My own war game

Chapter 185 Either pull him over or kill him!
Snow in Copenhagen, November 1941.

The first snow since the beginning of winter has fallen. The streets are sparsely populated. The occasional passers-by come and go in a hurry, wrapping themselves tightly in their coats and disappearing quickly.

The reason for this bleak scene is not only the colder weather than in previous years, but also the rows of SS soldiers with guns passing through the streets.

A man in a brown coat pressed down his hat and blew on his hands.

After turning the corner, he saw a sign with a wine glass on it. The man seemed to spend a few seconds considering whether to have a drink to warm himself up.

Finally the man lowered his head and went into the tavern.

Ding ding ding~ As the wooden door was pushed open, the sound of wind chimes rang out.

There were only a few people in the empty pub, and the bartender was standing alone in front of the bar, silently wiping the glasses.

"Welcome, what would you like to order?" The bartender put down his work and turned to ask the customer.

"Cat whiskey, sausages, a plate of nuts, and some olives from Spain." The drinker brushed the snow off his shoulders, then pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Sorry, the whiskey is only served after six."

"Well, give me the rum, then."

After a few simple words, the bartender put the snacks on the table and then continued to wipe his glass, while the customer poured himself a drink in the corner.

But after a while, the drinker seemed to be a little tipsy. He was humming an unknown tune and playing with an olive in his hand. Music was coming from the radio next to him. The atmosphere in the whole room was comfortable and peaceful.

Half an hour later, the guest seemed satisfied. He took out his wallet from his pocket, pulled out a few bills and put them under his wine glass and prepared to leave.

Bang! The door was violently opened and a group of SS soldiers rushed in.

"Routine check! Take out all your documents!" the leading SS lieutenant shouted to the people in the room.

People stood up obediently, walked over with nervous looks and took out their ID cards, and the guests who were about to leave were stopped and forced back.

The ferocious-looking soldiers took out the documents one by one and checked them one by one.

"Reporting to the commander, everyone's ID is fine." A sergeant trotted over to report to the second lieutenant.

"Hmm." The lieutenant snorted and paced back and forth without comment, then suddenly saw the table in front of the bartender. He walked over and reached for the wine glass with the banknotes on it.

The bartender's hand reached calmly under the bar.

The banknotes below were picked up, and the lieutenant checked them one by one, then walked towards the bartender.

"come here!"

"Sir, what is the matter?" The bartender bowed slightly and put his hands down.

"Did you...did you refuse to accept German marks?" the lieutenant asked with a stern face.

The bartender relaxed, bent down and said respectfully, "I wouldn't dare, sir. We absolutely don't do that in our restaurant."

"You'd better not let me catch you." The lieutenant scolded, then tapped his heels and turned to the other drinkers, "Sorry to disturb your interest, please continue."

The sound of leather boots faded away, and the drinkers looked at each other, and suddenly lost interest. Everyone put down their money and left in a hurry. The bar, which originally had few customers, suddenly became empty. The bartender shook his head and helplessly picked up the cups and leftover food on the table.

After doing all this, the bartender closed the door, hung up the "Temporarily Out" sign, and turned back to the inner room.

Crack! Puff!

Two olives were squeezed open in the hand, and the bartender pulled out two waterproof notes from the juice, with strings of numbers written on them.
-
In London, the temporary office of the Free French, Christine threw an account book to Menzies, the head of the Sixth Intelligence Agency.

"The informant in Copenhagen has news that something is not right with the Germans." The girl sat elegantly opposite Menzies, her hands folded on her knees.

"Is there a special situation?" Menzies felt his nerves jump.

"Some of our people broke into their financial system and found that the funding allocated to Heisenberg's team this month was only 220 million marks, half of the normal amount," said Christine, pointing to a string of numbers in the account book.

"Have they made a breakthrough?!" This was Menzies' immediate reaction. As the top leader of the British intelligence system, he knew that nuclear fission research was being conducted both in his own country and across the strait.

The British are just at the starting line, while the Germans have been doing it for more than two years.

Under normal circumstances, the research funding for a national-level project continues to increase. However, there are generally two situations in which the funding is suddenly cut in half: either the government becomes pessimistic about the project's prospects and cuts funding, or the project is about to be completed.

If it was the latter, it would be too scary! Menzies' scalp tingled at the thought of the Germans mastering that thing.

Fortunately, the lady on the other side denied his guess. "It's not what you think. According to other informants, the Germans have not made any breakthroughs in the nuclear fission project. There seems to be another reason for their funding cuts."

Then Christine pressed a photo on the table. The photo was blurry and the photographer must have taken it from a distance.

In the photo, in an independent white building, a man whose face cannot be seen is standing on a podium, explaining something to a group of German officials.

"They seem to be planning to develop another weapon, which is said to be huge in size, and the German top leaders are very interested in it, and even allocated part of the funds of the nuclear fission group to it."

"So that's how it is." Menzies rubbed his chin. He was relieved that the German nuclear weapons program had made no progress, but he also felt a sense of crisis about another mysterious weapon invention by the Germans.

What could it be that made the Germans take it so seriously?
"Do you know more?" Menzies leaned forward and asked. At this point he no longer cared about the fact that his tone was at a disadvantage.

"We don't know much." The interests of both parties were the same, and Christine did not choose to keep it at this time. "We only know that the Germans have newly appointed a non-German weapons expert who has come up with a lot of creative ideas in a short period of time."

"One of them is an anti-tank weapon. Our people sneaked into the test site and saw the test results. The effect can be said to be amazing." After saying that, Christine handed over another photo. The Crusader tank used as a test looked very miserable. A large penetrating hole appeared on the thickest front armor plate, revealing the fragile interior of the tank.

"Damn it! We need to get information about this damn inventor and the Germans' new generation of weapons plan!" Menzies said bitterly.

"That's why I came here today." Christine changed her posture. "I don't have many people in Copenhagen. Do you have a suitable candidate? Let's work together."

"I do have a few of them, but the question is what do you want to do?" Menzies looked at the woman in front of him.

"Find Germany's newest weapons expert."

"and then?"

"It's still the same. Bribery, seduction, kidnapping, if these don't work..." Christine pursed her lips and uttered a few words

"Kill him!"

(End of this chapter)