Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1710 - 769: Don’t Hit the Greedy or the Lazy—Only Those Who Don’t Know Their Place!
Capítulo 1710: Chapter 769: Don’t Hit the Greedy or the Lazy—Only Those Who Don’t Know Their Place!
“Which country’s forces will be annihilated next?”
The spokesperson could only repeat, “NATO remains united… investigation ongoing… cannot disclose operational details…”
A tactical victory is evolving into a political tsunami.
In the United States, the dissemination of news lagged behind.
At noon on May 13, “Lottery President” Harold Wilkes first saw the briefing in the White House Situation Room.
He stared at Bertolini’s corpse photo for a long time.
“Are the Italians finished?” he asked.
The National Security Advisor nodded, “Intelligence confirms that the establishment has collapsed. The Mexicans have seized control of the battlefield.”
“What about the other NATO troops?”
“The British and French are contracting their lines. The Germans remain inactive. The Polish are furious, but they haven’t advanced.”
Wilkes took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
He looked very tired, aged ten years since his inauguration a month ago.
“So, Victor won this round.” 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂
“A temporary tactical victory, Mr. President. NATO’s overall forces still have the advantage.”
Wilkes smirked, “In politics, a tactical victory is enough. Those European politicians fear nothing more than seeing their soldiers’ corpses on the front page. Now the Italians have given them the best excuse: Look, the war is too costly, we should consider other options.”
He stood up and walked to the window; on the White House lawn, the gardener was trimming the shrubs.
“What should we do, Mr. President?”
“We?”
Wilkes didn’t turn around, “What can we do? The military doesn’t listen to my orders, the Freedom Alliance treats me like I’m invisible, NATO considers me a non-existent landlord. Sitting here, all I can do is pray every day, pray that Victor doesn’t suddenly decide to send tanks down Pennsylvania Avenue.”
He turned around, his eyes hollow, “Do you know who I envy most? I envy Little Bush. At least he can choose to resign. And I… I was chosen by drawing lots. I don’t even have the qualification to resign. I have to sit here until my term ends or until some general decides to launch a coup, or until the Mexicans enter the city.”
The National Security Advisor wanted to say something but ultimately remained silent.
“Send a telegram to NATO Headquarters.”
Wilkes sat back down, sounding exhausted, “In the name of the President of the United States of America, thank the allies for their sacrifice, call for stronger unity… you know the clichés to write. Then, find me some economic advisors. The US Dollar has dropped like this, we need to think of a backup plan.”
“Backup plan?”
“The war will end someday.” Wilkes murmured, “No matter who wins, America will have to rebuild. At that time, we will need money, need friends, need… a functioning government. Even if that government is nothing more than a name.”
After the briefing room door closed, Harold Wilkes sat alone for a long time.
The TV was muted, CNN was covering protests in Italy. On the screen, an old woman was holding a photo of her son, tears streaming down her face.
Wilkes raised his glass towards the TV screen.
“To you, Colonel,” he said softly, “And to me, we are both pieces in this game, unable to control our own fate.”
He downed it all in one go.
The spirits burned his throat but couldn’t warm the coldness in his chest.
May 14, Switzerland Geneva, International Red Cross Building.
In the third floor meeting room, two men in civilian clothes sat. One was in his 40s, gray-haired, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, Deputy Minister of the Mexico Foreign Ministry, Hernandez.
The other was in his sixties, bald, cautious look, an envoy from the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Giovanni Battista.
Hernandez was previously the director of the Mexican News Agency, now promoted.
The room had no flags, no nameplates. Only black tea and cookies.
“Firstly, on behalf of the Mexican Government, I express regret for the death of Colonel Bertolini,” Hernandez began, “Death in war is always a tragedy, regardless of the side.”
Battista nodded, “Thank you, his remains…”
“Have been properly preserved and can be transferred through the Red Cross at any time, along with 137 prisoners of war. Their list and health status report have been handed over to your side.”
“Thank you for the humanitarian treatment.” Battista paused, “So, Mr. Hernandez, we’re not just here to hand over lists today, are we?”
Hernandez smiled slightly, “Mr. Battista, you are a clever man. Italy has suffered enough losses in this war. Further sacrifices, what good would they do for Italy?”
“How much unity does NATO have left after the ‘Slaughterhouse’?” Hernandez gently interrupted, “The French are watching with amusement, the British are shirking responsibility, the Germans are calculating the cost. The blood of Italian soldiers, whose land does it stain? America’s land. And what did Italy get? Stock market crashes, domestic protests, a tragedy of an ancient military family.”
Battista remained silent.
“We, Mexico, have no territorial ambitions in Europe. All we want is the land historically ours, and a secure border. And America… America doesn’t exist anymore. All that remains is just a name and some feuding warlords.”
“You want a ceasefire?”
“We want to talk.”
Hernandez corrected, “Ceasefire, negotiation, then find a way out that lets all parties save face. Italy can become the first country to leave this quagmire, bringing your soldiers home. Instead of… sending more young men to fill the void.”
“What are the conditions?”
