Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 121 The Fugitive

"Rebels?!"

Milton and Flora exchanged a glance.

What are the rebels doing here?
Although they are neighboring provinces to the north and south, Milton's location does not border the rebel stronghold. To get there from there, one would have to bypass the encirclement of the regular army.

"This is actually getting interesting."

It's important to understand that the Guatemalan civil war was not like the one in Tokyo in 1946. In fact, it was an act of genocide, with the government forces massacring indigenous people.

Indiscriminate massacres, forced conscription of civilians into war, and destruction of civilian livelihoods have led to the displacement of a large number of indigenous people.

According to statistics, at least 20 people died in the genocide, and 150 million were displaced.

The indigenous people naturally formed a rebel army to fight back, but for various reasons, they were always at a disadvantage in the war and finally had to sign a peace agreement in 1996, forced to reconcile.

This agreement was signed entirely under international pressure, with little accountability for the military, and the indigenous people received no substantial compensation. It can almost be said that the rebels suffered a complete defeat.

Later, the United Nations' characterization of this civil war was also very telling—a genocide against the Maya.

Brandon then asked, "Boss, what do you mean? Are we going to see them?"

Flora hesitated for a moment: "Are we really going to confront the government directly now? Uh... as far as I know, this civil war is actually related to the United States. Although the Soviet Union is gone now, and the United States is inclined to peace due to international influence, you can't completely ignore this relationship. In short, be cautious."

“Let’s see why they’ve come.” Milton thought for a moment and finally made a decision. “If they’re here to form an alliance with me on behalf of the rebels, then forget it.”

It's not that Milton was indifferent to genocide, it's just that he simply didn't have the power to intervene in the matter.

The Guatemalan government is purely anti-human, filled with all sorts of human beings, and there's no problem with that.

To put it bluntly, if it weren't for the rebels holding the line, freeing up a large number of special forces to target Milton, his situation would be much more difficult now.

Survive first, then we'll talk about everything else.

“But limited cooperation might not be a problem,” Milton said, standing up. “For example, those scattered troops could break away from the rebels and join my camp.”

"Isn't it perfect that we lack combat personnel with real-world experience who can operate various weapons of war?"

Flora nodded: "Okay, let's make contact then, but boss, you should still be careful. Maybe, and I'm just saying maybe, these people might be bounty hunters in disguise."

“Definitely. They have to disarm and follow my rules when they come to my territory,” Milton said. “Let’s go check on them.”

A few minutes later, Milton arrived on the outskirts of the town in an LAV-25.

The area was now surrounded by numerous police officers wearing heavy bulletproof vests and carrying automatic rifles, some even wielding the captured MGL Y2 grenade launcher.

Two armored vehicles were positioned across the intersection as cover; one was equipped with a recoilless rifle, and the other with an MK19 grenade launcher.

In short, the armed forces in the town appeared to be on high alert.

Due to years of propaganda on government television channels and a lack of information, people were not really aware of the true situation of the civil war.

Even though everyone is hostile to the government, they are still instinctively very wary when they hear words like "anti-government armed forces" or "rebels".

The police officers on the front line were extremely nervous and shouted loudly to the "rebels" outside: "Put down your weapons! Put down all your weapons and place your hands where we can see you."

"Don't move!"

"..."

The rebel leader was wearing a faded gray-brown military raincoat, so riddled with holes that Milton almost mistook it for a fishing net. He raised his hands and said helplessly, "We have laid down our weapons. We just want to see your leader and discuss something with him."

Milton stood on the armor plating of the LAV-25, squinting as he surveyed the crowd a hundred meters away.

Judging from their appearance alone, these people certainly deserve the word "miserable".

A clump of withered grass, teetering on the brink of collapse, would be reduced to dust in the slightest breeze.

The equipment was in a terrible state. The best-preserved weapon in their team was a Type 56 assault rifle with a white grip, which was the only one at the feet of a boy behind the leader. Milton even saw an "AK-47" with a mineral water bottle as a gas tube and a rubber band as a recoil spring.

Some people wore sandals made from tire hulls, with dark red scabs between their toes; a few didn't even have such shoes and went barefoot.

Flora, a seasoned NATO soldier, shook her head in astonishment: "This, they can't even afford shoes... If it weren't for the guns, I'd believe you if you said they were a bunch of homeless people. Hmm, they're definitely not bounty hunters, no bounty hunter would dress like this, they must be real rebels."

