Capítulo 1707: Chapter 769: Don’t Beat the Greedy or the Lazy—Only Those Who Don’t Know Their Place!
May 12, 1996, dawn, temporary NATO Allied Command Headquarters, Kentucky.
The British Brigadier General, Alister Fitzroy, was awakened by the urgent knocking of his adjutant.
“What’s the matter?” He was sowhat grumpy from being disturbed in his sleep.
“Sir, communication with the Italian Brigade has completely broken down. Our reconnaissance aircraft only saw burning wreckage and bodies in the designated area.”
Fitzroy paused for a mont, “How long has it been?”
“The last effective communication was yesterday morning at 9:17 am. Colonel Bertolini reported that the reserve forces were maneuvering towards the flank of the Crossroads according to the plan. After that, there were only sporadic radio calls, which were chaotic. Early this morning at 4 am, a French Army patrol discovered three Italian deserters, who said…”
“They said the entire reserve force, possibly part of the vanguard, was completely annihilated by the xicans.”
Fitzroy suddenly felt sothing was amiss.
“Is there still no situation update?”
The adjutant shook his head.
Fitzroy stood silently for a minute, “Notify all Allied high-level commanders for an ergency eting in one hour.”
“Yes, Sir.”
One hour later, the atmosphere in the sa eting room was entirely different from when the attack zones were divided weeks ago.
German Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt sat at the long table, spreading out a map before him, and drew a circle on it with a red pencil: “Based on the deserters’ location descriptions, xicans deployed at least two regints to encircle them. The tactic is classic: cut off logistics, lure in for rescue, preset an ambush area.”
Polish Colonel Sohaski strode in, the sound of his military boots thumping on the floor: “I said it long ago! Separate attacks are foolish! We should concentrate our forces and strike like a fist! And now, the Italians have beco the first sacrifice!”
“Calm down, Colonel.”
Fitzroy was the last to enter, now in clean military attire, hair impeccably grood, “Now is not the ti to assign bla. We need to determine: whether the Italian Brigade has truly been annihilated in formation, what the xicans will do next, and how to adjust our deploynt.”
French Durand exhaled a smoke ring: “Bertolini called during the attack; he might be dead, captured, or… escaped.”
Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt adjusted his glasses: “If this is true, it would be the first brigade-level unit annihilation the NATO forces have encountered in North Arica. Politically, it will be very unsightly.”
The eting room door was pushed open, and a communications officer hurried in, placing a telegram in front of Fitzroy.
The Brigadier General glanced at it, his expression changing slightly.
“An urgent inquiry from London.”
He pushed the telegram to the center of the table, “The Departnt of Defense has already received a formal inquiry from the Italian embassy, demanding that we ‘imdiately clarify the real situation in the North Arican war zone.’ BBC and The Tis reporters are also applying to go to the front lines.”
Durand snuffed out his cigarette butt: “News sure leaks fast.”
“It wasn’t us who leaked it.”
Fitzroy tapped the telegram, “It was the xicans. Two hours ago, they submitted a preliminary list of prisoners of war through the International Red Cross channel, 137 nas, and the list has already been sent back to Ro.”
The room was dead silent.
137 prisoners…
Along with the dead, critically injured, and missing on the battlefield… the organizational structure of the Italian Brigade has indeed collapsed.
“We need to issue a joint statent.”
Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt broke the silence, “Unified rhetoric. To say the Italian troops encountered enemy superior forces ambush during a brave assault, though inflicted significant damage to the enemy, suffered severe losses themselves, currently reordering the remnants, the Allied Command Headquarters will fully support, etc.”
“And then?” Sohaski stared at him, “Then we continue fighting separately? Wait for the xicans to pick us off one by one?”
“Colonel Sohaski, watch your words.” Fitzroy said coldly, “The plan of separate attacks was jointly approved by all countries; the failure of the Italians is mainly due to their commander’s rashness, leaving the coalition coordination frawork.”
Durand suddenly laughed, a dry laugh: “Coordination frawork? Do we even have that? British fighting for British, French for French, German for Germans. The only ‘coordination’ is the weekly mutual complaint eting.”
He stood up and walked to the map: “Gentlen, let’s be realistic. The xicans just demonstrated through a brilliant annihilation battle that they’re not Iraq, nor Serbia; they have a complete modern army system, with intelligence support, tactical mind. And we…”
He turned around: “We are a bunch of rcenaries in different military uniforms, speaking different languages, and distrusting each other. Co to North Arica’s grand stage, have a go if you dare. Now the Italians are down, who’s next? You? ? Or him?”
No one answered in the conference room.
Cancun, xico, Leader’s Palace.
Victor was not in the office.
He wore a simple linen shirt and trousers, walking barefoot on the private beach, with Casare three steps behind, holding a satellite phone and a newly translated telegram.
The waves gently lapping against the white sand.
In the distance, a few seagulls were circling.
“Boss, urgent call from the front line!”
“Read it.” Victor said.
Casare opened the telegram: “Frontline Command formal battle report: As of 6 am on May 12, ‘Slaughterhouse’ operation confird results are as follows—annihilated the main combat forces of the Italian Brigade, destroyed 27 armored vehicles, captured 12 vehicles intact and slightly damaged, captured 137 enemy soldiers, preliminary count of enemy deaths ranging from 400 to 500, the rest dispersed. Our casualties: 183 dead, 121 seriously injured, 234 slightly injured. The body of Italian Brigade commander Colonel Luca Bertolini has been found and identified.”
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