Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 169 Anti-battery Radar!
The atmosphere at the scene immediately fell silent.

The bartender, who had just been wiping glasses and preparing to watch Eric Wilson get his comeuppance in front of the "Hell Tax Collector," suddenly showed a look of fear on his face.

Milton, standing in the very center, could also sense that the team, which had been relatively relaxed, subconsciously moved closer to each other, as if they were facing a very powerful and terrifying enemy.

No, not as if.

Eric carried only a legally registered small handgun, yet he was indeed the "most powerful" person Milton had ever encountered.

Because it is 1994, this is Latin America, and he is the CIA.

It's that simple.

He was not the American "civilian" with no identity who had been shot like a dog by Milton before.

Eric looked very gentle, but his words were incredibly authoritative: “'Hell Tax Collector' Mr., sit down. I don’t have the habit of looking people up when I speak.”

Milton coldly replied, "Then hold your head high, American—you may have a noble status, and the people behind you may be very powerful, but at this moment, I can easily crush you."

"Being president didn't make Kennedy immune to bullets, but what about you? Want to try?"

It went off by accident. I thought it was a drug dealer. We're all trying our best to live. Go talk to my armored vehicle then.

Eric's smile faded slightly, but he still maintained his composure: "Well... indeed, almost everyone we meet has this attitude the first time. You've conquered vast territories, defeated many enemies, and those renowned corporations have fallen at your feet. You've killed many names feared by countless people."

"Everyone who has just entered your position thinks they are omnipotent."

"Alright, since you want respect, I can give you respect."

“Dear Mr. Milton, may I have a seat? I would like to invite you for a drink.”

Eric said, taking out a $100 bill and placing it on the bar.

The bartender didn't dare to take the money. Instead, he took out the bar's best bottle of wine from its collection, took an empty glass, and filled Milton's glass with it.

Milton then sat down, suppressing the turmoil of emotions surging in his mind, and asked, "So, what do you want from me?"

“You have many tricks up your sleeve, and you have a lot of weapons that shouldn’t be here.” Eric chuckled. “I’m too lazy to investigate where these weapons came from—I only have one thing to say: you’ve put us in a difficult position.”

Milton swirled the wine in his glass, carefully considering his options, and said, "Is that so? In this world, what is there that's difficult for you?"

Directly provoking the CIA now is definitely not a wise choice, but directly expressing a hostile attitude is even more fatal.

The CIA these days is no joke...

We need to find a way to stall them.

“Peace! Peace is the most difficult thing for us.” Eric raised his voice a little. “The civil war in Guatemala was about to end, and the two sides were even signing a ceasefire agreement, but as soon as you came, the war was reignited.”

"At this moment when a ceasefire is imminent, the old government is about to step down, and an elected government is about to emerge, your appearance has disrupted all the processes."

"Perhaps the next time you appear in The Washington Post, it will be as a warmonger?"

Milton felt as if he were arguing with a low-level political commentator. In his previous life, if he had seen this kind of thing online, he wouldn't have bothered to expose its inferior rhetoric.

But there's nothing we can do; he's a CIA agent.

Just hearing those three letters gave Milton a feeling of being "overwhelmed by Mount Tai".

"Peace? Completely annihilating one side is also peace—so, Roosevelt should have just surrendered and led the United States to peace, right?"

“Very eloquent! But it’s useless, because peace is everyone’s consensus.” Eric took a sip of his drink and placed the glass on the bar. “I can promise you that, if you cooperate, you will have a position in the Pan Madre Group in the new government.”

Just as DEA agent Winnie had said, the CIA's first step was to win her over.

Milton neither agreed nor disagreed: "What cooperation?"

"Immediately cease all cooperation with the rebels, immediately," Eric said without hesitation. "No further disruption to the peace process is permitted."

That means there is nothing to talk about.

Milton had this thought in mind, took a small sip of his drink, and asked, "Specifically?"

“The government forces have recently launched a general offensive, and they won’t be able to hold out for long—oh, I heard that the rebels’ food and ammunition supplies have been somewhat relieved. I guess you guys did that? It seems you’ve gained their trust.” Eric said leisurely in a British accent, “I think you can use this trust to find a way to stab the rebels in the back.”

No need for a public falling out? No need for an immediate pledge of allegiance?
That means there is room and time for delay.

Milton was already prepared to kill this person outright and confront the CIA head-on, even if it resulted in heavy casualties!
Suppressing the surprise on his face, Milton nodded slightly and asked, "Then how can you be sure that I stabbed you in the back as you requested?"

