Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 452 - 309: Well done, appointing you as Mexico’s number one Baturu?!_2

"Don’t point at me, you bastard!"

Suddenly, Richard Bruce Cheney stood up and pushed away the other’s finger, glaring, "Is this how your parents taught you to behave?"

"Whatever I say, you all think I’m exaggerating, so why did you make me the Defense Minister? I’m fed up, fuck it, I’m resigning right now. You might as well put a dog in this position."

He pushed away the Army Chief of Staff, who was stunned by the insult, kicked over a chair, and left the office with a dark expression on his face.

He had realized that he couldn’t hold the position of Defense Minister at The Pentagon for long, someone had to be blamed for failures, and since he wasn’t one of Old Bush’s relatives, he was always going to be pushed out.

Better to leave on his own than to be discarded.

Watching the "driven mad" Richard, General Carl Vorno opened his mouth and finally angrily dropped, "Can’t the United States find another Defense Minister?!"

November 15, 1990.

The Pentagon announced that Richard Bruce Cheney, due to health reasons, had stepped down from his position as Defense Minister, and the Army Chief of Staff, General Carl Vorno, had taken over.

Meanwhile, a negotiation team led by Donald Rumsfeld arrived at Tijuana International Airport.

A Northern Army ceremonial battalion was lined up to welcome them.

A red carpet had also been laid out on the ground.

The high-ranking officers of the Northern Army were all present to greet them.

The battlefield was a bargaining chip, and diplomacy was the outcome of negotiations.

Victor was in a neat military uniform, decorated with medals.

"He looks like a peacock vying for attention," grumbled a U.S. Military escort standing behind Rumsfeld.

"Shut up!"

The old defense minister rebuked, "If you want to be dragged out and killed by him, go ahead and say so, but don’t drag us into it."

The rebuked escort bowed his head, not daring to say more.

As Donald Rumsfeld stepped off the plane, he walked down expressionlessly and formally extended his hand to shake with Victor.

Photographers nearby started snapping pictures rapidly.

"Welcome, Mr. Rumsfeld," Victor said with a smile, slightly stepping aside and making a gesture for him to review the ceremonial battalion.

The old man inhaled deeply, walked over the red carpet as per the protocol, planning to just glance over, but as soon as he walked past, the leading captain saluted, "Long live Victor!"

Hundreds of ceremonial troops chanted in unison.

The accompanying American officials all looked very uncomfortable, as such a show of power was rare in international relations since basic respect was still expected.

Although Rumsfeld’s expression remained calm, his eyes were nearly shooting fire, and as he walked with stiff legs, the scalp behind his forehead was itching.

A group of people got into a car and headed to the Governor’s Mansion.

Along the road, there were people waving the Mexican flag and portraits of Victor cheering at the motorcade, and some were burning the American flag!

"Anti-American sentiment in Mexico is brewing," Rumsfeld observed the scene outside, his mood heavy, and said to his secretary next to him, "Either completely annihilate Victor’s government or completely avoid opposing him, my intuition tells me, we are the ones who will suffer."

The secretary looked at him in shock.

Rumsfeld was known as a member of the Hawk Faction, and for such a person to speak in such a "cowardly" manner was evidently a genuine reflection of his thoughts.

"Our elites are not ready to engage in hand-to-hand combat with savages in North America."

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The motorcade entered the city, and the crowds became more tumultuous.

On rooftops, in trees, even on telephone poles, people could be seen holding pictures of Victor and cheering, necessitating the use of police to start dispersing the crowd.

After driving for over half an hour, they arrived at the Governor’s Mansion.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, the crowd outside began to chant.

"Murderers! America is a murderer!"

Rumsfeld, indifferent, walked side by side with Victor into the building.

Inside, without any reporters present, the two sides held a private conversation.

Once the door was closed, Rumsfeld looked around and said directly, "Your performance was really unexpected, but, Victor, the U.S. doesn’t just have 200 soldiers."

Victor smiled, moved the ashtray on the table aside, "How many are you planning to send to their deaths? Five thousand? Ten thousand? Or even a hundred thousand? Perhaps you’re right, but I guarantee, by the time you amass your army, your Washington will be in ruins."

