Although the Spanish Cabinet had decided to support them, it would still take over ten days to figure everything out.
Their "Asturias Prince" was nominally called an aircraft carrier, but it actually resembled a transport ship more; they just stuck some helicopters on top, declared it an aircraft carrier, but honestly, it was more like a transport ship.
It was almost like the light carriers used by Japan in World War II.
It was like when your son scored 30 points, the teacher couldn't exactly call your son stupid, right? They'd have to say something like, "There's potential for the future!"
Don't mock the poor youth, the poor middle-aged, nor the poor elderly; respect the dead...
With Spain in its current pitiful state, could they even afford to operate an aircraft carrier?
I doubt they could even afford to get out of bed.
Life was tough for the remaining drug traffickers and Spanish soldiers on Socorro Island; with their warship blasted, even if they managed to salvage some medicine and food from the sea, it was nowhere near enough for so many people.
Someone suggested abandoning the prisoners!
Lieutenant Colonel Emilio Mora said nothing, "What do you guys think?"
The other officers glanced at each other.
"God bless them, Amen," muttered a Major hypocritically, his face hollowed from hunger, lacking both water and dry food, as thin as the Japanese prisoners in Siberia.
But even as prisoners of war, the Japanese still managed to have a decent meal with both meat and vegetables, who would've thought, right? The Soviets treated the Japanese unbelievably well.
One dish was a Soviet-sized potato, another was a Soviet fist-sized potato.
After these two "meat dishes," one would be instantly and painfully full.
"General, what do you think?" Emilio Mora turned to Rudy Fernandez, even though he was officially in charge, his performance on the battlefield had been terribly lacking.
The kind of poor student that makes others wonder why they didn't study.
The other officers looked on at him with visible disdain, but Emilio Mora still showed him some respect.
Brigadier General Rudy Fernandez nodded vigorously, his voice hoarse, "Whatever you decide is fine, by the way, is there any food?"
"General! You've already eaten three biscuits!"
Upon his "request," an officer shouted out in dissatisfaction, lowering his voice, Brigadier General Rudy Fernandez immediately shrank his head, looking pitiful.
Unable to watch, Emilio Mora took out a biscuit from his pocket, walked over, and handed it to him quietly, "General, we don't have much food left, please… please bear with it."
The other officer swallowed eagerly and took the biscuit, stuffing it into his mouth.
People who are extremely hungry can really eat anything.
"Why haven't the logistics supplies arrived yet?"
"The homeland is urgently contacting the Air Forces of the United States or Central America, but they have to fly over Canada, so they're hesitating; negotiations are still ongoing."
"By the time he's done negotiating, we'll have starved to death!" Emilio Mora's fist slammed on the table, he took a deep breath.
We can't drink urine every day, can we?
Urine without water is pretty foul.
Just then, a Spanish soldier burst through the door, "Officer, there's... there's an airdrop outside!"
"It must be our supply drop," said a Major, slightly agitated, unable to help rushing outside. Emilio Mora's heart stirred as well, waving his hand "Let's go, let's see."
A crowd hurried outside, and sure enough, on the distant beach, they saw a group of famished soldiers crowded around a big box.
"Where's the stuff? The food? The drink? Damn it, what is this stuff, can you eat this?"
"We need water! Water! We want water!"
The soldiers clamored, clearly unable to bear it any longer.
"Damn, it's just books, thrown down by Mexicans, not edible at all," cursed the Major who ran out first, passing something over, "They're just looking to sicken us!"
Emilio Mora took it and glanced at it...
"Proof that Spaniards are a nation of grass-eaters."
Good lord, Mutaguchi Renya?
The surrounding officers cursed and swore, throwing insults at Victor's ancestors.
Emilio Mora licked his lips, his gaze turning toward the soldiers and drug traffickers lying on the ground, the light gone from their eyes, looking just like zombies, almost everyone knew… their lives were about to end.
Suddenly, a Spanish private stood up, crying and shouting.
He was breaking down!
He ran toward the sea loudly, "I want to go home, I don't want to die, my parents are waiting for me at home, I don't want to die, I want to go home."
Before everyone's eyes, he walked straight into the sea, and after a wave crashed over him, he was engulfed.
"Surrender! Surrender! We surrender, we don't want to fight anymore, we want to go home..."
"I don't want to fight either, surrender, I'm done! I'm done!"
The soldiers were starting to lose it…
Their gaze slowly turned, bloodshot eyes looking at the officers.
Emilio Mora's body stiffened.
"Hurry up, hurry up, everyone move it."
On a somewhat hidden dock in Quintana Roo, Mexico's east coast, Ethan Hunt stood to the side smoking, while his subordinates loudly scolded the laborers and drug traffickers carrying packages.
And docked alongside was a…
Kilo-class submarine!!!
Yes, an old Soviet relic.
The Spaniards hoped that the Anti-Victor Alliance could help out with some food for the Spanish soldiers on the island; they were willing to pay, and they even hinted that they might bequeath the drug trade in Spain to the North American drug organizations.
This news delighted Pablo Escobar, who had been eager to get a foothold in the European market. He tried his best to get some supplies over, but planes that attempted the journey were shot down by missiles, ships that sailed over had to be wary of patrol aircraft constantly circling overhead, with the risk of being sunk on the spot if unresponsive.