Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

Page 211

“My escape wasn’t any easier than yours, buddy. Luckily, I grew up under my dad’s influence, which is why I’m where I am now.” Clark smiled sheepishly. “Was life in the POW camp any good?”

"I'm not too tired, and I'm not hungry, just sleep-deprived." Blanco rubbed his face. "Okay, okay, I want to know what I need to do now?"

“Come with me, let me take a big picture of you for a fake ID card first.” Clark led him out of the restaurant and then drove away. “Right now, the Britannian Empire is sending civilians into our world. Of course, not to fight, but to transform cities and towns, including Berlin, into places suitable for them to live in. All you have to do is blend in.”

"Damn, this is harder than me blindfolded flipping through the Bible and singing Hallelujah, man."

"Calm down, I have a plan." Clark lit a cigarette for him. "They haven't announced our world to the general public yet. Going to Berlin requires censorship. There's a bus that will pick up these civilians the day after tomorrow. The enemy could cut off our way back to report at any time. So what I need to do is teach you a few things about this world as quickly as possible in the next few days. There's no time to waste."

Clark tilted his head towards the back row, and Blanco, understanding, pulled his backpack over from the seat.

"Mobile phones, laptops, and portable TVs are things they use frequently but we've never seen before. If you know how to use a few of these, basically no one will doubt your background."

"Is this thing... difficult?"

“If your brain is so dull that you can’t do mental addition and subtraction within 100, I guess I’ll have to give up on this mission.” Clark curled his lip. “At least with a cell phone, learning the most basic usage is much easier than driving a Jeep, buddy. Okay, let’s turn the screen on now, and then… damn it, why the hell did you pull the battery out?! I haven’t saved my document yet!”

……

Well, Clark probably wasn't very suited to teaching, so he had to gather Yamashita together over these three days and, without any contact with anyone else, he barely managed to teach him some skills through a grueling training regimen.

Time flies, and the day to leave arrived in the blink of an eye. Clark arranged for a blond young man to drive a car and take Blanco and his bags from the suburbs towards the city center. There was no other way; they didn't know if the Russians had been affected, and Blanco had to make sure he wasn't recognized. At the same time, Clark's writings couldn't be leaked to anyone.

"Oh, what's going on up ahead?" Blanco sat in the passenger seat, looking at the traffic jam and police lights at the intersection ahead. Then he turned around and saw the driver wearing headphones, nodding his head and looking out the window.

"Brother!" He called out several times but received no response—he could hear the music playing inside from the passenger seat, so how could it be loud?

At the intersection ahead, there were not only police officers and soldiers in black uniforms, but also several people dressed similarly to Stasevich and his group. They recognized them; it seemed to be Davis and his team. They were still using binoculars to examine the license plate of the car below, and gave a meaningful nod.

Ahead was an overpass. Suddenly, flames shot into the sky and thick smoke billowed up from the bridge, followed by a series of loud explosions. That was the only way to get to the pick-up point. Would we still make it in time?

……

“Davis calling, can you hear me? The Black Knights guys on the bridge detonated the explosives in their car, and now the road into the city is ruined.”

At that moment, Clark was on the top floor of a building, holding binoculars and a cell phone, nervously looking at the billowing smoke in the distance.

"Damn, those Black Riders are really showing off at the right time, damn it." He quickly picked up another phone, "Hello? Mr. Stasevich? Where are you?"

"What are your orders?"

“Blanco can’t take the elevated highway into the city now.” Clark, holding the phone, kept switching channels on the mobile TV, looking for news about the traffic situation. “Please, you need to open a ‘green lane’ from the south, along Flagship Street, St. Louis Wedden Street and Puangau Street.”

"Alright, tell the driver not to let go of the accelerator." At this moment, Stasevich, with his infantry fighting vehicle and the other two members of his crew, was on the road not far away when he called out to the sheriff next to him, "Hey, Mr. Hiddleston, can you hear me? A civilian just told me that there are suspected members of the Black Knights around Puango. I want to go there and check it out."

"Is the information reliable? Soldiers? It's best if it's not a diversionary tactic by the Black Riders."

"It's better to believe it than not. Going to see for yourself won't hurt. All you need is a police car."