"I swear on Victor’s name!"

Rumsfeld looked at the expression on his face and could feel that his words were true, he really dared to do so.

Both sides were confrontational, and the atmosphere suddenly dropped to freezing.

"Stop talking nonsense, I know what you want, U.S. prisoners and bodies are no problem, I can give them to you, but you only need to agree to the following terms," Victor nodded towards Kennedy, who handed over a prepared document.

Rumsfeld and others unfolded their paperwork, and Victor’s voice echoed in the room.

"First, admit that this was an invasion and pay reparations of 3.5 billion US dollars!"

"Impossible!" Rumsfeld had not spoken yet, when a colonel behind him burst out furiously, "Reparations? Americans have never paid reparations! Not during World War I, not during World War II, not to Germany, not to the Soviet Union, and certainly not to Mexico!"

"Oh? What about Cuba? The Kennedy administration paid them 62 million Pesos in medicines and baby food. You have already made reparations, so what are you pretending for? Pretending to be a pure, innocent boy? Do not agree? If you do not agree, then let us go to war, damn it! Chop up the corpses and feed them to the dogs!" Rudendorf pointed at them and cursed vehemently.

The ultimate trash-talk, enjoying life to the fullest.

Kennedy and Horatio Herbert Kitchener beside him all watched him with "satisfaction."

Well done, little Rudendorf, don’t let us down!

Take down these Yanks!

Crown him the First Baturu of Mexico???

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Faced with such a tirade, the Americans too were riled up and stood up.

In the entire venue, only Victor and Rumsfeld were still sitting across from each other.

Rumsfeld gestured with his hand for calm and lifted his head to look at Victor, signaling him to continue.

"Second, ensure the safe return of the Mexican Expeditionary Force to Mexico!"

That demand was unproblematic.

"Third, acknowledge the legitimacy of the Northern Government’s drug prohibition and also, pay the United Nations Drug Control Agency 2 million US dollars annually for 20 years."

"Fourth…"

"Fifth…"

…

"Eighth: Severely punish war criminals! We demand that Defense Minister Richard Bruce Cheney, the Army Chief of Staff, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, LeBron Andre, be tried for war crimes and remove CIA’s Richard James Curl from office."

Rumsfeld was fine with the previous points, but upon hearing this one, his expression visibly darkened.

"That’s America’s affair, Victor."

"No, this is the compromise of the defeated."

"America has not been defeated."

"Then do you still want to fight?" Victor smirked, leaving Rumsfeld unable to respond as he took a deep breath, "You should know, from a standpoint of power, America can crush you."

"Power? Then bring it on. Let’s meet on the battlefield. My Northern Army of a hundred thousand, from me, Victor, down to the private, is ready to sacrifice for our country at any moment." Victor stood up abruptly, towering over Rumsfeld, "What doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger. Our enemies, either get killed or die together with us."

He said this as he pulled out a hand grenade?!

Rumsfeld truly panicked now, hastily retreating.

Who the hell brings a hand grenade to a negotiation?

Victor looked at him, finger on the pin, his face showing madness.

"Tell me, great former US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, are you ready now, at this moment, to be prepared to die together with me? Does your military honor compel you to stake your life?"

Madman!

Damn it, this is a madman!

Rumsfeld’s Adam’s apple bobbed, sweat beginning to appear, and some of the less sturdy Americans behind him started collapsing to the ground.

Who isn’t afraid of death?

They still have great benefits to enjoy back home, how could they die here?

They are the elite!

Wars should be left to the peasants!

Victor watched them, their fearful expressions earning his disdain, deeply provoking the "gentleman" Rumsfeld, but he… really did not dare to make a move, he too was afraid of dying.

Most importantly, Old Bush had promised him that if he succeeded in this mission, he would return to government service, a second spring.

He couldn’t die!

"We… we can talk."

Victor reinserted the safety pin in the grenade, looked at them, smiled, and said a phrase that had been widely circulated in the world.

"Americans are all paper tigers!"

...