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Victory wasn't really victory anymore. That's what she was noticing the most. She'd read her father's books on England's ancient battles so many times as a child, and what she remembered was that victory had been victory, and defeat had been defeat. Once upon a time, the King had led in person, and when the dust settled at Crécy, or Agincourt or Trafalgar - the world was reshaped.

Then, when she'd gotten a bit older, she'd seen the haunting behind her father's eyes. The man who had survived cavalry charges in 1914, Bloody April in 1917, and so much more besides - and who wore all his wounds on the inside. The war had ended, and the victory was not glorious, no matter what the school books tried to tell her. She'd seen her father's eyes. And so the world carried on, and the victory hadn't been a victory. Then, years later, the best friend she had ever had and his...woman...had saved the entire world.

That should have been an end of it. But with the demise of Totenkopf and his scheme, now it became a rush to pick up the pieces. Britain, France, the Soviets, the Germans, the French, the damned Dutch - everyone who could raced to pick up traces. An arms race was beginning. And she had left from her mental list her old foes: The Empire of Japan.

Which was why she was in Hong Kong. Technically, on leave. Even more technically, on leave without her superiors knowing why she'd really decided to use it up. She wedged herself into fire escape perch she was occupying, situated behind a dance bar. She checked the Sten gun for the second time, lodging spare clips in her belt. She wore a suit and a bowler hat, which at least disguised her from casual observation. If the Japanese buyers were who she thought they were, that might not last long.

She ran over the plan again in her mind. Let them enter the bar and meet their contact. Let the money change hands so the seller, a local merchant crime lord, would hand over the processor components that had been salvaged from the wreckage of Totenkopf's rocket. Then she'd confiscate it. Then make a dash for the exit, and down to the jetty a few blocks away where Fala had promised a boat would be waiting. It was, technically speaking, a robbery. She preferred to think of it as doing the Service's job for it. Before it knew it needed to. She peered over the railing as the car drove up, disgorging its load of 'embassy staff' from the local Japanese consulate. Oh, she knew them well enough. She waited until they had gone inside before descending from her perch.

They'd left one guard on the door, who was still reaching for his gun when the heel of her boot broke his jaw. She sighed, adjusting her tie, and checking the Sten one last time, taking a moment to breath deeply. Showtime. If nothing unexpected happened, this would be a piece of cake.