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"Oh, thank you so much." The young man stood amidst a tall stack of white paper, taking the screwdriver that Blanco had handed him from the opposite table. "Let me introduce myself, Williams. Can you do me a few favors?"
“Yeah, Jackson,” Blanco said, showing his view. “Uh, I’m wondering what you’re doing?”
"Didn't you see? Well, the sign light outside is broken again." Williams looked dejected and patted the large machine in front of him that was still spitting out paper. "This thing, a photocopier? Dude, are you picking up glasses on the street? You didn't even recognize this?"
“Hmm…” Blanco laughed awkwardly, “Oh dear, I’ve never seen this thing before, not even in front of my house.”
"Huh?" Williams was even more curious. "Where are you from?"
“Me…” Blanco thought for a moment. Anyway, the administrative divisions of Britannia here seem to be the same as those in his own United States, so it wouldn’t be a problem to just reveal his secrets. “California, Baker Village, you know it?”
"Wow, it's not far!" Williams' eyes widened. "Nevada, Las Vegas, I've been there, it's only a little over a hundred kilometers away. Do you gamble, buddy? Or do you like gladiator sports? Have you ever been here before?"
"No, no, no, no." Damn it, even Blanco's been cheated on. Who knew all the place names matched up? And what the hell is this Las Vegas over there? They even have casinos there? Gladiators? Damn it, am I back in the Roman Empire?
“Hmm, I can tell he’s still young and inexperienced. Good comrade.” Williams beamed. “You’re not leaving today, I’m telling you. Come on, let’s pretend we’re fellow countrymen and help me get these things done.”
"Okay, okay... By the way, how do you use this photocopier?"
“Come on, let me show you. Open this cover, lay out what you want to copy, a green light will come on down here, then select the number of copies, you don’t need to adjust anything else.” Williams was very enthusiastic. “I’ll move all these copies out, someone needs them urgently, can you help me tidy them up? And while you’re at it, when you see the machine has finished spitting out paper, can you turn off the power for me, it’s the plug on the wall.”
……
Could this be considered a blessing in disguise?
After the photocopier finished spitting out paper, Blanco, taking advantage of his absence, took out the flyers from his backpack, stuffed a few more stacks of white paper into the paper slot, and continued working.
"Good job, Jackson." Williams was unaware of this. "Hey, why is the machine still spitting out paper? I only printed 50 sheets."
"Never mind, never mind, I'll keep an eye on things here. I'll call you if there are any problems." Blanco was extremely nervous and pushed him out again.
Only then did he notice that as Williams went in and out, he kept picking up a bottle of liquor from the stool by the door and chugging it down; now there was only a small sip left. After the photocopier finished, he packed the printed documents into his backpack, and Williams, carrying the keys and the bottle, hugged him as they went out.
In a flash, he couldn't help but recall the father and daughter he had met that morning.
"How can you get so drunk in a place like this?" Indeed, Blanco found it hard to understand how these people could live so comfortably after coming to work in his war-torn world.
“I know, it’s just District 45, it’s just fighting every day, but look at the sky, no planes have come for more than two months, Berlin is safe now.” Williams continued, half-drunk and half-awake, “You don’t know how bad it was at the beginning, now this is heaven, does Britannia have to be afraid of any war it can’t win? At most it will just suffer for a while.”
"Heh." Blanco wanted to laugh, but a vague sense of unease crept in. "Have you... no, have we considered what the people of District 45 are thinking?"
“I live in this country, but I have no right to decide what to do for His Majesty the Emperor.” Williams’ face was sincere. “It doesn’t matter to me who wins the war. I only ask for a place to live in both worlds. I just want to live. I don’t need to carry a gun and fight. Whether I win or lose, it doesn’t matter. Rather than thinking about death all day, I’d rather drink to the day I’m alive.”
"But while you're drinking, the people of this world are suffering from wind and rain..."
"If you wage war in the name of your country, you are an invader; but if you betray your homeland as an invader for the sake of so-called justice, then you are a traitor. So, given these two charges, which one will you choose?" Williams' expression was both helpless and serious.
"If I have the chance to live and embrace someone from District 45 on the day the war ends, I will call him a friend... Of course, if tomorrow is the day I perish, today's embrace might be even better."
……
The two remained silent and returned to Williams' residence.
"Oh, Jackson, thanks for keeping me company tonight. I heard there's a little casino set up in Berlin; I'll invite you sometime. Well, our conversation just went a little unpleasant; let's just say we were dreaming, haha?"