……

The neighborhood started to get lively, mainly because passersby spotted a familiar sight – several Soviet soldiers' infantry fighting vehicles with their red stars, sickles, and skulls symbolizing loyalty. Coupled with their rapid drifting around the intersection, it was hard to forget them.

Passing vehicles made way, partly because they saw the sturdy infantry fighting vehicle, and partly because the sirens of the police cars following closely behind could be heard several streets away.

Following their speeding shadows, a car immediately caught up from behind.

"Boss, I'm chasing after them now." Yes, it was the car Blanco was in. The driver was holding the microphone in his teeth, his hands busy maneuvering the steering wheel and gearshift. "I see the license plate... PT11_362CP."

"Listen up, kid." Clark received the police car license plate number from Stasevich and verified it. "I'm ordering you to stick to the back of this police car like glue. It's the fastest way to get that gentleman to his destination. Don't let me down."

After hanging up the phone, the guy continued to look at his phone while drifting at high speed, which terrified Blanco.

"I need to change the song to get into the zone, buckle up!" the driver said, tossing his phone aside. Blanco glanced at the album art on the music player screen; it was a white race car with the letter D painted on it.

"Holy crap!" With that drift, Blanco's big face was flung into the car door glass.

"Haha, how's it going? Are you satisfied with this personal driver?" Clark called him right after, "Oh, I forgot to tell you before I left. He really likes it when people give him a riddle: How many hairpin bends are there on Mount Akina in Japan?"

"Stop messing around now, bro! Are you going to get your medical bills reimbursed for your transportation costs?!"

"I'm not playing games with you. Listen carefully. First, fasten your seatbelt. I need you to answer all the questions I ask you on the way. This is to reinforce your memory and clarify the mission objective. Understand?"

"what?"

"Stop fucking joking!" Clark's tone was serious. "Otherwise, what do you think my purpose would be in hiring a speeding jerk who likes to listen to headphones while driving? First question! What parts of your bag can't be shown to others?"

"Well... in the hidden compartment of the suitcase, there was a stack of newspapers. They were actually about the organization of the Britannian expeditionary force in the 45th district, a map of the Berlin underground city, and the whereabouts of prisoners of war and German civilians who were taken into custody by the American, Soviet and British forces."

"What is the Britannian expeditionary force doing now?"

"They're planning to drop leaflets from planes into our U.S.-occupied areas!"

"So how should you use the things in your bag?"

"I need to stuff these things into flyers so that Ike, Monty, and all the hammer and sickle flags know about them!"

"What's your name?"

"Bodd Jackson." That was the alias Clark assigned him.

“Very good.” Clark coughed. “One last question: Do you know Aitani Davis and Talangroev Stasevich?”

"No! I don't know them! Who are they?!"

"Excellent, full marks."

……

"Something's wrong, sir!" Just then, Yamashita called Clark, who was ordered to crouch near the bus that transported employed citizens. "The bus looks like it's about to leave!"

"What the hell?" Clark glanced at the time on the portable TV; it was still three minutes to nine, but the clock tower next to it had started chiming—he remembered, Blanco had used this thing to practice manually adjusting the time earlier…

"Aren't there any police or soldiers nearby? Take your car and stop the bus."

"The car you gave me was towed away by the traffic police for illegal parking..."

"I wipe..."

"Wait, sir, I found something." The road below was downhill, and a motorcyclist had just stopped and gone into a nearby shop without removing the key. He quickly retracted the kickstand, revved the engine, and pushed the motorcycle down the slope.

"Holy crap?!" By the time the driver emerged, the motorcycle had already sped off and landed with a thud at the intersection. The bus, which had just been approaching, slammed on its brakes when this thing suddenly appeared. Meanwhile, down the mountain, a man pulled out a comic book from his pocket, leaned against a fire hydrant, and watched nervously as the driver sped off in front of him.

It almost resulted in a fatality—the bus, in a moment of panic, swerved into the opposite lane on the left while trying to avoid a motorcycle. Just then, another motorcycle came along and nearly crashed into the bus's vents.

The bus driver opened the front door and rushed off, cursing, towards the motorcyclist who was pushing the motorcycle down the mountain. The motorcyclist could only look aggrieved. Did the shady repair shop install a broken kickstand for me?

"Ugh!—" The bus driver heard him cursing from behind. Blanco, vomiting, climbed into the bus with his bags on his back.

