Building a Conglomerate in Another World-Chapter 169: Fighting an Impossible War

The tension in what remained of the presidential palace was suffocating. President Mariano Velásquez sat at the head of the war council, his gaze locked onto the battered map of his country. The Amerathian air raid had devastated Bogotá, but it had done more than just destroy buildings—it had exposed Gran Colombia’s military vulnerability to the entire world.

General Rodrigo Ibarra stood beside the map, tracing a line with his finger. His uniform was stained with soot, and the bandage on his arm from the previous day’s attack was still fresh.

"Mr. President, we can no longer ignore the reality of this war. Amerathia’s bombers have changed everything. We can’t even take down those aircraft as we don’t have a weapon to counter it. The Amerathians would surely use their flying steel to drop their bombs, leaving us with no choice but to catch them with our bare hands."

The room was silent, save for the occasional crackling of distant fires still burning through the city above them. The ministers and military officials exchanged uneasy glances, none willing to be the first to speak.

Velásquez finally broke the silence. "Then we must find a way. We cannot allow Amerathia to dictate the outcome of this war from the skies. If we don’t stop them now, there will be nothing left of Gran Colombia."

"But how, Mr. President?" Defense Minister Enrique Salazar asked. His voice was heavy with exhaustion. "We have no aircraft, no defenses against bombers, no industry capable of producing countermeasures on short notice. Our army is built for ground warfare, not this."

Ibarra exhaled sharply. "That’s why we need foreign support. We need weapons that can reach them, cannons capable of striking high-altitude targets, anything that can threaten their flying machines. If we cannot build them, we must buy them."

"Not even foreign nations have those technologies, only Amerathia. This is a new war and those foreign nations would simply watch and learn."

Velásquez’s fingers dug into the edge of the table as he listened to Ibarra’s grim assessment. The truth was hard to swallow, but there was no denying it. This was a new kind of war—one where Amerathia dictated the battlefield from above.

He exhaled sharply. "So you’re telling me no nation has an answer to those machines?"

Felipe Ortega, the foreign minister, shook his head. "Not yet, Mr. President. They’ve seen the power of Amerathia’s bombers, and they are watching. But they won’t act—not until they understand how to counter them. They see this war as an opportunity to observe, not to intervene."

Enrique Salazar, the defense minister, leaned forward. "Then we are alone in this. We have nothing that can shoot them down, no way to stop their raids. Amerathia can bomb us into submission at will."

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A heavy silence fell over the room. The officials looked at one another, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. For the first time in decades, Gran Colombia was truly defenseless.

Velásquez’s expression darkened. He refused to accept defeat. His country would not fall without a fight.

"If we cannot shoot them down, then we must make bombing us too costly." His voice was firm. "We fortify every key city. We make it hell for their troops on the ground. They may own the skies, but they will never own our land."

Ibarra gave a slow nod. "Urban warfare. If they invade, we make them bleed for every street, every building. We force them into a war they do not want."

Salazar frowned. "That could take months, even years. Our people will suffer."

Velásquez’s jaw tightened. "They already are." He looked around the room. "Do you all believe Amerathia will stop after Panama? Do you think they will stop once they’ve shattered our economy and burned our cities? No. They will not stop until we are broken beyond repair."

The room remained silent.

"We must act now," he continued. "The people need to see that Gran Colombia is still standing. We will spread resistance across the country. Every town, every village will be ready to fight."

Ibarra straightened. "Then we must mobilize immediately. If we cannot fight them in the air, we will fight them in the streets."

As Gran Colombia scrambled to prepare for an inevitable invasion, Amerathia was already moving to crush any chance of resistance.

Back in Washington, President Theodore Clay received his latest briefing. His advisors had gathered in the war room, standing before a massive map of Gran Colombia.

"Mr. President," General Jonathan Graves began, "Bogotá has been shattered, but intelligence suggests Velásquez is doubling down instead of surrendering. He’s mobilizing forces for urban resistance, likely preparing for prolonged guerrilla warfare."

Clay’s expression hardened. "We cannot allow that to happen. How soon can we launch another strike?"

"The bombers are ready, sir," the commander replied. "We can hit their industrial centers next—factories, railways, and their last major supply hubs. If we cut them off completely, they won’t be able to fight at all."

Clay nodded. "Then do it. No half-measures. Make sure Gran Colombia knows that resistance is futile."

The order was given.

Within hours, dozens of Amerathian bombers were in the air once more, their engines roaring as they flew toward their next targets—the industrial hubs of Medellín and Cali.

As the people of Medellín went about their daily routines, the ominous hum of aircraft engines filled the sky. At first, no one understood what was coming.

Then the first bomb fell.

Explosions rocked the city, tearing through factories, railways, and supply depots. Entire streets were engulfed in fire within seconds. The screams of civilians filled the air as buildings crumbled, burying families beneath the rubble.

In Cali, the story was much the same. The bombers struck with merciless precision, turning once-thriving industrial centers into smoldering wastelands.

Velásquez, still in Bogotá, received the reports with a face like stone. The Amerathians were not stopping. They were going to grind Gran Colombia into dust.

***

Velásquez knew the truth.

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Gran Colombia could not win this war.

The industrial base was gone. The people were in terror. The military was outmatched.

Still, he refused to surrender.

"This is no longer a war for victory," he muttered, staring out over his broken city. "This is a war for survival."

He turned to General Ibarra. "Mobilize what’s left of our forces. We make our last stand here."

The fate of Gran Colombia hung in the balance.

And Amerathia was closing in for the kill.