Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1670 - 760: Team Up with Me One More Time! (Part 2)
He walked up to the massive map of the war zone hanging on the wall, pointing with his finger at the long Kentucky-Indiana border line: "Look, the front line is so long. Although the Mexican Army is formidable, its forces are also dispersed. Our various national armies each have their own strengths and ways of fighting. Our British friends excel at special operations and long-range precision strikes, the French Foreign Legion are experts in assault and maneuverability, the German Army is known for its rigor and armored strength, our Italian bersaglieri (snipers) are skilled in mountain and mobile warfare, the Polish friends are brave and adept at battle..."
He paused for a moment, then threw out his core suggestion: "Why not let us each fight our own battle? Define rough areas of attack, and each country's troops can attack the predetermined targets inside Indiana in the way they are best at. We can agree on a time for the general attack, but how to fight specifically should be decided by each country's commander. This avoids command disputes and allows everyone to maximize their effectiveness. No matter how formidable Victor's army is, it will surely become disordered and chaotic when facing a fierce attack from different directions and tactical styles. It's like... a hunt, everyone driving the prey from different directions and eventually converging at the center."
The meeting room was silent for a moment.
This proposal seemed absurd, defying the basic principles of military cohesion and unity, but in the current situation where no one can convince anyone else and cooperative command is nearly impossible, it offered what appeared to be a way to break the deadlock.
"A flurry of punches can defeat a veteran master..." the Governor of Kentucky mumbled to himself in a voice only he could hear, thinking that maybe this Italian's suggestion made a bit of sense? Even if it sounded so unreliable.
The British Brigadier General and the French Colonel exchanged a glance, still distrustful, but seemingly considering their options.
Dispersed attacks at least ensure their national troops aren't dragged down by the foolish decisions of others, and they can solely claim the honor of capturing key targets.
Major Schmidt frowned, seemingly calculating the feasibility—or rather, infeasibility—of logistics and intelligence sharing under this model.
Colonel Sohaski snorted but didn't explicitly object.
At least this way, the Polish Army could finally let loose and act without having to watch anyone else's expressions.
"Well then."
Colonel Bertolini smiled and said, "Can we move on to discussing the detailed subdivision of areas under this major principle of 'individual assaults, goal-oriented'? For example, our Italian troops are interested in this hilly area to the center-south..."
"Anyone want to work with us."
Upon this suggestion, instead of the expected welcome, everyone just looked around at each other.
Italy?
Team up?
Not even a dog would team up!
Who didn't know this guy would switch sides at any moment?
The hopeful smile on Colonel Bertolini's face gradually stiffened and froze under the evasive, awkward, and even slightly sympathetic gazes of everyone around.
The British Brigadier General picked up his coffee cup, studying the rim intently as if it held clues to cracking Victor's military codes.
French Colonel Durand lowered his head to adjust his already impeccably neat cuffs.
Major Schmidt of Germany pushed his glasses up, his sharp eyes scanning the map anew, completely ignoring Bertolini's presence.
Colonel Sohaski of Poland snorted audibly, turning his head away.
The air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe.
Bertolini's eyes, with the last glimmer of hope, turned to a Belgian commander at the other end of the long table, someone he had a decent personal relationship with.
The commander, feeling this gaze, stiffened almost imperceptibly before quickly lowering his head as if scalded, his fingers unconsciously scratching at the edge of the notebook in front of him, his cheek muscles twitching slightly, his eyes filled with terror that seemed to say, "Don't come near me," "Please spare me."
At that moment, Bertolini felt as if the skin on his face was being roasted over a fire, burning painfully.
A surge of frustration rushed to his head, causing his face to flush instantly.
"Fine! Fine! Fine!" He repeated the word "fine" three times, his voice altered by extreme anger and humiliation, as he suddenly stood up, the chair legs screeching against the marble floor.
He glanced around at these "noble" allies, his eyes stubborn and defiant.
"We'll do it ourselves! We'll prove to everyone that Italian warriors are equally unmatched elite forces. I hope by then you won't regret today's decision."
With that, he could no longer endure the suffocating atmosphere and, stumbling slightly, rushed out of the conference room without looking back, with a gust of wind.
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang, causing everyone's heart to skip a beat.
The conference room fell into an awkward silence again, eventually broken by a soft cough from the British Brigadier General a few seconds later. "So... shall we continue discussing the division of the other areas?"
It was as if the unpleasant scene that had just occurred never happened.
...
An hour later, a detailed piece of encrypted intelligence had already been placed on Victor's desk at the Cancun palace.
Casare stood by the side, reporting in a low voice: "Boss, this is the situation. The NATO Allied Army couldn't unify the command, and ultimately adopted that Italian's seemingly absurd 'divided assault' plan. Each country has roughly defined its attack sectors. Here's their general map of attack areas and initial deployment status."
Holy crap...
With intelligence leaked, how are we supposed to fight this battle?
We've been infiltrated!
Victor leaned back in the broad chair, fingers softly tapping on the desk, eyes slowly moving across the military map marked with flags and arrows from each nation.
When he heard about the Italian part, especially Colonel Bertolini's declaration that "I will soon show you what elite means!", he couldn't help but laugh.
"Elite?"
Casare also laughed, with a hint of disdain: "Boss, the 'elite' Italian troops have always had 'surprising' performances in history."
"Indeed." Victor nodded profoundly, leaning forward, and his finger accurately landed on the narrow sector that represented the expected Italian attack route, "Since they're so eager to prove themselves, how could we not provide them with a 'stage'?"
He looked up at Casare, "Tell the frontline command that defenses in other directions can be slightly reduced, give the impression of being overstretched, and even yield a few insignificant support points to lure them in deeper."
His voice paused, "Relocate the Quick Reaction Brigade, the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, and the heavy artillery group of the 3rd Artillery Brigade quietly to this direction. As for the Air Force, deploy two squadrons of 'Mirage' attack aircraft, armed with anti-tank cluster bombs, ready to take action at any time."
His finger struck heavily on the Italian attack route's critical point, a river valley with narrow passages flanked by dense forests and hills.
"Set up a death trap right here, encrypt the minefields, move the anti-tank missiles forward, and position the artillery observation points directly under their noses!"
"They want to be elite? They want to prove themselves? Fine, I'll start with them, wipe out their designation, and seize their military flag!"
"Spread my orders, in this battle, no prisoners. I want this 'Italian elite' to become the first unit to be entirely wiped out upon the NATO Allied Army's landing in North America. I want to use their crushing defeat to teach those scheming European gentlemen a good lesson!"
"Hit them right where their 'elite' is!"
Casare straightened up, saluted with excitement and a touch of bloodlust in his eyes: "Understood! Boss! I'll immediately convey the order!"
Hit!
Hit the elite!
...