Blanco didn't say anything. He took Williams' bottle, drank the last drop of wine, and then hugged him.
"See you again someday... my friend..." With that, Blanco slung his bag over his shoulder, clutched the key to the photocopy warehouse he had stolen from Williams, and disappeared into the night.
Chapter 277, Section 359: Operation Watermill
"Hande hoch! Komm raus!"
The Stars and Stripes had long driven Britannia from Bernburg, and the war showed no signs of ending, to the point that Jonathan and his men had to learn a few basic German phrases to get things done in days when manpower was scarce.
They followed a trail of footprints and found several German families in an inconspicuous, dilapidated brick house outside the city. Among them was a mother with two daughters and a few older people.
"I need to find my husband! He's been captured by Britannian soldiers!"
The sergeant ignored all their explanations, searched them and found a bunch of leaflets that Britannia had airdropped the night before, then shoved them all into the car.
"Scheisse... Pshaw!" Tommy seemed to have lost his mind from exhaustion, even his own national swear words were slurred in a Han Chinese accent. "These Germans, they're just messing around with their own lives and they still make me this busy..."
It all started four days ago—the Britannian army seemed to have taken some kind of drastic measure, and began dropping leaflets at night from aircraft onto Allied territory. Large transport planes, troop carriers, Nightbats carrying KMFs, and even armed helicopters would sneak up from the treetops and drop leaflets in the chaos.
This is actually a good thing. Wherever there's sex, someone will deliver condoms; wherever someone takes a dump, someone will deliver toilet paper—he was so excited to see the leaflets scattered all over the ground when he got diarrhea while on guard duty.
This is true for soldiers who are mentally and physically trained, but it's different for ordinary civilians. More than medals and honors, ordinary people are preoccupied with their own lives and the world. If the reasonable end of Nazi Germany by the US, USSR, Britain, and France helped them awaken from their nightmare, then the new world life depicted in Britannia's leaflets and photographs was akin to the Yellow Turban Rebellion at the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty.
After all, it's better than the current dilapidated living conditions in Germany, and there's also the unstable factor of their own family members' lives being uncertain. No matter how much Germans miss their homeland, there are always some who can't be easily fooled or instigated.
You don't believe me? Then I think you've never seen a cell phone the size of a bar of soap that can take color photos. If you do believe me, then it becomes a philosophical and positional issue. After interrogating the captured prisoners, the Allied soldiers, on a whim, had an additional task: to collect all the leaflets and photos distributed in Britannia, gather the information, make a comprehensive judgment about this strange adversary, and also stop the wandering civilians from leaking military secrets, which could lead to disaster.
……
"Take a good look at them. If you see any duplicates, burn them or pour them into mud and crush them all."
Jonathan's order was rather harsh; after all, he figured the generals didn't like seeing repetitive stuff, right? So, it was time for Deputy Bancal and Tommy to play the gambling game again.
"Come on, guess if this is an old friend or a new face?" Tommy, despite being a soldier for so long, was still quite the scoundrel, and Carl, as a corporal, didn't seem to care.
“A cigarette, we’ve met.” Carl stood in front of Tommy’s shoes on the flyer.
“OK, look, ‘Guys from America, friends born in Britain.’” Tommy jumped up excitedly when he saw the unfamiliar way of describing it at the beginning. “Great! Now we’ve evened things out!”
But Karl ignored him and hurriedly bent down—the colorful stars and stripes and the Union Jack printed on it were like two crystals that prompted him to pick them up.
"Oh my God..." A gasp escaped Tommy's lips, and not only was he stunned, but Jonathan also turned around. "Sir, is this a letter from the captain?"
"Captain? What captain?"
"When the Berlin incident first started, our company commander, your old friend Captain Davis, was there!"
……
"...Please be sure to read the following content. This is a letter from another world from Captain Etani Davis of the 26th Infantry Regiment of the former U.S. 1st Infantry Division."
"During the Berlin Incident at the end of October 1945, I was unfortunately captured by the Britannian army and transferred to their world. As a laborer, I have been waiting for this day, hoping that one day I will receive a letter from my hometown again."
"Almost half a year has passed, and the number of prisoners of war like me who have been sent to their world, whether from Britain, the United States, or the Soviet Union, is increasing. This war has made the adversaries of the two worlds understand each other. And now, I need to tell everyone what is happening here."
