Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 740 You say you'll fight?
The order was quickly issued to the command headquarters of the Eastern Theater Command.

Guderian glanced at it and then picked up the phone on the table.

"Give me the order!"

"Amphibious assault ship 'Quautmok II' Task Force, change course immediately! Maquias Seal Island! Fleet cover the 1st Battalion of the 'Sea Fox' Special Airborne Regiment, and seize the island immediately!"

"'Sea Fox' First Battalion, all personnel on Level 1 combat readiness, check equipment, complete boarding preparations within two hours, transport wing ready for long-range delivery support!"

"The 103rd Engineering Brigade immediately organized a vanguard company and heavy engineering equipment to depart with the second batch of ships."

Inside the port, the transport fleet, originally intended to provide further reinforcements to Portland, began to urgently adjust its loading sequence, prioritizing the loading of heavy excavators, road rollers, and precast runway slabs.

At the airport, the propellers of C-130 Hercules transport planes began to turn slowly, and ground crew were busy refueling them and inspecting the aircraft.

At a military airfield on the outskirts of Veracruz, the runway lights drew two clear bands of light in the deepening twilight.

The soldiers of the 1st Battalion of the "Sea Fox" Special Airborne Regiment, their faces painted with dark green and black-brown camouflage paint and wearing brand-new camouflage combat uniforms, were silently and quickly checking their equipment: reinforced parachutes, G3A4 assault rifles, ample ammunition, individual communication systems, and necessary explosives.

Battalion Commander Eladio Salgado stood at the front of the line, confirming the mission details one last time.

"Remember, our objective is to seize the high ground across the island, control the beachhead, and establish a defensive perimeter to clear obstacles for the subsequent landing of engineering troops. We anticipate minimal or even no resistance, but we must be prepared for any unforeseen circumstances. Once landed, deploy quickly according to the pre-arranged plan! Understood?!"

"Yes, sir!"

Soldiers began boarding the plane one by one, their heavy combat boots clanging against the aluminum gangway. The hatch slowly closed, and the four engines of the C-130 transport plane roared to life, accelerating down the runway before finally defying gravity and soaring into the star-studded night sky.

The aircraft formed up in the air, adjusted their course, and headed northeast toward that tiny island that would determine the course of the battle, flying without hesitation.

Several hours later, in the waters east of Maquias Seal Island.

John Crottie, the Canadian captain of the "Sea Breeze" trawler, was wrapped in a thick cotton coat and taking a sip of strong liquor in the wheelhouse to ward off the cold.

Is it alright to have a drink before setting sail?
Shouldn't be a problem?
I've never heard of anyone drinking and then driving a boat being considered drunk driving.

This sea area, rich in lobsters and cod, was his cash cow. Although the island's sovereignty was disputed, the fishery resources were real. Just then, he heard a low and continuous buzzing sound, which grew louder and louder as it approached.

He peeked out in confusion, looking in the direction the sound came from. The next second, the aluminum flask in his hand fell onto the deck with a clatter. He stared at the sky, mouth agape, dumbfounded.

Beneath the gray clouds, several distinct black silhouettes swept low overhead. What made his heart stop even more was that behind these transport planes, countless white parachutes burst forth like a shower of flowers!
A dense array of parachutes, carrying fully armed soldiers and heavy equipment boxes, were slowly descending towards the flat meadows and rocky beaches of Maquias Seal Island!
"My God... these are... soldiers?"

Captain Crotti snapped out of his daze, scrambling to the radio, his finger snapping to the emergency channel. He stammered in heavily accented New Scots English, “SOS! SOS! This is the ‘Sea Breeze’! Maquias Seal Island! Military paratroopers! Repeat! Unidentified troops are landing on Maquias Seal Island, many paratroopers!”

Almost simultaneously, the Royal Canadian Navy's Kingston-class coastal defense vessel HMCS Montreal (MM 701), which was on routine patrol nearby, received the distress signal.

