Chapter 2 (Part 2)

A CERTAIN DAY,

THE COMMONWEALTH CAPITAL LONDINIUM, THE PRIME MINISTER'S RESIDENCE

The next day, Major General Habergram appeared at the appointed hour at the prime minister's residence.

Along the way, he had looked at the drabness above. The meager sunlight was normal. It wasn't so unusual for the sun to not peek out in the autumn sky.

He'd been raised in that climate from birth. He couldn't complain. Sometimes he wanted to pop off to the Inner Sea and enjoy a beach vacation, but this was wartime.

Society and beaches were for after the war was over. He was practically used to the dull military-issue items and the world being dyed beige.

Surely even the institution of three o'clock tea couldn't escape the scourge of war. Near the prime minister's mansion, there were anti–air artillery positions, in light of the aerial combat, and a few dugouts; here and there, soldiers were having tea at their stations.

Compared to the principle of the thing, which was to take your time, relax, and chat, there was nothing sadder.

When he was led—"Right this way"—to a table in a corner of the prime minister's residence, the buckets set here and there in case of fire reminded him they were at war.

"There you are. Take a seat."

The prime minister offered him a chair, and the butler left to prepare their tea. Before the war, Habergram never would have dreamed he'd be sharing a table with Prime Minister Churbull.

Though he was honored to have such an opportunity, it brought him no joy. He felt awful because he knew it meant his fatherland was in trouble.

For example, the people around him. The service staff, with their crisp movements that practically embodied discipline, were pros, but… many of them were quite old. Even the youngest had to be over fifty.

It was no wonder, considering the army had snapped up most young men. At some point, everything they had taken for granted had become the past. Consciously noticing the passage of time always made him melancholy.

That the uniforms of the people bringing over the tea things were as impeccable as before was actually depressing.

"My apologies, but as we're at war…"

Tea was served with the implication that this was all they could manage. Habergram

was about to take the comment at face value when suddenly, he couldn't believe his eyes.

A glimpse of silver polished to an unnatural beauty.

Silver tarnished so easily—was it even possible to polish it so well? Considering how scarce labor was, he wasn't sure if he should be impressed or disgusted.

So tea with porcelain and silver like the good old days? In wartime, at the prime minister's residence when he and his people are under the pressure of leading the war?

"My butler is too picky. The tea is fairly good."

"Considering the wartime distribution circumstances, I'd say it's surprisingly good."

The Assam tea he was prompted to drink wasn't bad even for peacetime standards. Considering the commerce raids they were currently facing, you could say it was unexpectedly delightful.

"I'm sure my butler's ideal is to serve only what is in its quality season. Of course, I'm not thrilled when we can't get the good stuff and are forced to make substitutions, either."

Discriminating taste, love of tradition, and that unflappable demeanor. Even if he was putting up a brave front, that he was displaying the Commonwealth's traditional attitude was truly encouraging.

"I can't deny that we in government have some serious work to do when it comes to ersatz products. The tea delay is unexpectedly severe. Can't fight a war without tea." The prime minister laughed, and General Habergram found himself smiling wryly.

Certainly, fighting a war without tea was out of the question. Anyone who encountered such horrible luck would surely find some somewhere. One good example was the intelligence officers sent to the southern continent. Despite the fact that they had been dispatched to a desert, they were apparently managing to get their tea one way or another.

Or to put it another way: They were able to find tea in a desert. Maybe they had the talent to perform even if he worked them a little harder.

"But I suppose we can't spend our time chatting. Shall we get down to business? It's just as you heard at the Committee of Commonwealth Defense meeting."

Ahhh. Habergram realized he had been getting a bit too relaxed. He straightened up and got his ears ready to listen.

He wondered what in the world the prime minister had called him for. As the one responsible for Intelligence, he did report to the prime minister, but… this was the first time he had been invited in private for tea.

"We don't have enough of anything. From daily necessities such as tea to, on the war front, destroyers, other ships, or even trustworthy, civilized ally countries."

They really were forced to admit the Commonwealth was facing a crisis. And it was all because they hadn't been able to stop the defeat of the Republic on the continent. They were stuck paying the cost of their intervention coming too late now by facing the powerful Empire without their ally.

"That's the true state of things here in the Commonwealth. Although things have gotten a bit better than when I said in parliament that this was their best of times and our worst of times…"

"If things have gotten better and you're still this upset, sir…" "Exactly."

