Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1647: 753: A Deadly Choice

Capítulo 1647: Chapter 753: A Deadly Choice

When Chief of Staff Carl Rove walked into the Oval Office with docunts in hand, he was almost suffocated by the heavy solitude in the air.

Little Bush still stood by the window, with his back facing him. He looked… so damn lonely.

Rove gently coughed, breaking the suffocating silence.

Little Bush didn’t turn around, but asked in a hoarse voice, “What’s up, Carl? More bad news?”

His voice was filled with an exhaustion that had drained him of energy, coupled with an almost numb calm.

He was disheartened.

Rove took a deep breath, walked to the desk, and placed an urgent letter bearing the NATO emblem and EU flag on the desk.

His fingers tapped on the docunt twice as if organizing his thoughts, then he spoke, his tone carrying a complex nuance:

“George, NATO has sent a formal letter through urgent channels. The United Kingdom, France, Germany, several major countries have reached a consensus.”

He paused, carefully observing the President’s back, but that figure didn’t move. “They stated that as long as you, as the President of the United States, formally request, they are willing to imdiately provide substantial ard intervention in the North Arican war.”

He noticed Little Bush’s shoulder tense ever so slightly, so he sped up, throwing out the core allure of the letter: “Not just symbolic troops, they promise to dispatch heavy forces including rapid response units, air squadrons, and even aircraft carrier strike groups, directly assisting us in stabilizing the front line and striking the xican Army. They even ntioned possibly conducting ‘surgical strikes’ on key military targets in xico and jointly blocking the entire xican Sea Domain, completely cutting off the Victor regi’s external aid channels, turning him into a trapped animal.”

Rove’s voice involuntarily heightened, “And it’s not just military! The EU is willing to simultaneously provide ergency financial support of up to 60 billion euros! Direct funding to support our war expenses and dostic stability! George, this is a powerful external aid! It’s what we need most right now!”

As he summarized the letter’s content, the office fell silent again, with only the faint noise from Washington streets leaking through the window.

A few seconds later, Little Bush slowly turned around, his face once full of Texan cowboy vitality, now only showing heavy dark circles and a kind of profound fatigue.

His eyes were filled with bloodshot veins, but deep down those veins wasn’t joy, rather a kind of almost desolate irony.

He looked at Rove, and spoke softly, “Carl, tell ”

“When their troops have tread on North Arican soil, when their fleets have blocked the Gulf of xico, when their euros flow into our treasury, do you think by that reason, we, the United States of Arica, will still have any room to negotiate with them?”

He slightly tilted his head, staring intently at his Chief of Staff: “If at that ti they refuse to leave? If their ‘aid’ cos with political and economic conditions that we cannot refuse, yet will make us lose autonomy forever? If the North Arican continent ceases being Arica’s North Arica, and becos a new arena and sphere of influence for European powers?”

He took a step forward, pressing Rove, despite his stature not being advantageous, the aura made Rove instinctively back up half a step: “Tell , Carl! After we let wolves into the house, what bargaining chips do we have to ensure these ‘generous’ European friends, after driving out the xicans, will leave willingly? Rather than, like in history, dividing Africa, and eyeing the Far East, tearing our rich land apart, leaving behind a few obedient puppet governnts?”

Little Bush’s questions were heavier with each sentence, piercing deeper with each word.

The excitent on Rove’s face quickly faded. He opened his mouth, wanting to argue, wanting to list the benefits of external aid, wanting to state this is the only hope in despair.

He certainly understood!

As Chief of Staff, how could he not be aware of the consequences?

His brow twitched slightly, and he remained silent for half a minute, leaving only the heavy breathing of both in the office.

Ultimately, as if drained of all energy, his shoulders slumped, responding with a kind of despairing resigned tone: “George…”

Rove’s voice was dry beyond asure, “Do we have any choice?”

Yes, is there any choice?

With the xican Army closing in, internal financial consortia drifting apart, military morale on the brink of collapse, family and kin severed… The great ship of the United States of Arica is riddled with holes, accelerating its sinking.

Inviting European power might be like drinking poison to quench thirst, but at least it might temporarily stop the trend of sinking, seeing a glimr of light to survive.

And rejecting them might an that in the near future, the Star-Spangled Banner will fall completely from the North Arican continent, replaced by xico’s green, white, and red tricolor flag.

Is it choosing survival, potentially losing sovereignty, becoming a vassal, or choosing nominal independence, actually heading towards extinction, choosing dignity?

This is a no-right-answer, fatal choice question.

Little Bush listened to Rove’s near-broken question, his face remained expressionless.

His gaze was hollow and distant, as if seeing countless possible futures, each filled with dark bloodstains and clouds.