londinium. They had rapidly rebuilt their old networks, gathering intelligence through cooperative locals.
When executing the red elements, it was not the foreign Imperial Army but local police and agents who took the lead, so there was no backlash.
“Splendid.”
I signed the documents in satisfaction.
When we first began cooperating with the government-in-exile, I had worried whether those embittered men could really pull their weight.
But seeing the public security situation within the city of Weymouth, those worries had completely vanished.
*Shall I see how hard she’s working?*
I set down my pen and closed my eyes.
[Skill ‘Shared Vision (Lv.1)’ is activated.]
[Receiving real-time visual information from the designated target (‘Sydney Wellesley’).]
My vision flipped with a burst of crackling static.
*Smack!*
“You treasonous bastard! Open your mouth right now!”
A dark interrogation room. I saw an agent strike the cheek of a bound prisoner. Beyond the one-way glass of that interrogation room, Sydney stood with her arms crossed.
“Director, here is the list of Weymouth underground organization cadres. The charges and evidence are more than sufficient.”
“Arrest them all. If they resist, summary execution is authorized.”
A frosty voice. A scene so different from how she had looked hours ago at the hilltop cemetery that it seemed almost an illusion.
She rapidly reviewed the documents on her desk, giving orders to her agents without pause.
“Colonel Yeager has released supplies to the distribution centers. Deploy our agents to each center and begin propaganda work. Emphasize both Her Majesty the Queen’s grace and the Imperial Army’s benevolence. And…”
Sydney’s gaze lingered for a moment on the corner of a document.
My signature was written there: *Colonel Max Yeager, Commander of the 207th Brigade.*
*Status Analysis.*
[Name: Sydney Wellesley]
[Status: Deeply Immersed, Complex Emotions]
[Emotion: …Thanks to that rude man, my head has cleared. I must continue cooperating with operations and contribute to reclaiming the homeland. I will prove definitively that we are a useful partner to him.]
*Pfft.*
A laugh escaped my lips before I knew it.
*This is the real Sydney.*
The cold, aloof Intelligence Bureau Director.
Writing death lists with that frosty voice, ordering sordid torture and purges without batting an eye.
The cunning to turn even breadcrumbs from a distribution center into political weapons for the Queen and herself.
A guardian of the regime who never hesitated to bloody her hands in the nation’s darkest recesses from the very beginning. Was that not her role?
It was a sight befitting her nickname: the Queen’s Shadow.
Of course, the more ferocious a hunting hound bares its fangs outside like that—
*the more precious the memory of the days when she groveled at my feet becomes.*
I smirked and deactivated [Shared Vision].
*Deactivate skill.*
Back to Weymouth City Hall. My vision returned to my command post.
“…Brigade Commander?”
Finding me silent with my eyes closed, Helga sent me a puzzled look. Hanna, standing beside her, observed me with calm eyes, her hands clasped behind her back.
I cleared my throat and schooled my expression.
“Ahem, it’s nothing. Chief of Staff, I’m done with the approvals here.”
I pushed the stack of documents toward Helga and gave an order.
“Approve any requests coming from Director Wellesley’s side with a free pass, more or less. Weapons, passes, whatever—let them use it all. The better they work, the easier things are for us.”
“That is cooperation bordering on full authority delegation. Understood.”
Helga grasped my intent immediately and nodded.
“The soldiers of our Yeager Brigade exist to fight. There’s no need to wear our boys out with tiresome police games like maintaining order in occupied territory or rooting out subversives. Director Wellesley’s agents will handle the dirty work splendidly.”
“Understood. I will issue immediate cooperation orders to the Military Police and the Quartermaster Department as ordered.”
*
A few days later.
A considerable amount of time had passed since the Yeager Brigade had been stationed at Weymouth Harbor, performing duties of order maintenance and logistical line defense.
With the document envelope prepared overnight by Chief of Staff Helga tucked under my arm, I stepped out of the city hall serving as the brigade command post.
A salty sea breeze brushed my nose. As I walked through the city, the vibrant post-war recovery scenes delighted my eyes.
*Rumble-rumble-BOOM!*
In the next block over, an Imperial Army engineering corps armored bulldozer was ruthlessly pushing aside shattered concrete bunkers and barricades, clearing and expanding the road with ease.
“Check the depth over by crane number two! What’s the status of the railroad track repairs at the station?”
Near the port, logistics officers dispatched from headquarters were busy running about, pointing fingers while holding charts. They were probably surveying for large-scale follow-up supplies.
