Subterfuge wasn't his preferred methodology, but time spent in the Colonies and working alongside various quartermasters, local dignitaries and with various merchant representatives had taught him that expediency and negotiation were key; the odd lapse or blind eye helped to grease the wheels and as long as no one was hurt, no one's salary docked and no equipment lost then, frankly, he could tolerate some little "peccadilloes" for the men.

This was a different level. And yet he didn't feel too much guilt. The situation seemed to usurp those objections.

What was interesting was how easily Bradford had taken to it, mugging gamely as Anderson had laid out the situation as tactfully as he could. Shen had materialised along with Vahlen. The China-man had offered the explanation that he had "so many local boys" under his purview that he couldn't keep track. He'd then helpfully shown his particular skill at double book keeping and shifting various lines imperceptibly across paperwork. Anderson had known the man was, to put it bluntly, a criminal, but the speed and swiftness of the forgery and the juggling of the accounts was alarming.

And oh so useful.

Vahlen had simply stated that any gentlemen wishing to utilise her seconded guards would have to have "words" with her. And she simply said "they are also welcome to try to take our prisoners with them. Or shoot them. But let's see them to to get at them first". Her particular cell block (that they'd co-opted from an empty warehouse next to the hospital) was a fortress in and of itself - chains, extra walls, simple cages within cages. And all the occupants suitably sedated before… processing.

That last fact still sat ill with Anderson; but he had to acknowledge the necessity to a point. The Muton were pretty much un-cageable without severe resource expenditure, so had to be… what was the word she'd used… euthanised immediately after interrogation.

The others, as long as you disarmed them and gagged them (in the Tall-Men's case) were easier. The grey ones they'd realised could manipulate thoughts on a low level somehow after a guard nearly unlocked a cell in a blind panic. However, a mild sedative or strong aromas appeared to disrupt their power; as well as metal caps on the creatures themselves.

They'd practically re-written most of their standing manpower within an hour, ensuring the rear-echelon personnel were accounted for with only minimal losses to the "conscription"; front line was trickier, but they managed to lump many under spurious injuries or ill-defined maladies of "alien origin". And then Bradford played a blinder.

"It's a shame these orders came in just after we'd sent the boys out on that mission, y'know?"

The group had stared at him and grinned. Anderson had nodded solemnly, "True, orders getting written up later, lost. Don;t we need to get some supplies after them? They clean forgot them."

Bradford nodded theatrically, "Of course! What a buffoon. I best get down there, sort that out, right Shen?"

The old man had nodded as well, "Quite right. We best get Zhaojie after them with more of a contingent. Just in case. Where were they going again?"

Anderson glanced at their situation board, which now had pinmarks for the suspected transmitter locations. One in London, buried now, one in Cornwall and one in…

"Newcastle. Best get a ship sorted, think they went by.. Barge? Takes a good day up the coast. Be quick about it."

The men filed out, with several aides glancing at the planning group with puzzlement. But the clerks knew better and just carried on with pinning new reports up and sifting through documents and marking maps. Vahlen sighed and cocked her head at Anderson.

"You seem to be enjoying this, Herr Anderson?"

"And why not, Doctor? We're on the knife edge, stymied and stuck. Pinned to the proverbial board by the ineptitude of our betters. And yet… where does a man truly find his spirit in the fight, but those last dregs when he sees clearly."

She arched an eyebrow, "Der Fisch stinkt vom Kopf her! It is the way of all things where men seek glory or enrichment, Ja?"

"Perspicacious as ever, my dear Doctor. Have you had much headway with your own projects? Shen's weaponry and your assistance there buys us time in the field, but we need progress elsewhere."

The Doctor huffed and gave a sing song sigh,"We are getting an understanding of their particular… heat weaponry. Large amounts of power, mostly electrical in nature. But we are not able to replicate these things as yet. The power draw would be more than all the power plants in England currently could manage for a single shot."

