Chapter 118: Could It Be Any More Unreliable? (Part One)

The Russians are the most reckless among the major powers of World War II—there is no compromising, nor is there any room for negotiation. When pushed to the brink, the Russians will stop at nothing.

The most famous example is the Space Race during the Cold War. Almost every scientist involved in rocket launches had their names on a death list. It was decided well in advance who would face a firing squad along with their entire family's imprisonment, and who would be sentenced to life in prison. Then, once a launch succeeded, a certain leader would strike a pen across the documents: those slated for execution would suddenly be awarded the "Hero of the Soviet Union" medal instead. This goes to show that the more your superiors favor you, the heavier the burden of responsibility they place upon your shoulders.

Initially, Stalin felt that the young man, Mejechao Drowsky, was likely a lost cause. With such visible physical impairment, asking him to return to the battlefield seemed excessive. Who would have guessed that a report submitted from below would claim this young man was still quite capable of fighting? At the very least, the scene where he took down Yelena left an impression on every instructor, all of whom unanimously evaluated him by saying, "None of us can fight better than him."

Watching Captain America on the black-and-white screens of American television, then looking at the sluggish development progress of the Winter Soldier, Stalin’s mind began to wander.

"The Yankees already have their Captain America; what about our Winter Soldier?" Stalin reprimanded the intelligence officials with a light but firm tone. Those sycophants, always adept at reading between the lines, immediately understood.

Mei Mumu was mentally prepared for this.

At the Red Room, inside Mejechao’s office, Natalia received the order and gave him a meaningful look—are we rebelling? Mei Mumu gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head—not yet; it is not the time to go all-in! The two quickly reached a consensus.

Standing next to Natalia, Yelena blinked. She could certainly sense the unspeakable relationship between her master and her former rival, but as she held a lower status, she could only remain silent.

"We need to infiltrate Japan. In the mountains near Tokyo, we must retrieve data from a secret research project—a collaboration between the Japanese and a killer organization called the Hand—hidden in a rather troublesome ancient castle." Mei Mumu emphasized, "Specifically, it involves cruel live dissections of prisoners of war captured from China and various parts of East Asia to obtain biological data!"

The corners of the eyes of the two Black Widows twitched simultaneously. They should have been trained and brainwashed to be cold and ruthless. Unfortunately, with Mei Mumu, an infiltrator proficient in psychic and soul-based magic, the Russians' third-rate brainwashing techniques were simply not up to the task. Their coldness was merely an act. Perhaps only by the time the Winter Soldier reached completion would the Russian brainwashing be somewhat effective.

Mei Mumu continued, "Regarding the infiltration mission, do you have any ideas?"

Knowing full well that they were being monitored, he had to play the part of a good mentor. As it happened, the night he won over Yelena, he had been forced to use the Libra system to synthesize an hour of "aah-ooh" sound effects. To the tech experts of 2016, such a clumsy recording would have been riddled with flaws, but in this era, it was seamless.

"Disguised infiltration?" Yelena tried to answer.

Mei Mumu shut her down immediately: "Before WWII, the average height of an adult Japanese male was 160cm, and 150cm for females. We are all too tall."

Don't let their ages—one 14, one nearly 13—fool you; the growth of Russian girls is terrifying. Natalia was already 167cm, and Yelena was 172cm. Paired with Comrade Drowsky’s current 182cm frame, if they walked down a Japanese street, they would be objects of awe everywhere they went. Infiltrate? In a territory largely sealed off from the outside world, this height would make them the center of attention.

Yelena lowered her head in shame.

Natalia flipped through the documents on the table and frowned: "A direct infiltration is very difficult. We could take a boat, bypass the Japanese Coast Guard to land near Joetsu, but it's a 200-kilometer mountain trek from the coast to Gunma Prefecture where the target is located. Anything could happen along the way. Even if we are strong, we cannot stand against millions of Japanese."

Yelena, a novice agent who had never been on a mission, was even more at a loss and simply remained silent.

"We’ll fly there," Mei Mumu decided, leaving the two women and the intelligence officers eavesdropping on them stunned.

Mei Mumu curled his lip: "On December 7, 1941, the Japanese Naval Air Force attacked Pearl Harbor. The U.S. carried out the Tokyo bombing raid on April 18, 1942, as a retaliation. Since then, Japan has installed most of its army anti-aircraft radar on its eastern coast. And Japan's Type 313 radar is just junk; while we can't ignore it, there are plenty of ways to work around it."

Natalia and Yelena were at a loss for words.

"Are we really just going to fly in like that?"

Mei Mumu shrugged: "Don't worry. At worst, we lose one plane to the sea and sacrifice three elite agents. That kind of loss is completely acceptable in the eyes of the General Secretary."

Precision planning? Calculating before acting? No, no, no! Such things did not exist. Even the intelligence department’s evaluation of this so-called plan was—"Complete, blind nonsense!" Yet, Stalin, who was busy fighting Hitler, didn't even lift an eyelid when he saw that Mei Mumu was willing to take action, and he approved it. The intelligence department was practically wailing.

Mei Mumu was even more straightforward; other than requesting a submarine for extraction, he asked for nothing else. One must realize this was the most critical point of the war; generally, more than half of the planes and artillery produced were destroyed within the first month of reaching the front lines. Everything, including human lives, was expendable. His frugality left the intelligence department with nothing to say.

On May 2, 1943, Mei Mumu used the skills he had frantically learned after joining the Red Room, combined with the "WWII Elite Pilot" ability he redeemed with a fragment of fate, and took off humming a tune in a B-24 bomber the Americans had supplied to the Russians. Aside from the flight coordinates, almost nothing else was reliable. It was pure, unadulterated recklessness!

The carefree man flew the plane at ultra-low altitude through the stormy night. "Under the bridge in front of the house—swims a group of ducks—" Though not sung in Russian or with lyrics, the rhythm felt like a kindergarten child on a field trip!

The co-pilot was Natalia, who trusted him implicitly. Sitting slightly behind were Yelena and a pale-faced navigator. Inside the cabin sat a platoon of Red Army infantrymen, equally deathly pale, convinced they were surely going to die. Throughout the plane's internal communications, nothing echoed but the sound of him humming, constantly changing the tune.