"Suit yourself," said the Polish Major coldly, with his hand resting on the holster at his waist.
Just when the tension reached its peak, a deeper and more powerful engine sound ca from outside the manor.
Next were shouts in English and brief sounds of confrontation.
A mont later, the living room door was pushed open and a Major in crisp British Army dress uniform with a red beret cap strode in, accompanied by two tall Gurkha Guards.
Without looking at Marcinski or the Polish Major, he went straight to Old Carson, nodding slightly: "Mr. Carson, I am Major Jas Macaulay of the Royal Anglian Regint. We have received so troubling reports suggesting unauthorized military actions may be interfering with local business activities. I hope we have not disturbed you."
Marcinski was shocked and angry: "Major Macaulay! This is Poland's economic affair, it has nothing to do with you British!"
Only then did Major Macaulay slowly turn, giving Marcinski an appraisal with his blue eyes, undisguised contempt in his gaze: "Economic affair? Pointing armored vehicles and rifles at a gentleman's doorstep, calling that economic affair? I thought only in so rather uncivilized places one would do such a thing."
"You!" The Polish Major took a step forward, his hand moving towards his holster. Behind him, Polish soldiers raised their weapons.
The two Gurkha soldiers imdiately leaped forward, hands on the hilts of their curved swords, and the atmosphere instantly froze, the tension almost palpable.
Major Macaulay seed unfazed, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeves, his tone calm yet authoritative: "Gentlen, this is North Arica. It's the civilized world, at least we British think so. Business has its rules. Forcing soone to sign a contract with a gun? He shook his head as if comnting on a profoundly foolish act, "That's a bandit's conduct. Not sothing NATO allies should do. Withdraw your n from Mr. Carson's land. Now!"
Marcinski's face turned crimson, feeling unprecedented humiliation. But as he looked at Macaulay's fearless deanor and the Gurkha soldiers' keen presence, and thought of the British influence within the Coalition Forces and "Freedom Alliance"… he clenched his teeth.
"We Polish are only striving for the interests that are rightfully ours!" He practically shouted.
"Rightfully?"
Major Macaulay slightly tilted his chin up, with even more obvious mockery in his tone, "Rightful interests are earned through battlefield performance and negotiation table wisdom, not by intimidating small businessn... What, does Poland want to be the master here? Commanding Arican citizens now?"
These words touched the most sensitive and self-conscious nerve of the Polish.
The intertwined mories of historical divisions and the current reality of being disregarded welled up. The Polish Major's eyes reddened, but he dared not truly order to open fire. Should the conflict escalate, Poland could not bear the consequences.
After a minute of stalemate, Marcinski squeezed out the order through gritted teeth: "We're leaving."
The Polish soldiers begrudgingly lowered their weapons and followed their officer out of the manor with downcast expressions.
The armored vehicles' engines roared with reluctance, gradually becoming distant.
Only then did Major Macaulay show Old Carson a standard, slightly aloof smile: "Mr. Carson, an unpleasant misunderstanding. I trust it won't happen again. If you need any 'reasonable' advice or introductions in your business dealings, perhaps so friends in London could offer help. Good evening."
With that, he too left with the Gurkha soldiers, as if he had rely co to drive away a bunch of rule-ignorant wild dogs.
Outside the manor, sitting in the command vehicle, Marcinski watched the Land Rover Defender carrying the British Major drive away through the window, his fists clenched tightly.
"Bastards! British! Damn arrogant British!" he cursed under his breath, his chest heaving with fury.
One aide cautiously asked, "Mr. Envoy, what shall we do now? Go back?"
"Go back?"
Discontent and venom flashed in Marcinski's eyes, "No, if the British, French, and Germans can feast, shouldn't we even have the soup? Find other targets! Find those the British and French overlook, or... those unwilling to collaborate with them! There's always a way. We have guns too!"
But he knew in his heart, after this incident, the Polish in the North Arica economic plunder race have been labeled "rude", "unreliable", "second-rate players".
They might still pick up so leftovers, but seating at the main table would be hard.
What kind of people...
Are qualified to sit here with us and dine grandly?
And you think being Allies makes you remarkable?
Our Great Britain, no matter what, is surely Arica's 'father', right? Only what we leave behind, you can have!
On his way back to camp, Major Macaulay reported to his superiors through encrypted communication: "The Polish have been dissuaded. Yes, with a rather direct approach. They're not too pleased, officer, I think there's no need for undue worry. As I said, so people just can't figure out their place, still harboring an unsuitable master ntality. Hillbillies are hillbillies, dressing up doesn't change that."
This small-scale confrontation at Annaburg Manor did not make the headlines but swiftly spread among the Coalition Forces' high ranks and within "Freedom Alliance".
It clearly drew the hierarchy: the British occupied the head of the table and the moral high ground; the French and Germans elegantly and effectively carving out parts they fancied on the flanks; while those like Poland, a latecor, could only hover on the periphery, facing ruthless rebuke if they dared cross the line.
As for the United States, the once master?
"Ah n!"
"May the Lord bless them."
...
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