"Look at the difference between our equipment and theirs, it's like the difference between the poor and the rich."

“Besides, the condition of those wounded can’t be faked.” Brandon squinted and looked for a while. “Look, there’s pus seeping from the edge of one of the wounded’s bandages, and that lame guy is obviously injured in an explosion. Bounty hunters wouldn’t go to such lengths.”

As a wounded soldier who suffered serious injuries and nearly died, he is the most qualified to speak on this matter.

“The most crucial thing is their eyes!” Milton jumped down from the armored vehicle and said slowly, “Their expectant and tense eyes can’t be faked. Only people with a firm belief can have such eyes. Let’s go and take a look.”

Milton quickly waved for the officers at the front to step back, then stepped forward and calmly asked, "I heard you were looking for me? What's the matter?"

"Are you Milton?"

"How dare you!" The officer who had stepped back but remained by Milton's side, ready to shield him from bullets at any moment, immediately became indignant. "You should respectfully call Mr. Milton 'Hell Tax Collector'!"

You fucking stop spreading this stupid nickname to everyone you meet... Are you all having a fit of chuunibyou (middle school syndrome)?
The man in the lead looked at the armored vehicle, a look of amazement and confusion flashing in his eyes, but he immediately lowered his head and corrected his wording: "Excuse me, Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector'."

Milton waved his hand: "You can introduce yourselves first. As guests who have come to the host's house without being invited, introducing yourselves is the most basic courtesy."

The leader said calmly, “I am Juan Canal, commander of the remnants of the Third Breakout Battalion of the National Revolutionary Alliance. Two months ago, during the counter-encirclement battle in the Santa Cruz Valley, our village was captured by the Kaibiles, who massacred 112 civilians who had surrendered their weapons. I led 37 survivors to break out, but the direction to the main force was completely blocked, so I could only flee south. Today, only 21 people are still alive.”

He spoke calmly, but the police officers on guard nearby were somewhat moved.

When Varta and Pedro ruled the town, they had seen Van Cameron do similar things, only on a much smaller scale.

This is the hardship of the guerrillas...

Milton calmly looked at the people before him and asked, "Alright, I understand. Just say it: why are you bringing weapons to my territory? What do you want, or what do you want?"

"We want some food, and if possible, we would also like to give you some bullets that you can't use up."

"Of course... if you want, you can exchange us for money—but the government army's bounty on our heads is only 50 qchar each, cheaper than a tortilla."

Juan only learned from various sources that Milton had launched a brutal retaliation against the government forces, making them a common enemy. Therefore, he wanted to find a place to catch his breath while on the run.

But he never imagined that Milton's equipment would be this terrifying!

Even a police officer on the front lines, essentially a cannon fodder, wears protective gear worth at least $2!
Even among the enemy forces, Juan had only ever seen this kind of equipment on a small group of the most elite soldiers.

Once seized, their first choice is to sell it for money, rather than wear it.

Human life is not as valuable as equipment.

Not to mention that armored vehicle...

Milton nodded: "Food and bullets, is that it? Okay, put the weapons there. Come in, my men will collect them for you and return them to you after you leave."

"Thank you for your mercy, Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector'."

Milton looked at the group in front of him, and only after getting a little closer did he realize that they were in a more miserable state than he had imagined.

They were completely out of ammunition and supplies—they had nothing but the glimmer of hope in their eyes.

Half of these 21 people are injured, and some are even seriously injured. In at most 10 days, they will lose at least 5 more people.

“I’m not as merciful as you think. Everything here comes at a price.” Milton waved his hand. “The wounded go to the hospital first, and the rest go to the cheap hotels on the old streets—anything is negotiable, but no one should die here.”

Milton glanced at Neo, who was hiding in the distance with shining eyes, and then instructed, "Neo, go home and tell your mother to prepare some food, enough for 20...25 people, and make sure the food is balanced."

Neo jumped up immediately: "Yes, sir! Mr. 'Godfather'!"

Juan paused for a moment, then said, "Thank you again for your kindness, Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector'."

As he spoke, he patted the boy behind him on the shoulder.

The boy's eyes showed stubbornness, but in the end he still said in a low voice with a hint of resentment, "Thank you, Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector'."

Half an hour later, those who hadn't gone to the hospital gathered in the cheap hotel, their eyes once again showing surprise as they watched the roasted potatoes and tomato stewed beans being wheeled in.

