Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

The cleanup was completed within three minutes. The command post was now devoid of any living creatures, only littered with corpses, flowing blood, and incomprehensible calls coming from the radio.

The air was thick with the pungent smell of blood and gunpowder, making one want to vomit.

The team members quickly checked every corner and confirmed that there were no hidden threats.

Finally, everyone's attention was focused on the tightly closed iron door at the very back of the command post.

The words "Commander's Office" were painted in red on the door.

This was Matsui Iwane's final hiding place.

A hammer and a sickle stood on either side of the door, with the gun barrels pointing downwards.

Red Star's machine guns blocked the front.

Winter Wolf and Spider set up their guns at a distance, wary of reinforcements that might appear from other directions.

Vodka prepared the explosives and looked at Makarov.

Makarov shook his head.

He stepped forward, but instead of using explosives, he took a deep breath and kicked the door lock hard! The iron door groaned in pain and swung open with a loud crash!

The somewhat absurd scene inside the door came into view.

The temporary office was covered with a thick carpet, and a portrait of the Emperor and a banner that read "May your military fortune last forever" hung on the wall.

However, in stark contrast to the bloody battle outside, an eerie and desperate silence permeated the area.

Commander of the Central China Expeditionary Army. Army General Matsui Iwane, dressed in a full, crisp dress uniform, his chest adorned with medals, is kneeling in the center of the room on a white cloth, or perhaps a bed sheet.

He gripped a magnificently decorated imperial military sword tightly in both hands, the tip of which trembled as it pressed against his abdomen.

The standard seppuku posture.

However, this seemingly tragic scene is full of flaws and comedic elements.

His movements were clumsy and hesitant; the tip of the knife traced patterns on his expensive woolen military uniform, but he never had the courage to stab it.

His forehead was covered with large beads of sweat, which slid down his pale cheeks.

His eyes were unfocused, filled with extreme fear and resistance to death. His lips trembled as he mumbled to himself, but it was impossible to hear what he was saying.

According to the traditional ritual of seppuku, a "kaishakunin" must be present to cut off the head of the person performing the seppuku when they are in extreme pain, in order to reduce their suffering.

However, at this moment, Matsui Iwane was all alone.

He had no loyal retainers, and no subordinates willing to wield his sword.

This solitary "ritual" is more like a poorly executed one-man show with no one watching or applauding.

When the loud bang of the door being kicked open rang out, Matsui Iwane shuddered, as if he had been jolted awake from a nightmare.

He saw the figures at the door, like the Grim Reapers, and the weapons in their hands, still emitting blue smoke.

His survival instinct made him subconsciously deflect the knife tip away from his abdomen.

"Long live... His Majesty the Emperor!" he shouted hoarsely, but his voice was dry and weak, filled with fear rather than determination, more like he was trying to bolster his courage.

Or rather, it's sending a signal to the intruders... I'm asking for death, stop me!

Makarov watched the farce with a cold eye, his face revealing undisguised contempt.

He shook his head, as if watching a poor performance, and squeezed out a Russian phrase through gritted teeth: "A pathetic farce."

He then made a simple gesture.

The hammer and sickle pounced like cheetahs.

When Matsui Iwane saw the two approaching, his last psychological defenses completely collapsed.

He didn't really want to die. His previous performances were perhaps just a way to maintain his last bit of dignity in despair, or perhaps he was hoping for some kind of turning point.

But when death came in such a humiliating way, he chose an even more unbearable escape.

He abruptly threw away the imperial saber, a symbol of honor and death, which fell to the carpet with a dull thud.

Then, like a madman, he howled and slammed his head against the hard wall beside him, trying to end his life in this "easier" way.

However, to a master like Sickle, this movement was slow, clumsy, and powerless.

With a swift step, Sickle seized Matsui Iwane's wrist, twisting it to pin the imperial general face down on the carpet.

Matsui Iwane struggled in vain, like a fish out of water.

"Why...why won't you let me die gloriously! Bastard! Let me go!" Matsui Iwane screamed hysterically, tears streaming down his face, utterly humiliated.

In the struggle, the gold tassel on his uniform, signifying his rank as a general, was torn off and fell onto the filthy carpet.

This unconscious action seemed to symbolize his complete break with his past identity and honor, and also provided a pitiful excuse for his current cowardice.

Pick up the ornate dagger from the ground.

“A poor performance.” Makarov flicked the blade with his tactical-gloved fingers, and the metal hummed.

While Matsui Iwane was being suppressed, a phonograph in a corner of the command post was still playing Kimi no Yori.

In the distorted melody, this demon who once led his men to conquer Nanjing cowers like a shrimp, crying out contradictory pleas: "Why won't you let me die gloriously!..."

Makarov slowly approached, looking down at the once invincible Japanese general who commanded hundreds of thousands of troops and conquered territories across China.

He spoke in cold Japanese: "General Matsui Iwane, your fate is no longer in your own hands, nor in the hands of the military behind you."

It is now under the control of my BOSS.

After saying that, Makarov gestured towards the caviar, amidst Matsui Iwane's bewildered gaze.

Caviar quickly stepped forward, took out a thick black hood, and unceremoniously put it on Matsui Iwane's head, completely covering his wails and ugly face.

In that instant, the once invincible commander of the Central China Expeditionary Army was roughly dragged off the ground like a captured wild boar by a hammer and sickle.

His legs went weak and he could barely stand. He was half-dragged and half-carried away from the command center where he once gave orders, but which had now become his prison.

Intense gunfire erupted at the end of the passage; Vodka used his last explosive to seal off the pursuers.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Like ghosts returning from hell, Makarov's squad, carrying their most important "spoils of war," once again plunged into the suffocating darkness beneath Nanjing.

The retreat route was the same as the way in, but the atmosphere was completely different.

Their arrival was a clandestine infiltration, fraught with unknowns and deadly intent; their return was a hasty retreat with their prey, their steps hurried yet carrying a cold composure.

With his head covered by a black hood, General Matsui Iwane had completely lost the dignity of an Imperial Army general.

The heavy hood not only deprived him of his vision, but also amplified his fear and suffocation.

He could only utter indistinct whimpers and struggles, like a captured, dying wild beast.

The hammer and sickle, one on each side, were like two iron clamps, firmly holding his arms.