Chapter 067: The Polish Second Bureau’s Triumph (Exclusive Chapter for "Blue Silk" Book Friend)

“Let’s not worry about that for now. Over there, the diagonal—do you see it? Miu, you dash over first. Ramsey and I will cover you. Once you’re across, find cover and then return fire to protect us! Load your magazines—on my count, one, two, three, go!”

Miu Fujiwara trusted Chen Jiehua implicitly; whatever he asked, she would do. “One, two, three—go!” Chen Jiehua and Ramsey stood back-to-back, their four pistols firing in turns to suppress the enemy’s fire.

But pistols could only do so much. The opposition had rifles; it was impossible to keep them pinned down! Miu stumbled—obviously hit!

Chen Jiehua’s heart clenched with remorse—how could he let his woman take such risks? If Miu died here, it would be a pointless sacrifice! What was the point of hiding the Garand rifle then?

Damn it! So only you get to have rifles? Chen Jiehua’s patience snapped; he swiftly pulled out the Garand, spun around, and took out the distant rifleman.

The rifle-wielding gendarme never understood, even as he died: the other side only had pistols, it was such a long distance, and night had already fallen—how had he been shot?

Chen Jiehua knew from the shot that he’d hit his mark. He spun back into cover and quickly stowed the Garand away. Damn, when I get a semi-automatic, I’ll make sure to switch permanently!

Just then, Miu signaled from across the way—hurry over! She seemed alright, which was a relief.

But there were still two rifles left on that side. “Ramsey, do you see the one with the rifle over there? They’re too dangerous. We’ll fire together and take them out first!”

“Got it.”

“Ready—one, two, three!”

“Bang, bang, bang!” Three shots rang out as they dashed from cover. Luck was with them; with no wind tonight, their pistols managed to take out the two distant riflemen. With a quick roll, they joined Miu.

It was only then that Chen Jiehua noticed Ramsey only had one pistol—and with a single shot, he’d managed to take out a distant rifleman. His marksmanship was first-rate!

“Miu, let me see—where are you hurt?”

“My leg—the usual spot!”

“Damn, do you have a vendetta with rifles or something?” Chen Jiehua joked as he pulled out a tourniquet and began bandaging her leg. They couldn’t risk leaving a blood trail.

“My God, do you have everything on you?” Ramsey exclaimed.

“You’re like a curious child! It’s your God who gave me these things! Don’t ask. Get ready—you and Miu make a dash for the residential district over there. Once you’re inside, you’ll be safe!”

“What about you?” Miu asked.

“I’ll cover you, of course. I’m fine—the riflemen are down, and the rest aren’t a threat. Without you two slowing me down, I’ll be even more effective!”

On the platform, the chaos was nearing its end. Dozens of bodies lay sprawled across the ground. The survivors had all found cover, locked in a tense standoff.

The train had stopped due to the sudden violence.

In the brief lull, someone finally noticed the battered suitcase that Ramsey had hurled into the crowd—a suitcase that was now falling apart, its contents spilling out: photographs.

“What’s this? Photographs?” cried a nearby Japanese agent, his voice trembling with excitement. He tried to sneak away with the suitcase, but after only a few steps, he tripped at the doorway, and the case fell to pieces.

The strange sound drew everyone’s attention. The Polish Second Bureau’s team leader was the quickest to react—raising his pistol, he shot the Japanese agent as he was getting up.

That was Ramsey’s suitcase! Everyone remembered now—when that Asian-looking man had run out with Ramsey, he’d snatched the suitcase from her and thrown it across the platform!

Why he threw it, no one had time to ponder. But the photos were real—undeniable evidence. That’s what they’d all been after. But for the moment, no one dared make a move.

Outside, the screech of truck brakes echoed loudly. The Polish army had received orders and was storming the station, soldiers fanning out with rifles at the ready.

There was no point in further resistance. The army took over, and the surviving foreign agents surrendered their weapons.

Following behind the soldiers was Colonel Tadeusz Pečiski, director of the Polish Second Bureau, who had come in person.

“Over here, sir!” called the team leader, and the director received the battered suitcase full of photographs with a satisfied grin.

“Well done, gentlemen! Not a single one must be lost—send them straight to headquarters!”

The station brawl was over.

Outside, the firefight around Chen Jiehua’s group had ended before the army arrived. Strangely enough, all the dead were Abbeville gendarmes.

With the objective secured, the Polish agents withdrew, leaving only a few to count their own dead. The rest was left for the army to handle.

The Second Bureau’s director immediately phoned superiors, reporting the successful acquisition of the suitcase full of photographs and requesting experts for verification.

Over Warsaw, the ripple of telegrams spread for hours. Intelligence and military services across the world received the news: the formula had been intercepted by the Polish Second Bureau and was now being verified.

Authenticating the formula required laboratory testing, trial production, and human trials—a process that would take at least a month. Having some expert glance at it and pronounce it genuine was pure fantasy.

For the next month, the struggle between agents would continue, only the battlefield would shift—from the train station to a laboratory somewhere in Poland. The roles would reverse: now the Polish Second Bureau would defend, while agents from all over the globe would attempt to infiltrate and steal the formula.

As for Ramsey’s fate, aside from Berzin, almost no one cared.

Ramsey, along with Miu Fujiwara and Chen Jiehua, made their way to a safe house in Warsaw set up by the Red Russian Comintern. There, they prepared a room for surgery. Once again, it was the same leg, the same wound. Chen Jiehua deftly removed the bullet, covered the wound with penicillin, and bandaged it.

All these items were easily explained—they could be carried at all times. The scalpel, after all, was Miu’s weapon of choice, and Ramsey knew this.

“Mr. Aoki, where’s my film?”

Chen Jiehua pulled the negatives from his breast pocket and handed them to Ramsey. Ramsey, curious, peered at his chest, trying to see what else might be hidden there.

“We Easterners have a habit of stashing things in our sleeves and chest pockets,” Chen Jiehua said.

“What else do you have in there?”

“Nothing, aside from a few leftover Reichsmarks. That’s all.”

“But why did I hear a different gunshot just now?” Ramsey muttered to himself.

He’d been put off for the time being.

In truth, Ramsey wasn’t stupid—he simply didn’t wish to press further. Back in Leverkusen’s laboratory, he’d already sensed something was amiss—the gunfire didn’t sound right. But as spies, everyone had their secrets. There was no need to dig too deep.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Chen Jiehua said at last. “Why don’t you go back to your England, Ramsey, my friend?”

Those final words were loaded with meaning, and the clever Ramsey understood.