Chapter 2132 - 865: I Told You, You’d Love This Feeling! (Part 2)

"Get me through to the 'Feathered Serpent Temple.'

The phone rang once and was answered. It was Victor's voice, very calm.

"Carlos."

"Leader, the Squid Men have agreed. All three terms agreed."

Victor was silent for three seconds. "Good. Tell Colonel Morales to prepare. Once the Americans are done talking, the Mexican Army will move in."

Morales hesitated for a moment. "Leader, we're really dispatching the Army?"

"The Army."

Victor's voice was firm, "1st Armored Brigade, 2nd Mechanized Brigade, 3rd Special Forces Battalion. Inform the Squid Men that Mexico is not here for sightseeing. Inform the Americans that Mexico is not here looking for a bargain. Inform everyone—"

He paused.

"Inform everyone that from today onwards, Mexico has a stake in Middle Eastern affairs."

8 a.m., Golan Heights, the eastern shore of Lake Tiberias, Syrian Army 5th Division position.

Brigadier General Hassan stood by the lake, watching the American transport planes landing opposite. C-17, C-130, C-5—one after another, like a flock of giant gray birds, landing on the makeshift airstrip on the western shore of Lake Tiberias.

Every landing disgorged a hundred fully armed American paratroopers. Tanks, armored vehicles, artillery, missiles—flowing out like water from the belly of the planes, forming neat rows by the lake.

The aide standing beside him was pale.

"General, the Americans have arrived."

Hassan nodded. "I see."

"What do we do?"

Hassan didn't answer. He watched the assembling American soldiers, the forming tank columns, and the armed helicopters taking off. Then he turned around, looking eastward from where he came. Damascus was still there. Syria was still there.

"Wait for orders," he said.

9 a.m., Damascus, Syrian Ministry of Defense.

Hafez Assad watched the real-time satellite imagery. On the Golan Heights, the American forces had already exceeded a division. Tanks, armored vehicles, helicopters, artillery—all the latest models. His generals stood behind him, no one dared to speak.

The Minister of Defense finally spoke up. "Mr. President, should we…still fight?"

Assad did not turn around. He watched the screen with the expanding American flags. "No more fighting."

The Minister of Defense was stunned. "Mr. President, Lake Tiberias—"

"Lake Tiberias is still there," Assad interrupted him, "The Syrians will return. But not now."

He turned around, looking at the generals. "Tell Hassan to hold the current positions. No attack, no retreat. When the Americans come, tell them—we're willing to talk."

10 a.m., Cairo, Egyptian Ministry of Defense.

Foad II stood at the sandbox, watching the blue flags representing the American 82nd Airborne Division being planted one after another on the Sinai Peninsula map. The Sinai Peninsula, the Egyptian conquered Sinai Peninsula, was turning into the American's Sinai Peninsula.

The Minister of Defense stood beside him, his face ashen.

"Your Majesty, the Americans—"

"I know," Foad II interrupted him.

He picked up the newly arrived intelligence from Cairo. The report stated: the American 82nd Airborne Division controls the main transport hubs of Sinai Peninsula, establishing a no-fly zone. Egyptian Air Force all aircraft, without U.S. Military permission, are not allowed to take off.

He put down the report. Then he turned around, looking at the Egyptian map hanging on the wall.

"Tell the troops," he said, "hold the current positions. When the Americans come, tell them—Egypt is willing to talk."

11 a.m., Washington D.C., White House.

The President sat in the Oval Office with two reports spread out before him. First: U.S. Military has control over Golan Heights and Sinai Peninsula, the Squid crisis temporarily defused. Second: Mexican 1st Armored Brigade, 2nd Mechanized Brigade, 3rd Special Forces Battalion, are at highest combat readiness, destination—Middle East.

The Chief of Staff stood before him, looking gloomier than the overcast sky outside.

"Mr. President, the Mexicans are insane. They're really sending the Army to the Middle East?"

The President did not respond. He looked at the name on the second report—Victor Reyes. Then he chuckled. A bitter laugh.

"Tell the Department of Defense," he said, "Don't block the Mexicans. Let them go. Let them go to the Golan Heights, let them go for peacekeeping, let them go deal with the Syrians, Iranians, Turks, Russians."

He paused.

"When they start fighting, we'll wrap things up."

12 p.m., Mexico City, top floor of the "Feathered Serpent Temple."

Victor stood at the window, looking at the traffic on Paseo de la Reforma outside. Bramo stood behind him.

"The 1st Armored Brigade has departed from the Chiapas base, expected to reach Haifa Port in forty-eight hours. The 2nd Mechanized Brigade is loading at Campeche, departing in seventy-two hours. The 3rd Special Forces Battalion has pre-air dropped into the Golan Heights, establishing contact with the Squid Defense Army."

Victor nodded. "Tell the brothers of the 3rd Battalion to do three things when they reach the Golan Heights. First, find the pilot who bombed our embassy. Second, find Colonel Morales who held the camp at Sinai Peninsula for five days. Third—"

He paused.

"Third, find the grave of the Squid Sergeant who fired his last round at the shores of Lake Tiberias. Lay a wreath on behalf of Mexico."

Bramo was stunned. "Victor, that was a Squid Man—"

"That was a soldier," Victor interrupted, "Soldiers transcend nationality."

He turned back, walked to his desk, and picked up the intelligence on the U.S. Congress passed military intervention ballot. "Tell Bennett, track the flow of those three hundred checks from AIPAC. Each one, which account they came from, through which channels, and into whose pocket they ended."

"That's our leverage with the Americans."

"Once our people stand firm on the Golan Heights and Sinai Peninsula, show these to the Americans. Tell them, it's not only Jewish money that works. Mexican fists work too."

2 p.m., Golan Heights, western shore of Lake Tiberias, temporary command post of the U.S. Military's 101st Airborne Division.

Major General James Vaughn stood at the sandbox, looking at the red arrows representing the Syrian Army's 5th Division. Eastern shore of Lake Tiberias, the Syrians were still there. No attack, no retreat, just squatting there, like a group of vultures waiting to pick bones.

The intelligence officer ran over. "General, the Mexican advance units have arrived. 3rd Special Forces Battalion, three hundred strong, have just dropped north of Tiberias City."

Vaughn's brows furrowed. "Mexicans? What are they here for?"

The intelligence officer passed a telegram. "Just sent from Squid Prime Minister's Office. They say, the Mexicans were invited by the Squid Government to participate in peacekeeping in the Golan Heights."

Vaughn took the telegram, glanced at it "To hell with it."

…

May 8th, Mexico City, Paseo de la Reforma.

Victor stood at the window, watching the parade outside. Not a protest, but a celebration.

He drew the curtains, walked back to his desk, and sat down. Bramo stood before him, holding a report just sent from the Golan Heights.

"The 1st Armored Brigade has completed deployment. The 2nd Mechanized Brigade is establishing a peacekeeping camp in Sinai Peninsula. The 3rd Special Forces Battalion—awarded a valor medal by the Squid Government."

Victor nodded. "Tell Major Sanchez, we are not in the Middle East to be heroes. We are there to be policemen. The implication of a policemen is to make everyone feel you are fair."

He paused. "Do the Syrians feel we're fair?"

Victor laughed.

"Tell Brigadier General Hassan, Mexicans may not excel at war, but we're good at peacekeeping. When he sits at the negotiation table with the Squid Men, he'll realize."

"Only through negotiations can we attain more benefits, the Middle East, cannot just belong to YSL, nor can it solely belong to Israel!"

…