"First, I obtained a list of Britannian troops involved in the war against Germany, printed in other letters mixed in with leaflets. The enemy currently has an army equivalent to 20 army groups, totaling about two million men, in our world, and there are also reports that more army groups and new equipment will be added."
"This massive army, which they call the 'Sector 45 Expeditionary Force,' aims to turn our entire world into a colony of Britannia. 'Sector 45' is the colony number they've assigned to our world. In their world, too many countries have been reduced to this kind of existence, stripped of their flags and names, and left only to live by their numbers."
"Secondly, the Britannian Empire came to our world through a mother-child portal system called 'Camelot.' I know very little about it at the moment, only that it is controlled in a way similar to controlling dam gates and generators. The control method is completely kept secret from soldiers outside the expeditionary force, and control is entirely in the hands of the enemy. This may be the only useful intelligence."
"Third, everyone is very concerned about where the prisoners of war they control have gone. Generally speaking, they immediately transfer the captured soldiers from various countries to relatively safe places inside and outside Berlin, and then immediately send them to the other side of the portal, to the colony they have marked as Area 11. Then they send all the prisoners of war to construction sites, factories and other places to work, with absolutely no possibility of contact with the outside world."
"Civilians were much like prisoners of war, but compared to the soldiers who had no freedom, they were under much less control. They were even working to assimilate a small number of obedient German civilians into their subjects and give them a free life. More importantly, although the civilians in Berlin had been cleared out, there were still many civilians lacking the ability to work under their control in the various German towns they occupied."
"Fourth, in addition to repairing the neighborhoods during these two months when they are not bombed, Britannia is also working on building an underground city in Berlin, based on the subway network. Its basic framework is now complete, and some areas are already in use. They are using it to house the wounded, set up logistics factories, and even have their immigrants living there. Just like the military organization chart, I also included a map of the Berlin underground city in the leaflet."
"Finally, if you intend to come to this world and contact me before the war ends, remember to look for someone in Area 11 wearing a blue and white uniform with a metal six-pointed star badge on their chest. Below is the code for contacting me; German or English is acceptable..."
……
Of course, Clark, who wrote these for Davis, did not reveal everything he knew—the entire document only mentions the captain's name, thus somewhat avoiding the exposure of others, and he made no mention of things like the American and Soviet officers and soldiers who pretended to surrender, or the damn wonderful lives of German civilians.
Valuable letters and maps were delivered one by one to Eisenhower and Montgomery, and from the moment they were placed on the table at the North Union headquarters in Hamburg, a game of chess with great risk began.
The Britannian Empire is a voracious eater from another world. He did not come here to shatter Europe completely. On the contrary, he placed Europe on his plate and wanted to use the knives and forks of his expeditionary force to separate the bones and fish bones and swallow the food.
Montgomery didn't see it that way; Britannia was clearly a clueless newbie who had never tasted some mysterious Indian curry.
Unlike the spiciness and the fury of thunder and lightning, the initial calm on your taste buds after you confidently swallow this bite is just the beginning. A sudden, intense, burning pain erupts in your mouth and even your stomach, spreading throughout your body like a plague. At that point, even swallowing icebergs in the Antarctic ocean will be of no use.
"So you know all this, yet why are you putting on this face?" Eisenhower understood that it was time to bring out the agents who had once stung Hitler.
“I’m suddenly feeling a little insecure…” Montgomery smiled, but then frowned comically. “Do you think it’s too late to bring back the guys from the original 1st Airborne Special Service Regiment and have them work overtime to master the Hans’ accent?”
……
The story that follows takes place long after that day.
As the Britannian flag swept across the European continent, more and more civilians and prisoners of war were being pushed onto their trucks. They might be empty-handed, or carrying their own luggage, clutching a leaflet they had recently waved. But one thing made the pilots who jumped off the KMF somewhat happy—the further west they went, the more young people they saw.
They were taken back to Berlin, to District 11, to prisoner-of-war camps or civilian detention camps, where they became prisoners of war who refused to compromise and ants toiling day and night.
Everything happened so routinely that Davis almost forgot to think about whether their deception had succeeded.
Even today, while passing by a shopping mall, they saw a nervous-looking civilian talking to a guard in the distance in broken English.
"Hey, do you understand German?" the guard called him over. "This guy keeps babbling on and on. Can you understand him? If you can't, I'll knock him out."
"What?" Davis was a little surprised. Why was this commoner clutching his chest?
