Chapter 339: Targeted Purge

Outside the presidential palace, Lynch took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled three out, and handed two to the two men beside him before lighting one himself.

“Sixty days—do we really need that long?” he asked the deputy defense minister, who shook his head.

If measured from mobilization to conclusion, it wouldn’t take that long—let alone the actual naval battle itself.

According to the Navy Headquarters’ tactical research, the battle would last no more than thirty-six hours, and the Federation would achieve a complete victory.

They had equipped the pirate group led by Preyton with the current main warships of the Gephra Royal Navy, increased the number of their ships, and upgraded their combat skills.

In other words, this so-called righteous battle to eliminate pirates was viewed from the start by the Navy Headquarters as a clash with the Gephra Royal Navy.

Only on a smaller scale, since Gephra wouldn’t deploy their main battle fleet—that would be foolish. The Federation, however, could send more ships and use secret weapons.

Without doubt, this war could not be lost.

Lynch listened calmly to the deputy minister’s explanation, then nodded. “Tell the generals to make the conditions tougher. Think about how we handle unfavorable situations, and set more restrictions on ourselves.”

“If we lose this time, neither the navy nor the army will develop for the next ten years.”

He spoke seriously. What seemed to most people like a minor anti-piracy operation actually determined the Federation’s military and national fate for the next decade.

They could avoid conflict—but they couldn’t. Avoiding it now would only invite greater encroachment and damage the Federation’s international interests. They had no choice but to fight, and the only thing left was to ensure every tactic and plan was flawless and every effort made.

After the deputy defense minister left, Lynch looked at his remaining cigarettes. After a drag, he crushed one underfoot, sparks flying.

He turned to the head of the National Security Council’s Operations Department. “Begin. It’s time…”

As diplomatic talks progressed, war could erupt anytime. Lynch hoped for a peaceful agreement, limiting the conflict to a mere anti-piracy operation.

He did not want Nagaryll to become the Federation’s enemy. If war broke out between the two, Gephra would have cause to intervene, likely siding with Nagaryll.

At that point, whether to protect allies or uphold justice, Gephra could deploy its main battle fleet and face the Federation navy in full-scale naval warfare.

That would be the worst outcome. But in matters like this, any hope for luck was irresponsible—to himself and the nation.

So from now on, the Security Council would launch a thorough purge of domestic spies—a long and persistent process.

Though the Federation hadn’t joined the world war, foreign spies were common due to its advanced economy and technology, making it a significant military target.

Previously, spies who avoided touching core secrets were tolerated under the Federation’s old policy: isolationism and purely defensive stance. That time was over.

Once decided, the entire state apparatus began moving. Observers at naval bases along the Eastern Ocean noticed warships and many tugboats frequently entering and leaving.

“They’ve made their choice…” whispered an inconspicuous middle-aged man standing outside Sirius Harbor.

He wore plain clothes—not fashionable, but not outdated either. He was fishing, accompanied by a younger man who seemed like his son or junior.

Fishing at this cursed hour helped forget pain and fill their stomachs.

Many fished along the shore, but these two were different—they constantly observed naval activity, coming daily to log ship types and numbers.

The older angler wondered aloud, “What are these tugboats really doing?” They came and went, seemingly doing nothing, yet something felt off.

In truth, the tugboats were towing submarines. It sounded almost unbelievable, but it was true.

Though the Shepford Marine Works’s submarines met current naval combat requirements and strength demands, their endurance while submerged was still lacking.

To conceal these secret weapons, the navy used tugboats to tow the subs to designated waters, where they would surface and operate under their own power.

To outsiders, the tugboats appeared idle, but these two spies instinctively sensed something wrong.

“Record this—this info might be important…” the elder glanced back, frowning slightly.

That day the port felt different. Strange people appeared on the pier extending from the beach.

Sirius Harbor, a deepwater military port open to the Eastern Ocean, had long drawn spies from various countries.

At least thirty percent of fishermen here were foreign agents, all watching military movements.

They had infiltrated for nearly five years, meeting locals daily, knowing every face and name.

But this time, a few vehicles stopped at the end of the wooden pier. Men, part soldiers, part something else, stepped out.

They might have been exposed.

The Gephra spy wasn’t alarmed. Such exposures had happened before. Usually, after interrogation and a few lashes, nothing worse happened. The Federation’s counterintelligence even bought spies tickets home.

Because of this leniency, spies here weren’t as cautious or alert as those in other places.

“Enough. Don’t make things hard for our Federation chicks,” the elder fisherman joked as he reeled in his line, noting the vanished bait.

His bucket already held three or four fish—enough for a hearty dinner.

The younger man started packing up. Nervous, possibly facing this for the first time, he bent down and dropped a pen from his chest pocket.

He had used that pen to record many secrets, but the notes were encrypted. Without the key, they looked like diary entries; only those who could decode them could read the real content.

Bending, his face flushed slightly as his blood pressure rose. Reaching for the pen caught in the boardwalk gap, a polished shoe suddenly stepped on it.

Startled, he looked up at a man in sunglasses. Fine fabric socks and dark gray trousers—only government officials dressed like this in hot weather.

The young man scanned the surroundings. They were surrounded. The agent playing his father was also captured.

The older spy gave him a glance. Slowly, he raised his hands and stood, glaring defiantly at their captors.

Before becoming a spy and arriving at the Federation, he had undergone rigorous military training.

He was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, proficient with various vehicles and firearms, and an expert in lock picking…

He mastered nearly everything he was supposed to know. He saw himself as a remarkable agent from novels or TV—invincible, always able to escape danger with the grace of a dancing gentleman.

But now, all he could do was raise his hands. No one gave him the chance to use his skills. He was resentful; if given an opportunity, he wouldn’t surrender so easily.

A rifle butt slammed hard into his neck. Darkness clouded his vision, he lost his balance, nearly falling into the water.

With a sharp command, they were escorted away.

The head of the Security Council’s operations team glanced back at the crowd gathered on the pier, murmuring among themselves. He smirked and pointed, causing their expressions to shift.

They all knew many among them were spies from other countries.

The Federation’s National Security Council didn’t arrest them—not because they were unaware, but because it wasn’t necessary.

For a moment, everyone’s thoughts became confused. They sensed the Federation’s stance had changed.