“I also went to work there, uncle. Come up here and I’ll show you my ID.”

Are you sick?

"No, no..." Blanco cursed inwardly, "I'll never ride in a biker gang's car again..."

Clark finally breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the bus disappear through his binoculars onto the highway leading to the teleportation portal in the suburbs.

Chapter 276 One-Way Ticket Home (Part 2) (Section 358)

It's hard to describe the feeling—when Blanco was pushed onto the escort vehicle to District 11, he was filled with despair, imagining his terrible tomorrow. Now, he could calmly go through a simple registration at a heavily guarded checkpoint, and his luggage wasn't even checked much before he returned to Berlin with other civilians from the enemy country.

He almost didn't recognize the place. Yes, after months of fighting, the German capital at the end of World War II should have been even more dilapidated, but look, the Britannians were busy repairing the streets?

Clean streets, pristine white walls—did they somehow "transport" the Tokyo concessions here? Berlin's cleanliness is almost unbecoming of its current state and its status as an invader.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please come here and line up one by one." Several officials called everyone to a sign that read "Job Dispatch Station." It seemed that you were just introducing yourself to the officials and then they would help you choose a suitable position.

There's no way around it; there aren't many ordinary people who dare to come to District 45 these days, and the supply can't meet the demand.

"What can you do, sir?" Now that we've arrived in Blanco, "help with the production of weapons and supplies, the repair of town buildings, or caring for the wounded in the hospital?"

"Hmm..." My task is to mix intelligence into the airdropped leaflets, so I need to find a job close to the plane. "Can I go to the airport? Preferably a military one."

"Hey? Are you an aircraft engineer, or ground crew?"

"Protecting aircraft safety, haha." That's absolutely right. When Blanco first arrived in Europe, he was in charge of patrolling field airfields.

The official signed a note for him, pointed to a truck next to him, and said he could get a ride.

A few civilians were also going the same way. The two soldiers in the truck's cargo hold glanced around and let the smaller Blanco sit at the very back. The cargo hold was also filled with a large bundle of paper and cardboard boxes, making it difficult to squeeze in. After the civilians were all seated, the soldiers scrambled to the very front and let the truck drive away.

……

"Where are you going, sir?" The people in the car began to introduce themselves. Next to Blanco was a little girl, who looked curiously at the contract in his hand. "Oranienburg Airport? Are you a pilot?"

"They're probably going to be assistants; pilots of armed transport planes wouldn't be sitting here." An older man next to her, who seemed to be her father, said, "I heard there are other arrangements at Oranienburg Airport?"

"Your information is quite good, sir. You've been living here for a while now, haven't you?" The soldier at the car door seemed to have overheard. "We're going to airdrop some leaflets to the people in District 45 soon. Her Highness Elizabeth isn't interested in it, so she's handed over several airports, including Fort Oranien, to the local officials."

"Not interested in getting involved?"

"See all these leaflets and cardboard boxes in the car? These are all destined for Oranienburg Airport for loading onto planes. If Her Highness the Princess were in charge, she certainly wouldn't let you sit in the car." The soldier chuckled. "She lent the Marquis some planes, and they're responsible for compiling and producing all the leaflet text and photos. When it's time to deliver the leaflets, they take off with the combat troops. Your Excellency the Marquis is really having a tough time."

What was said in jest was taken seriously by the listener. Upon hearing that the leaflets to be airdropped were right in front of him, Blanco excitedly unzipped his backpack, ready to stuff the leaflets inside when the time came.

"Huh?" Unfortunately, there's a piece of paper that wasn't properly packed in this bag. It sticks out like a donkey's ear when the zipper is opened.

"What is this?" The little girl was about to take it when Blanco quickly snatched it away first.

"It should...it should be a piece of waste paper, hahaha." Blanco said evasively, spitting on it.

"Don't litter!" the soldier warned. He was about to crumple the trash into a ball, but he had to fold it in half first, making it the size of a condom bag, and stuff it into his back pocket.

What are we going to do now? The guards are watching, and civilians are crowding around. How are we supposed to squeeze in...?

"Hmm?" At this moment, everyone in the vehicle felt something was off—from the beginning, the truck beneath them had been making an unusual engine noise, causing the vehicle to shake, and now a strange smell had suddenly drifted in, which was not good.