Not only were they surprised that Milton wasn't as brutal as they had imagined, but they were also surprised that this seemingly dilapidated cheap hotel had electricity and running water, and that everyone seemed to take it for granted, as if the power had just been turned on.

How can a small border town be so wealthy?

Juan was even hesitant to start eating. Milton sat sideways in the dimly lit corner of the room, his face obscured: "Eat, we can talk while we eat."

The rebel soldiers had been eating grass roots for the past few days and were starving. When they saw the steaming hot food on the table, they finally couldn't resist the urge and started eating heartily. Even at this moment, they maintained their discipline and used reason to control their eating speed.

The sounds they made while eating were very, very quiet.

Milton couldn't help but admire them, and he made up his mind to leave a few people behind to fill the gaps in his own team, no matter what.

Soon, Neo carried up another large bowl of food.

The moment the lid was opened, even these soldiers showed deep astonishment.

Inside was chicken, with crispy skin sizzling with oil!

They haven't smelled real meat for almost a month!
The boy's Adam's apple bobbed violently, and his hand, with black grime seeping from under his fingernails, trembled as it hovered above the plate—he himself, as a child, hadn't eaten meat for six months.

The aroma of meat is a "luxury" memory for them.

“Wait a minute.” Juan was genuinely uneasy now. He stopped his men from getting the meat. “Mr. ‘Hell Tax Collector,’ I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have enough money and supplies to pay for such food.”

Milton said calmly, "Since I gave it to you, it means you can afford it. Eat."

The boy and the other soldiers had a strong craving for protein and fat in their eyes, but they resisted the urge and looked longingly at Milton and Juan.

Juan gave a wry smile, shook his head, and carefully took out a very small piece of gold from his pocket: "But, sir, this is all we have..."

“No rush.” Milton waved his hand again—he didn’t care about the money at all. “After you finish eating, tell me slowly what you need, and then I will give you a quote. You can assess whether you can afford it. That’s the proper way to do business.”

Juan was still uneasy. He had a rough idea of ​​what Milton wanted, but looking at the soldiers' eyes, he finally sighed heavily and said, "Alright."

Besides gold, what else do they have that is valuable?

This is all the life I have left.

Juan, who was already very hungry, suddenly lost much of his appetite.

The other soldiers, however, had a good appetite. After being given permission, they ate the meat in large mouthfuls, and some even started to shed tears while eating...

Three minutes later, Juan finished his meal, carefully got up, and stood next to Milton.

"Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector'"

"Finished eating?" Milton raised his head slightly, maintaining a considerable distance and a hint of superiority, yet without giving off an air of "arrogance" or "contempt".

No wonder the townspeople call him "the Godfather"...

This feeling arose spontaneously, and Juan became more cautious: "You've finished eating, right..."

“I already said, tell me your business first, then mine.” Milton tapped the table. “How much food do you want? What equipment do you need? How much do you want? Tell me first. Also, sit down and talk. I don’t want people to think I’m so poor that I can’t even provide a chair for my guests.”

Juan took a deep breath: "We need bullets, 7.62x39mm bullets, for 21 people, 60 rounds each, that is..."

“1260 rounds.” Milton nodded. “Anything else?”

"And then there's food. I want to buy some portable dry food like compressed biscuits, about 60 kilograms of biscuits in total."

Milton frowned. "Anything else?"

Juan sensed the change in the other party's attitude and spoke more cautiously: "If, if possible, we would like to buy another liter of alcohol. You know, infection is too deadly for us."

"Any more?"

"That's all... If not, less is fine too."

"No... that's it?" Even Milton, who was deliberately trying to show off, finally couldn't take it anymore. "Do you think this is enough?"

Juan nodded quickly: "That's enough. Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector,' you may not know, but our combat strength is actually quite strong. Even on the run, we took care of at least 40 enemy soldiers. We are not the kind of combat force that has to rely on equipment."

"Is that so?" Milton asked calmly. "Your willpower is strong, but may I ask if your willpower can enchant bullets so they can penetrate the body armor of my men?"

The AK-47 can't penetrate level 4 armor even when the muzzle is pointed directly at it; it even takes four or five shots to penetrate the same spot.

“We, we… can hit weak points and areas that body armor can’t cover.”

"Give me a break." Milton shook his head. "You're not in a CQB battle. In open field combat, the enemy is just a small point, and they're not stupid enough to not retaliate. You still want to aim for their weak point?"

Even the most robust body armor can only provide two or three seconds of margin of error in CQB operations, but in open field combat, a person fully armored is truly a rogue warrior.

