Bletchley Manor, temporary headquarters of the Strategic Scientific Reserve.
Carter, dressed in a civilian military uniform, held two telegrams in her hand. Her flat shoes clicked against the stairs.
The moment she pushed open the door, she heard Luke say lazily, "Let me guess. The Allies want me to lead a strike team to Paris and stop Sieglinde's advance?"
"I remember that just two days ago, the Prime Minister was still acting completely unconcerned, saying the Allied Nations could hold out for now and that we shouldn't feel too much pressure."
The leader of the Strategic Scientific Reserve sat by the window, his long legs resting on the edge of the sill. His chair rocked backward as he balanced on it.
Afternoon sunlight streamed in and fell across him.
He looked as though he were soaking in a warm pool, making anyone who saw him feel drowsy.
"You could hear me talking downstairs?"
Carter put away one of the telegrams, because Luke had guessed its contents exactly.
The Allied Nations had finally been unable to hold out and decided to send out their own Superman to teach those Germans a lesson!
No one had expected the Third Reich to launch an attack on its own initiative. It had not even been long since the ceasefire.
The speed at which Saint General had sorted out the chaos and stabilized the situation had somewhat exceeded the expectations of the Allied high command.
"What about the other one?"
The female agent held both hands behind her back, as though guarding against Luke taking a peek.
"A commendation from the President. After all, the Allies' only recent victory came when I dealt with those Tank-class soldiers in Berlin. If I weren't still in London, The President would definitely be impatient to hand me the