roccoschili Chapter 7 Kicked a Steel Plate
Chapter 7 Kicked a Steel Plate
The refinery was in complete chaos.
Bassim ordered his men to smash the valves of the oil pipeline. The sheet metal was banged loudly by the wooden sticks, and several workers who tried to stop them were pushed to the ground.
Wells dialed the police station with trembling fingers, though he knew it wouldn't do any good.
Barthim noticed this but showed no concern. Instead, he shouted to his men, "Keep smashing! Let them know that our territory isn't ruled by the British!"
He was arrogant and, wielding a stick with both hands, casually knocked the workers' supplies off the table.
Just as I was feeling smug, the sound of a car engine approached from afar.
Bassim was taken aback. These didn't look like police cars; they arrived too quickly, and the police wouldn't have this many cars.
Amidst the confusion, a piercing whistle and English commands came from outside the factory, followed by synchronized footsteps and the crisp sound of guns being cocked.
The smile on Bassim's face gradually disappeared.
The army has arrived, and quite a large number of them!
Looking back, I saw more than a hundred British soldiers rushing into the factory area with rifles in hand, their guns all pointed at the thugs inside.
Major Gray strode at the front, his face beneath his mustache as cold and hard as iron.
"Everyone, drop your weapons, cover your heads, and crouch down!"
"Or be executed on the spot!"
"This is no joke..."
Barshim, trying to appear calm, explained in English, "Sir, we're just protesting the pollution..."
Before he could finish speaking, a rifle butt slammed into the very center of his nose.
Bassim let out a scream as blood gushed from his nose, mixed with acid, and tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.
British soldiers swarmed forward and held guns to the armed rogue.
The thugs, who had been so arrogant just moments before, were instantly terrified. They became as docile as lambs, dropping their weapons and crouching under the gun barrels, trembling with fear.
Bassim tried to resist, but as soon as he raised his head, two rifles were pressed against his forehead, followed by a gun butt hitting his stomach. The pain made him bend over and almost vomit up his dinner from the night before.
Gray pulled out a revolver and pointed it at Bartholomew, the bolt wide open, revealing its murderous intent.
"I'll say it again, drop your weapon, or you won't even have a chance to regret it."
If he hadn't been trying to extract something from him, Gray would have pulled the trigger long ago.
Bassim immediately backed down, dropped the iron rod on the ground with a clang, and carefully squatted down, covering his head with his hands.
Gray holstered his pistol with satisfaction, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling on Wells. He immediately adopted a polite demeanor, holstered his pistol, and stepped forward, extending his hand with gentlemanly grace: "Hello, Mr. Wells. I apologize for being late."
"You are..." Wells was still in shock, staring blankly at the major in front of him.
"I'm Thorne's friend," Gray replied. "My name is Gray, and I'm here to assist you."
Wells stared with his mouth open for a long time, unable to close it.
Thorne's friend?
A major?
Did they bring hundreds of British troops to assist with the work at the refinery?
He wondered if he had misheard!
Thorne's friends are all rich kids and shady characters, I never expected there would be a major among them?
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Hafate Police Station, Chief of Police Office.
The gramophone played light and melodious music as Chief of Staff Knox sat at his desk, smugly folding a thousand-pound check and stuffing it into his inner police uniform pocket, already planning where to take his lover on vacation.
After a few knocks, Deputy Chief of Staff Omar's voice rang out from outside: "Chief of Staff, the head of Red Sea Oil called. Bassim has brought people to cause trouble again."
Knox smiled slightly and replied, "Take two men and handle it. You know what to do!"
"Yes, Chief of Staff!"
Deputy Chief of Staff Omar was Egyptian, and he would be happy to help his fellow Egyptian, Bassim, against the British capitalists on such an occasion, which would make Omar a hero in the eyes of the people.
However, just as Omar turned around, the tranquility of the police station was broken by a series of hurried footsteps.
Dozens of British soldiers armed with rifles surged into the police station from the main entrance and side entrance in a fan shape. The sound of their boots grinding against the floor was ear-piercing, and they instantly surrounded the entire police station.
They moved swiftly and had a clear division of labor. Some soldiers quickly occupied the high ground in the courtyard and set up machine guns, aiming the muzzles at the inside of the police station, while others rushed straight to the office area. The soldiers dispersed in an orderly manner to search, leaving no corner unchecked.
The dozen or so police officers in the station were caught off guard. Some were busy organizing case files, some were looking at documents while holding water glasses, and two others were chatting idly against the wall, discussing the recent tranquility of the town.
Suddenly, British soldiers, exuding murderous intent, burst in, pointing their dark gun barrels at them and shouting:
"Don't move!"
"Put the gun on the ground."
"Stand with your hands behind your head against the wall!"
The police officers initially thought it was a joke, but Omar stepped forward and greeted them in fluent English: "Hey, sir, we're on the same side..."
Before he could finish speaking, a revolver was pressed against his head.
The man holding the gun was a British captain, his face stern and his tone cold: "I won't say it a second time. Put down your gun and stand against the wall."
Omar froze on the spot, the color draining from his face. He realized it was real, not a joke.
Several policemen instinctively reached for their sidearms at their waists, but as soon as they touched the holsters, British soldiers pressed them to the ground with such force that they almost crushed their bones. The sidearms were snatched away and thrown to the ground with a loud clang.
"What's going on?" Chief Knox asked, pushing open the door as he heard the commotion.
With a "whoosh," a dozen dark gun barrels were instantly pointed at him, startling him so much that he immediately raised his hands, his dissatisfaction turning into terror in an instant.
British soldiers methodically carried out the control procedures, escorting a dozen policemen in pairs to the courtyard against the wall, making them stand in neat rows with their hands behind their heads and their legs apart.
Each policeman was guarded by a soldier behind him, with his gun always pointed at their back.
Some police officers tried to look up, but were immediately reprimanded by soldiers, who frightened them so much that they quickly lowered their heads and dared not breathe.
The remaining soldiers carefully searched every room, examining files and checking equipment, leaving no suspicious item unchecked.
The air was thick with tension and repression, filled with the sounds of commands, footsteps, and the suppressed breathing of the police officers, as if a taut string could snap at any moment.
"Sir," Chief of Staff Knox mustered his courage and asked the British captain standing beside him, "You, you must have made a mistake. This is a police station, we are on the same side."
The British captain didn't answer, but waved the check he'd just taken from Knox: "Tell me, Chief of Staff, who gave you this? Who's behind it?"
Knox was startled. Could they be here for the Red Sea Oil Company?
God, Red Sea oil has military backing?
That's impossible. Red Sea Oil is a small company. If it had the military backing it, it wouldn't be what it is today.
But looking at the captain's sharp eyes and the heavily armed soldiers around him, Knox had no choice but to believe it.
Fuck it, Knox wanted to slap himself a few times.
I was so stupid to offend the military for £1000!