High blood pressure was acting up.
He grabbed the phone abruptly and dialed the UK Defense Minister's special line.
Malcolm Rifkind was relieved of his duties as Defense Minister after the last "strategic coma."
The current Defense Minister is Michael Portillo.
This ti, the call connected quickly.
The other party greeted him with a gentlemanly salutation.
"Good afternoon, George. It's comforting to hear your voice. I heard things are quite unsettled in Washington recently. Are you and your family alright?"
But Michael Portillo's tone seed sowhat... Schadenfreude.
Little Bush wasn't in the mood for beating around the bush and directly interrogated: "Michael! Was the UK's strong push behind sending the NATO advisory mission? I need an explanation!"
"Oh, dear George, about that matter..."
Michael Portillo elongated his tone, looking quite troubled, "It's actually the result of a collective decision within NATO. You know, the French are extraordinarily proactive about this. They seem to think it's a great opportunity to reassert European influence in North Arican affairs. We... We are more committed to the principle of maintaining alliance unity, not convenient to strongly oppose. After all, Paris and Berlin have reached a high consensus on this issue."
The ball was again skillfully kicked away, this ti landing precisely on the French.
Little Bush, holding the receiver, listened to the seamless rhetoric, completely devoid of responsibility, his eyelids twitching.
He understood, completely understood.
He wasn't trying to reason with a country; he was wrestling with the hypocrisy, utilitarianism, and treachery of the entire Western World.
They saw the United States' weakness and internal strife, recognized an exceptional opportunity to ddle in North Arican affairs, seize interests, even redraw spheres of influence.
And he, the President sitting in the White House, attempting to turn the tide yet causing dostic and foreign turmoil, had beco a troubleso, out-of-touch, even discardable obstacle in their eyes.
They didn't care whether the United States truly fell apart, didn't care who would beco the sacrifice. What they cared about was how to carve the largest piece of cake for themselves in this upcoming feast.
Once the realization dawned, he beca exceptionally calm.
"Thank you for your 'honesty,' Mr. Defense Minister!"
He hung up the phone without uttering another unnecessary word.
The office sank into a death-like silence.
Rove watched him with concern, not daring to speak.
Little Bush slowly, step by step, moved towards his high-backed presidential chair, as if drained of all energy, sat down heavily.
The chairback was high, almost swallowing his figure. He tilted his head back, gazing at the exquisite yet cold crystal chandelier on the ceiling, his eyes hollow, unfocused.
"They don't understand... They don't understand at all..." he murmured to himself, his voice so faint only he could hear it, "Victor... That madman never intended to truly start a full-fledged war. He's just intimidating, using the smallest cost to leverage the largest benefits. He's more cunning, more shrewd than any of us..."
"He's cornered us, causing internal chaos, creating panic in capital markets. Now, he acts like an adept hunter, waiting for us, the prey, to tear each other apart, exhausting the last bit of our energy..."
"NATO stepping in? They think this is helping? They're pouring oil on the fire! They're pushing the whole North Arican Continent closer to the brink of nuclear war! Victor won't be scared; he won't retreat... He'll only be more excited..."
His voice carried a sob, yet no tears fell, only endless fatigue and despair.
"Cannot let NATO join... It'll only make everything irreversible... It's over... It's all over..."
He curled up in the broad chair, tightly hugging himself, like a child lost in the cold wind.
...
"Boss, NATO has really stepped in, although just an advisory team, but this signal is too obvious."
Casare, holding a freshly received briefing, furrowed his brows, "The front-line command is asking whether to give these newly arrived 'advisors' so trouble? For instance, 'misfire' on their transport aircraft upon arrival at the border, or create so border skirmishes, give them a show of force?"
Victor was standing in front of the gigantic North Arican map, didn't even raise his head, just casually waved his hand.
"No."
His voice was very calm, "Not only should we not cause trouble, relay my orders: all front-line troops, from now on, must cease all proactive offensive actions, shift to an all-out defensive stance. Especially emphasize, strictly prohibiting any form of provocative shelling or border reconnaissance in areas controlled by the Freedom Alliance, especially regions where NATO personnel might be active."
"Ah?" Casare was stunned, thinking he misheard, "Ceasefire? No trouble? Boss, isn't this a sign of weakness? It'll make NATO and that Alliance think we've beco afraid of them!"
Victor slowly lifted his head, a aningful smile appearing at the corner of his mouth, he gently shook his head, "Casare, you've followed for so long, yet sotis your view is still so superficial."
He walked to the desk, picked up a cigar, leisurely clipped it, lit it, took a deep drag, the rich smoke diffused into the air.
"If you see your friend's wife in their ho, incredibly beautiful, of bewitching allure, everyone'd want to take a second look, but your friend is a wimp, physically frail, character weak, can't guard his ho."
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