RPAGF Chapter 284 Operation "Desert Shield"
Chapter 284 Operation "Desert Shield"
(Two updates today too~)
Midland oil field, Texas.
The afterglow of the setting sun spread across the edge of the plain, dyeing the vast Gobi Desert a rich golden-red.
Dozens of old nodding donkeys were scattered across the wilderness. Their massive metal cranks, silhouetted against the setting sun, rose and fell at an extremely slow pace. The rusty mechanical bearings rubbed against each other, producing a monotonous, dull, yet rhythmic creaking sound.
A black Ford F-150 heavy-duty pickup truck was parked on the side of the sandy road.
Satsuki wore a pure white cotton shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up at the elbows, paired with faded jeans, and a large brown cowboy hat. (Cowboy Satsuki-chan)
Unconcerned about the dust on the vehicle's surface, she casually sat on the wide hood of the pickup truck, a bottle of ice-cold Coke in her hand. The dry, hot Texas evening breeze quickly dispersed the wisps of white steam overflowing from the bottle, leaving only condensation droplets seeping from the glass, which quietly dampened her knuckles.
Frank stood on the left side of the pickup truck.
Despite the temperature, he was still wearing a neat dark business suit, with his tie perfectly tied.
"Through the liquidation process initiated by the Restructuring Trust (RTC), all agreements for the acquisition of bankrupt oil fields in Midland and the Houston area were signed this afternoon."
Frank opened the folder in his hand, speaking at a steady pace.
"The savings and loan crisis in Texas in recent years has led to widespread bankruptcies among local independent energy companies. During this round of bargain hunting, we acquired hundreds of abandoned drilling rigs and associated oil production facilities."
He closed the folder and looked at Satsuki sitting on the hood of the car.
"Also, two hours ago, the Texas governor's chief of staff secretly visited our temporary office in Houston."
"The other party conveyed a very clear political goodwill. SA Investment's massive injection of funds directly revitalized the local energy supply chain, which was on the verge of collapse, and saved the jobs of tens of thousands of oil workers in Texas."
Frank raised his hand and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"The chief of staff made a substantial commitment. The Texas consortium, along with several prominent members of Congress representing the state, will provide political support for SA Group at the upcoming hearings in both the Senate and the House of Representatives. Any proposals attempting to obstruct us at the CFIUS (Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States) level will be preemptively blocked by Texas politicians within the committee."
"Mmm..."
Satsuki was staring blankly at the giant steel bull in the distance, seemingly not listening at all, and sipping her iced cola absentmindedly.
Fujita stood on the right side of the pickup truck.
He held in his hand a top-secret briefing that had just been received, decoded, and printed by satellite communication equipment.
"Young Miss".
Fujita stepped forward and handed over the briefing.
"The intelligence sent back by the SIS Middle East branch has been cross-verified."
"Three hours ago, Washington officially signed an executive order to mobilize reservists and announced the full launch of Operation Desert Shield. Currently, U.S. heavy armored forces are strategically projecting themselves into the Persian Gulf region at full speed."
Fujita's gaze fell on the bold black text in the briefing.
"The Iraqi Republican Guard's armored units have crossed the border and penetrated deep into Kuwait. With oil shipping routes in the Persian Gulf under substantial threat, international crude oil futures prices are challenging historical extremes."
The wind blew from the west, sweeping across the Gobi Desert with a low whistle. The mechanical grinding of the pumping station still echoed slowly in the distance.
Satsuki's gaze remained fixed on the vast Gobi Desert, as if she had completely ignored the two men's reports that could trigger a global financial earthquake.
"Frank".
She suddenly spoke, raising her free left hand and pointing towards the end of the road.
"Look at the smoke coming out of that motel chimney."
Frank and Fujita stood there, stunned. Their minds were racing, calculating the political trends in the White House and the war situation in the Middle East, preparing to listen to the young lady's incredibly detailed and comprehensive countermeasures, when Satsuki's words suddenly interrupted their thoughts.
Ah. What? A motel? Should we buy it?
Frank followed her gaze and saw only a rising cloud of bluish-gray smoke.
"The smoke was bluish-gray and the burning was very steady. This indicates that they were using local Texas mead wood firewood."
Satsuki turned her head and looked at her two subordinates, whose faces were full of astonishment, her tone relaxed.
"This means that the beef brisket at that restaurant has been slow-smoked at a low temperature for at least twelve hours. The taste is best when it comes out of the oven at this time."
While the two were still stunned, Satsuki tilted her head back and drank the rest of the Coca-Cola in the glass bottle in one gulp.
The cool carbonated liquid slid down my throat, dispelling some of the evening heat of the Texas plains.
"Frank".
Satsuki's voice rang out in the wind, pulling Frank's thoughts back from the brisket to reality.
"Next, you will be fully responsible for liaising with Texas politicians and you must try to align their interests with ours as much as possible."
"The pace of options liquidation can be left to the quantitative team to manage. The general direction has been set, and there's no need for them to confirm the execution data with me anymore."
She turned her head, her gaze passing over the roof of the pickup truck to the butler on her right.
"Fujita. Immediately notify Endo at Tokyo headquarters."
