Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1846: 802: England's Spring Is Beautiful! (Part 4)

Capítulo 1846: Chapter 802: England’s Spring Is Beautiful! (Part 4)

The counter-terrorism director pointed to the area around Inverness with a pointer, “But the problem is these newly erged ‘brigades’, ‘alliances’, ‘fronts’. So of them have only five or six people, one gun, but they post leaflets everywhere, sabotage public facilities, attack isolated soldiers. We track them, they disperse into the population. We withdraw, they pop up again.”

“Classic ‘People’s War.'” The head of Military Intelligence Five looked grim, “We’ve encountered this in Malaya, Kenya, Cyprus. But this ti, it’s on ho soil, the opponents are white people, speak English, know the terrain, and have considerable public sympathy as well.”

Graham rubbed his temples, “And politically?”

“The SNP is in a serious quarrel internally.”

The political analysis director opened the briefing, “The moderate leader Donald Diu’er publicly calls for ‘ending violence, restarting dialogue’. But the party’s youth wing and grassroots radical faction demand ‘full support for the resistance movent’. The latest polls show that support for Scottish independence has reached 63%, up a full twenty percentage points from three months ago.”

“Because our soldiers are patrolling the streets.”

Graham said coldly, “Each search, each curfew adds ten thousand votes to the SNP. The Pri Minister asked yesterday: If we withdraw the troops now, will Scotland still be independent? I said: If we don’t withdraw the troops, Scotland will definitely be independent, and it will be through a bloody way.”

The room fell silent.

“How are the negotiations progressing?” Graham turned to the agents in charge of contacts.

“Stalemate. McTavish insists we release all ‘political prisoners’—he listed 87 people, including IRA mbers convicted in the 1980s for attacking NATO facilities. That’s impossible.”

“How about his hostages? How are the four soldiers?”

“They’re still living, but their condition is worsening. Yesterday, the Red Cross visit report, one of them has a leg wound infection, needs antibiotics. McTavish says he can provide dical care but demands we exchange dicines for ‘sincerity’—to release the first five people on the list.”

“Extortion.” The Departnt of Defense representative gritted his teeth.

“But effective.” Graham sighed, “Today’s front page of the Daily Mail is a photo of the families of the captured soldiers, captioned ‘Our sons are waiting to die, what is the governnt waiting for?’

The phone rang.

Graham picked it up, listened for a few monts, and his face changed drastically.

“When did this happen?”

“Ten minutes ago, the BBC just received the videotape.” The voice on the phone was urgent from the monitoring group, “It claims to be the ‘Scottish Resistance General Committee’, announcing the consolidation of seven ard groups, including McTavish’s ‘True Scottish Freedom Army’. They’ve released a draft of a ‘Scottish Temporary Constitution’ and announced the establishnt of ‘People’s Courts’ in the ‘liberated area’, to try ‘British Occupation Army War Criminals.’

“McTavish joined?”

“He was in the video, standing among a group of people. It seems to be real.”

Graham hung up the phone and closed his eyes. The worst case had happened; the fragnted resistance forces began to integrate, transitioning from guerrilla warfare to political construction. This ant the conflict was escalating from a ‘public order issue’ to a ‘prelude to civil war.’

“We need to reinforce our troops.” The Departnt of Defense representative said, “At least send two more brigades for a full cleanup.”

“And then what?”

Graham opened his eyes, “Kill every Scot with a gun? How will their relatives, friends, and neighbors react? The whole of Scotland will beco a magnified version of Northern Ireland, a generation, even two generations of hatred.”

“Then what do you suggest? Negotiation? They’ve announced a ‘constitution’! The next step is to declare independence and seek international recognition!”

The eting room door opened, and the Pri Minister’s office director walked in quickly, looking even gloomier than the weather outside.

“The Pri Minister wants to see you, now.”

Graham stood up, “About Scotland?”

“More than that.” The office director lowered his voice, “England is starting to have issues.”

Birmingham, January 16, 5 PM.

Icy sleet was falling from the sky.

In Victoria Square in front of the City Hall, about three hundred people gathered. Most of them were wearing work clothes or cheap down jackets, holding handmade signs:

“Stop Closing the Steel Plant!”

“We Want Jobs, We Want Bread!”

“Our Children Are Bleeding in Scotland, The Boss Is Counting Money in London!”

At the front of the crowd, a middle-aged man in an old suit stood on a makeshift wooden box, shouting through a loudspeaker:

“The Birmingham Steel Plant is going to close! Twelve hundred jobs! Managent says because of ‘international competition’, ‘high costs’! But they made a profit of eight million British Pounds last year! Where did the money go? Into the shareholders’ pockets! And the governnt? The governnt gave them tax cuts, but slashed our unemploynt benefits!”

The crowd roared in anger.

“Even more shaful!”

The man pointed to the other side of the square, where a brand new silver Rolls-Royce was parked, “Look! The steel plant general manager’s car! His son just bought a villa in Switzerland! And us? Our sons might be sent to Scotland tomorrow to defend a system that makes them unemployed!”

The Rolls-Royce’s windows were closed, but the driver’s tense face was visible.

“Today we’re just protesting!” The man continued to shout, “But if the plant really closes tomorrow, if we really end up on the streets… at that ti, we won’t just be standing here chanting slogans!”

“That’s right!” The crowd echoed.

The police arrived, about twenty officers in fluorescent vests, but not ard. The commanding inspector tried to persuade, “Please everyone, stay calm, express your demands orderly…”