As soon as the question was asked, Milton clearly saw a flash of embarrassment and awkwardness in Eric's eyes.

A moment later, he regained his composure and said, "I'm from the CIA, and I have countless ways to confirm—I'm watching you every single moment."

Milton almost burst out laughing, and the intense pressure he felt from the CIA inexplicably dissipated at the same time.

He would have almost believed it if the counter-espionage system hadn't given him no warning.

I guess they sent several informants over, but each one was arrested on the spot and disappeared without a trace?

Still trying to bluff?

Milton didn't mind the flattery and pretended to believe it: "Well... I believe you have that ability."

The task is to stab someone in the back, which leaves a lot of room for maneuver—for example, poisoning food. But it takes time to buy poison, and it takes time for the poison to take effect, right?

Sending over weapons that might explode in the barrel would require time to modify, wouldn't it?

They'll stall for time until Milton takes control of Champelli Port, then turn against the CIA!

Eric nodded, seeing that Milton was somewhat reasonable, and prepared to get up and leave.

"Wait, Americans."

As Milton spoke, he reached out and grabbed Eric's wrist—the enhanced power from the panel allowed his fingers to grip Eric's wrist bone.

Eric was pulled back to his seat and was about to cry out in alarm when Milton released his grip and picked up his wine glass.

Such speed, such power...

Eric glanced out of the corner of his eye at the guarded, wary, and fearful soldiers next to the bar, but who showed no signs of flinching, and mentally raised the danger level of the "Pan-Madre Group" a little higher.

"what's up?"

"What's in it for me to do your bidding?" Milton picked up the $100 bill from the bar and examined it closely. "It's just $100, isn't it?"

Eric cursed Milton several times in his mind before saying, "Heh... fine, you want money, right? Then I'll talk to you using my USAID identity. I can recruit you as our informant. I can even give you a formally registered identity with the federal government, allowing you to receive a salary from the US federal government and apply for a project every month. Budget... every month, you have a budget of $50. Is that enough?"

At the same time, he cursed Milton in his heart as an idiot.

Want dollars, want budgets, want to make dollars from the USA?

Dream on! Eric has made up his mind to sow discord between Milton and Lopez, so that both sides will come to him to buy weapons and equipment as soon as they get their budgets.

Ultimately, this budget approved by Congress will flow into the military-industrial complex, into Eric's hands!

He didn't care how much was lost in the process.

Milton said "Oh," and then added, "If, I mean if... what if I didn't want to cooperate with your operations? Given the methods of the CIA, what would you do?"

“Heh…” Eric finally couldn’t help but sneer, “Do I need to tell you that? ’Hell’s Tax Collector’?”

"You will see what real hell is like."

“CIASAD (Central Intelligence Agency Special Operations Division) helicopters will fly over your head and shoot you for war crimes—believe me, one of them can take on 100 of you.”

"You'll be surprised to find that Lopez suddenly has a lot of weapons that you can't understand at all, and there will be inexplicable explosives flying down from the sky and falling on your head."

"Oh, let me tell you, Lopez's two brand-new howitzers are already on the transport ship and will arrive in port in five days at most. The only one who can mediate between us is me, understand?"

"Soon you will receive an email that tells you how to contact me and what to say when you do."

"gone."

Eric gave his wrist a slight flick, got up and left the bar, got into an inconspicuous car parked in the alley, and quickly disappeared from Milton's sight.

After the CIA agent left the bar, everyone's expression immediately turned extremely grim.

We just had a resounding victory, and before we even had a celebratory feast, the Americans came and dealt us a heavy blow. This feeling of disgust...

Flora, in particular, wore her anger on her face.

"This is the American way... Damn! The allies we worked so hard to befriend, the territory we worked so hard to conquer, and he wants to take 70% of it with just a word?"

Brandon's face showed his worry: "Boss, are we really left with no choice but to betray our allies?"

Milton leisurely stuffed the CIA dollars into his pocket, and asked with a smile, "Who said I was going to betray the resistance?"

"Huh? What just now..."

“Of course I was lying to him.” Milton put his glass on the bar and glanced in the direction Eric had left. “Before becoming a warlord, I had to be mindful of Lopez’s mood; now I have to be mindful of the Americans’ mood. What’s the point of being a warlord?”

Flora sat down at the bar, secretly grabbed a glass, and seeing Milton deep in thought, took a sip and asked, "So what are you planning to do? He's already threatening us with a grenade launcher."

The others around him were worried: "Yeah... even if we can destroy these two howitzers, Lopez will probably be able to bring out more soon. To take down a howitzer, you need very elite special forces, and the casualties won't be small, right? Trading people for equipment like this, it feels like we're the ones who are losing out."