Anderson ran a hand through his hair. He knew it was greying now, due to this damnable kerfuffle, "So we stand no chance? We can't meet them toe to toe?"

Vahlen shook her head, "We cannot build their weapons. I did not say we cannot use them," her grin was mischievous, an expression he hadn't seen before. It was both entrancing and alarming at the same time, "Now, if your men could stop blowing the weaponry up, I am confident we can understand how to make use of them more effectively, like your friend Wells."

"That's what I like to hear. What do you need?"

She gave a shrug, "More weapons. Intact. A fully functioning kriegsmaschine."

"The broken one not enough?"

"Nein. The various gears and arrays were too kaputten to be of use, but I have an understanding of the armour, makeup and interface. And… maybe how those strange little grey things are able to control others."

Anderson blinked, "Excuse me?"

"How do you think I understood how to block them? No, nothing we can use offensively… but give me time. I have ideas, my good Colonel."

"Thank you Doctor, now…"

A Corporal stepped up and coughed, "Sir, we have a visitor. At the main gate. He's.. asking to meet with you."

Anderson sighed and nodded to Vahlen, "Apologies Doctor. I will come find you later for a full debrief. Duty calls."

She gave a small smile and nodded, "Likely another of your toy soldier friends wanting another favour? Bis bald Colonel. Best of luck."

She departed and Anderson turned to the soldier, "So, who has deigned grace us with their presence."

Name of… Smytheson I believe sir? Says it's of the utmost importance and that he wanted to take you up on your offer."

The man stood at the gatehouse, next to a shiny black coach. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and eyed Anderson as he approached. The Colonel had taken the time to ensure his uniform was properly set - boots gleaming, belt shining, tunic straight. He gave the East India rep a once over and nodded.

"Mr Smythson. I wasn't expecting you. And you come alone?"

The man ducked his head briefly and slicked his black hair back. He looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep since Anderson had seen him last. The fellow's eyes looked sunken, uncertain. But when he spoke, it was with the same confident assurance he'd had at the Opera house, albeit with a twinge of… sincerity?

"Colonel, first off I would… like to apologise. I overstepped my bounds. My current employers wanted me to make amends. And to take you up on your offer. And if I can lend any assistance, then you have but to ask."

"And what assistance can a near bankrupt business with an army put to the four winds and various vulture investors do for us?"

Smytheson gave a tight smile, "We peel a label off and reveal the new jar beneath, my good Colonel. The Company may be another line in a ledger in Parliament's chase for monopoly but we have other investors, other sponsors and assets to call upon."

The Colonel eyed him and nodded slowly, "Quite. So, the question is then still what you can do beyond vague promise. I've had enough of that from our mutual friends; they at least came through with tangible results."

"Manpower, mobilisation, logistical deployments and auxiliaries for the defence of… wherever you need them. I have been asked to liaise with you. I hope to… make amends."

Anderson shrugged, "Well, what's one more liaison in a crowded room. I think, first off, I did say a tour did I not? To show you what you're getting you and yours involved in?"

"I think I have… some idea. But please, Colonel. I'm all ears."

The man gestured to the driver of the coach who whipped the horses into a trot. It vanished up the cobbled road to the main street near Trinity Park gardens and then turned to head into the City. Smytheson gave a small bow and fell into step with Anderson as they withdrew back into the Keep of the Tower.

"Right now I can't exactly bring you into the command centre. But I think we can have a look at some of the less… classified areas."

"Happy to help, Colonel. It'd be useful to just get an understanding. Where we can best shore up defences, help with shortfalls. Understand where the war effort needs the help."

"And what do you and yours get out of it?"

"Favours, potential contracts down the line. Credit lines with government departments. Really, all we want is an in, Colonel. A way to the top table. To survive. And we won't do that by short-selling the winning team, eh?"

Anderson gave the man a sideways glance, "I admire your pomp, sir. Quite the turnabout."