The blood-soaked metropolis of Weymouth was regaining order by the day. No, beyond that—with the Empire’s massive materiel and troops pouring in, it almost felt livelier than before the war.
*Running smoothly.*
While the frontline units continued marching north, the rear area here was remarkably stable. The reason my subordinates could rest comfortably without wallowing in mud was that an excellent subcontractor was running at one hundred percent capacity, shouldering the most exhausting tasks of occupation security control.
It was only natural to give proper compensation to a subcontractor that did its job well.
Humming a tune, I made my way several blocks over to the old police headquarters building—Sydney’s temporary Intelligence Bureau headquarters.
Having arrived at the temporary headquarters, I entered the building while humming.
“Who’s—ah! Colonel Yeager!”
The agent guarding the entrance snapped to attention when he saw my face. He was one of the men who had crawled through the underground sewers with me during the Londinium riots.
“At ease. Is the Director on the second floor?”
“Y-yes! She’s in the Director’s office! I’ll escort you right away…!”
“No need. I’ll go alone.”
I waved my hand and went up the stairs.
A stale reek of blood and sweat permeated the corridor the entire time I walked. From the underground detention area, intermittent sounds of blows and screams leaked out.
“Spare me… I was just there to get my rations…!”
“Shut up! There are more than one or two witnesses who saw you strutting around with a red armband at Pier Two yesterday morning!”
*Thwack! Ugh!*
Nothing less than splendid proof that the Intelligence Bureau was operating at one hundred percent. The harder they wielded their clubs, the more time my subordinates had to rest.
With light steps, I stood before the door to the Director’s office at the end of the second-floor corridor.
I skipped the knock.
*Creak.*
“I believe I said to report later.”
The moment the door opened, a cold voice flew out.
Beyond a desk piled mountain-high with documents, Sydney, dressed in her usual black suit and leather gloves, was twirling a pen.
“Treating me like an agent here to report. That’s hurtful, Director.”
At the sound of my voice, Sydney’s pen froze upright.
She looked up. A flash of momentary confusion crossed her lavender eyes, but it was quickly covered by the cold, composed poker face characteristic of an Intelligence Bureau Director.
“…Colonel Yeager. I assumed you would be at the brigade command post. I hadn’t expected you to come in person.”
Sydney pushed aside her documents and rose from her seat.
*Status Analysis.*
[Name: Sydney Wellesley]
[Status: Tense, Slight Confusion, Wary]
[Emotion: Colonel Yeager? Why here all of a sudden… Was there a problem with my work? Or does he have some private business with me…?]
“I’m not here to find fault, so don’t look at me like that.”
“…When did I.”
“I can tell at a glance. My intuition is frighteningly sharp, isn’t it?”
At my half-joking, half-serious words, she let out a small, dry cough.
Then I took out a thick envelope from inside my coat and placed it on the desk.
*Thud.*
“What is this?”
“Documents our Chief of Staff Helga prepared overnight. Weapons and ammunition requisitions, authority to issue blank night passes, and a plan to share Imperial Army quartermaster warehouse access.”
Sydney’s eyes widened.
“…This is little different from a blanket delegation of authority. I hadn’t expected you to support us to this extent. It’s nearly equivalent to surrendering half of the local security control rights.”
Sydney carefully scanned the envelope.
“Are there conditions?”
Nothing in this world was free. A very Sydney-like notion. I shrugged.
“If you can even call it that. I simply appreciate your work. Thanks to you, preserving our brigade’s combat strength has become much easier. There hasn’t been a single riot since the occupation; perhaps this much authority transfer is only natural.”
I added with a grin.
“Besides, it’s also a symbol of the close cooperation and trust between us.”
Sydney’s expression grew inscrutable at my words.
*Status Analysis.*
[Name: Sydney Wellesley]
[Status: Professional Accomplishment, Disbelief, Strange Prickling Sensation]
[Emotion: …He wields considerable authority without letting it go to his head, clearly acknowledging my value and my organization’s capabilities. I like that, but… him shamelessly bandying about ‘between us’ is absurd. Since when were we in such a relationship? Ugh…]
[Hidden Desire: I want to fire back at that insolent mouth, but his wholehearted support and trust are secretly not unpleasant.]
Sydney answered with outward composure.
“Thank you for the support, Colonel. The Intelligence Bureau will do nothing to tarnish your name.”
For the next few days.
Sydney and I carried out joint operations.