Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 685 Wealth Awaits Us!

The night in Honghe is torn apart by steel and flames.

The sporadic gunfire quickly escalated into a brutal battle that broke out along the entire front.

There was no meticulously planned offensive axis by the General Staff, no coordinated artillery preparation, only soldiers driven by hatred and fear, and steel behemoths caught in the crossfire.

On the Louisiana side, a 105mm howitzer position hidden in the woods roared.

The massive fireball spewing from the cannon instantly illuminated the twisted tree trunks around them and the sweaty, menacing faces of the gunners.

The loader mechanically repeated the actions, stuffing the gleaming yellow shells into the scorching breech, closing the breech, and pulling the fuse.

The shells ripped through the damp night sky, their shrill cries echoing as they flew toward the Texans' positions on the opposite bank.

"put!!!"

"boom!"

"Boom!"

The flashes of light from the explosions lit up the steep slopes of the riverbank on the Texas side, scattering dirt, wood chips, and twisted metal fragments everywhere.

The enormous sound made one's internal organs tremble.

Sergeant Randall of the 112th Armored Cavalry Battalion of the Texas National Guard was jolted awake from his half-asleep state by the violent tremors and slammed his head against the bulkhead of an M60A3 tank.

He cursed as he peered through the periscope and saw that the outside world was ablaze with fire, and the tracer bullets were streaking across the river like mad fireflies.

"Damn it! All crews, to your positions! Load high-explosive shells! Aim at those gun positions on the other side!"

Randall roared into the intercom, and the tank's Continental AVDS-1790 diesel engine roared to life, spewing thick black smoke from its exhaust pipe.

The loader laboriously pushed an M393 high-explosive shell into the breech of the 120mm smoothbore gun, and with a "click," closed the breechblock. The gunner quickly turned the traverse and elevation mechanisms, focusing the crosshairs in the sight onto a machine gun position on the opposite bank that was constantly spitting fire.

"Aiming complete!"

"Fire!"

Randall slammed on the fire button. The tank jerked backward, spewing huge plumes of smoke and blasts of air from either side of the muzzle brake. The shell flew out at a speed too fast for the naked eye to follow, and the next second, the machine gun position on the opposite bank was reduced to a fireball of mud and debris.

But this is only a tiny slice of the vast, chaotic battlefield.

More Louisiana infantrymen, riding in M113 armored personnel carriers, Humvees, and even civilian pickup trucks, began their desperate attempt to cross the Red River. The river water was churned up by the engines, and tracer rounds were fired into the water with a splash, creating dense jets of water.

Some vehicles stalled in the river, becoming easy targets, forcing the soldiers to jump into the water and swim across amidst a hail of bullets.

On the Texas side, relying on pre-constructed coastal fortifications, a deadly barrage of fire was woven from M2 heavy machine guns and MK19 automatic grenade launchers. 12.7mm heavy machine gun bullets easily tore through the thin aluminum armor of the M113, turning the soldiers inside into bloody messes, while 40mm grenades exploded in the air, scattering a rain of steel fragments that covered the entire river surface.

"Stop them! Don't let them get ashore!"

A Texas lieutenant was shouting hoarsely in the trench, his M16A2 rifle firing at the figures moving on the river.

The battle quickly escalated into a fierce, close-quarters massacre and counter-massacre.

With bloodshot eyes, the Louisiana soldiers who had successfully crossed the river launched wave after wave of desperate charges against the Texas positions, using the reeds and shell craters on the riverbank as cover. At times, the soldiers on both sides could even see each other's young and ferocious faces.

The grenades traced brief arcs in the air before exploding inside and outside the trenches, muzzle flashes flickering in the night, accompanied by desperate shouts, dying groans, and continuous explosions.

In the air, the few helicopters on both sides—the Texans' UH-1 Huey and the Louisiana's OH-58 Kiowa reconnaissance helicopters—hovered like dangerous dragonflies on the edge of the battlefield, trying to provide fire correction for their own artillery or to strafe enemy positions with rockets and door-mounted machine guns, but they dared not go too far in, for fear of being torn apart by dense man-portable air defense missiles or anti-aircraft fire.

