Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1770 - 787: Every Dog Has Its Path, Every Cat Has Its Way!
Capítulo 1770: Chapter 787: Every Dog Has Its Path, Every Cat Has Its Way!
Eastern border of Illinois, temporary settlement.
The smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of blood and scorched earth lingered in the evening chill.
In the makeshift medical tent, military doctors and nurses moved between simple beds, the clanging of forceps against metal trays, restrained groans, and occasional outbursts of crying intertwined.
Outside the tent, within the barbed wire enclosure, about 300 preliminarily screened refugees huddled under distributed thin blankets.
Most of them were elderly, women, and children, their eyes hollow as they watched the silhouettes of the Mexican soldiers patrolling, and further away, a dozen bodies covered with white sheets lay arranged by the dirt pit, awaiting unified burial at dawn.
Ludwig Becker stood in front of the command vehicle, smoking.
This Commander especially liked to take the lead!
Hmm…
Every leader has his own preferences, the bald one even likes playing the stock market.
“Seven camouflaged attackers, all dead.” The adjutant reported in a low voice, “Among them, three had old scars consistent with professional soldiers, two had calluses on their thumbs and index fingers from holding guns long-term. Ballistic analysis shows that they used well-maintained ‘Scorpion’ submachine guns and the bullets were from a batch from Eastern European arms factories in 1994.” 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺
“Czech-made.” Becker mumbled, “Czech Military Intelligence Agency (ÚZSI)? Or private arms dealers?”
“What’s more troublesome is this.”
The adjutant handed over a sealed bag, inside was a partially burnt but faintly recognizable metal badge, “Found in a lining of one attacker’s underwear. The technical department has done a preliminary processing, the pattern is… a double-headed eagle.”
Becker took the sealed bag, squinting at it against the car light. The edge of the badge had Latin abbreviations, but they were burned to the point of obscurity.
Double-headed eagle—the emblem of the Habsburg dynasty, later used by the Austro-Hungarian Empire, now serves as the mark of some Central European noble families and extreme Royalist Party organizations.
“Damn, it’s been decades, and there’s still these bugs! Austria? Or Hungarian relics?” Becker frowned.
Don’t think there are no Royalists now, hahahaha…
Even in the East there are quite a few people advocating for feudal society, those who don’t know might even think they lost back then.
“Officer, there’s something else.” The adjutant lowered his voice, “Among the refugees, a few young men behaved overly calm amid the chaos. When we questioned them separately, one inadvertently mentioned ‘the Stone Bridge Town incident won’t be in vain’. Stone Bridge Town, that’s the town where the massacre happened last week.”
Becker’s eyes became sharp, “Where are they?”
“Individually held in Tent 3 for interrogation. But he only said that one sentence, afterwards he insisted he was too frightened to talk realistically.”
“Take me there.”
Tent 3 for interrogation was brightly lit.
A brown-haired youth about twenty sat in a folding chair, his hands bound in front with plastic zip ties. He wore ripped jeans and a dirty plaid shirt, appearing no different from an ordinary refugee, but in his eyes was a poise beyond his years.
Becker pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, not speaking, only staring at him for a full minute. In the tent, only the low humming of the generator could be heard.
“Name.” Becker finally spoke, his voice calm.
“John… John Miller.” The youth replied, his Adam’s apple moved slightly.
“Where are you from?”
“Missouri, a small town west of Saint Louis…near Stone Bridge Town.”
“Stone Bridge Town.” Becker repeated, “Tell me what happened there.”
John’s eyes flickered briefly: “Soldiers killed people… Old Peter, and others, we were scared, so we ran away.”
“How did Old Peter die?”
“He was… was shot to death.”
“Who fired the shot?”
“The soldiers, those maintaining order…”
“What’s the soldier’s name? What unit? What rank?” Becker’s questions came one after another, the pace not quick, but extremely pressing.
John began to sweat: “I… I don’t know, it was chaotic then…”
“But you remember ‘the Stone Bridge Town incident won’t be in vain’.” Becker leaned forward, “This phrase, who told you it? When? Under what circumstances?”
The youth’s face turned pale: “I… I never said…”
“You said it.” Becker took out a small recorder from his pocket and pressed the play button. In the recording were fragments of a conversation between the adjutant and John, with background noise, but the phrase ‘the Stone Bridge Town incident won’t be in vain’ was clearly audible.
John bit his lower lip, his fingers unconsciously twisted together.
“John, or whatever your real name is.” Becker’s voice was lower, “Listen, outside thirty-seven civilians died, including six children under ten years old, my soldiers lost two and five injured. Now, evidence shows attackers might be hired by certain foreign forces, and you are linked with them.”
He paused, letting the words sink in: “Per Mexico’s Wartime Security Law and Illinois State’s martial law regulations, I can charge you with espionage and terrorism, transfer you to a military court. Do you know what that means?”
“I… I’m not a spy!” John finally broke down, his voice carrying a sob, “I just… I’m just the messenger!”
“What message? To whom?”
“I don’t know who the other party is! Really!” Tears rolled down the young man’s face, “I worked at a motel in Stone Bridge Town, three days ago, a man came to me, gave me a stack of cash, said as long as I mix into a group of refugees, near the border, if anyone asks me about the Stone Bridge Town incident, I should say ‘won’t be in vain’, he said… said it’s for justice, to make the world pay attention to our plight.”