The driver stopped the car on the side of the road, and the guards in the cargo hold went down to check. Blanco quickly took advantage of this moment, when the other civilians on the same train were not paying attention to him, and pretended to drop something to stuff the leaflet inside.

Suddenly, a loud bang came from under the truck, and scorching flames shot out from under the chassis, engulfing the entire vehicle in flames.

"Quick! Get down here!" The guards rushed over, evacuating the civilians while pushing the cargo out of the hold to clear the passage. Blanco was frantic—what to do? He had stuffed all the leaflets inside, and now they were all burned.

Fortunately, as soon as he jumped out of the car, the firefighters arrived and put out the fire. He stood there blankly, looking at the little girl from before, whose father was wiping her face.

……

"Are you alright?" Blanco asked reassuringly.

"It's nothing, the baby just got a little mud on his face."

"Um... how long have you been here?"

“Me?” The uncle smiled slightly. “I was one of the first to come here to make a living. Sally’s mother and I are divorced, and I have to support her. I don’t know how much longer I will have to stay here, but at least I can’t let my good daughter go hungry before she can earn her own living expenses.”

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous here?” Blanco asked with a hint of sarcasm. “There’s a war going on here. There are so many things that can take lives.”

“As long as I’m alive, not even Death can take Sally away from me.” The man glared at him, and Blanco then noticed that one of the man’s ears was missing, long before the truck fire.

He wanted to say a few more words, but seeing the firefighters cleaning up the scene, Blanco patted the girl's head and ran away.

"Hey! It's dangerous here, please stay away."

“What’s the point of distinguishing now? I’ve even saved pilots from burning planes before,” Blanco said to the firefighter, and with the firefighter’s tacit approval, he ran in.

He mingled among them, searching for the unburned tattered pages. His only remaining memory was of which stack he had stuffed the flyers into. Strangely, despite not being particularly bright, he remembered this detail very clearly.

"Fuck...fuck..." After searching for a long time, he managed to find a few structural diagrams of the Berlin underground city and the military organization, but the most important things—the information informing the generals about the whereabouts of prisoners of war and civilians—were almost all burned.

After some final adjustments, only two Russian leaflets with the hammer and sickle flag were saved. The English ones were either missing large chunks or just a corner. What am I going to do now? Even if I were to copy them by hand, without the complete originals and without knowing Russian, I simply can't do it.

"Oh no, Clark, I messed up..." Blanco muttered to himself as he hid in a secluded spot and laid out all the fragments of his English notebook, trying to piece together a complete original text.

"Hey, little bro." Just then, a cleaning lady wearing a mask came over and saw Blanco scratching his head over a pile of shredded paper. "What are you doing? Since when did trash have to be sorted by punctuation marks?"

"Oh no no no no, it's nothing... um, I'm playing with a puzzle, playing with a puzzle, hahahahaha." Blanco grabbed a handful of mud and scraps of paper and held them in his hands.

"Oh?" The older sister looked at this silly guy. "Okay... Also, it seems you lost the instructions for your puzzle."

Huh? Blanco looked at where the broom was pointing and saw a stack of neatly arranged papers lying on the ground. He opened them and realized that this was the phlegm he had taken out of the car earlier from a flyer bag. What a coincidence, it was in English, but it just so happened to have been spat onto the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack, so the color had faded a bit.

"Hehehe!" Blanco tossed the shredded paper and mud in his hand and ran off, leaving the cleaning lady chasing after him angrily with her broom in hand.

……

That evening, after settling into the designated dormitory near the airport, Blanco, carrying a backpack stuffed with the few remaining, weathered flyers, wandered the streets trying to find a solution.

Absolutely. If he had to manually copy dozens of structural diagrams of Berlin and deliver hundreds of bilingual (English and Russian) speeches, he would have been exhausted to the point of being a fool.

As Clark said: Britannia is an enemy, but also a teacher. To live in their world, you have to learn to think in their way and with their habits.

"Hey! You, the guy with the backpack outside, come in and help me!" The voice came from a small room, where a young man of similar age was standing.

Upon entering, one finds thick stacks of A3 and A4 paper scattered all over the floor, some clean and white, others covered in printed text.