An explosion erupted on the distant beach, making the boiler blow sky high, spinning in the air.
Rudy Fernandez shuddered, his face went pale in an instant.
Two warships were blown up!
"Help, help... save me!" a man engulfed in flames, unrecognizable in his clothing, lunged at him.
An adjacent officer quickly grabbed a machine gun and shot the burning man, killing him instantly!
The smell of burnt flesh from the body made Rudy Fernandez nauseously vomit.
He was a baron, his family had been nobility since the 17th century, and he still held the status, owning vast lands and connections in Madrid, which was one reason he had become a brigadier general at his age.
What war had he seen?
The hardest part for him had been enduring the bitterness of an iced Americano.
He had no clue about fighting!
The battlefield strewn with corpses left his mind blank, with officers beside him pulling him to run.
If you don't run now, you'll just end up buried with your father!
He had ordered M64 incendiary bombs to be used—dropping these made even the children in Spain cry.
Rudy Fernandez trembled in the cave, muttering continuously, "I want to go home, I want to go home!" as his aide-de-camp came to call him, finding him still shivering.
The aide-de-camp had no choice but to shake his head and step out, only to see a group of disheveled men sitting around. The officers looked at him and he gestured, "Let the general rest a bit."
"This damn noble!" someone grumbled under their breath, but almost everyone heard it.
"Shut up!" Emilio Mora, the aide-de-camp, scolded.
The officer shrank back but still turned away dissatisfied.
Emilio Mora took a deep breath and climbed onto a rock outside the cave, surveying from a high vantage point, he saw the ghastly sight!
Socorro Island seemed scorched, a hyperbole, but at a glance, everything was black!
The ground was littered with fragments of bombed warships and corpses, the burned dead grotesquely contorted, their features unrecognizable, the death scenes most gruesome.
How could they leave?
Were they really supposed to swim across the Pacific Ocean?
"The air raid killed 720 people, including 434 drug traffickers..." someone whispered to Emilio Mora, pausing before bitterly cursing, "Spaniards are completely unreasonable, if it were a fair fight, we surely wouldn't have lost!"
Emilio Mora found this laughably naive...
Who talks about fairness in war?
What kind of training does the Spanish Navy provide?
No wonder they've been declining since World War II.
Suddenly thunder roared overhead, and the aide-de-camp Emilio Mora looked up confusedly.
A drop of water fell on his eye.
"It's raining..." he murmured, "but what use is rain now!"
The thunder grew louder, and the rain heavier.
Seeing that Emilio Mora was distressed, other officers quickly pulled him down, as getting struck by lightning would be a ludicrous death.
"Mora! Stay calm, you can't lose it now," a close officer hurriedly said, his voice low and filled with despair.
"The Mexicans have sent a clear message!" Suddenly, at this moment, the signalman hiding in the cave ran out.
"What did they say?" Emilio Mora quickly turned his head to ask.
All the officers, drug traffickers, and Spanish soldiers shifted their glances toward him.
The signalman tensed up, "Mexican transmission: the Air Force will conduct exercises on Socorro Island at dawn on January 24, 1991, please ensure that all nearby maritime vessels and people evacuate promptly, transmission time: 3 am, January 24, 1991!"
He nearly spat out blood.
Damn it, after you've bombed us, you tell us you're going to bomb? Isn't this mockery?
Lieutenant Colonel Emilio Mora felt an immense humiliation, but he glanced at the distant warship that had been bombed to ruins.
Now all he had left was the power to be angry.
Emilio Mora spoke bitterly, "Call for help. What other choice do we have now?"
The honor of a Spanish soldier would never allow such a thing!
As soon as the SOS letter reached Spain, it caused a huge commotion.
His Majesty the King was dragged out of his mistress's room, still yawning and bleary-eyed.
He was more of a symbol, but a symbol has its uses.
All Cabinet members were present in the room.
The head of the military department stood up, his face solemn, "The Mexican Air Force has attacked Socorro Island, Hegel and Nissole have been sunk, Brigadier General Rudy Fernandez is requesting a retreat."
"We cannot retreat!" The staff officer, Alfonso Davies, said sternly, the old man was 70 yet still so spirited.
Doesn't anyone feel sleepy?
"The whole world is watching us, we've only been on these islands for a short while. If we retreat now, what would others think?"
Wow, did the Spaniards just make a big show of landing on the island?
"I request to send the Asturias Prince carrier group to transport soldiers there, and to construct an airstrip on the islands. We cannot back down."
"That's impossible!" said the head of the military department loudly.
"Nothing is impossible. Are our carriers and our military just for show? We need to put them to the test. And it would be best to also construct an airbase in Guatemala, or borrow a military base from the U.S. Military."
Hearing his bold plan, the military head was so furious he pointed at him, "Alfonso Davies! Are you trying to throw Spain into the abyss?"
"You are the scared and guilty one. We're simply protecting the interests of Spanish citizens abroad. Your Majesty, I request to deploy troops, our interests must not be infringed upon!"
Juan Carlos's eyes were shining.
That military head was breathing rapidly, Alfonso Davies's expression was calm, and the other Cabinet members watched silently, their expressions odd.
Some even maliciously speculated that Alfonso Davies had taken money from drug traffickers, given that Spain's cities had the second highest drug demand in Europe!
The overseas market was vast.
Victor's war on drugs threatened everyone's livelihood.
Everyone was nervously watching His Majesty.
Then they saw him stand up and wave his hand.
"Spain's invincible fleet will bring us victory!"
Alfonso Davies smiled, a very happy smile.