The Arctic ice sheet stretched for thousands of kilometers, and the ice itself averaged the height of a ten-story building.
Finding a hidden military base across that expanse was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Fortunately, the various nations' intelligence services proved their worth. They narrowed the location to a general area, and from there, the unit code-named G.I. Joe once again delivered an unexpected contribution.
Their old acquaintance Duke—whose parents had blessed him with an aptly noble name—scored the decisive breakthrough.
Armed with his chiseled American jawline, massive biceps, and rock-hard abs, he turned the Baroness—Cobra Command's female commanding officer, a woman named Ana—right over to their side.
With the Baroness serving as guide, she led the coalition's warships straight to Cobra's underwater base.
She was remarkably composed about the whole thing. She surrendered her sidearm and boarded a French warship without hesitation. After all, the entire operation was nominally about avenging the French people, which made France the star of the show.
Baroness Ana's features were a touch mature for her age, but she knew exactly how to play to her strengths. Her outfit was meticulously chosen to accentuate every curve. In the Arctic cold, she wore no hat, letting a cascade of sleek hair spill across her shoulders. More audaciously still, she'd left her collar open, displaying an eyeful of cleavage.
This was the Arctic. Among French soldiers who felt half-frozen even in full winter gear, this woman had already achieved legendary status.
"God, that old woman is absolutely shameless!"
"Right? Definitely fake. You can tell just from the shape."
On the French warship, Bella and Natasha watched from a safe distance, critiquing the Baroness's figure with unrestrained enthusiasm.
Bella had tried to convince her wife to stay home and rest, but Natasha had thrown an absolute fit—kicking, whining, the works—and insisted on coming to watch.
This was simply too entertaining. If she missed it, she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.
After much deliberation, Bella relented and stuck close as personal protection.
When the Baroness boarded the ship, swaying her twin "weapons" with every step, the two of them stood nearby, taking it all in.
"Honestly, I really don't see what's so handsome about Duke."
As the Brotherhood's Mentor, Bella considered the Baroness's battlefield defection rather unethical. At least put up a token resistance! Nobody even knows the full situation yet, and one honey trap later, she's waving the white flag. That's embarrassing. Cobra Command had two senior officers—Storm Shadow and the Baroness. Now both were out of the picture. The troops might as well pack it in.
Natasha chuckled. "This is where you're out of your depth. You don't understand these people's mentality. With a multinational coalition bearing down on them, could Cobra Command actually hold? Since the answer is no, using a honey trap as a convenient excuse to defect isn't such a bad play."
Bella thought it over. She had to admit the logic was sound.
The two of them chatted casually in borrowed French Navy uniforms.
They were far from the only idle bodies aboard. Remove a third of the warship's personnel and nothing would change.
The Brotherhood had always been rooted among civilians. Their intelligence network at the government level was thin. Bella had known Storm Shadow's assassination would provoke retaliation, but she hadn't expected things to snowball this far. After a few remarks about the Baroness's cleavage, the conversation shifted to business. "Hey, why do you think so many people want to attack M.A.R.S.'s base?"
Natasha was genuinely stumped. Since transferring to a desk role, she'd lost her old access to Fury's intelligence streams. All she could do was speculate. "Probably the Nanomite warhead technology. If they destroy M.A.R.S. under the banner of counterterrorism and absorb the tech, maybe they think they can restore their former dominance?" She trailed off, not even convincing herself. Britain's current state was no secret to anyone, insiders or outsiders alike. Without colonies to bleed dry, without a constant influx of resources, an island nation simply couldn't sustain that kind of power. A superweapon or two wouldn't change the equation.
Natasha had come purely for the spectacle. Bella was even less invested. Soon enough, she had her hand on Natasha's belly, grinning like an idiot.
The Baroness's defection hit M.A.R.S. Industries like a thunderbolt.
Cobra Command, still in its formative stage, now faced stillbirth.
"What happened? I don't want excuses. I don't want finger-pointing. I want the truth!" James McCullen's face was a mask of cold fury, his voice pitched high enough to rattle the ceiling. But those who knew him well could hear the fear beneath the rage.
"Zartan. My esteemed master of disguise—can you tell me what went wrong?" He turned an icy gaze on the man beside him.
Zartan had an unremarkable face, the kind you'd lose in any crowd.
But anyone who knew his true capabilities understood that his mastery of disguise had reached a level most people couldn't fathom. He was fluent in multiple languages, and his network of informants spanned the globe.
At the moment, however, the master of disguise had thrown composure out the window. McCullen's accusations stung, but Zartan felt more wronged than guilty, and rage was overtaking both. He worked the phones frantically, dispatching agents to gather intelligence, sending intermediaries to negotiate, deploying influential legislators and party leaders to intervene directly. Even if you're going to kill us, at least let us know why.
Reports converged from multiple sources. Zartan hung up the phone, disbelief plastered across his face, and stared at McCullen with hollow eyes.
"It seems... Storm Shadow killed another one of their Inner Sanctum knights."
He said it seems. He meant definitely.
The Templar Order had gone berserk. To mount this military operation, to make an example of M.A.R.S. Industries, they had burned through the majority of their political capital. Parliament had responded with breathtaking speed—twelve hours from request to deployment. The British Empire hadn't mobilized that fast during the Dunkirk evacuation. The price the Order had paid for this level of response was staggering.
McCullen's brow furrowed in confusion. Something about this didn't add up. "Storm Shadow? I thought I sent people to... where is Storm Shadow?"
It didn't take long. Two soldiers hauled Storm Shadow before him.
The man had killed Simon Hathaway and then, instead of disappearing, strolled right back to M.A.R.S.'s military base. That was the primary reason the Inner Sanctum wanted them obliterated—it didn't look like a rogue act when the assassin returned to base.
And yet it was entirely a rogue act.
McCullen stared at Storm Shadow, his eyes full of confusion. I sent a kill squad after you. Why did you come back? Was my message unclear? We're enemies now!
"Last time you said it was personal. Is this personal too? Who told you to kill him?"
"A woman."
"What's her name?"
"No idea."
Storm Shadow's answers nearly made McCullen pass out. What kind of answer is that?
Choking down his fury, McCullen forced himself to think. Something deeper was at play. Why had Storm Shadow done this? What could he possibly gain?