Milton opened the panel and carefully scanned the equipment that hadn't been unlocked yet.

The "Radar" section is completely black.

Once the port city of Champelli is captured, the territory and population under control will be enough to unlock the radar.

Radar that can solve the threat of howitzers once and for all is also among them.

American AN/TPQ-37 artillery locating radar!

The world's first phased array medium-range artillery locating radar can detect 152mm howitzers at a range of up to 30 kilometers with a location success rate of over 90%.

Various types of 155mm howitzers and even rocket artillery are within the coverage of this counter-battery radar. Combined with reconnaissance drones, Milton is confident he can destroy his howitzers in no more than two shots.

No matter how wealthy Lopez is, he would never treat a large-caliber howitzer as a consumable item that can only be fired once or twice.

This radar also has a very strong anti-clutter interference capability, and it has the ability to track dynamic small targets and low-altitude and ultra-low-altitude targets, so it can be used as an air defense radar to a certain extent.

The prerequisite is to capture the port of Champerico...

Milton turned off the panel and said in a calm voice, "I have a way to import equipment to counter their howitzers—a permanent countermeasure once and for all."

The others looked bewildered.

Most people have never even heard of "counter-battery radar." How could firing a cannon get you locked onto by radar?

Only Flora, after a few seconds of thought, widened her eyes and asked, "You...you wouldn't happen to be able to buy an anti-artillery radar, would you?"

"Yes."

"Which one?" Flora put down her glass and asked seriously. "Not the British kind, those won't do, they're only good against mortars."

"Don't worry, it's definitely the anti-howitzer model, the one the Americans used in the Gulf War."

"...You're amazing!"

Flora sighed again, "Okay, so our next move is to backstab the CIA and take over Champellico Port, right? It feels like our enemies are getting stronger and stronger."

"We need to act quickly. The CIA isn't stupid; they can't keep up a charade for long."

"What's next?"

Milton glanced at Flora: "Next, I'm going to request a budget from the CIA. Didn't he just say there's a budget of $50 per month? We shouldn't pass up that money."

How dare he speak with that attitude? Eric must be treated like a Japanese person and punished.

Everyone present was a little numb.

Good heavens, this "hellish tax collector" not only has to offend the CIA, but also outsmart the CIA.
"Wouldn't doing this offend them too much? They're the CIA, after all."

The United States' performance in the Gulf War instilled fear in many people.

In 1994, in the minds of most people, the United States was invincible, and the CIA was the invincible intelligence agency in this invincible United States.

But... Milton wasn't afraid.

Milton stood up, walked out of the bar, and glanced at the panel—the counter-espionage system could no longer find Eric, indicating that he had already left the sphere of influence of the Pan Madre Group.

"Either do it at all, or do it thoroughly. Since we're going to offend him anyway, we might as well see what value he still has left."

"Don't be intimidated by the CIA's reputation. They are very strong, but they are by no means invincible."

"Don't forget, Fidel Castro is still alive and well."

"It's much closer to the United States than we are there—to its north is Florida, right in Miami!"

"Don't worry, we have a good chance of winning, and a very good chance!"

Milton's words immediately boosted everyone's confidence.

Yes... the United States is not invincible either.

Flora nodded slightly and said, "Yes, at least their military operations in East Asia have never been successful—but we still can't be careless."

"Especially CIASAD, this thing is no joke, we have to be careful."

"Whether it's equipment, soldiers, or combat capabilities, their abilities are beyond doubt; they are world-class. They have even accomplished many incredible missions when they are alone."

For example, the execution of Che Guevara in Bolivia in 1967 was one of CIASAD's proudest achievements.

For example, during the 9/11 attacks in Chile in 1973, CIASAD directly provided weapons to the coup forces, ultimately leading to President Allende's heroic sacrifice.

For example, in 1981, Panamanian President Torrijos was killed in a helicopter explosion while defending the Panama Canal.

There are many, many more stories, each one involving bloody corpses. These were the people who held the highest positions in the country, yet they still could not escape death.

The CIA gave them a choice: cooperate or confront.
Now it's Milton's turn to make the choice.

Milton knew exactly what Flora was talking about. Countless familiar faces flashed through his mind, and he couldn't forget their fates.

Flora cautioned, "They are indeed very powerful and terrifying."

Milton calmly gave his reply: "Let them come—one by one they'll die. One squad at a time, I'll kill them all. If they all come, I'll kill them all."

"I will not get caught up in the choice between peace and violence; my group has no internal strife."