Artillery bombardment was the dominant theme of the battlefield. Divisional and regimental M114 155mm howitzers and M101 105mm howitzers, along with the formidable M270 Multiple Launch Rocket Systems (MLRS), joined this death chorus. Shells streaked across the sky, exploding deep within the lines, destroying command posts, supply depots, and reinforcements. The entire Red River basin shook violently, as if it were the end of the world.

After destroying two Louisiana M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicles that were trying to climb onto the riverbank, Sergeant Randall's tank was finally targeted by a TOW anti-tank missile that appeared out of nowhere.

The missile, trailing a long lead wire, accurately struck the tank's vulnerable side armor.

There was a loud bang!
The tank's interior was instantly filled with high temperature and pressure, and the secondary explosion of the ammunition rack blew the turret off like a toy, causing it to crash heavily into the mud.

Randall and his crew had no chance to feel any pain.

He died very peacefully!

Once the war machine is set on fire with hatred, it no longer needs complicated reasons; it devours lives and destroys reason!
A small-town high school less than 30 miles from the front lines was urgently requisitioned. The gymnasium and classrooms were crammed with groaning wounded soldiers, and the place was instantly transformed into a field hospital filled with blood, iodine, and despair.

Temporary curtains barely separated the "operating rooms." Doctors and nurses in blood-stained white coats moved quickly, their faces showing extreme exhaustion and numbness. The air was filled with a heavy smell of disinfectant, blood, and sweat, which was almost suffocating.

"Make way! Emergency pneumothorax!"

A medic with blood-covered hands roared as he and another soldier carried a stretcher through the corridor crowded with lightly wounded soldiers. The young soldier on the stretcher had a blurry dark red patch on his chest, and with his weak and rapid breathing, he made a terrible hissing sound filled with blood and foam.

In the former basketball court, rows of stretchers were placed directly on the cold floor. A soldier who had lost a leg was injected with morphine and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Plasma! We're out of type O blood! Go find some quickly!"

The surgeon roared without looking up; his voice was hoarse. Beside him, a nurse was struggling to hold down a soldier who had been shot in the abdomen and was struggling and screaming, his warm intestines bulging out from between his fingers.

Meanwhile, in Austin, at the underground command center.

Paul Constantine Stuart's dejection and hesitation had been shattered by the sudden outbreak of the full-scale war, replaced by a ferocious look of someone driven to the brink of despair.

The radio kept broadcasting distress signals from various frontline units that were under heavy attack and suffering heavy losses.

"Mr. President! The entire Red River front is under fire! The 112th Armored Battalion reports the loss of two tanks and the battalion commander, Randall, has been killed in action!"

"The 1st Louisiana Armored Division is attempting to cross the Red River from the Springfield direction! We need air support!"

"Our artillery is returning fire, but their firepower is far greater than expected!"

The staff officers and communications officers reported at the top of their lungs, each message making the air in the command center freeze a little more.

"Enough!" Paul slammed his hand on the table, the loud noise startling everyone.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he felt ashamed of the humiliation he received from the phone call seeking reconciliation.

"They want war? Then give them war!"

Paul had nowhere to retreat. "Pass on my orders!"

"All front-line troops, authorize the use of all necessary firepower, hold your ground, and counterattack! I will turn the Red River into a river of Louisiana's blood!"

"Order the Second and Third National Guard Brigades to immediately move to the northern border! Stop the breach at all costs!"

"Contact the air force base! All flyable F-16s and A-10s, load ground attack munitions, and take off immediately! Targets: the Red River crossing and the armored formations in Louisiana! Tell them I want to see enemy tanks burning in the river!"

"Activate the Lone Star emergency plan, requisition all civilian fuel, trucks, and medical supplies within the state, prioritizing the front lines!"