Churbull offered a cigar case and said to take one. He still loves to smoke, I see. Habergram cracked a wry smile, but he wasn't opposed himself.

When he gratefully accepted, he saw that it was the highest quality, as usual. So even in these troubled times, there are cigars around if you know where to look.

But even as he was smoking, the question remained. Why was I summoned? He couldn't help but wonder as he enjoyed the fine cigar.

The topic jumped around, but… so much time had passed that he began to feel this was an awfully roundabout way to get down to business. That's when it happened.

"Mr. Habergram, I'll be straight with you. I don't want to regret this deal with the Communists."

"I see, sir."

His intuition responded to Prime Minister Churbull's sudden remark. So this is about the Communists!

He realized his throat was dry, but when he reached out for his cup and sipped the Assam tea, he couldn't taste it.

"Has there been any progress in finding the mole plaguing Intelligence?"

"My apologies, but the investigation is still under way; we haven't identified him. Since nothing seems to have been leaked recently, it's possible the mole was one of the officers on loan from the army or navy." Habergram himself was doubtful of this, but he went on. "The tricky thing is that we can't rule out that he's been converted into a sleeper. All we can do is keep managing our intelligence the best we can."

He'd done a thorough check on his subordinates. To be sure, he wasn't interested in suspecting his friends, but he knew that it was necessary, if unpleasant.

He had done all that.

He thought for sure that he would be able to identify the barefaced villain soon enough… but so far they had come up with a fat lot of nothing.

It had been suggested that perhaps the mole was one of the officers on loan, but… without evidence to back it up, that seemed like wishful thinking.

For the sleeper, not being suspected anymore would be a big win. It wouldn't do for Habergram and his men to lower their guard just like that, which made the whole ordeal especially rough.

Hence, as head of Intelligence, General Habergram made an official apology.

"In conclusion, all I can do is apologize once more. The fact is, we're still investigating." "…About that."

"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister?"

I'll content myself with being scolded. Even if he's harsh with me, I'm in no position to

argue. Habergram braced himself.

"There's a possibility it's the Federation intelligence agency." Which was why that revelation was completely unexpected.

It was only due to his long years of self-control and discipline that he didn't immediately ask, "What?!" The conclusion his brain just barely managed to reach hinted at the truth—that the mole was… Wait a minute—why does the prime minister know this?

"…What do you mean?"

"You're familiar with their Commissariat for Internal Affairs, I'm sure? You probably know more about them than I do, but at any rate, they've come forward with a proposal to halt all espionage activity on each other."

The surprise rendered him speechless.

Should I ask, So? Or should I wonder, Why? Both of them seemed appropriate and yet not. "So you really made a deal with the devil…"

"We can think of it as a signal. Anyhow! Their head of the Commissariat for Internal Affairs, Loria, said as their representative that they want to have a working-level meeting about exchanging intelligence and combating the Empire together."

I see. It made sense.

Frankly, the idea that he, from the Commonwealth, would be able to meet with people from Federation Intelligence was a revolution on a Copernican scale.

This was what it meant to be utterly astonished.

It made him keenly aware that the paradoxical adage of the intelligence world—the only thing that is certain is that nothing is certain—was the truth.

"Is it an official invite?"

"Of course. And it came with the pledge to void all past warrants of arrest and guilty

verdicts at trials in absentia for intelligence agents!" "That's… Wow."

Should I say that's encouraging? Will we be fools for believing a guarantee from the Communist Party's secret police? Or should we be stunned by their sincerity?

The choices were so extreme.

"Mr. Habergram, depending on how the arrangements turn out, I'd like to have you do the meeting."

"Understood. Say the word, and I'll take a man and be off immediately, sir." Hesitation was pointless.

If he was told to go, he could only go and do his best.

"Very good. If it suits you, how about using the RMS Queen of Anjou? We're still settling the exact date with the Commissariat for Internal Affairs, but once things are arranged, we're planning an unofficial exchange of personnel, as well."

"It would be a lie if I said I wouldn't be ashamed to release bloody traitors, treasonous bastards, and Communists, but… ," Habergram continued.

On his face was an expression different from the stiff, nearly inhuman mask he had worn up until now. Out in the world, people would no doubt describe it as relief, acceptance, or perhaps joy.

"I can't complain if we can take back our people from those Communist assassins."

