Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 179 I Have Something Milton Doesn't Have

At roughly the same time, 20 top-equipped soldiers, dressed almost identically to SAD, walked towards Milton.

Even though the enemy was highly likely to be seriously injured, Milton still arranged a 10:1 force to capture people, regardless of whether they were dead or alive.

Mortars and snipers were also prepared nearby, ready to provide company-level firepower should any unexpected incident occur.

A squad leader looked at Milton with a guilty expression: "'Godfather', another one has died. He was too badly injured."

The squad leader's guilt wasn't because he failed to capture the CIA agents who were omnipotent in movies and only appeared in newspapers, but rather because Milton showed a great "distrust" of their fighting capabilities.

To take down two SADs who can't even get up, you still need to deploy so many people and provide fire support!

What Milton's elite soldiers found even more unacceptable was that, in their own hearts, if they were in the same desperate situation as these SADs, they probably couldn't even do one-tenth as well.

If Mr. "Godfather" hadn't chosen to treat the entire tax bureau as a trap and planted an astonishing amount of explosives in advance, he probably would have been hit with an exchange ratio of more than 10.

This arrangement, in effect, sacrificed resources and money in exchange for the protection of the soldiers, yet it made the soldiers feel extremely humiliated and ashamed.

You must train hard, and next time you must impress Mr. Godfather!
Milton ignored the soldiers' emotions, turned to look at Winnie, whose mood was still very complicated, and asked, "Any questions? Hurry up and ask, they won't live much longer."

One advantage of the enemy being deaf is that they can conspire loudly.

Winnie snapped out of her daze and squatted down again, while Berent looked up.

"Cough cough!!"

Another mouthful of blood spurted from his mouth, indicating that his internal injuries were very serious.

"Tapachula, who betrayed our DEA?"

Berlent almost laughed: "Cough... How the hell should I know? I don't care about those people. Besides, the question you should be asking is who didn't betray you, otherwise I'd have a very long list to make."

Milton listened, muttering to himself – has the friendship between the CIA and DEA really gotten this far?

Winnie stood up expressionlessly and said to Milton, "I have nothing more to ask."

Milton nodded—to be honest, he didn't really have anything to ask; he had no interest in the shady stuff the CIA did.

As for the conspiracies targeting their own forces, they couldn't get any information out of them.

Today's decapitation strike was already the biggest conspiracy; Berlente had no idea what other conspiracies would be planned in the future.

If you wanted to ask about the deployment and movements of Lopez's army, this man probably wouldn't be alive to say it.

But Milton, still willing to give it a try, asked, "I heard you're an instructor in Lopez's army. You should have some inside information, like where their command post is... Do you have any relevant intelligence?"

If Milton can extract some intelligence, he can use drones to conduct reconnaissance, and then try to use large-caliber howitzers and laser-guided shells to carry out a decapitation strike on the enemy command post.

But to be honest, it won't have a particularly big impact on the overall course of the battle.

If the officer in charge of commanding the enemy forces is of the rank of the Four Crossings of the Chishui River or is some important spiritual leader, then such an attack would be very effective.

Unfortunately, Lopez's army is mostly made up of scoundrels. If you wipe them out with one shot, they might just replace them with a group of more capable ones. Wouldn't that be counterproductive?
Berlente still had that same smile on his face, and said in a tone that was both sarcastic and wistful, "You don't need any of this, Lopez is doomed to lose... cough cough!"

“Forget it.” Milton kicked off the bloodstains on his boots with a hint of disgust. “You guys go ask him… After you’ve asked, just have the Gulf Group take care of him.”

After saying that, Milton turned and walked towards the Gulf Group's petty boss, who looked like a lump of mud, patted his face, removed his gag, pointed at Berlente, and said:

Do you know that person over there?

The drug dealer was already terrified by the commotion that sounded like a mini nuclear explosion. He hurriedly shook his head: "I don't know him, I don't know him, 'Mr. Father,' I swear I've never seen that person since I was born!"

“Yes, it’s perfectly normal that you don’t recognize him,” Milton said. “He’s with the CIA. You should have had contact with some of their people when you were in charge of targeting the DEA, right?”

CIA people... CIA?!
The drug dealer stared in disbelief at Berent's body on the ground, which was almost a corpse.

Is this the CIA?

The drug dealer didn't hear much of Milton and Winnie's conversation earlier.

But he could probably guess what retaliatory measures the DEA was going to take.