"External communications! Broadcast to the nation and the world! Expose Louisiana's deliberate provocation and shameless attack! At the same time, strongly condemn Mexico's military provocation. We want everyone to know that Texas is being forced to fight on two fronts!"

I don't want to be Roosevelt anymore.

Damn it, he's going to become Kennedy soon.

Let's focus on staying alive first!
If I die, then I'll truly have nothing left. June 7, 1995, evening.

The camera's red light illuminated, projecting Paul Constantine Stuart's tormented yet remarkably determined face onto the entire Lone Star Republic, and indeed the whole world.

He stood before a huge, slightly worn Texas flag, his military uniform collar open, his eyes bloodshot.

The distant rumble of artillery fire could be faintly heard in the background, which, through the carefully positioned microphone, added a sense of imminent tragedy to his speech.

"Citizens of Texas! My fellow citizens! Brothers and sisters!"

His voice was hoarse, yet contained immense power, reaching countless households through the television signal.

Countless Texas families, gripped by fear and anxiety due to the devastating news from the front lines, held their breath in suspense.

"Tonight, our peace, our homeland, the Red River border we have guarded for generations, have been torn apart by the most despicable sneak attack and shameless artillery fire of my Louisiana army!"

He clenched his fist and slammed it heavily on the podium, making a dull thud.

“Countless of our fine sons, husbands, and fathers are falling on the banks of the Red River, staining its waters crimson with their blood! They are making enormous sacrifices to stop the enemy from setting foot on our land! Sergeant Randall and his tank crew, along with countless other warriors like them, have given their last drop of blood for Texas!”

Paul's voice choked for a moment, but then rose higher, filled with an unwavering determination.

“We yearn for peace, we have made concessions, we are even willing to extend a hand for dialogue! But all we have received in return are more vicious bullets and shells! They think our tolerance is weakness! They think our restraint is fear!”

“They are wrong!”

He practically roared, his sharp eyes staring directly into the camera as if trying to pierce through the screen and look into the soul of every Texan.

"Texans have never lacked courage! Our ancestors won independence from Mexico with their blood and built this prosperous land with their resilience! Tonight, the test comes again! The enemy comes not only from the Red River in the east, but also from the Mexican dictatorship in the south, which is stirring up trouble and trying to take advantage of our misfortune!"

"We face a treacherous attack and blatant aggression! But we will never yield! We will never back down! Because behind us are our homes, our loved ones, and our free Texas way of life!"

His tone softened, but became even more profound, carrying a resolute air of facing death:
"I, Paul Constantine Stuart, as the interim president of Texas, call upon every Texan who can take up arms to fulfill your duty! Join your troops and defend your communities! Factory workers, produce more supplies for the front lines! Farmers, ensure our food supply! Doctors and nurses, prepare to save lives!"

"We may lack their massive army, but we possess something they will never have: the will to fight for freedom! The determination to die for our homeland!"

"Let the Red River be the graveyard of the invaders! Let every inch of Texas be their nightmare! We will fight in the air, we will fight on the riverbanks, we will fight in the fields and the streets! We will never surrender!"

He took a deep breath and shouted with all his might:
"Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliard! Texas will never perish!"

God bless Texas!

"If you want to rule Texas, then step over my dead body!"

The image freezes on his resolute yet indignant face, then switches to the Texas flag and urgent recruitment notices.

As the red light in front of the camera went out, the impassioned, tragic, and resolute expression on Paul Constantine Stuart's face receded like a tide, replaced by an undisguised weariness and a deep-seated anxiety.

His speech, which was worthy of being recorded in history, seemed to have drained him of all his strength, or rather, all the energy required for that performance.

He ignored the admiring and resolute gazes cast upon him by his staff officers or propaganda officials, and simply loosened his collar with a hint of annoyance.

He strode out of the makeshift broadcasting area and headed toward a relatively quiet backup communications room next to the command center, where his personal secretary was already waiting with an encrypted communication device.

"Mr. President, the speech was a great success! The public's emotions have been completely stirred up, and the recruiting stations are ringing off the hook..." The secretary tried to report the positive response, his tone tinged with excitement.