His colleagues, so worthy of respect. Once they were imprisoned, there had been no news. The Commonwealth's intelligence agency had no illusions about how gentlemanly the Communists were.

The pro-Communist-leaning academics couldn't seem to get it through their heads, but… the Commissariat for Internal Affairs was incredibly harsh even on its own people. If he could get his colleagues imprisoned by that band of sadists back alive…

It was enough to make even the top of the intelligence agency, dispassionate by

necessity, feel like cracking a smile. After winter came spring. If you knew the peaceful days would return after the hard times, why would you neglect preparations for making it through the winter?

"It would be even more perfect if we could offer the returnees first-class accommodations."

He had read the fate of captured intelligence agents in reports. It was what people meant when they said, "Worse than you could ever imagine."

Since they were full of top secret intel, the reports couldn't be made public. But if they could be, the absurd debate about how cruel humans could be would be put to rest.

The answer? Infinitely.

So then, what tortures, what suffering, had they endured? Even the thought of his colleagues' fate brought tears to his eyes.

"Of course, we'll want to have plenty of champagne and wine. We may need beer by the barrel."

Banter to mask the awkwardness. Better to flash an invincible smile than tearfully whimper. That had to be why they were joking.

"Ha-ha-ha, the hospitality of stiff drinks? I'd request cigars myself, but booze is also much appreciated. Excuse the joke—I suppose first-class rooms are impossible."

Habergram was fully aware of the navy's ship shortage. He didn't even have to be told—which was why he bobbed his head and apologized for having the prime minister go along with his silliness.

"The RMS Queen of Anjou has been fully outfitted as a military transport ship. The luxury rooms were probably all removed to make spaces to carry cargo and soldiers."

"Well, that's got to be better than a Federation concentration camp. If it was too opulent, they'd die from shock, so that's probably just right."

Drinks from their homeland, cigars from their homeland, and their countrymen. Even a token gesture was enough.

Even if they couldn't put their feelings into words, they would mourn and grieve over

their fallen friends and silently toss their glasses. Their friendship was strong enough that the gestures would convey all they needed.

Habergram tended to get sentimental about such things but decided to give himself the whip this time.

"Allow me to return to our earlier conversation. Regarding the release of the agents we're—well, technically speaking, my anti-espionage unit is—holding…"

His reason for refocusing the conversation on the task at hand was simple. Even if it was in your hand, a victory wasn't yours until you'd grabbed it.

How much better was it to laugh off excess caution after the fact than to enjoy a short- lived happiness? To intelligence officers, especially those in the Commonwealth, who had experienced a string of errors, it was self-evident.

"Basically, I think they should all be released. We can consider hiding some. Really, I'd like to send a few back as double agents…"

Sending enemy spies back to their home country as double agents was a plan that anyone involved in espionage dreamed about.

But Habergram understood the situation as soon as he heard Prime Minister Churbull trail off in a pained tone.

"But we're strictly forbidden from causing political trouble." "Exactly. We've got to think long-term."

It was one of the annoying things about diplomacy and politics, the issue of what was permissible with ally countries. Even if it was only a formality, as long as the Commonwealth and the Federation were on the same side, that would have to be taken into account.

The two countries may not have been friends, but they were in the same boat. They were only serving the anti-Empire cause in a delicate balance. You could venture to say that the Commonwealth and Federation actually harbored deep mistrust of each other. It wasn't a good idea to fan smoldering suspicions.

And it made sense that this would require some self-restraint. More than anything, the Federation's people were probably thinking the same thing.

There was no way they wouldn't grill their released agents upon their return.

"Understood. I'll make sure my subordinates are aware as well. There's just one problem."

For now, it was best to refrain, but there was one thing Habergram needed to confirm. It was an extremely simple matter.

He had just been instructed not to send in double agents. So here was the problem.

"There are some agents who have been cooperating with us for some time. What should we do about them?"

What should they do with the cooperators they had already obtained? "I'll leave that up to you. Just keep us out of trouble."

"As usual, then. Understood, sir."

He was given a free hand to deal with them how he wished.

"Thank you for the terrifically good tea. Oh, when do you think we'll be able to board the RMS Queen of Anjou?"

"We're thinking after it's made two or three trips back and forth." "Understood. Then if you'll excuse me, sir."

