Seventeen explosions occurred nationwide on Independence Day.
More than 40 casualties were reported.
What do you do when the boss is mad?
First, target the Tiger Organization in Sri Lanka.
Erich Manstein, who was training in the field, received orders from the National Palace. He glanced at them, "Order all company-level officers to convene."
His adjutant appeared somewhat mature...
But it was just because he looked older than his age.
His name was Gerhard von Rundstedt. In national military school competitions, he ranked first in every category: team maneuvers, command, personal fitness, hand-to-hand combat, and more!
Right out of the academy, he was promoted to Major and became the deputy commander of the military's direct Fourth Battalion.
Oh, and his cousin was Rommel...
Of course, that played a part, but ultimately it was due to his own effort.
Gerhard von Rundstedt saluted and set off promptly.
By the time Manstein returned to the central command tent, the military officers of the four companies were already seated. When they saw him enter, they stood up in unison.
"An urgent telegram from the General: our unit is ordered to reach Monterrey Morros Air Base by 9 a.m. tomorrow and immediately fly to Sri Lanka to encircle and eliminate the Tiger Organization."
"Fight to the death!"
"Leave nothing behind!"
Manstein folded up the classified orders and looked at them sharply. "Comrades, the General and the people are testing us. We must be unafraid of death, unafraid of exhaustion, and devote everything to the mission!"
Why recruit soldiers aged 18 or 19?
Because when the nation calls, the sheer adrenaline rush makes them feel like they could charge forward with a rifle right now.
Victor was instilling a sense of "nation" in the troops!
The men stood up again in unison.
Overnight, the emergency assembly whistle blew. Soldiers, just finishing their meals, dropped their bowls and chopsticks and rushed to pack their gear.
The cooks, accustomed to this routine, swiftly cleaned up the dishes, while others went to retrieve weapons and ammunition.
The Fourth Battalion was currently the first fully combat-ready unit, always prepared to fight on the frontlines. Their hallmark was fierce, lightning-fast operations!
An 800-person battalion could be air-dropped anywhere in Mexico within three hours.
The convoy sped through the night. By midnight, rain began to pour, presenting a challenge to their rapid advance. Fortunately, no mistakes occurred. After over seven hours and three changes of drivers, they finally arrived at Monterrey Morros Air Base.
Manstein, visibly fatigued, jumped out of the vehicle. Two men who had been waiting hurriedly approached. "Lieutenant Colonel, we are from the Mexican Intelligence Bureau and will provide all necessary intelligence for your mission in Sri Lanka."
The two groups shook hands.
Manstein glanced at the transport planes on the tarmac—eight in total. He frowned. "Can a Hercules fly 15,000 kilometers?"
"It will refuel midway at a U.S. Military base," the intelligence officer replied.
This remark made both Manstein and his adjutant, Gerhard von Rundstedt, pause. Had U.S.-Mexico Relations suddenly improved that much?
They were a bit unprepared for this shift. After all, Rommel had once raided Texas—how long ago was that? And now they could use a U.S. Military base...
Manstein suddenly recalled a rumor: apparently, the General's girlfriend had connections to The Pentagon. That explained everything.
In any case, for soldiers, executing orders was their foremost duty.
After over an hour of resting at Monterrey Morros Air Base, the weapons and equipment were handled by ground crews. At 9 a.m. sharp, the 800-plus troops boarded the Hercules aircraft.
The ground crews saluted as they departed, and Manstein, seated in the plane, returned the gesture through the window.
Amid the roar of the engines, the Hercules soared into the sky.
Approximately 996 kilometers from Monterrey Morros Air Base, in Mexico City...
Victor stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette between his fingers, gazing thoughtfully at the distant sky, as if he could see the departing Fourth Battalion.
The sound of knocking came from the door.
Victor turned. "Come in," he said.
As he spoke, he took two deep drags from the cigarette and crushed it into the ashtray.
"Boss, the assets of the 11 financial tycoons have been fully liquidated, and the troublemakers have been dealt with. Seven were killed, and the rest have been locked up at Kuzamar Reservoir to keep their fathers company."
With a smile on his face, Casare handed over a file. "The total combined assets of their companies and personal wealth amount to 112 billion US dollars, including 9 billion US dollars in cash deposits across major banks."
The assets included a wide range: real estate, intangible income like patents, and liquid assets. These 11 tycoons controlled so many profitable industries in Mexico, yet their total wealth was less than that of a "micro-enterprise" in the East.
Mexico wasn't poor at all. Situated next to the United States, a global superpower, many of its industries were anything but weak. For instance, the company controlling Mexico's railways alone earned tens of millions of US dollars annually in revenue.
Not to mention airlines and such.
A market of 140 million people...
The price tag was anything but low.
Look at South Korea, that barren place where not even birds bother to shit—they don't have any native resources; they even have to import cabbage. During the Miracle on the Han River, how much money did financial tycoons like Hyundai and Samsung rake in?
The poor were the ones impoverished. You could hardly imagine how rich the wealthy actually were.
As expected, a tycoon falls, and Victor feasts.
They had gone too far!
The General was so broke he was practically starving. Asking them to spare some money for food felt like begging. Could a few billion solve the issue? If so, what was the point of having an army?
He was utterly disappointed in them.