Smytheson hung his head again, "I will admit sir, my dander was up. I thought my position was akin to a chess match with a dullard. And when you look at the majority of the Ministry Staff Officers, can you blame me? Well, you can. But I was reminded by… superiors… that the path to riches is from humility. Such says the good book, eh?"

"Something about the meek, I believe."

"Indeed. We are all Chosen at different times. And I hope to be in a position to effect true change, to turn the war. I was never soldiering type, as you can imagine. I thought the age of war had passed and we were in the age of commerce. Well, turns out I was wrong."

Anderson had a nagging suspicion, but dismissed it. The man was a businessman, a merchant. They weren't all snakeoil and painted bars. But they did all talk with that faintly vague air of appropriated glory and with an eye to some future goal of wealth. He led the man to the grounds of the keep and gesture around.

"Our main military distribution centre. Marter I believe has given you and yours a vague understanding of the nature of our operation. We're undergoing some changes. But let's meander across the bridge. I think you'll get a proper dose of salts seeing what we have there."

It was cruel. But then he had promised the man a revelation. Watching the man shrink back as a Muton crashed against the bars of its cage did raise a faint smirk, but it wasn't as satisfying as he'd thought. But he'd never really been the sort to find petty cruelty gratifying.

He'd given the man a vague "surface" tour of the facilities south of the river - a look in on Vahlen's rooms, then to her little menagerie. That had been a seeming awakening, though the chap had been a bit underwhelmed by the Tall-men. Of course, the creatures were almost human-like. You only saw the otherness when fighting the bloody things.

It was something to ponder, though - would this nonchalance last when the enemy was at the proverbial door; many of the well to do in London were struggling to comprehend that there was a war on, let alone the nature of the combatants. Perhaps he should round up all the officers and ministers and drag them down here, let them see for themselves the reality they faced.

Next up he'd given the man a quick showing of Vahlen's other end of the process. That had induced some vomiting. And then onto more tangible fare with a glimpse at the Workshops - not the deep dark ones at the centre of Shen's little Empire of Metal, but the tailors, the metalsmiths at the fringes of the arches - the weapon upgrades closest to comprehension.

They'd adjourned back to the Mess in the Tower; the walk across the bridge had afforded Anderson the chance to take note of the pair of barges setting out from a pier, tarpaulins bound atop them, movement faintly visible beneath. That was one issue dealt with at least then. Two birds, one stone. Tasseter wouldn't be happy; the Prince would probably not care all that much if Marter was able to interject subtly. Now, he'd have to see if he got yanked to the front to see it first hand - he wouldn't put that past some in the know to try to free up his position.

Bloody politics.

And now here he sat, facing the pale-faced businessman. Smytheson looked thoughtful. Anderson just sat back and waited. Eventually the man spoke.

"Quite the circus, Colonel. I feel you've only let me scratch the surface."

"Of course. Military operation. You're a civilian. A Contractor, of sorts. And we don't want you scampering off with our little secrets just yet. Especially after your prior.. .demands, shall we say?"

The man's smile was sickly, guilty, "Quite, quite. So, a show of good faith perhaps? I am not expecting the keys to the city, of course. But I would argue that we work best with mutually beneficial co-operation. To lend assistance I need to know where you need assistance?"

They were struggling for men, of course. And materiel. And food. God above, damn near everything. This felt almost too serendipitous. But one couldn't be paranoid all the time; and the Council seemed to know this chap, oily though he was, "Supplies, primarily. Secure us a line from your stockhouses. An additional Company of men if you can scrounge any from your… relabelled contacts as you so finely put it. I fear the city may require defence. I can have my second liaise with their commander, see about reinforcing lines. Then we shall see about sharing further."

Smytheson nodded, "I will do what I can. Thank you for taking this chance, sir. I hope to fulfill my investor's wishes on this and ensure we have a beneficial relationship. And to live up to the expectations of me, beyond what I set out at our initial meeting."

Odd way to put it. But he's an odd man. Anderson nodded, "Well, let us see how we go then. Your health, sir."

"And yours, Colonel."