-x-X-x-

MID-SEPTEMBER, UNIFIED YEAR 1926,

MOSKVA, THE PROVISIONAL LOCATION OF THE COMMISSARIAT FOR INTERNAL AFFAIRS

In the lifeless office of the Commissariat for Internal Affairs, Commissar Loria was dispassionately approving documents. He had a lot of work to do, since they were at war.

He was undeniably busy, but… the content of the work was different from before the war started.

Stamp. The papers he was placing his seal on were documents for releases. "Comrade Commissar, are you sure about this?"

"You mean about sharing intelligence with the Commonwealth? Or about the unofficial personnel exchange we're doing simultaneously?"

The hands of the Federation's Communist Party were nominally white ones that proudly shook the hands of the people.

It was a huge lie, but that was their official line.

Logically speaking, secret police and the like shouldn't exist in Communist states. Thus, it followed that the secret police couldn't be restraining Commonwealth agents who had infiltrated the Federation.

If there were any, they could insist it had to be some kind of "mistake." So he had been able to sound out the Commonwealth off the record. They would exchange prisoners to "resolve the issue plaguing both countries' immigration bureaus."

Basically, there was no admittance of wrongdoing, just the peaceful message that they wanted to make a deal.

The Commonwealth's reaction was quite favorable. Negotiations were proceeding smoothly, and Loria, who had planned everything, had high expectations of the outcome.

If there was any problem, it was the idiots in front of him.

"Setting aside the former, exchanging prisoners might be—"

Loria glared in contempt at the dissatisfied-seeming official and pressed his point. "Listen. All we're saying is that there were unfortunate mistakes made on both sides."

Officially, they should make it so there had never been any hostility between them.

As long as it wasn't made public, reality was to be minimized, treated as a trivial thing one could shut one's eyes against, and yet…

"B-but they're prisoners!"

"Comrade, they are not prisoners."

"We caught them!" How obstinate these fools are, hung up on their achievements!

"We didn't take any prisoners, and neither did we get any taken. Look." He put a hand on the man's shoulder and spoke in an unusually slow way to get it through his unreasonable head. "The immigration bureau made a mistake. Both of us are, in good faith, releasing people who were temporarily detained due to legal and technical factors. And in order to not make it into a whole ordeal, neither side will apologize." He stared him right in the eyes as he spoke. The man's gaze wanted to waver, but Loria pinned it down to observe his reaction and said, "So we're simply exchanging people who were given trouble. What's the problem with that?"

If the man couldn't read between the lines, it wasn't his fault. The problem was that a person incapable of picking up the subtleties that accompanied secrets and diplomacy worked in a department of secrets.

Of course, people with imprudent mouths would also need literal zippers, then.

"…Understood, Comrade Commissar. So should we also stop illegally spying on the Commonwealth?"

Luckily, the man wasn't too dense.

Good. Loria smiled.

"Yes, keep it to hiding sleepers. Tell the handlers to be cautious when making contact, too."

"Yes, sir."

If he's hanging on by the skin of his teeth like this, he must have some promise. People who can recognize a crisis for a crisis are capable of living long lives.

And they're pretty handy, too.

Now, then, Loria thought with a smile, gazing warmly at his subordinate. What can I have this former head of espionage in the Commonwealth do?

Frankly, Loria was no longer interested in the Commonwealth.

"I'll put it plainly. For now, I don't want us doing any illegal spying that could endanger the relationship between our two countries."

"Then should we increase our intelligence-gathering efforts through normal diplomatic means?"

"Exactly. I don't want to defeat the Commonwealth—I want to cooperate with it."

His personal view was that the Commonwealth was not a foothold to be conquered but a road to be peacefully used. A road that could be infiltrated in secret that led to everywhere else. That was what the Federation really hoped for out of the Commonwealth.

"It's not that I'm making light of the grand old country. Its power is still alive and well in the form of its huge navy. Even its unchanging culture reveals institutional design supported by its history."

"So?"

"Rather than make an enemy of them, we should make use of them as an ally."

But their fairy tales are garbage. They're like sanitized myths. It was impossible for them to arouse any desire in him.

He had to say, his interest in the country had really just faded. Having come to his senses, he saw that a war of espionage against the Commonwealth… would result only in cons.

There was nothing appealing about it as the target of illegal spying. "Also. Comrade, we need to change our image."

"Huh?"

"I want to allow the ones devoted to the ideals of Communism to keep having their illusions. In other words, I don't want to do anything overly forceful."

Communism was an idealistic doctrine.