The captain, the young Navy Lieutenant Michael Sampson, immediately ordered the warship to full speed ahead. He rushed to the communications station, grabbed the VHF radio transmitter, tuned it to the internationally recognized maritime/aviation emergency channel, and called out in as restrained a tone as possible:

"Unidentified military unit operating in and around Seal Island Magias, this is the Royal Canadian Navy vessel HMAS Montreal. You are entering Canadian-claimed airspace and territory. Identify yourself and state your intentions immediately! Repeat, identify yourself and state your intentions immediately!"

After a brief static noise, a voice with a distinct Spanish accent came through the channel:

"Go away!"

"Damn it!" Captain Sampson slammed the microphone onto the control panel, his face flushed with rage. His crew members were also enraged by this extreme insult.

"Sir, they're too arrogant!"

"We cannot stand by and watch them occupy our islands!"

Captain Sampson's chest heaved violently. He glanced at the faint dot of light representing the "Sea Breeze" fishing boat on the radar screen, then at the parachutes still falling in the distant sky. A surge of righteous indignation, a desire to defend sovereignty and the dignity of soldiers, overcame his reason.

He whirled around and yelled at the weapons control officer, “Target: uninhabited area on the beachhead of Maquias Seal Island! 40mm Bofors guns, warning fire! Fire!”

"Yes, sir! Warning fire!"

The 40mm Bofors gun at the bow of the HMS Montreal was spinning rapidly!
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Several loud explosions shattered the tranquility of dawn as shells landed on the rocky area on the southeast side of the island, sending up towering columns of water and rubble.

However, this warning artillery fire did not deter the paratroopers from retreating; instead, it seemed to stir up a hornet's nest.

Several Mexican Air Force F-5E Tiger II fighter jets, which were circling at low altitude to provide cover for the airborne operation, immediately swooped down from the clouds like enraged wasps!

One of the lead pilots issued a stern warning over the public address system:
"Canadian vessel, you have shelled our military operations area! This is an extremely dangerous provocation. Cease fire immediately and withdraw to a distance of 20 nautical miles. Otherwise, we will consider you a hostile target and take all necessary measures to defend ourselves!"

Captain Sampson was now blinded by rage and a sense of duty to "defend the homeland." He roared into the radio, "This is Canadian territory! You're the ones who should get out! Open fire! Drive them away!" He was referring to the diving fighter jets.

The Bofors guns of the USS Montreal roared again, this time the shells landed closer to the island's beach, and some even hit the seawater at the edge of the drop zone, splashing water that could almost drench the Mexican paratroopers who had just landed!

"They are attacking our landing forces!"

While still in the air, Colonel Salgado heard the explosion through his personal radio and saw the water spray below. "Everyone, speed up! Find cover immediately after landing! Anti-aircraft team! Find a suitable position!"

"Mexican pilot calling command: Canadian ships have opened fire first and are threatening the safety of our airborne troops. Requesting authorization to retaliate! Repeat, requesting authorization to retaliate!"

"Authorize a counterattack to eliminate the threat."

Having received authorization, the lead F-5E that had issued the warning did not hesitate any longer. The pilot slammed the control stick, and the fighter jet made a sharp dive. A flash of fire appeared under the wing as an AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground missile detached from its pylon, trailing a white plume of smoke, and hurtled toward the small Montreal at an astonishing speed!

"Missile! Port! High-speed approach!" The lookout on the HMS Montreal roared in desperation.

Captain Sampson's pupils contracted sharply as he watched the rapidly approaching dot on the radar screen. All anger and passion were instantly replaced by a chilling premonition of death. "Full speed back, emergency evasive maneuver! Release smoke!"

too late!
For a coastal defense vessel weighing only a few hundred tons, the speed and accuracy of the Maverick missile were devastating.

The missile hit the area below the bridge of the HMS Montreal with pinpoint accuracy!
"boom!!!"