After saying that, Milton added insult to injury: "Also, your firearms are terrible. You don't even have night vision goggles. As guerrillas, nighttime is your domain. That's fine, but those two beat-up guns, can they really hold 60 rounds? I have my doubts."

"You think you can defeat a regular army with this junk? You don't really think experienced soldiers are less valuable than equipment, do you?"

"Guerrillas? I'd believe it if you said they were refugee groups."

Milton criticized him bluntly.

"me……"

“Then there’s the food.” Milton ignored him and continued, pointing to the soldiers still eating, “Let me tell you, food is more than just filling their stomachs; it’s about morale—look at their spirit now, compare it to before. Compressed biscuits? You’re willing to feed your soldiers that stuff?”

"This, I..."

“What’s even more outrageous is that you only asked for 1 liter of alcohol.” Milton’s criticism had escalated to a rant. “Is your teammate’s injury just a matter of bleeding a little? No need for hemostatic forceps or tourniquets? No need for painkillers? No need for pneumothorax patches? Let me tell you, my soldier, even if his femoral artery is severed, I can save him, and without amputation or any aftereffects.”

"What, don't you want to save a wounded soldier?"

"Okay, I'll make a list for you."

"First, let's talk about firearms. I'll give each of you an 8% new Type 56...AK47, and a basic load of ammunition; I'll also give you two PKMs with armor-piercing rounds, so you don't just scratch the enemy. Then, as guerrillas, don't you need assassination skills? Don't you need sniper rifles? Wouldn't an SVD solve your problems perfectly?"

Juan opened his mouth, as if to say something.

But Milton interrupted him again: "Then there's the armor. My soldiers will be fully equipped with Level 4 armor. The Level 3 armor that they've retired can be sold to you cheaply. This kind of body armor can withstand most intermediate-power rounds and is sufficient to cope with more than 90% of battlefield environments. Your soldiers' survival rate will increase by at least 80%."

"Also, you must know that having only firearms is very limiting in combat, right? I have a bunch of RPG-7s and grenades on hand right now, which I stole from others. I can sell them to you at a discount."

"What's worse is the food. If the food is too bad, you'll get sick. Do you really want to see your team lose members because of such a ridiculous reason as illness? The food must be good. I can give you some canned food, canned food with meat, and some water purification tablets. By the way, the water purified by the water purification tablets cannot be drunk directly; it must be boiled."

"Do you have a fire to boil water? Lighting a fire will alert the enemy, won't it? Do you have smokeless charcoal or alcohol blocks? No, you don't have any, and you're not even asking me for some?"

At this point, Milton, who was still furious, finally stopped talking and took a breath.

The guerrillas had the belief, but their thinking was too outdated and too reserved.

Just say what you need first. Who cares if you can get it in the end? What if you do? When it's a matter of life and death, why be polite?

Juan: "..."

"Finally, with so much food, so many bullets, and so much equipment, you can't possibly carry it all by yourself, right? You'll need at least three all-terrain vehicles, won't you? To shake off the pursuers, wouldn't it be faster to have vehicles?"

"If you have a car, do you still need gasoline?"

Juan gave a wry smile: "Yes."

"Then we'll just leave it at that for now. You can rest in my town for the night, and my people will prepare everything for you. You and your people can take these things with you tomorrow morning."

Milton had barely finished speaking when the sound of a car engine came from outside the cheap hotel.

In fact, as soon as Milton saw the rebels' equipment, he had already asked Brandon to prepare these things—how could he delay the regular army's advance and tie down the regular army's forces if the rebels weren't stronger?

He simply hadn't expected the rebels to be in such dire financial straits.

Several police officers lifted the tarpaulin, revealing a large pile of brand-new guns, rocket launchers, various canned goods, medical supplies, a Soviet 1PN34 night vision sight, walkie-talkies, bulletproof vests and helmets, and simple repair tools, etc.

Many of these are pieces of equipment that Milton has already begun to phase out, but to the rebels, they are not much different from Zentradi technology.

The rebel members stared in disbelief at the pile of equipment, like country bumpkins visiting a grand garden. Their eyes gleamed with a longing even greater than when they had just seen the food, and the boy's eyes practically popped out of their sockets.

To them, these are legendary pieces of equipment!

Juan stared at the equipment on the ground, remained silent for a long time, then looked up at Milton and asked the most crucial question: "So, what's the price, sir?"

(End of this chapter)