Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1842 - 801: Happy New Year!!!_6

Capítulo 1842: Chapter 801: Happy New Year!!!_6

“RPG-7, AT4, AK-74, communication jamming equipment,” Graham listed one by one, “These are not things you can get from an ordinary black market. There are countries supporting you. Mexico? Libya? Or that group of Madmen from the Phoenix Society?”

“You guess.” 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

“I am negotiating seriously, Mr. Calum McDonald. If there is national support behind you, it changes everything. It’s no longer an internal conflict, but an attack on UK sovereignty by foreign forces. We could invoke NATO’s Article 5 to involve the entire Alliance.”

The threat was stark and blatant.

But Calum McDonald laughed, “Then you should go ahead and invoke it. Let the Americans come to Scotland to suppress the uprising, let the Germans and French see how you deal with people demanding independence. What a grand international image, right?”

Graham’s face darkened.

The negotiation was at an impasse.

Just then, Graham’s phone vibrated. He glanced at it, his expression shifting slightly.

“I need to take a call.” He got up and walked to the window, speaking in a low voice.

Two minutes later, Graham returned, his face extremely grim, “Just now, an army camp on the outskirts of Inverness was attacked. Rocket attack, two soldiers dead, seven injured. The attacker claimed to be the ‘Second Battalion of the True Scottish Freedom Army.’

Calum McDonald was stunned, “Those aren’t our men.”

“Aren’t they?”

Graham stared at him, “What a coincidence. While we’re negotiating, another ‘True Scottish Freedom Army’ is acting elsewhere. It seems you’re not unified internally, or… have other factions usurped you?”

Calum McDonald’s mind raced.

Second Battalion? They only had one team, where did a second battalion come from?

Unless…

“Someone is impersonating us,” he realized, “They want the negotiation to fail, and the war to escalate.”

“Who?” Graham pressed, “Your ‘allies’? Or do your ‘sponsors’ think the negotiations are progressing too slowly and decided to fan the flames?”

Calum McDonald didn’t answer. He realized he was caught in the middle: London wanted to calm the situation quickly, but the sponsors behind him wanted greater chaos.

And he and his brothers were just pawns on the chessboard.

“Negotiations are paused.” Graham stood up, “Once you’ve unified internally, or once we’ve eliminated all the rebels, we can talk again. But remember, from now on, every soldier that dies decreases the survival chances of your captives by one degree.”

He walked towards the door, then turned back, “By the way, Mr. Calum McDonald, please tell your McTavish behind-the-scenes: you might feel you’re fighting for Scotland, but in some’s eyes, you’re just a dispensable tool. Think of Duncan, think of Calum, think of the soldiers who died in Inverness today. Who truly profits? Is it you? Or those hiding in the shadows, never showing their faces?”

The door closed.

…

Same day, late night, Mexico City, National Security Council.

Victor clenched a cigarette between his teeth.

“Who carried out the Inverness attack?” he asked.

Admiral Kitchener brought up the report, “Not our people. Reinhardt confirmed that all Hydra groups in Europe are on standby and received no action orders.”

“Phoenix Society?”

“Possible. Or… it was the British themselves.”

Everyone in the room looked at him.

Kitchener explained, “False flag operation. It’s a tactic their intelligence agencies often use historically, pretending to be the enemy to launch attacks, creating excuses to escalate military actions. The timing of the Inverness attack was too coincidental, right during negotiations. Moreover, according to onsite reports, the attackers used the same weapons as the A9 Road, but the tactics were much cruder, more like a staged performance to leave evidence.”

“They want to prove that ‘rebels are untrustworthy’, thus abandoning negotiations and going all out,” Casare interjected, “Then they can legitimately suppress, even declare a state of emergency in Scotland, suspending the autonomous government.”

Victor walked to the map, “If the UK fully suppresses, how long can the Scottish rebels last?”

“With current equipment and manpower, at most two weeks,” Kitchener stated matter-of-factly, “But if… we offer more support?”

“What level of support?”

“Anti-air missiles, like Stingers. Anti-tank missiles, like Milans. Plus another batch of AKs and ammunition. With these, they can split into small units, fight guerrilla warfare, and drag the British army into prolonged attrition. Just like Afghanistan versus the Soviet Union.”

Victor pondered.

“And the risk?” Bramo asked, “If the weapons are traced back to us…”

“Through a third country,” Kitchener said, “Things are chaotic there now, arms depot management is virtually non-existent. We’ll fund it; the local warlords will supply and ship via civilian vessels to the West Coast of Scotland. Even if intercepted, the trail will lead only to Ukraine at most.”

“The British won’t believe it.”

“They don’t need to believe, they just need to suspect,” Victor finally spoke, “Suspicion is enough. Suspicion leads to overreaction; overreaction heightens tensions. The more festering Scotland’s wound becomes, the weaker the UK gets.”

He turned, “Approve the ‘Highland Assistance’ second phase. Provide Stingers and Milans, don’t be stingy, proxy wars are built on foundations!”

“What about McTavish’s side?” Casare asked, “Reinhardt reports the negotiations collapsed.”

“Tell him new weapons are on their way. But this time, there are conditions: they must publicly declare ‘all foreign powers to respect the self-determination rights of the Scottish people,’ particularly criticizing ‘the UK’s colonial actions in North America and other regions.’ We must tie the Scottish issue to our international narrative.”

“Will he agree?”

“He has no choice.”

Either carry on fighting with the weapons we provide, or get wiped out by the British. Once revolutionaries pick up a gun, they can never put it down. This is Truth.”

“And,” Victor added one last thing, “Notify our contacts in the United Nations to prepare a report on ‘UK human rights violations in Scotland.’ No need for conclusive evidence—a few photos and witness statements will suffice. Bring it up in the Security Council; even if vetoed, it can create public pressure.”

“This is a full-scale offensive,” Bramo marveled.

“War is never confined to the battlefield,”

Victor sat down, “Public opinion, diplomacy, economy, intelligence… every link is a battlefield. The UK used to excel at this game; now it’s our turn.”

He looked at the world clock on the wall.

London Time, January 1, 1997, zero hour three minutes.

New Year had arrived.

“Happy New Year, gentlemen.” Victor raised his glass, “Here’s to us in the new year… spilling more of the Old Empire’s blood.”

In the room, glasses clinked softly.

Outside the window, the night sky over Mexico City lit up with fireworks.

And six thousand kilometers away in the Scottish Highlands, McTavish looked at the encrypted message just received on his satellite phone:

“New Year’s gift has shipped. Expected arrival within seven days. P.S.: True freedom costs, and the price is always blood. Good luck. —Your unnamed friend.”

He deleted the message and stepped out of the cabin.

The snow had stopped; the night sky was clear, and the Milky Way stretched across the heavens.

In the distance, in the direction of Inverness, faint firelight lit up the horizon.

The war had just begun.

…