Paul interrupted him, his voice low and completely different from his powerful delivery on the radio. He scanned his surroundings warily to make sure no one else was listening.

"Never mind all that! How's the thing I asked you to do going?"

The secretary paused, clearly not expecting the topic to change so quickly. He instinctively lowered his voice as well: "Sir, should we transfer the assets now...?"

"Is it or isn't it?!" Paul's eyes instantly turned fierce, filled with a mixture of embarrassment and anger at having his thoughts exposed.
"What are you trying to say? That I'm a coward? That I'm preparing for the worst? I'm doing this to... to ensure the operating funds of the government-in-exile! In the worst-case scenario, Texas needs a leadership core that isn't controlled by the enemy! What do you know!"

The secretary was startled by his sudden outburst of anger and quickly lowered his head: "Yes, yes, Mr. President, I understand. You have considered this carefully."

"Enough nonsense! My accounts at Union Bank Zurich and LGT Group in Liechtenstein,"

Paul's voice lowered, almost a whisper, as he recited two secret account numbers and instructions: "Transfer the remaining portion of the emergency fund—yes, the one spun off from the Lone Star project—all of it! Be quick! Use the previously agreed-upon channel in Switzerland, and make sure it's absolutely discreet!"

"Yes, sir, is this the total amount?"

The secretary took notes skillfully, clearly familiar with this type of operation.

“All of it! Not a single penny left!” Paul said decisively, then added, his tone even carrying a hint of barely perceptible panic, “Also, that Gulfstream I have parked at Austin Bergstrom Airport, get it ready immediately, fill it with fuel, prepare spare fuel for the transoceanic flight, and have the crew on standby 24 hours a day, understand?”

“Understood, sir.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What is the destination? Do I need to declare the flight route in advance?”

Paul waved his hand impatiently: "Prepare first! Destination...wait for my orders! It could be London, or it could be Geneva! We'll discuss the route when needed! Get it done now!"

"Yes, Mr. President."

The secretary dared not ask any more questions, turned around and quickly left to carry out these orders that were completely contrary to his impassioned speech.

Watching his secretary's departing figure, Paul Constantine Stuart felt as if all his strength had been drained away. He leaned against the cold metal wall and let out a long, silent sigh.

The distant sounds of artillery fire seemed to grow clearer, and he instinctively shrank back.

The bold words just now spoken on camera—"Let the Red River be the graveyard of the invaders," "Texas will never perish," and "Step over my dead body."

His words still echoed in his ears, but now all that filled his heart was the fear of impending failure and extreme anxiety about his own safety.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and muttered to himself, as if trying to convince himself:
"Necessary preparations...just necessary preparations...I am the president, I must live...only by living can I continue to lead..."

"I'm not afraid of death!"

……

Mexico City, National Palace!

In the lavish office, Paul Stuart's poignant speech had just ended on the television screen.

"How could he be so bold?" Victor asked with a smile.

Secretary Kennedy scoffed: "Anyone can boast. Stuart's mobilization has only exposed his weakness and despair. His main force is firmly tied to the Red River, leaving the southern border extremely vulnerable. Our troops are fully assembled."

A greedy glint flashed in his eyes: "Now is the time. Their oil fields, their ports, their fertile land... will all be under our control. If we lose the South, Texas will lose its heart and its supplies."

Viktor nodded upon hearing this, stood up, and paced back and forth for a minute.

“Command…” His voice was clear.

"The 1st and 2nd Mechanized Infantry Divisions of the Eastern Theater, cross the border! Targets: Port Corpus Christi, Laredo, Brownsville! I want to see our flags raised over South Texas cities within 24 hours!"

"The Air Force will provide full cover, suppress any possible resistance, and tell the lads that wealth and land await them!"

"Yes, sir!" Kennedy and Chief of Staff Kitchener stood at attention and saluted, their faces beaming with the fervor of certain victory.

……

(End of this chapter)