Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Matsui Iwane's legs were almost unable to move on their own. The hem of his magnificent lieutenant general's uniform was completely soaked in filthy mud. His golden tassels and medals were covered in thick, blackish-green grime. Every step he was dragged along symbolized a further stripping away of his dignity.

Most of their weight was on the two assault soldiers. Their high-ranking officer boots had long since fallen off, leaving only filthy white socks that had been worn and torn during the dragging.

The filthy sewer water still didn't reach my thighs; it was icy cold.

But the team members' mindset at this moment is very different from when they arrived.

The exhilaration of a successful mission combined with heightened vigilance made their steps even faster and more determined than when they arrived. They were no longer stealthy hunters, but agents carrying out the transfer of vital assets.

Each step sent up a splash of foul-smelling water, creating a gurgling sound in the silent pipes, but this sound was now drowned out by the increasingly sparse gunfire from the ground.

During the dragging process, Matsui Iwane was experiencing unprecedented torment and breakdown.

The darkness beneath the hood amplified all his senses.

The stench became more tangible, the cold more piercing, and each collision between the body and the pipe wall or underwater obstacle brought a real pain and a deeper sense of humiliation.

His thoughts were in turmoil, flashing through fragments of the past like a revolving lantern.

The high spirits he displayed upon graduating from the Army University; the ambition he felt upon assuming command of the Central China Expeditionary Army.

The "glorious" moment when he stood on the city wall overlooking the land he had conquered after capturing Nanjing.

These images, intertwined with the current state of disarray, helplessness, and near-death experience, create a sharp irony and a vengeful pain.

"Waaah... Waaah..." He tried to shout, to denounce these "traitors," to yell "Long live His Majesty the Emperor" to maintain his last shred of dignity, but the hood and extreme fear turned his voice into meaningless sobs.

He could feel the steel-like force emanating from the arms of the two soldiers holding him, a pure violence that he could not shake.

He realized that he was no longer the supreme commander, but an object, a bargaining chip, a prisoner about to be used in some dirty political deal.

This extreme fall from the pinnacle of power to the abyss terrified him more than death itself.

Thinking of all this, Matsui Iwane unconsciously began to struggle, but each twist only resulted in a tighter grip from the hammer and sickle, and a more brutal dragging.

When the team returned to the area beneath the blasted maintenance well, the watch showed 7:20 a.m.

A faint glimmer of dawn shone through the wellhead, contrasting sharply with the absolute darkness inside the sewer.

Makarov gave a gesture, and the column immediately stopped.

Hammer was the first to climb the slippery iron ladder, carefully moved aside the camouflage debris, and peeked out to observe his surroundings.

The cold morning air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and morning mist, but the area around the designated rendezvous point was deathly silent.

"Safe. There are military police outside to provide backup," Iron Hammer reported in a low voice.

Above the wellhead, a small number of trusted military police officers, carefully selected by Yusuke, had been anxiously waiting for some time.

A man wearing a military overcoat kept rubbing his frozen hands, his eyes fixed on the sewer outlet.

When he saw Iron Hammer stick his head out and give him a thumbs-up, his face showed a complex expression of relief mixed with even more seriousness.

Successfully capturing Matsui Iwane meant the core of the mission was complete, but the ensuing escort and his subsequent mission in Nanjing made him feel an immense pressure on his shoulders.

Upon seeing Iron Hammer's signal, and then Makarov and his men appearing with the humanoid target covered by a black hood and constantly writhing, Ichijo immediately led his men to meet them.

"Hurry!" Yitiao's voice was low but urgent.

He directed two military police officers to quickly take over the prisoner.

The military police were clearly specially trained; they moved swiftly and silently.

Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately replaced Matsui Iwane's conspicuous general's uniform, which was covered in mud, with an ordinary soldier's khaki overcoat.

Matsui Iwane seemed to sense that changing clothes meant the stripping away of his last symbol of identity, and he struggled even more fiercely.

A military policeman delivered a clean and swift chop to the side of his neck, causing him to temporarily collapse.

Then, the two men quickly shoved him into the trunk of an inconspicuous Type 95 passenger car, its tarpaulin covered in mud, as if he were cargo.

With a "bang," the trunk lid slammed shut, cutting off the last possible connection between Matsui Iwane and the outside world.

"Chief of Staff Nakamura is waiting at the temporary command post in Xiaolingwei outside the city." Yusuke Ichijo turned to Makarov, his voice low and swift: "We must set off immediately."

Makarov simply nodded, his Slavic-featured face expressionless, as if what he had just done was not a thrilling decapitation and capture, but a routine patrol.

With a hand gesture, the squad members immediately dispersed, mingling with the military police of Yitiao, breaking into three groups, boarding different cars, and speeding towards the outskirts of Nanjing along the predetermined route.

The convoy traveled through the suburbs of Nanjing at dawn.

The scenery along the way was shocking.

The ruins are still smoking, the roads are littered with craters and abandoned weapons and equipment, and occasionally the bodies of fallen soldiers or civilians can be seen.

However, a peculiar "green channel" seems to be open for them.

The Kwantung Army and North China Area Army positions, which should have been equipped with sentry posts and fortifications, were unusually quiet at this moment.

When the soldiers behind the sandbag fortifications saw these vehicles, they not only did not stop them, but sometimes nodded slightly in acknowledgment, or simply moved the roadblocks away.

At some key intersections, officers wearing different armbands even stood there, as if guiding them.

All of this indicates that instructions from the military police leadership have reached all parties involved, clearing away any potential obstacles for this special escort mission.

It's even possible that some people already knew what was going to happen.

This was a meticulously planned, cross-factional joint operation aimed at quickly and quietly removing Matsui Iwane, this "troublesome" figure, from Nanjing, this huge powder keg.

The atmosphere inside the car was oppressive.

Makarov sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed, seemingly resting, but the safety on his pistol remained off.

The driver, Sickle, scanned the road ahead with sharp eyes for every possible threat.

The occasional soft thuds and whistling sounds coming from the trunk served as a reminder of the special and dangerous nature of their mission.

They were secretly transporting a general of the Imperial Japanese Army, a once powerful army commander, out of the city he had just lost, like a secret cargo.

The fate of the trapped beast, Matsui Iwane, was completely out of his own control from the moment he was hooded and stuffed into the trunk.