The deafening explosion instantly engulfed the small boat. A huge fireball rose from the middle of the ship, throwing steel fragments and human remains into the air. Thick black smoke billowed up, almost obscuring the rising sun.

Just a few dozen seconds later, the badly damaged Montreal began to list sharply and, with the still-burning flames and most of the crew's lives, quickly sank to the frigid bottom of the North Atlantic.

Only a few bodies wearing life jackets and some burning debris float on the surface of the sea, proving that it once existed.

The sudden sinking of the Canadian patrol boat plunged the area around Maquias Seal Island into a deathly silence, with only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the footsteps of the Mexican paratroopers running and assembling on the island.

Sargasso was the first to react. He shouted sharply into the radio, "Attention all battalion! Swiftly take control of the entire island according to the pre-arranged plan! Establish a ring defense! Advance engineering teams, immediately survey the runway location! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

...The news of the occupation of Maquias Seal Island and the sinking of the HMS Montreal sent shockwaves through Ottawa, the capital of Canada.

The message was initially relayed to the Canadian Department of National Defence's operations center via several emergency phone calls that rang almost simultaneously.

First came the follow-up report from John Crottina, captain of the fishing boat "Sea Breeze," his voice trembling with tears and incoherent: "They opened fire! My God, it's a missile! The 'Montreal' has been hit, it's exploded, and it's on fire."

Immediately afterwards, the Canadian Coast Guard Regional Centre in New Brunswick also received intermittent distress signals and reports of a massive plume of smoke from an explosion.

“Confirmed…” Inside the Ministry of National Defense Operations Center, a staff officer put down the phone and reported to the general on duty, who was standing there dumbfounded, “All communications with the ‘HMCS Montreal’ have been lost. The last radar echo showed its position near Seal Island in Maquias before it disappeared. Combined with fishermen’s eyewitness accounts and NORAD data… the preliminary assessment is that the ‘Montreal’ has been sunk by enemy air-to-ship missiles.”

“Sink…” The duty general repeated the word, as if he couldn’t comprehend its meaning. A Royal Canadian Navy active-duty ship was blatantly sunk in waters that Canada claimed as its own? This was no longer a provocation; it was an act of war!

Suddenly, the deathly silence of the command center was shattered by the piercing ring of a secure red telephone.

The call came from the official residence.

……

24 Saskatchewan Avenue, Ottawa.

Jean Crett was urgently awakened from his sleep by his chief secretary. When he hurried into the study in his bathrobe, several key cabinet ministers, the Minister of Defense, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Minister of Public Security, as well as the chief of staff and the head of the intelligence agency, were already waiting there with solemn expressions.

On the television screen, CNN had already started broadcasting breaking news with sensational headlines: "Tensions escalate in the North Atlantic! Canadian ship suspected of being sunk!"

"Can anyone tell me what happened?!" Kretty's voice was hoarse from just waking up, but it was filled with suppressed anger and shock.

Defense Secretary David Collinson handed him a newly compiled briefing, his tone somber: "Sir, we have received confirmation from multiple sources that Mexican forces, via airborne assault, seized Maquias Seal Island in the early hours of the morning local time. Our Royal Navy's Kingston-class coastal defense vessel, HMS Montreal, was attacked by an air-to-ground missile fired by Mexican Air Force fighter jets while en route to verify the situation and issue a warning. It is now determined to have sunk, and the approximately 37 officers and men on board are likely in grave danger."

"Maquias Seal Island? Mexicans?"

Prime Minister Chrétien abruptly looked up. “That’s disputed territory, that’s true, but what does that have to do with Mexico? That’s our problem with the Americans.”

Foreign Secretary Lloyd Axworth added in a hoarse voice, “They not only occupied the islands and sank our warships, but according to communications we intercepted and statements that Mexico may release later, they claim it was to establish a ‘forward logistics hub’ to support their so-called ‘protection operation’ in Maine. This was premeditated! Victor is a madman! He wants to drag the whole of North America into war!”