The official dogma said the party couldn't get its hands dirty. Everyone involved knew the reality, but constructing a facade had proven highly effective.

"…So you mean an image strategy?"

"Exactly. And I'm not just talking about with the Commonwealth. I want to focus on personality over competence for all our overseas officers. Whenever possible, choose an idealist who is loyal to the party. Someone who's incompetent but a good person is perfect."

Party members devoted to ideals frequently ended up causing trouble for the party. One good example was the humanitarians.

Loria had had a lot of trouble from people opposed to the purges.

It was difficult to dispose of party members whom everyone agreed were pure, innocent, and devoted. People with nothing to feel guilty about were truly a pain— although during a war, there were plenty of things you could do with them.

"…C-comrade, may I ask you something? Why are you so worried about our image?"

"Understand the way democracy works. The movers and shakers in the political world of the western nations are elites like us, but they're subordinate to public opinion. There is far more merit in using legal means to get the masses on our side than breaking the law."

Not that he intended to downplay the role of scheming. He was merely changing his approach. They needed to optimize their strategy for their circumstances.

People devoted to dazzling universal philosophy, goals, and principles wouldn't be criticized. On the contrary, perhaps they would earn sympathy. Everyone admired integrity, after all.

"Idealists are perfect for dispatching. We have no use for them at home anyhow. So I'd

like to have them spread a good image of our country abroad."

Good people whom anyone would label as trustworthy.

Any foreigner with a friend like that from the Federation couldn't have too horrible an impression of the country. If someone wary of Communism met an idealist as their first "real Communist" acquaintance, would they be able to maintain their hostility?

There was probably nothing harder to pull off than ordering good people of another country to hate good people from the Federation. After all, taking the long view, not hating them would be more beneficial.

It was extremely simple to build good relationships with fellow combatants in a war. Nothing brought people together more than fighting against a common enemy for a common purpose.

"Luckily, we're at war with the world's enemy, the Empire." "Wh-what?!"

Loria nearly snapped that it was obvious but instead declared, "This fight may very well set the party's course for eternity. Failure will not be tolerated."

A common enemy.

Even if a state had no perpetual enemies, it had current enemies. And the Federation's current enemy was an isolated enemy. We're the world's mainstream. How could someone be too stupid to recognize the Federation's current strategic position as a welcome change from when it used to be isolated itself?! He could only consider his subordinate hopeless. How thoughtless he is, staring blankly back at me.

Why is it always these carefree dimwits who end up in civil-military relations?!

The Commissariat for Internal Affairs needs crafty strategists, but we're currently overrun by scum and sadists. I don't really care about their character, but their ineptitude is incorrigible.

He began to despair that perhaps he should trade them out for the people in the gulag. "War has no meaning unless you win and end it. Everyone knows that. But almost no

one knows how to win. How stupid!" "…Y-you may be right."

"And a win, comrade, must be something we can accept. Which is why we must show the world we are good Federation citizens."

A state had no eternal allies anyway. Only interests. But, thought Loria, doing calculations in his mind, why is it asking too much to be the winner's friend who gets to sink his teeth into the fruit of victory with them?

The difference between Communism and capitalism was being passed over out of diplomatic necessity due to the Empire's arrival as their enemy.

…So we should get as much out of that situation as we can. Loria had a hard time believing how only vaguely aware of that party officials were.

"Either way, we won't be able to avoid casualties. So we should fulfill our responsibilities. How do we capitalize on the casualties we can't avoid? That is what we need to figure out."

For victory, the party would have to be prepared to make sacrifices. Judging by the piles of corpses on the front line, it felt like they were indifferent to human attrition.

The casualties probably needed to be incorporated into victory as a given condition. Rather than crying over the cost, they had to think how to best take advantage of it.

If the youth of their homeland were going to die, they needed to make their deaths as effective as possible.

"We'll make them owe us a favor. We'll have our nation's youth die for a great cause." Loria restated it in terms understandable even to the numbskull standing before him with a look of confusion. "We'll make them martyrs."

The nobility of an action was determined not by the result but by the thought.

How many people have praised stupidity as virtue in the context of history? Then it's simple. Appeal not to logic but emotions—and via the ultimate self-sacrifice that no one can disparage!

"We'll man the forward-most line of freedom, peace, and humanity against imperialism!… And we'll make sure no one abroad can condemn the Federation's morality."