So, that explosion was aimed at the CIA? And these bodies on the ground are the result of this retaliation?
Even the dumbest drug dealer can figure out what this means!
"me……"

Milton looked at the drug dealer and sighed repeatedly. He reached out and patted him on the shoulder: "You, at such a young age, what could you do? You had to carry out a terrorist attack, you had to kill the CIA. Look what's happened now, aren't you? You're finished."

The drug dealer was nearly driven mad: "No, wait! What does this mean?! I killed the CIA, and I orchestrated this bombing?!"

"You still dare to deny it now?" Milton sneered, waving his hand to signal the men around him to come forward. "Grab him and make him pay for his actions."

"Cooperate fully with the DEA's narcotics officers and make sure to find out what vicious, insidious, crazy, and unknown plans the drug dealers are carrying out!"

"Yes!"

"..."

Winnie stopped looking at Berent on the ground, walked over to Milton, and asked, "Now that you've taken out SAD, what are you planning to do next?"

“Of course I’m going back to the front lines.” Milton got into the car but didn’t close the door. “When I was commanding operations at the front, news suddenly came from the rear that my headquarters had been bombed. I was very upset.”

"I'll leave the rest of the interviewing and news processing to you. I hope to see related reports in tomorrow's morning news."

Milton's army now controls the port of Champerico and the radio station, and the television signal range has expanded again, now covering almost half the country.

“Wait a minute.” Winnie suddenly called out to Milton, “'Tax Collector,' I have to remind you that although you achieved an indisputable victory in this operation, you would be very wrong if you think that’s all the CIA is capable of.”

She could tell that although Milton didn't laugh triumphantly, he couldn't hide his contempt for the CIA.

Winnie found this attitude very dangerous.

Milton didn't just wave and leave as casually as before; instead, he nodded very seriously: "For example?"

"What do you think the CIA will do after what happened today?"

“Nothing will happen on the surface,” Milton said calmly. “I’ve wiped out at least half a year’s worth of their star quota in this battle. Even if anyone else dares to come and die, they won’t be doing it under the CIA’s name anymore.”

When a CIA member dies abroad, headquarters will hang a star on the wall of honor for him, symbolizing that those who sacrifice their lives for their country will never be forgotten.

Ironically, this thing actually has a quota for each region.

In other words, only this many people are allowed to die within a year; any deaths exceeding this limit are considered "illegal sacrifices," and local officials must find a solution to address them.

"He even knows about star quotas..." Winnie looked puzzled—she could sense Milton's contempt for the CIA, but his actions also showed him great respect.

I feel there's something contradictory about it.

She paused for a moment, then added, "No matter what name you use to operate, the CIA from top to bottom absolutely hates you, and they won't stop."

What do you think their actions were today?

"Ah—woo..."

“Decapitation? Assassination?” Milton glanced at the drug dealer whose mouth was gagged, and continued chatting with Winnie. “Anyway, it was a failed assassination attempt.”

“This is certainly an assassination attempt, but it doesn’t mean the assassination is over just like that.” Winnie’s tone was a bit sinister. “Sending two helicopters and a team of SADs to your house at night, taking you out, and leaving in style, leaving only bewildered guards, is certainly cool, like something out of a blockbuster movie.”

"But that doesn't mean the CIA only knows this one method."

"On the contrary, they rarely use such methods... I can see that you usually take precautions against snipers when you move around on the road and enter and exit buildings, but taking a shot to the head with a sniper rifle from a distance is just one of their many methods."

"Many times, assassinations happen without warning."

Milton nodded slightly: "For example?"

Winnie said coldly, "For example, you might be shot seven times in the back and ultimately judged as having committed suicide."

“They will poison your favorite food, they will fill the air you breathe with a terrible virus, they will figure out your favorite clothes and put neurotoxins in them, the woman you sleep with has a bomb in her stomach... and so on. You will be constantly on the run, and you will be unable to defend yourself.”

"They are the CIA. Don't let one victory make you look down on those three letters."

“I’ve been dealing with the CIA since I started this job, and I know them very well—once, our informant was out of our sight for just 30 minutes, and we couldn’t contact him or find him anymore.”

"It may be a downer to say these things right after a victory, but I still have to say it, and you'd better take it to heart. You absolutely cannot ignore them."

Milton knew Winnie was right—unfortunately, the CIA agents simply couldn't bring these things in.

If someone dares to smuggle this kind of stuff, the control panel would probably have to sound the alarm in the middle of the night to wake Milton up.

It's estimated that he was arrested before he even left customs, and there was no chance of him being delivered to Milton.

Milton looked into Winnie's eyes: "I don't have a favorite food, I don't have any favorite clothes, I travel by military vehicle, and I have no interest or time to play with women... As for other things, every stranger who wants to get close to me will be searched inside and out."

