Chapter 353
"Didn't you recover the antidote sample?"
"No, we got it," Ron paused, his voice carrying a note of frustration, "but we ran into complications on exfil. Those Kingsman guys destroyed the sample, but it wasn't a total loss. At least we recovered intel from the lab wreckage indicating their primary base is located in Cambodia."
"Alright, I'm authorizing you to take whatever action you deem necessary. Anything else?" Francis's displeasure was evident. If Ron couldn't deliver, it meant he'd have to negotiate with the cartel to obtain the antidote.
That would be humiliating for the president of any sovereign nation, but especially for one that considered itself the world's preeminent superpower—the sense of disgrace would be magnified tenfold.
"Actually, sir, I'd like to request air support from the carrier strike group, if possible—"
Francis cut him off mid-sentence: "Listen up, Ron. I'm not deploying U.S. military assets into another country without authorization just because of your intelligence.
And if I went through proper channels now, the whole approval process would take weeks, so you'll have to handle this yourself. Understood?"
"But—" Ron barely got the word out before the line went dead, leaving only dial tone.
However, Ron showed no sign of frustration; instead, he smiled with satisfaction. He'd gotten exactly what he needed.
In truth, Ron had never expected actual military support—he knew it was completely off the table. All he wanted was that one statement from Francis.
With those words on record, no matter how much chaos he caused, he'd have plausible deniability and political cover.
"Cambodia, here I come..." Ron murmured, boarding his flight to Southeast Asia.
Of course, more than one aircraft was heading to Cambodia. Eggsy and his mentor Harry, along with their Kingsman colleagues and the Statesman agents sitting across from them, had departed earlier. After parachuting into a clearing several klicks from the Golden Circle base, they were now advancing on foot.
However, the distance between the two groups was substantial, clearly separating them into two distinct columns through the tall grass, creating a palpable tension.
"Harry, I think you should apologize to him. You shouldn't have pulled your weapon on him up in those mountains," Eggsy said as they walked.
But Harry refused: "No, I stand by my assessment. His destruction of that antidote vial was absolutely deliberate."
"I think you're still recovering. The aftereffects of your memory loss are still affecting your judgment. Anyway, we're here." Eggsy parted the grass ahead. In the clearing before them, a distinctly American-style town rose incongruously from the sweltering Cambodian jungle, completely out of place among the surrounding villages.
This was their objective: the Golden Circle base, Poppy Land.
Eggsy nodded to Agent Whiskey, who moved closer. "How about we split up?"
"Sounds good. Merlin, you're with me. Signal when you're in position and we'll commence the assault," Harry replied smoothly, showing none of the confusion one would expect from someone with recent amnesia.
But Merlin had barely taken a step when an audible "click" stopped him cold. "I think I just stepped on a mine."
"Called it. Humping through this jungle basically makes you a human mine detector," Ron's voice suddenly crackled through the shared comms channel.
Since Ron had access to the Kingsman communication frequencies, his voice appearing on the channel wasn't surprising. His presence also meant Ron was somewhere in the immediate vicinity.
"Ron!" Eggsy's face lit up with excitement. After several joint operations, Eggsy had gradually become one of Ron's biggest fans. "Finally! Where are you?"
"Up high," Ron drawled. Eggsy looked skyward, catching a sound—a low-frequency thrumming approaching from the distance. Only when the aircraft passed directly overhead did they recognize it as an unusual-looking helicopter.
What kind of chopper has four rotors?!
"Contact! Contact! Airborne threat, light it up!" The cartel guards on the ground spotted Ron's aircraft immediately, raising their weapons and unleashing a hail of gunfire.
"Tch, amateurs," Ron scoffed, thumbing the launch button. Four rockets mounted beneath the cockpit streaked downward like arrows, plunging into the guard detail at the entrance.
"BOOM!" Five armed hostiles instantly became airborne hamburger meat.
"If I were you, I'd stand right there and hold tight until we've neutralized the interior threats. Then we'll get you off that mine," Ron said to Merlin after setting the aircraft down. However, when he got a good look at Eggsy and the others, his brow furrowed.
"Where the hell are your weapons?"
"Right here." Eggsy patted his briefcase smugly. The case clicked open, revealing a concealed gun barrel.
"Alright, looks like you haven't learned jack from me," Ron shook his head in disappointment, grabbed two AR-15s from the cabin, and tossed them over: "Listen up—on the battlefield, a rifle beats a pistol every damn time. And it sure as hell beats whatever Q-branch gadget you've got that prioritizes looking cool over actually working."
As he spoke, Ron shouldered another AR-15 and fired a sustained burst at the entrance. Like something out of a B-movie, just as Ron squeezed the trigger, several armed men burst through the doorway.
"Thwip, thwip..." Rounds punched through the hostiles' center mass, spraying blood.
"Running into bullets? In all my years doing this work, that's the dumbest thing I've ever seen," Ron muttered, advancing casually like he was taking a stroll through Central Park.
Eggsy and Harry exchanged glances, grabbed their rifles, and charged past Ron toward the gate.
"Brrrrrap..."
Harry had just unleashed a burst of suppressing fire at the gate when Eggsy flicked his briefcase, which transformed into a riot shield that covered his approach. Eggsy, protected by the shield, and Harry, with his rifle at the ready, crashed through the entrance like a two-man armored vehicle.
"So that thing transforms? How utterly pointless."
Ron was absolutely dumbfounded by the Kingsman operational methodology. What century were they living in? Still using parlor tricks like that? It was gadget theater—form over function!
Ron figured even one of those old-school Boston Dynamics robots would be more tactically useful than that gimmick.
(End of Chapter)
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