Chapter 1347: Chapter 651: Killing the Chicken to Scare the Monkey!
“Brothers, we can’t choose how we are born, but at least we can choose how we die. To die at whose hands we can suffer less, to die sowhat like a human being, rather than being a monkey for Victor’s circus! Surrendering to the Italians is the last bit of… dignity we can preserve for ourselves and our families. We are drug lords, not clowns. Even if it’s the end, we cannot let that madman Victor direct it!”
Everyone looked at each other and then lowered their heads simultaneously.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be the one to announce this, and I won’t let the brothers curse you.” Gilbert waved his hand as he sat on the chair, “Dismissed.”
“If anyone doesn’t want to surrender, then leave early while there’s still ti.”
After everyone left with their own thoughts, Gilbert sat quietly smoking in the eting room.
By around eight in the evening, when the Allies were less than twenty kiloters away.
Gilbert’s voice ca through the broadcasting system:
“All Cali mbers:”
“Lay down your weapons.”
“Surrender to the Allies, cease all resistance.”
“This is not an order, this is an end.”
As the order was given, the room fell into a deathly silence.
No expected weeping or hysterical opposition.
The officers, who had been roaring in excitent due to the “surrender” proposal just monts ago, now showed calm expressions. They’re not idiots…
In a certain room, an officer with a face full of flesh, his hand still on the holster of his gun, was deflated like a balloon, his shoulders slumped, muttering, “Damn! It’s finally said.”
Beside him, a lean deputy took a long, silent breath, as if relieved of a heavy burden, his body swaying slightly as he leaned against the wall.
“Damn, it should have been like this sooner…”
At the sa ti, in the Allies’ temporary command post less than twenty kiloters away from the last Cali stronghold.
The atmosphere was entirely different.
The radio was filled with chaotic calls in Italian, English, Spanish, and even French slang. Engines roared, soldiers’ running footsteps were an uncoordinated ss.
The air was thick with the sll of diesel, sweat, and the unique tension before a great battle.
The Italian forces commander, Colonel Luca Rossi, frowned as he studied the map, his knuckles tapping on the last defense ring of the Cali stronghold.
“Their resistance is even more scattered than we expected? As if they haven’t organized?” he said suspiciously to the military advisor beside him.
Suddenly, an intelligence officer responsible for intercepting enemy communications yanked off his headphones, jumping up as if scalded, his face a mix of extre shock and unbelievable ecstasy, his voice distorted:
“Commander! Colonel Luca!”
Colonel Rossi impatiently looked up: “What? Have the xicans acted early?”
“No! Not that!” the intelligence officer said, barely coherent with excitent, waving the interception records, “Cali! It’s Cali! Gilbert! He ordered all Cali mbers to lay down their weapons via broadcast…”
The command post fell silent for half a second, as if the air was vacuud out.
“Lay down their weapons?” Colonel Rossi repeated as if failing to understand the simple phrase.
“Yes! Lay down their weapons! Surrender! He explicitly said surrender to us! Surrender to the Italians!” the intelligence officer almost shouted, his face flushed.
Dead silence.
Then, with a “boom”, the command post erupted into a frenzy!
“Holy Mother Mary!” an Italian officer crossed himself, then exploded with laughter.
“Surrender?! To us?! Fottutante incredibile! (Fucking unbelievable!)” another officer excitedly punched the table, causing the map to jump.
“God bless Italy!” soone even started singing an off-key rendition of the national anthem.
The advisor gaped, nearly dropping the coffee cup in his hand, looking at the jubilant Italians, then at the equally bewildered Colombian governnt forces representative.
The news quickly spread via radio, word of mouth, to the ears of every alert Allied soldier.
“What? They’ve surrendered? To us?”
“Damn! I had my pants down ready for a big fight, and they’re surrendering?”
“Viva Italia! No need to fight hard!!”
“Hey! You Cali bastards! Smart move!”
“Damn, such glory! Capturing Gilbert alive!”
On the frontlines, the previously tense and oppressive atmosphere dissipated, so boasting without reservation.
A feeling as if after Lu Bu’s death, anyone could challenge his prowess.
Italian soldiers jubilantly patted each other’s shoulders, so even took out privately stashed wine bottles to drink from, while so Colombian governnt soldiers had complex expressions, relieved yet feeling a loss for not claiming the greatest war rit.
The mixed crowd wore different expressions, but all shared in the surprising joy of a windfall.
Colonel Rossi finally recovered from the initial shock, the ecstasy pounding his heart, but he suppressed his excitent, quickly regaining the calm expected of a commander, though his voice still carried an uncontrollable tremor and excitent:
“All units! All units! This is Roo Sierra One! Stand by! Hold your fire! I repeat, hold your fire!”
He took a deep breath and spoke into the microphone, his voice authoritative yet unavoidably excited:
“Establish contact! Secure the surrender! Tell them… tell Gilbert… the Italians accept!”
He put down the microphone, looking at the joyful scene in the command post, involuntarily rubbing his face, softly cursing in Italian, but with a jubilant smile on his face, “Cazzo… Damn… We fucking beca the ones to accept Cali Cartel’s surrender!”
…
When news spread that the Cali Cartel surrendered to the Italian Allies, it swept the world like a hurricane, predominantly making the Italians smug!
Since Ro, they had never been so radiant.
When the news reached xico.
Casare’s face was twisted with a mix of disbelief, anger, and an indescribable suffocation.
“Damn those Colombians!”
Casare felt uncomfortable, “Boss! Did you see this? These bastards! They look down on us! This is blatant discrimination!!”
“Why?! Why surrender to the Italians? We were the ones who cornered them!”
Casare wore a face full of offended indignation: “Boss! This damn looks like they’re looking down on us xicans! Think we’re savage? Think we’re not worthy of accepting their surrender?”
Finally, Victor moved.
He slowly turned around.
There was no expected rage on his face, nor the gloom of a disrupted plan. His expression was calm.
He took a puff of his cigar, letting the thick smoke swirl in his mouth for a mont before exhaling slowly.
“Casare.”
Victor’s gaze fell on him, “Do you believe that Gilbert chose to grovel to the Italians because he discriminates against us xicans?”
Casare choked on Victor’s overly calm reaction, stubbornly sticking his neck out: “Isn’t that the case, Boss?! They’re scared of us! Scared to death! That’s why they…”
“Yes.”
Victor interrupted him, his voice still steady: “They’re scared, scared to death. Scared enough to choose what seems like a proper, dignified, possibly prolonging a few more days or even years path, rather than dare fall into our hands.”
“They’re afraid of !”
“Gilbert is clear-headed, smarter than Guzman. He knows if he lands in the Italians’ hands, he might still eloquently argue in court, might survive in prison for a few years. His death might end up as just a small news in a newspaper corner, but falling into my hands…”
Victor paused, “He will beco the next Guzman! No, he will beco a masterpiece that surpasses Guzman, and every inch of his pain will be magnified… I want to quarter him.”
“Their choice today will only make tomorrow’s would-be challengers better understand why the na Victor is more fearso than death itself.”
“He thinks escaping to the Italians can avoid being in my script?”
Victor smiled and shook his head, “Too naive.”
“Call the Italians and tell them to hand over Gilbert!”
“Just say, I said so!”
…
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