Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 50 Can't I collect the tax at the checkpoint?

Because of the intense gunfire, the road conditions in the town were exceptionally good; the convoy could reach the black market in seven or eight minutes at most.

Milton had been monitoring Brandon's vital signs.

"Boss... Ugh, I... I can't feel my legs anymore. Do I need to have them amputated? If I have to have them amputated, will you fire me?"

“That’s because I used a tourniquet, and there was no blood supply, so of course you didn’t feel anything,” Milton said. “First of all, your leg is still there; secondly, even if you are disabled, I will transfer you to an administrative position, I won’t fire you.”

"..."

While chatting, Milton was also looking at Brandon's lips and nail beds, mentally counting his breathing rate.

The more Milton counted Brandon's breathing, the more alarmed he became.

My breathing rate is only 8 times per minute now...

No, only 6 times!
This is extreme difficulty breathing!
The lips and nail beds were noticeably bluish-purple, and the heart rate was severely irregular...

Warning signs of impending cardiac arrest!
"He's about to have cardiac arrest!" Milton suddenly looked up and slammed his hand on Flora's chair. "'Bottle,' get me the adrenaline from the glove box!"

I never expected that the adrenaline injector I redeemed from the panel would actually come in handy today.

Adrenaline can enhance myocardial contractility, increase coronary perfusion pressure, and increase the likelihood of spontaneous circulation recovery by stimulating two types of adrenaline receptors.

The side effect is that it increases myocardial oxygen consumption and aggravates hypoxia in the whole body tissues—in other words, it is equivalent to draining the last bit of the body's function, which is like drinking poison to quench thirst.

But there's no time to worry about that now; there's no way to perform CPR on Brandon in the car!
If he suffered cardiac arrest in the car, he would really be dead!

“Lutz, drive carefully.” Milton took the adrenaline syringe and lifted Brandon’s shirt. “Intravenous injection, 1mg, every 3 minutes.”

The adrenaline took effect in almost 5 seconds, and Brandon, who was previously only able to exhale and not inhale, immediately stabilized his condition.

Brandon also felt his body begin to burst with strength and vitality, and he was a little surprised: "Boss... I, I think I'm feeling a little better?"

“This is not your power.” Milton glanced at his watch. “Lie still and don’t move.”

"Oh well."

Three minutes later, two SUVs sped onto the old street and stopped right in front of the illegal clinic.

The doors and windows of the illegal clinic were tightly closed, but the people in the car noticed some subtle noise coming from the living area on the second floor of the clinic.

someone!

“‘Bottles,’ you’ve blocked all possible escape routes for the doctor!”

"receive."

Milton gave Brandon another 1mg of adrenaline, got out of the car, pulled out his M29, and fired several shots directly at the lock of the illegal clinic.

Then he kicked the door open, walked into the clinic, and said to the second floor, "You have ten seconds to come down. The countdown starts now, ten."

"Nine……"

The doctor and his assistant, who were hiding upstairs at an illegal clinic, first scanned their possible escape routes and found that even the side windows were guarded. They had no choice but to go downstairs.

The doctor raised his hands, his tone full of helplessness: "Sigh, I knew it as soon as I heard the gunshot. As a matter of principle, I would not perform surgery on government personnel."

This makes many people worry that the clinic is colluding with the police, making them afraid to seek medical treatment.

Besides, officials can go to the town's private hospital for treatment; they don't need to come here.

“The principles are in my hands now.” Milton didn’t bother arguing with him. “My companion has been shot, his left femoral artery is ruptured, and he has an open pneumothorax. Can you do it?”

The doctor didn't dare say it couldn't be done, but still cautiously asked, "Um, well, you're the 'boss's' people, so we'll make an exception this time... The surgery can be done, but are you sure he's still alive?"

Any of these injuries can be fatal in a short time... If you're unlucky, you might be gone in 30 seconds.

Milton turned his head and ordered, "Bring Brandon in."

At the same time, Milton quickly glanced into the operating room... The equipment was barely complete, but the models were quite old, and even the one-way valve was a modified air pump.

Fortunately, the operating room looked very clean.

The doctor instructed two assistants to make the necessary preparations, and after disinfecting himself, he transferred Brandon to the operating table.

"Very professional first aid, otherwise the injured person would already be dead. Hmm... we should be able to save him. Let's give him a blood transfusion first. I happen to have some O-negative blood in reserve. It's very expensive, and it took me a lot of effort to buy it. Do you want to use it? I'm afraid the injured person will be dead by the time the blood type is tested."

Milton didn't even consider the cost: "Is it hygienic?"

The doctor smiled and said, "Cleaner than a newborn girl. Well, you can come in and take a look, but you must be disinfected first."

"Try to save his leg."

"it is good."

After saying that, the doctor and two assistants began the operation—anesthesia, blood transfusion, IV fluids, oxygen... everything proceeded smoothly.

The anesthesia equipment at this unlicensed clinic was extremely rudimentary, appearing to be an intermittent valve from the British company Oxford—a low-cost, mechanical anesthetic gas control valve that can only be manually adjusted to release anesthetic gas intermittently. This requires a very high level of skill from the doctor, otherwise respiratory depression or the tragedy of waking up during surgery may occur.