“I am ten times more cautious than Castro. All the sentries supervise each other, and anyone who leaves the area is subject to inspection.”

“I don’t even have a family.”

"If they want to break their record of humiliation with Castro, they can come to me. I'll be waiting."

Winnie was finally speechless.

She discovered that what Milton said was actually true—this man had very few weaknesses.

What's most frightening is that Milton was a pragmatist, unlike Allende, who, despite having the courage and ideals to die for his country, failed to bring a better life to everyone.

It was only then that Winnie realized that she might be in a period of history that was destined to be recorded in the annals of time.

Winnie concluded by saying, "I wish you the best of luck in surviving."

"Thank you for your kind words, I'm leaving now."

boom!
Milton closed the car door and drove off with Flora's team.

"..."...

As dawn broke, sunlight streamed into a room at a luxury hotel in Quetzaltenango, illuminating the space.

Eric, a CIA agent posing as a USAID agricultural consultant, was sitting on his bed, leisurely washing up.

He was in a good mood.

The original plan was to take a risk and try to launch a surprise attack on Milton's command post at the front, but Milton actually returned to headquarters!

Berlente was no greenhorn; he had carried out countless dangerous and difficult missions, and taking down Milton was a piece of cake for him.

After getting dressed, Eric got out of bed and went to the small canteen in the hotel that was specially set up for these high-ranking officials. While eating, he asked his subordinates to bring him his mobile phone.

Even at the base, at headquarters, and in the hotel, Eric preferred to use a specially made mobile phone.

It wasn't just a matter of personal habits; the phone, specially customized for CIA agents, underwent various encryption processes.

Soon, a full English breakfast and a telephone were brought over.

Eric ate ​​half a bite of bacon, picked up the phone, and dialed the front lines—the SAD team had passed through here yesterday, and he could call them now to confirm the results.

If Berlente could capture Milton alive, that would be ideal. Eric would definitely show this ungrateful bastard what happens when you offend the CIA.

Milton should experience every single method he has ever used, and then die in excruciating pain!

Eric couldn't wait.

The call was answered quickly: "Hello?"

Eric slowly began to speak: "It's me."

"Oh...yes, it's you!" The commander on the other end clearly recognized the CIA agent and quickly switched to a fawning tone. "What can I do for you?"

Eric frowned immediately: "What is it? Don't you have anything to report to me?"

"Huh??" The commander on the other end was even more bewildered. "Report? Oh, oh, oh, our frontline battle is going very smoothly. We've made quite a bit of progress, and we'll be able to cross the river in at most three days. Victory is ours!"

"Get out!!!" Eric finally snapped. "Who the hell wants to listen to your nonsense? Call 'Flying Cat' over here, I'll talk to him directly."

The army of that stupid, cesspool country has absolutely nothing to do with how many people die wherever it goes.

Die and that's it.

"Flying Cat" was Berlente's code name.

To everyone's surprise, the commander on the other end was even more bewildered after the question was asked: "You mean... oh, but he hasn't come back yet? Why don't you wait a little longer, and I'll call you when he gets back?"

Eric was almost dumbfounded: "What do you mean they haven't returned? When did they leave?"

"Around 1 a.m.?"

"It's already morning! It's already morning! Why haven't they come back yet?" Eric roared, drawing stares from several of his colleagues. "They should have been back a long time ago!"

The commander on the other end of the line looked bewildered: "I don't know either. Why haven't they come back?"

"You fucking bastard, you're asking me?! You actually asked me?!" Eric finally snapped and burst into a tirade. "You can contact the helicopter, right? Didn't you maintain contact with them? Why didn't you call me if you couldn't reach me?!"

“No,” the commander said matter-of-factly and confidently. “We don’t have the authority to command your people, do we? What if your people were carrying out some important mission at the time and we disturbed them? We’ve always been the ones making contact passively.”

Eric was going crazy: "Stop waiting, go contact them right now!"

After such a long time, the helicopter must have run out of fuel long ago, and it still hasn't returned. It can't possibly refuel in the small town of Milton, can it?!
Communicating with the commander of this shithole country is fucking painful.

"Oh, okay, please wait a moment..."

Snapped!
Eric was so angry that he hung up the phone immediately.

At this moment, a sense of fear finally surfaced in his mind—an entire SAD team, two Black Hawk helicopters, flew towards Malakan town, and then just vanished into thin air?
What exactly happened? How is the mission going? What happened to the Berent team?
Can it be solved?

“No.” Eric felt he shouldn’t just sit and wait to die. SAD must have encountered an unexpected situation and lost communication with the outside world, but that didn’t mean they were all dead.

