Chapter 1323: Chapter 641: Pretending to Be Sick Is the Best Way to Escape
BBC’s chief reporter Sarah Jones curled up in the corner of a relatively intact room on the second floor, her expensive business suit covered with dust and dried dark red bloodstains, making it impossible to discern its original color.
Her face was bloodless, her eyes empty, and her carefully styled hair clung messily to her sweaty forehead. Beside her were only two equally disheveled soldiers and a cameraman, who had been shot in the shoulder and was barely breathing. Their water had long since run out, and there was little ammunition left. The communication equipment was damaged in the initial chaos, leaving them completely disconnected from the outside world.
The atmosphere of despair was spreading.
From the street below came the sound of chaotic footsteps and rough shouting, in heavily accented Spanish from Medellin.
A soldier leaning against a gap by the window suddenly pulled back his head, his face pale as paper, gesturing for the others to remain silent and keep low.
Sarah Jones couldn’t help it and secretly crawled to another hole in the wall to peek outside.
She saw a dozen armed militants, dressed in a motley of clothes, some even just in vests, escorting three British soldiers with their hands tied behind their backs along a rubble-strewn street. The soldiers’ uniforms were torn; their faces were bruised and marked with blood, filled with fear and humiliation. They were clearly captured during the earlier chaos.
The militants leading them had cruel mockery and a near-mad excitement on their faces.
The emotions, driven insane by the Mexican soldiers, could now be vented.
They pushed and cursed the captives, while shadows of other militants seemed to flit behind the ruins of windows on either side of the street.
Suddenly, the bald, burly leader stopped, said something to the captives, and then swung his hand sharply.
The nearby militants, without any hesitation, raised their AK rifles and fired at the backs of the three captives!
“Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat!”
The sharp and deadly gunshots were strikingly loud on the deserted street!
The three British soldiers convulsed violently, falling forward onto the ground, blood quickly pooling beneath them. And that wasn’t the end. Like savages, the drug traffickers beheaded them and held up the heads as a grim display.
Sarah Jones clapped her hand over her mouth, her stomach churning, bile burning her throat.
The soldiers beside her gritted their teeth, jaws clenched, eyes bloodshot.
Inside the room, there was only the suffocating silence, and outside, a pervasive stench of death that was impossible to dispel. The BBC’s live broadcast signal had long been lost, making them an isolated island forgotten by the world.
“No… no… this can’t go on…” A trembling, sob-choked male voice broke out. It was the assistant cameraman, a young man, curled up in the corner, his eyes vacant and face streaked with tears and snot. The brutal execution scene had utterly shattered his tense nerves. “They… they’ll do that to us… they’ll… oh God… kill me! Please, kill me now!”
He suddenly grabbed the pant leg of the nearest soldier, his voice hoarse and desperate, “Give me a bullet! Please! Don’t let them capture me! Don’t let them…”
The soldier was startled by his sudden move, instinctively wanting to pull away, his face filled with pain and struggle. Who could guarantee they wouldn’t be the next one dragged out?
“Shut up!” Sarah Jones practically lunged over, using all her strength to slap the assistant twice across the face. The sharp sound was strikingly loud in the deathly still room. “Slap! Slap!” The assistant looked dumbfounded, his sobs abruptly stopping, looking fearfully at Sarah.
Breathing heavily, her face stained with dirt and tear marks, Sarah stared down at the assistant, also sweeping her gaze over the two soldiers with dim eyes: “Listen! Get a grip! Suicide? That’s cowardice! We’re the BBC! We represent Great Britain! The Ministry of Defense knows we’re here! They know! They won’t abandon us! Reinforcements… reinforcements will definitely come! Hang in there! Understand? Hang in there!”
She was scared too, but long accustomed to working on the front lines and in remote places, she was no pushover, breathing deeply to calm herself. In such times, the more nervous you were, the faster you died.
The assistant covered his face, still trembling, but some of the madness had left his eyes, leaving only empty fear.
The soldiers exchanged glances, tightening their grips on their guns, but the despair in their eyes hadn’t faded. Sarah’s words were like a fragile straw, barely supporting their precarious spirits in the storm.
London, British Ministry of Defense command center.
The atmosphere was heavy as lead.
British Defense Minister Malcolm Rifkind rubbed his throbbing temples, feeling his blood pressure soar. Medellin’s disastrous defeat was already global headlines, and the Allies’ retreat on the south line added insult to injury. Casualty numbers, equipment loss lists, and angry inquiry calls bombarded like hailstones. Worst of all, there were still people in Medellin who hadn’t broken out!
“Where’s the reinforcement? Do we have any fast-response units left in the Caribbean?” he asked the Chief of Staff hoarsely.
The Chief of Staff shook his head grimly: “Sir, the fastest available reserve units are still home-based, and it would take at least 48 hours to dispatch them to South America. The forces at the Caribbean base… aren’t sufficient to handle a conflict of Medellin’s intensity. We… currently have no mobile forces capable of intervening in Medellin city and carrying out a rescue mission in a short time. Moreover, the pressure on the south line has already drained all available air forces.”
Silence reigned in the command room.
This meant that those soldiers and journalists trapped in Medellin, at least for the foreseeable future, would have to rely on themselves or… leave it to fate.
At this moment, a slightly hesitant voice broke the silence. It belonged to a young officer from the Intelligence Analysis Department. He pushed up his glasses, seemingly mustering the courage to speak: “Sir… perhaps… perhaps we could consider another… unconventional approach?”
All eyes focused on him.
“What approach?” the Minister of Defense asked tiredly.
The young man swallowed, his voice small but like a bomb thrown into the command room: “Contact… negotiate with the main drug cartel in Medellin?”
Immediately, the command room was filled with suppressed gasps and intakes of breath. The Chief of Staff’s eyes widened as if hearing a fantastical tale.
“Negotiate? With those beasts who butcher our soldiers and sever heads?!” An officer couldn’t help but growl incredulously, his tone filled with anger.
The young officer’s face flushed red, but he spoke faster, trying to explain his ‘big brain’ idea: “It’s contact, unofficial, secret contact! Not for collaboration, but for… for exchange! We have some people they might want, or intelligence? Or… or just to ensure the temporary safety of our trapped personnel, to buy time to gather our forces? They’ve been entrenched for years, and know the city like the back of their hand. If we could get them to temporarily spare our trapped people…”
He didn’t finish, but his meaning was clear enough.
Defense Minister Ercom Rifkind leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
The fatigue swept over him like a tidal wave, negotiating with drug traffickers?
It was political suicide, a desecration of fallen soldiers!
If it leaked, the entire government would be torn apart by an enraged public.
But if they didn’t negotiate…
Then go talk to the Mexicans!
Damn!
This was setting him up to take the fall!
Malcolm Rifkind remained silent, feeling utterly drained, now even questioning whether his decision to go to Latin America was correct. The direction was right, but the stride was too large.
The aides were all staring at him, their gazes making him wish he could find a hole to crawl into.
Damn it, he suddenly closed his eyes, and in the shocked eyes of everyone, he fell backward, beginning to convulse.
Everyone was stunned…
Chaos erupted instantly, with chickens flying and dogs jumping! Pandemonium ensued!
…