"I'm a fucking warlord—even if CIASAD is a monster, it's a carbon-based monster. Can it withstand armor-piercing bullets?"

Flora burst into laughter: "Great! Crazy enough, I love it! I never thought I'd ever be able to go toe-to-toe with the CIA in my lifetime. If word got out, we'd be legendary mercenaries, legendary PMC! We'll fight the strongest one!"

Milton opened the car door, sat in the back seat, and corrected, "It's not that we're the strongest yet; we haven't offended the Pentagon yet."

"Bro, let's deal with this thing another time!"

"Don't be afraid, don't forget we have a DEA agent as an ally."

"...Those DEA bastards, trying to fight the CIA with their heads overseas? Besides, she's just a low-level DEA agent; she doesn't represent the will of the entire DEA."

“It’s okay. She didn’t look down on us because we’re weak, and I don’t look down on her because she’s weak either.”

"..."

Milton chuckled, looking at the scenery outside the street and the happiness on the faces of the people he had never seen before.

Hope enveloped the entire town.

The Americans want to turn this place into hell? No way.

Ten minutes later, the convoy returned to the Central Church—which should now be the tax office near Central Park.

As soon as I got off the bus, a tax bureau guard came up to me, holding a thick document in his hand.

“‘Godfather’, we just received a package. We’ve checked it carefully and there are no problems.”

Milton scanned the file with his panel abilities, confirming that everything was fine and that the CIA bastards hadn't poisoned it, before taking the file and giving it a cursory glance.

"The contact information Eric mentioned should be here?"

Flora yawned, looking eager to leave work: "Looks like it."

“Good, go and write the application, and get them to approve the $50 funding as soon as possible.” Milton saw that she wanted to leave work and immediately assigned her tasks. “Our offensive is about to begin; we must get this money before things come to a head.”

Flora immediately put on a sour face: "Since I started dating you, taking a vacation has become a luxury... Fine, fine, for 50."

She yawned loudly, picked up the documents, and walked into her office.

Milton withdrew his gaze, returned to his office, sat down, picked up the phone, and began to systematically assign tasks to various departments.

"Matto, you're in charge of logistics, specifically..."

"Contact the resistance. I need elite troops, elite troops capable of carrying out special operations missions. I need to equip the combined arms battalion with a special operations platoon. In such a short time, I don't have enough time to train my men. Good, very good."

"I don't need to tell the rebels about the information from the CIA. I can confirm that there are no traitors among my men, but I can't confirm theirs."

"The tanks will be deployed tomorrow, so the soldiers can prepare properly..."

"Ishimaya, you're in charge..."

After accepting the task, Isimea voiced her concerns: "'Hell Tax Collector,' with such a short period of training, can you really complete such a complex tactical deployment? I feel that even veterans of the resistance might not be able to do it so well."

Complex? Milton has simplified it to such an extent that it's still considered complex.

“You’re overthinking it.” Milton tapped the table. “You need to know what the quality of Lopez’s men is like… As long as he’s worse than me, that’s enough.”

The Nationalist army, which was being beaten and screaming in pain, would become like gods descending to earth in another place, beating others in the same way.

Not to mention the Latin American region, which is basically a competition of who's worse.

Furthermore, with more real combat experience, Milton's troops could become a true elite force.

"Okay! I'll go prepare!"

"Go."

Milton hung up the phone and was about to assign tasks to Brandon when the phone rang again.

Without much thought, Milton reached out and answered the phone.

"Congratulations, 'Hell Tax Collector,' you've proven your worth and finally boarded this ship. Heh... Do you feel safe all of a sudden?"

“Senator Lopez?” Milton chuckled. “How’s the situation on the front lines? How many people have died? Let me give you a piece of advice: stop owing so much indemnity on compensation payments, or the army will collapse.”

"Enough with the nonsense, mind your own business. How much money did Mexico spend on all those big things? You're probably about to die by now, aren't you?" López's tone was equally mocking. "Anyway, we're all in the same boat now, so I think we should have some basic consensus."

Milton glanced at his balance, suppressed a laugh, and pressed on, "What consensus?"

"Can't you guess what the CIA is up to? They'd love for us to fight each other so they can use all their budget to buy their weapons! Do you want to give them a bargain? Don't you want to make money off the U.S. Congress?"

“We don’t need to really fight. I need your Pan Madre Group to ‘support your own interests’ and you also need some breathing room.”

"Let's sign a non-aggression pact."

P.S.: I put a lot of thought into today's chapter, so it was written rather slowly. Sorry, it didn't reach the word count for a big update. I'll continue with a big update tomorrow.

(End of this chapter)