Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1717 - 771: You Need Culture to Curse Properly

Coercion and temptation, blatantly combined together.

After five days of intensive negotiations and private maneuvering, a memorandum was signed.

Although it is not the final official agreement, the framework is set: French capital will gain exclusive rights for thirty years to extract, process, and export assets related to bauxite, and have priority use of certain berths at Memphis Port. In exchange, France will grant a loan for infrastructure restoration in Tennessee and "assist with training" local armed forces.

The news sparked some protest within the "Freedom Alliance," but the voices were quickly suppressed. The Governor of Tennessee appeared on television, describing it as a "precious lifeline secured for the people of Tennessee during tough times," which "will protect our industries and jobs and enhance our self-defense capabilities."

The Germans have a different style, more discreet but more systematic.

They did not pursue sensational port or mineral agreements but instead set their sights on industrial infrastructure and standards setting.

The German delegation, led by a former Siemens executive, now a government special economic advisor, contacted officials and bankrupt or near-bankrupt manufacturers in Ohio and western Pennsylvania.

Their proposals sounded very technical and mutually beneficial:

The German side would provide urgently needed industrial equipment parts, quality control systems, and technical experts to help restart those factories producing machine tools, automobile parts, and chemical products.

In return, the German side requested part ownership of these factories, as well as preferential purchasing rights for their products and easier access to the European market. At the same time, they actively promoted "technical standards unification" in fields like power transmission and railway signaling, ostensibly to improve efficiency, but effectively laying the groundwork for the future integration of the German industrial system.

The boss of an old machine tool factory in the suburbs of Cleveland privately complained: "The Germans came to help, bringing blueprints and tolerance standards all in DIN. My old masters are almost unable to work, but with the prepaid orders and Mark loans... a hundred families in my factory are waiting to eat."

The Germans seemed unconcerned with conspicuous short-term control, engaging in a longer-term economic integration.

Meanwhile, the Polish felt ignored, angry, and urgent.

As a member of NATO Coalition Forces with considerable troop numbers and fierce combat but the lightest political-economic weight, Polish Commander Colonel Sohaski and the economic envoy sent from home found themselves in an awkward position.

The big, juicy targets had been reserved or spotted by the UK, France, and Germany, and the truly powerful consortiums and financial houses in the United States responded coldly to their overtures, sometimes with a barely discernible contempt.

"They'd rather have tea with the British or the French than take a serious look at our cooperation proposals!"

In a hotel room in Warsaw, Polish economic envoy Marcinski furiously told Sohaski, "We've provided security guarantees, our soldiers are bleeding, but when it comes to sharing benefits, we're like poor relatives from the countryside!"

Sohaski's face was ashen; his military bravery was useless in this economic chess game.

In the end, they set their sights on a once-glorious automobile parts family business in Michigan State — "Detroit United Casting Company."

This company was medium-sized, technically outdated, but had certain local connections and land reserves.

What sort of product...

Finding someone to cooperate with isn't too bad.

The Polish offered a straightforward deal: a Polish government-backed investment fund would inject capital in exchange for 51% controlling interest, promising to utilize Poland's relatively cheap labor for some production transfer, supplying products to Poland and the Eastern European market.

Meanwhile, suggesting the Polish Army could assist in "stabilizing" the security in the area where the company is located.

Negotiations did not start smoothly.

The family running the business, though in a difficult situation, was skeptical about handing over control to the Polish, and had continuously delayed. Marcinski, the Polish envoy, had exhausted his patience.

June 3, 1996, near Ann Arbor, Michigan State.

The manor of "Detroit United Casting Company" owner, Old Andrew Carson, was surrounded by six BTR wheeled armored vehicles and several military trucks full of soldiers from the Polish "Lightning" Brigade.

Although the soldiers did not break into the manor, they blocked the roads fully armed, setting up checkpoints, and the atmosphere instantly became tense.

Old Carson was trembling with anger in his study, calling the local "Freedom Alliance" sheriff, who stammered, stating "involves coalition military affairs, needs to report upwards."

He tried contacting influential friends, but the calls either couldn't get through or resulted in vague evasions.

Marcinski, the Polish envoy, along with a Polish Major and four armed soldiers, walked straight into Carson's living room. Marcinski slapped a document onto the mahogany coffee table.

"Mr. Carson, our time is valuable. This is the final version of the acquisition agreement. Sign, and you and your family can receive fair compensation and hold an honorary seat on the new company's advisory committee. Don't sign..."

Marcinski glanced at the fully armed soldiers outside the window, "the security situation here might not be very good recently, and I've heard Mexican scouts sometimes infiltrate as far as this place, and if any unfortunate misunderstandings happen..."

This was a blatant threat.

Old Carson, trembling, pointed a finger at them: "This is robbery! It's extortion! I'll report you to the Allied Command Headquarters!"