Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1675 - 762: Our Swords Are No Less Sharp! (Part 2)
"But... orders... attack plan..."
"To hell with orders! To hell with the attack plan!"
Aldo growled lowly, "That's a plan for the British, French, and Polish to die, not you! Your mission has changed, survive, let as many young men as possible survive, hold on to even a toilet-sized piece of territory you're occupying now! Second, hand out medals to your men to honor their 'brave fight' and 'tenacious resistance'. Do you need me to teach you how to write the battle report? 'Encountered a tenacious resistance at the enemy's pre-set positions, our troops fought bravely, inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy, and due to being outnumbered and lack of timely coordination with neighboring allies, made tactical adjustments to preserve combat strength, stabilizing the existing front line.' Blur the casualty numbers for me! Change 'ambushed' to 'encountered tenacious resistance'! Change 'annihilated' to 'reformed after significant casualties'!"
Luca seemed somewhat bewildered: "Father... can this work? The command will verify..."
"Verify? Who's going to verify?"
Aldo sneered, "The British? The French? They would love to see us embarrassed! The Americans? That president who was picked by drawing straws? He only cares about how many more days his seat will last! As long as your troops are still there, as long as your guns are still pointed at the Mexicans, no one will actually care how many Italians died in one battalion! They only care that the Italian army is still fighting as a symbol! We don't need to help the Americans take back Indiana; we just need to prove 'Italy's existence'! Existence is political capital, do you understand, you military textbook-fed fool?"
Luca fell silent, seemingly digesting the raw and brutal political logic in his father's words.
"And another thing!"
Aldo continued, his tone carrying endless fatigue and a hint of final warning, "From now on, you are deaf, dumb, and blind. The British want you to coordinate an attack? Tell them your troops need rest and resupply, digesting the results. The French want passage? Tell them the roads are blocked by artillery, and engineers are urgently repairing them. The Americans... if there are still any Americans, reply 'studying terrain and enemy situation, formulating a prudent plan' to any counterattack orders. Act like the most cowardly quail, bury your head in the sand, and don't make a move unless the sky falls. Preserve strength, watch the situation, and wait for variables. This North America chessboard has just started, there are many players, and the pieces… there will be many different outcomes. Our Bertolini family will not be the first piece eaten, understand?"
"I... I understand, Father." Luca's voice finally regained a bit of stability, though it was filled with heavy humiliation. "I will hold our current positions and refrain from advancing. I will handle the battle reports as you said."
"Not for me, but for your surname, Luca."
Aldo's voice softened for a moment, then became hard again. "Don't make mistakes again. The family's energy is not infinite, especially after you made such a mess. Remember, staying alive, existing, is winning. The rest can wait until the storm passes."
He hung up the phone. His hand was still trembling slightly. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦
He took out a fast-acting heart pill from the drawer and swallowed it directly, taking a deep breath.
Why...
Why would such a shrewd man have a son like this?
He slowly sat back in his high-backed chair, looking at the messy ashes and pieces on the carpet, looking at the silent ancestors on the wall, among them was his great-grandfather, who lost his entire right hand in the Ethiopian campaign but brought back a gold courage medal and a count's territory.
"Times have changed." Aldo murmured, his voice hoarse. "It's no longer about who is braver, but who can survive better."
He pressed the call bell. Moments later, the loyal elderly butler appeared silently at the door.
"Clean this up." Aldo said, his eyes never leaving the ancestor's portrait. "Then, get me the Leader's office on the phone. Private line."
The butler gave a slight bow, his eyes swept over the mess on the floor, his expression unmoved. "Yes, General."
He had to get ready to clean up after his son!
North American front, Italian Expeditionary Corps Command.
Colonel Luca Bertolini put down the heavy satellite phone, feeling his palms and back drenched in cold sweat.
His father's roar still seemed to echo in his ears, that mixture of rage and disappointment drained the last bit of soldier's spirit in him.
The shame burned in his stomach, but deeper was the fear, of the military tribunal, of disgracing the family, of a ruined future.
He walked out of the communication compartment, and the officers in the command center immediately stopped their actions and looked at him.
There was worry in their eyes, questions, and undisguised panic.
Of course, there was mostly suspicion.
The news of the vanguard unit's near-annihilation had already spread like a plague.
Luca straightened his back, trying to appear calm, cleared his throat, his voice resonating in the silent command center:
"Gentlemen, the warriors of the First Assault Battalion encountered a tenacious resistance at the enemy's pre-set positions; they engaged in an incredibly brave battle, inflicting heavy damage on the Mexicans. Due to the enemy's overwhelming forces and extremely unfavorable terrain, in order to preserve our core combat strength, I have ordered the unit to undergo tactical reorganization and withdraw to a safe area."