"What about the United States? Have they contacted them? What's their attitude?" Kretty asked anxiously, his first thought being of his powerful ally to the south.

The chief of staff quickly replied: "We have contacted the White House via hotline. President Bush just learned of the news and expressed 'extreme shock and concern,' promising to maintain close consultation with us. But as you know, the situation on his end is dire; Portland was just breached, and they are struggling to survive. He hinted that we should exercise restraint and avoid further escalation."

"Restraint?!" A furious voice came from the doorway. Everyone turned around and saw Patrick, the opposition leader known for his hardline hawkish stance, barging in despite his secretary's attempts to stop him.

He had clearly just been woken from bed; his hair was disheveled, but his eyes blazed with fury. "Our soldiers are dead, our ships are sunk, our territory has been occupied, and you expect us to exercise restraint? Créty, if you don't order a counterattack now, you will be the most cowardly person in Canadian history!!"

Patrick's arrival and blunt accusations made the atmosphere in the study even more tense and awkward. Kretty's face turned extremely ugly.

Defense Secretary Collison attempted to maintain order, stating, "What we need now is calm and rational decision-making, not reckless shouting!"

"Reason? Talk to me about reason when the Mexicans have missiles on the coast of New Brunswick, pointed at our heads!"

Patrick remained unyielding, staring at Cretty. "You must immediately convene an emergency parliamentary session to authorize military action. Our CF-18 fighter jets should take off immediately and drive the Mexicans off the island into the sea."

"Mr. Patrick!"

The intelligence chief couldn't help but speak up, "Our assessment is that rashly launching a full-scale war with Mexico would have unimaginable consequences. It is a country with a powerful and unpredictable military."

"So we're just going to let them do whatever they want on our territory?! Did the blood of those 37 young men on the 'Montreal' go to waste?!"

A heated argument broke out in the study.

The pro-war faction and the pro-prudence faction each held their own views and refused to yield to each other.

This has always been the case.

Kretty listened to the noisy argument around her and felt a sharp headache.

"enough!"

"Do these things immediately!" Cretty's eyes swept over everyone. "Will making a scene drive the Mexicans away? We need to fight back!"

He looked at his chief of staff and said:
"Immediately convene an emergency parliamentary session. I will address the nation within two hours."

"The Canadian Armed Forces are ordered to enter a state of maximum alert nationwide! All leave is cancelled and troops are recalled."

"The Ministry of Foreign Affairs immediately drafted the strongest protest note, condemning Mexico's act of aggression, demanding its immediate and unconditional withdrawal from Seal Island in Maquias, and a full explanation and compensation for the sinking of the 'Montreal'."

“We should contact our NATO allies, particularly the UK and France, to seek international support and put pressure on Mexico.”

"Then…"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Patrick and Defense Secretary Collison. "Order the Eastern Naval District to immediately dispatch a task force to the waters near Seal Island, Magias. Note, 'nearby.' Without my direct order, they are not to enter within 12 nautical miles of the island, and are not to fire first! Their mission is to monitor, deter, and search for survivors of the 'Montreal'."

The last order brought a look of disappointment to Patrick's face. He stood up and shook his head. "You're a piece of trash!"

After saying that, he walked away dejectedly.

Chrétien looked at his cabinet members, his voice hoarse and heavy. “Canada has suffered a humiliation today and is on the brink of war. We need to show the people the government’s resolve, but we must also be responsible for their security. We cannot… I cannot, without more intelligence and clear support from our allies, drag the country into an unpredictable war.”

He waved his hand, signaling everyone to immediately carry out the order.

The study quickly emptied, leaving only Kretty.

"All we do is fight. We can't even beat the Americans. What do we have to rely on? Just a bunch of brainless brutes."

Kretty shook his head in disappointment; the nearly 70-year-old man was also feeling a bit weary.

Everyone felt that this marked the beginning of a new era.

But have we forgotten...?

This also marks the end for some countries.

...

(End of this chapter)