"I feel like there's a donkey kicking me in my right lung. Could you feed it a carrot?"
"Hey, is there something wrong with this guy... wait a minute?" Davis suddenly realized, "You, say that again?"
The civilian repeated the German phrase again, and the guard was clearly still confused.
“Cough…” Davis struggled to control his excitement and replied in German, “You have to go to a special island to buy carrots.”
"That's probably too far. Could you take me to a doctor who has lost his mind?"
“I suspect that although this guy isn’t quite right in the head, he might actually need to take medication,” Davis told the guard. “I’d better take him to the nearest clinic. While you’re at it, you should ask the civilians working here if they all have these symptoms. It might be a contagious disease.”
Of course, he didn't kidnap him, but Davis, unable to contain his excitement, led the man to the corner and hugged him tightly.
"It's a surprise to see you this way." The commoner revealed a Red Devil-like smile. "No need to explain, I understand. Thank you for your contribution, and thank you to everyone around you."
"So, is there anything I can do for you?"
"Everything as usual, Davis. Leave the rest to us."
……
"Notify all operational members in Area 11 to attempt to gather information about the Britannia portal system, and simultaneously begin establishing radio links between Area 11 and former world cities such as Berlin. The first phase of Operation Watermill is complete; the second phase is now officially underway."
Chapter 278, Section 360: Cradle Born from Moonshine Barrels
A few more workdays passed in District 11. After Operation Watermill began, apart from a few people who couldn't be contacted, nothing unusual came up.
In a factory warehouse in the Tokyo concession, a group of German civilians who had been there for some time waited for lunchtime. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, they sat on the ground and received their lunch boxes from the deliveryman.
If there's anything wrong with it, it's probably that humming singing.
"Two-part tea, two-part tea..." The deliveryman walked around, his eyes fixed on the few civilians with towels wrapped around their arms. "Tea for two, two for tea..."
They were all Germans, and besides, playing American songs in Germany back then would get you arrested. People who hadn't heard of them were naturally confused and just staring at them.
"You love me?" Then a commoner, feigning ignorance, asked, "I... love you?"
The guards, standing to the side, didn't understand what was happening, but they watched as the food deliveryman inexplicably started greeting the civilian in German.
"Sir, may I sit and eat with him?" the deliveryman asked excitedly. "I think I hear a familiar accent."
This request naturally did not encounter any obstacles.
……
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Alan Clark." That's right, he was an imposter, a deliveryman.
"Hmm, Sheldon, MI6. You're the legendary 'resurrected' Area 11 parasite?"
"No, no, no, I just sneaked out and made a small contribution." Clark scratched his head. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
“I’ve heard all that. This place is called Area 11, its original name was Japan, and this city is called the Tokyo Concession. Pfft, this is like a joke book. If it weren’t for a world map to prove it, I would have given up.” Sheldon chuckled and sucked on his spoon. “Of course, I’ve also heard that there’s a group of Japanese knights dressed in black standing up for justice here. You’ve got connections with them?”
"Ah...yes, I know their situation quite well. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, you know." Clark looked astonished. "Damn, your information travels way too fast!"
“Well, I have to understand, it’s not easy for you, as an ordinary soldier, to do this.” Sheldon gave a general overview of the agents’ arrangements. “Our people are roughly divided into two groups according to the mission requirements. One group is infiltrating among the prisoners of war to bring together the stragglers, and the other group is infiltrating among civilians to learn about the world. If there’s anything unexpected… I didn’t expect that the blue and white shirt Mr. Davis mentioned for the rendezvous would actually be him?”
"Hey, your comrades must have been thrilled when they heard that Britannia was picking out obedient prisoners of war to be policemen, right?"
“I must admit Mr. Davis is a man of principle and shamelessness, hmm?” Sheldon winked. “So, what are your plans after the war? You might have a talent for intelligence, but being a market tycoon wouldn’t be bad either, would it?”
"Well, that depends on what kind of home I want to have."
"Ok?"
……
The story begins one evening in May 1925 in a Chicago hospital.
A pregnant woman gave birth to a healthy baby boy, but this joyous gift could not be given out in the delivery room. There was not a single man outside to cheer for him, and the baby's cries in the empty corridor sounded unusually desolate and eerie.
The nurses seemed unsurprised—in Chicago, a metropolis with a high crime rate, broken families and marital relationships were countless, like scraps of paper drifting in the air above the city streets, unnoticed and unsympathized with.