Chapter 1329: Chapter 643: xico Is My Good Friend
“What… what are you doing, what are you doing!!”
Carlos’s eyes were filled with rage, veins popping on his forehead. He struggled and roared, his voice hoarse and twisted with anger and the effect of stun grenades, “This is a Colombian camp! It’s an invasion! I will complain to the Parliant! To the international community…”
An officer stepped forward and slapped him, grabbing his hair, “General Carlos, you are suspected of planning an ard rebellion, attempting to assassinate the President and Cabinet mbers. The evidence is overwhelming. On behalf of President Armando Benedetto, you will be tried by a xican military court. Save your complaints for the judge.” He signaled to his n, “Take him away! Be careful, the general needs special care due to his health.”
Carlos, like an enraged trapped beast, struggled and cursed in vain, spitting: “Armando! You xican dogs! You’ve ruined this country! You will die a terrible death! My soldiers won’t forgive you…”
His roars echoed through the empty corridor, filled with fury and despair of being toyed with and a failure so close to victory.
So close!
Just so close!
His ticulously planned coup, his imagined Rescue Committee, the power at his fingertips, all crumbled like a sandcastle under Manstein’s precise preemptive strike.
He realized all his hard work was fragile against the overwhelming action and powerful intelligence network of his opponent.
The anger now seed more like a lant over his own incompetence, “Prison! You can only lock up! But the Colombian people will know who truly loves the country!”
Idiots…
At this point, still saying such stupid things, whoever survives is the one who loves the country.
The ordinary soldiers in the camp were thoroughly panicked.
Many of them rolled out of bed in disarray, barefoot and at a loss.
Gunshots, explosions, the stern shouts of commandos, the chaos of officers losing contact… all happened in a flash.
“Where’s the General? What happened to the Command Post?”
“Who are they? Rebels or Governnt Forces?”
“My gun! My gun’s in the gun cabinet!”
“Don’t move! Drop your weapons! Surrender imdiately!”
The commandos’ angry shouts and their gun barrels aid at anyone attempting to resist or flee.
The soldiers watched those well-trained, well-equipped enemies, saw the vital sections under instant control, saw their officers being led out with ashen faces…
The will to resist evaporated like dewdrops in the sun.
No unified command, no effective organization, not even enough ti to fully distribute weapons.
So dropped their rifles, others crouched in the corner, trembling with their heads clutched, more stood dazed, faces marked with shock, confusion, and fear of an unknown fate.
They were just grunts following orders, not needing to risk their lives.
The gunfire did not cease within the camp.
On this night, dark green armored vehicles rumbled through the still streets of Bogota, accurately stopping in front of the mansions of opposition core mbers.
Heavy boots shattered the mansion’s silence, the violent door-breaking and stern rebukes replacing the late-night cricket chirps.
The leaders plotting the “Thunder Coup” in secret hideouts were mostly dragged out of bed abruptly in their sleep.
When cold barrels were pressed against their foreheads, hands cuffed behind their backs, thoughts of resistance crumbled under absolute military might.
Three batons later, “Officer, I am a learned man.”
So tried to reach for hidden weapons, only to be t with a few brief yet lethal gunshots in the luxurious room, along with, of course, screams.
Bodies were swiftly dragged away, as for where… that’s not to be concerned.
The xican Army was notorious for easily dismissing such cancerous growths.
The following dawn, Bogota was shrouded in a very tense atmosphere.
The gunshots and commotion from last night rendered the entire city silent and breathless.
On the road to the Parliant Building, the atmosphere was as heavy as a block of lead.
The MPs, especially those unaffected but who knew the insider information or linked to the opposition, almost shuffled their way into the Parliant hall.
Their faces were pale, eyes evasive, cold sweat soaking the expensive shirts’ backs, the air thick with fear and relief at their survival.
Nobody talked, only the sound of restrained breaths and shoes brushing the carpet, each step like treading on a knife edge.
They carefully found their seats, avoiding eye contact, especially towards the podium.
When all nervously settled down, familiar faces didn’t dare to greet each other.
The heavy doors of the Parliant hall slowly opened.
President Armando Benedetto entered, flanked by sharp-eyed xican bodyguards, walking with steady steps.
He proceeded straight to the podium, his stride imbued with unprecedented confidence and pressure.
Standing firm, his gaze slowly swept over the terrified, bewildered, and forcibly calm faces below, revealing a aningful, almost gentle smile.
He didn’t imdiately sit but leaned slightly forward, hands on the podium, like a forgiving parent welcoming returning prodigal children.
“Gentlen,” his voice, transmitted clearly through the microphone throughout the hall, carried a relaxed air of control, “Welco back.”
Below, those prearranged loyalists to the President’s faction imdiately erupted into deafening cheers and applause.
They clapped hard, faces full of “victory” joy and infinite admiration for the President, the sound echoing in the hall, forming a massive wave of noise. These cheers were so enthusiastic, so perfectly coordinated, that they starkly contrasted with the silent, terrified, and ashen-faced opposition MPs.
Armando’s raising of his hand instantly quieted the hall, giving him a strange sense of power he had never felt before, in a steady and powerful tone, “A small group colluded with foreign forces, attempted to overthrow the legitimate governnt, and assassinate . Thanks to the tily and strong assistance from our xican friends, their plot was completely crushed! Their conspiracy, like frost under the sun, instantly lted away.”
He paused, eyes scanning below again, this ti with a barely perceptible chill: “General Carlos and his core conspirators have been arrested, awaiting them is the harsh punishnt of the law! Those sabotaging the nation, dragged out in their sleep, have also been brought to justice or controlled! Colombia’s sky has cleared once again!”
“Those sitting here today,” Armando suddenly raised his voice, filled with power, “truly represent the Colombian people, are loyal to the Constitution, and committed to the country’s peace and developnt. We are eradicating tumors, leaving pillars! Let us abandon resentnt, unite, and in the steadfast and selfless support of our xican friends, jointly build a stronger, more prosperous, and more united Colombia!”
Again ca a tumultuous wave of applause and cheers, ceaselessly resounding.
Armando watched all of this with satisfaction, seeing those opposition remnants trembling in applause, forced to clap along. He spread his arms wide, embracing his kingdom like a true victor:
“Let’s begin our work! For Colombia’s tomorrow!”
Below, thunderous applause ensued.
Only within this applause, mixed with how much heartfelt admiration, how much obedience under fear, how much numbness after surviving, only each individual knew inside.
“The first matter is re-electing Cabinet mbers.”
Armando Benedetto straightened his body, “Who’s in favor? Who’s against?!”
…
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