After quickly treating the pneumothorax, ensuring the airway was clear, and confirming that Brandon's blood pressure and heart rate were stable, the doctor looked at Brandon's left leg and examined it. "Hmm, the femoral artery is severed, and we can't find the vein... It must have been a secondary injury caused when you moved the injured person. I don't blame you; the situation was urgent, I know."

The blood vessel was completely severed?
Milton frowned upon hearing this... Could it be that Brandon's left leg really couldn't be saved?

The doctor pondered for a moment, then suddenly looked up and asked, "Um, 'Hell Tax Collector,' can you roughly estimate when his femoral artery completely ruptured?"

It should be when it's being loaded onto the truck.

Milton was in no mood to care about the signal and answered without hesitation, "Seven minutes, or eight minutes ago."

“Even if the mid-to-distal femoral artery is healed in eight minutes, it may have shrunk by 5 or 6 centimeters towards the groin.”

Without a moment's hesitation, the doctor, who had treated countless gunshot and blast wounds, picked up a scalpel, aimed it at the upper side of the gunshot wound, and made a new incision.

"found it!"

The doctor suddenly grabbed the vascular clamp, forcefully inserted it into the new wound, pulled out the constricted blood vessel, and began suturing.

The sounds of tools and flesh colliding were truly terrifying.

At this moment, the operating table was splattered with blood, resembling a slaughterhouse.

Milton watched as the doctor used polypropylene sutures to close the blood vessel, watched as the assistant loosened the tourniquet, and watched as the artery resumed blood flow. He finally breathed a sigh of relief.

After a period of surgery, the doctor's movements suddenly slowed down.

Milton immediately asked, "Was the surgery successful? Was the leg saved?"

The doctor didn't even look up, his tone somewhat grave: "Your leg is saved, and your life is probably saved too, but I can't guarantee anything else."

Milton gasped. "Why? Because of the infection?"

The doctor shook his head with a wry smile: "It's not an infection. I have broad-spectrum antibiotics here... The main problem is that the shrapnel in the lung is too thoroughly broken. I don't have any specialized equipment here, so I can only rely on a strong flashlight to shine on the wound and observe the reflection in the tissue to determine the location of the shrapnel. This way, there is a high chance that there will be residue after cleaning."

"Even if they survive, the long-term effects will be significant."

“I can handle most situations, but there are just too many shrapnel fragments in his lungs, so I can’t give you any absolute guarantee.”

There is no professional medical equipment...

Medical equipment shortage...

Milton was unusually clear-headed, and almost instantly he thought of the Van Companion truck that he had previously seized, which was full of medical supplies.

This truck is the source of the deep-seated hatred between him and Fan Kang's gang!

Milton clearly remembered that there was a portable X-ray imaging screen in the truck—made by VEB in East Germany. It was originally a tool used by the KGB to check whether prisoners had hidden anything inside their bodies. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, it was labeled as "medical equipment" and smuggled everywhere.

This thing is probably equipment used by Fan Kang's gang to smuggle drugs or even narcotics into people's bodies.

But with this X-ray imaging screen, the wound cleaning process can be safe and thorough!

A bold, yet highly feasible plan took shape in Milton's mind.

As mentioned in Horn's previous intelligence report, Station Chief Varta took most of his forces with him and went to Mexico to sign a contract with Raul, the leader of the Van Comant gang.

In other words, the checkpoint is now left with only a small number of the station chief's men and Maynard's faction!
Horn also said that Maynard wanted to negotiate with him, and Maynard would probably be very happy to see Varta's power suppressed and the cooperation between Varta and Van Cam's gang broken, so he would most likely remain neutral.

If Fan Kang's gang fails to retrieve the truck they so desperately want, the fragile cooperation and trust between the checkpoint chief and the gang leader will collapse in an instant.

In other words, if we can seize the truck, we can not only obtain a batch of medical supplies, but also sow discord between the checkpoint and Fan Kangbang!
It's done!

"Try to keep him alive as long as possible," Milton instructed the doctor. "I'll get you the equipment."

"Where are you going to do this in the middle of the night... You can't exactly rob a hospital, can you? I advise you not to go. After your last attack, their security has probably increased tenfold."

Milton ignored the doctor, turned and left the operating room, and went to the lobby.

Lutz rushed forward: "Boss, how's Brandon?"

“I’m alive for now,” Milton replied simply. “You stay at the clinic, I’m going to collect some taxes.”

Lutz was completely bewildered: "Huh? Tax? What tax?"

Is the "Hell Tax Collector" back at work again? Whose house will he be heading to this time with a machine gun to collect taxes? How many battles have they fought in just three days?
How can you find time to collect taxes while performing surgery?
“Corrupt officials at the checkpoint were trying to illegally sell the smuggled medical supplies that I personally seized,” Milton said calmly. “I’m going to issue them tickets.”

Lutz was stunned: "You, you wouldn't... be planning to steal Van Cameron's truck, would you?!"

It's crazy, but... it's also incredibly imaginative!

Milton stepped out of the clinic first and ordered, "'Bottle,' take your men and assemble at the Black Market. Go get the equipment... We've got work to do."

Flora scratched her head and sighed, "...It's only the first day of signing the contract, and there are already so many problems? Well, making big money isn't that easy. Anyway, we can't afford to pay the penalty for breach of contract."

"Let's go!"

(End of this chapter)