Perhaps they are still struggling and waiting for reinforcements.

Only a few hours have passed since the operation began. Given SAD's capabilities and the fighting strength of this cesspool nation's army, they should not have been wiped out in such a short time.

"Reinforcements must be sent immediately."

Eric had just stood up when the news anchor on TV, who was broadcasting the morning news, suddenly changed his expression and stopped broadcasting the current news.

She seemed to be listening to something in her headphones.

Three seconds later, the host said seriously, "We now have an urgent news segment."

"A serious and serious incident occurred in the town of Malacan, in the border region of San Marcos province, between 3 and 4 a.m. today."

"According to information obtained by local journalists, in retaliation for the losses in Tapachula, Gulf Cartel drug traffickers who smuggled themselves from Mexico have planned a shocking terrorist attack in the area."

“Drug traffickers engaged in a fierce gun battle with local law enforcement, and the traffickers used a large-yield explosive device to directly level the local tax office... According to current statistics, at least 13 people have died, at least 10 people have been seriously injured, and 30 people have been slightly injured.”

"..."

Eric turned his head in surprise and looked at the television screen.

No, the tax bureau was razed to the ground?!

Gulf Group?

What are all these things? These strange elements weren't even in the plan, were they?
Does this mean that SAD team's mission was ultimately successful, but they encountered a minor problem on the return trip?
However, Eric's gaze froze completely when he saw the image on the television screen.

Even after being hit by a missile and enduring the shockwave of a 500kg bomb, Eric could barely recognize the pile of Black Hawk wreckage a little further away from the tax office.

And the corpses scattered on the ground.

The host continued, "Local law enforcement specifically expressed their gratitude to the DEA. They were reportedly conducting a drug raid with DEA ​​officials when the raid occurred. The DEA handled numerous crises during the raid and was key to the town's safe passage through the attack."

"Local authorities are investigating more details of the case, and there are reportedly still many unanswered questions surrounding this incident."

"Please stay tuned for further reports from our reporters..."

"Next up is the weather forecast..."

There are so many suspicious points in this broadcast—for example, it didn't mention anything about the CIA at all, but the footage showed the Black Hawk crashing and the bodies scattered all over the ground without any hesitation!
Eric nearly fainted: "They're all... all dead! In just a few hours, an entire SAD unit was wiped out?"

"And, DEA?!"

What are they planning?

Although the number of deaths was not large, the losses of this level were simply beyond the capacity of an official like Eric to handle!
If the higher-ups find out this, they'll absolutely go crazy!

Finished!

Given the close relationship between the DEA and CIA, they will definitely make a big deal out of this, and may even directly link the two together through this incident.

The CIA collaborated with drug traffickers to carry out a terrorist attack, but was subsequently eliminated by the local government and the federal drug enforcement agency. When this news reached the United States, he, as the local CIA director... felt like his world had collapsed!

It's still a crucial time for the midterm elections, and the ruling Democratic Party is already significantly behind the Republican Party in the polls...

At this time, nearly 20 stars will be hung on the wall of honor!

Damn it, if the ruling party loses the midterm elections, I'll definitely be the scapegoat!

Milton is a madman! This was definitely not done by those cowards in the DEA, it was Milton who did it. He went on a killing spree against the CIA, killing more than a dozen people, and yet he managed to absolve himself of all responsibility!

What a clever way to shift the blame.

Insidious, cunning, and insane!

Jingle Bell……

The mobile phone rang.

Eric grabbed the phone like a madman: "No need to report anymore, you good-for-nothing..."

The voice on the other end was calm: "This is Lopez. The situation is critical, and I need a definite answer—can you still help?"

At this moment, Lopez finally understood what it meant to be isolated and helpless, and what Milton was truly terrifying.

Milton, bit by bit, like slowly boiling a frog, gradually chipped away at Lopez's wings.

By the time he realized it, it was too late.

Looking around, they couldn't even find a single reliable ally.

“Lopez…” Eric sighed, “Don’t contact me lately. You’ve seen the news, haven’t you? I’m in a lot of trouble lately. You’ll have to rely on yourself.”

Lopez's voice remained calm, as if he had expected this answer: "I understand."

Eric steadied his trembling wrists and asked, "What do you plan to do next? Retreat temporarily? Preserve yourself?"

Lopez said, "I have something Milton doesn't."

"What is it?"

"Money...and I can also do you a favor, a very big favor. Just give me the money."

Eric had lost his previous arrogant attitude. After thinking for a while, he tentatively asked, "What kind of help?"

(End of this chapter)