"The powder keg in the Middle East has been lit, and a surge in oil prices is a foregone conclusion. Those Japanese companies with heavy assets in the Middle East will soon face the double whammy of imported inflation and the Ministry of Finance cutting off their loans. Let Endo use his underlying semiconductor bad debts to launch a full-scale 'financial pressure' campaign."
"In addition, issue direct orders to Dojima Iroha in the war zone."
Satsuki's fingers tightened slightly as she gripped the glass bottle.
"Initiate the 'Humanitarian and Commercial Asset Relief' program."
After finishing speaking in one breath, Satsuki let out a long sigh, and the muscles on her face relaxed.
Satsuki nimbly jumped off the hood of the pickup truck. Her white casual shoes kicked up a small cloud of dust on the dry sand.
She pointed to a motel at the far end of the road, where thick smoke was billowing from its chimney.
"Work is finished."
Satsuki turned around and casually tossed the empty glass bottle in her hand into the back of the pickup truck.
"Clang!"
The thick glass bottle slammed against the metal floor of the truck bed with a crisp clanging sound, then rolled twice inside the bed.
"Let's go try some authentic Texas grilled brisket."
She had her hands in the pockets of her washed jeans and walked briskly toward the smoky barbecue restaurant, the dry Texas evening breeze blowing against her.
Frank and Fujita stood still.
The two looked at each other.
Then, they each took out a satellite phone from their suit pockets and briefcases.
The massive multinational capital machine began to operate at full speed as the buttons were pressed.
……
Dhahran Airbase, Saudi Arabia.
A heatwave reaching 50 degrees Celsius, accompanied by a sky full of yellow sand, pounded against the blast-proof walls and barbed wire surrounding the base, reducing visibility to the extreme.
On the main runway of the base, a massive U.S. military C-5 Galaxy heavy transport aircraft was taxiing for landing. The four General Electric turbofan engines roared deafeningly, and the reverse thrust swirled the yellow sand on both sides of the runway several meters high.
A distribution area for supplies on the edge of the base.
A dozen or so military camouflage tents swayed slightly in the strong wind.
Wearing a sand-colored waterproof softshell tactical jacket, Iwao Dojima stood in front of a row of heavy-duty Palik protective cases printed with the words "SA Global Engineering & Rescue".
Behind him, hundreds of special operations team members were quickly checking the individual equipment and field medical equipment inside the box.
A U.S. Army logistics colonel, clutching a military walkie-talkie, strode towards Tangdao Yan through the raging sandstorm. The 50-degree Celsius heat from the Dallan Air Base had covered his combat uniform in yellow sand, and murky sweat streamed down his furrowed brow, leaving muddy streaks on his cheeks.
The colonel stopped three steps away from Dojima Iwao.
His gaze swept sternly over the fully armed "Asian civilian employees." His eyes passed over the bulletproof vests with tactical rails and the military-grade communication helmets, revealing undisguised rejection and vigilance.
"Who's in charge here?" the colonel roared, trying to drown out the distant engine noise.
Dojima Iwao stepped forward.
"I am."
"Listen, contractor," the colonel said curtly, "the advance reconnaissance company of the Iraqi Republican Guard has appeared on the northern border, less than forty kilometers from here."
He raised the walkie-talkie in his hand and pointed to the north side of the base.
"The main force of the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division is conducting emergency deployments at the front. The entire northern area has been designated as a highly tense combat zone. Command has issued a strict order that no civilian armed contractors of unknown origin are allowed to leave the rear security zone."
The colonel stared intently at Dojima Iwao.
"Take your people and their belongings. Retreat immediately to the Riyadh safe zone in the south. Don't get in the way of the fighting; once the fighting starts, I won't have enough troops to rescue you civilians."
Dojima listened to the colonel's warning with a blank expression.
He unzipped the waterproof zipper inside his tactical jacket and pulled out a paper document sealed in a transparent folder.
Dojima handed the document to the colonel.
"Colonel."
Dojima responded in cold, hard American English.
"This document is the 'Department of Defense Tier 1 Outsourcing Logistics Subcontractor Agreement' jointly issued by the Pentagon and fully credited by the Carlyle Group in Washington, D.C., with the 'Highest Priority Field Rescue Access Permit' attached."
The colonel's gaze fell on the document. The dark red official seal of the Ministry of National Defense stood out starkly against the swirling yellow sand.
"SA Rescue Team has received emergency distress signals from several Japanese multinational corporations," Iroha Dojima's voice cut through the sandstorm. "Their core refineries and some senior employees are currently stranded in the conflict zone in the north."
He looked at the colonel's furrowed brow.
"This is entirely in line with the Pentagon's outsourcing policy for 'protecting high-value commercial facilities from war damage.' SA was hired to go to the area to carry out international humanitarian evacuation and high-value asset seizure missions."
Dojima took back the document and zipped up his jacket again.
"I demand that you release my convoy immediately in accordance with the terms of the Ministry of Defense contract."
The colonel clenched his back teeth. The muscles of his jaw bulged slightly.
In this desert where it could turn into a meat grinder at any moment, what frontline commanders hate most are these private armed forces that operate outside the chain of command and are not directly bound by military law.
However, faced with documents bearing the Carlyle Group's ties and the Pentagon's seal, coupled with the overt banner of "international humanitarian aid," he would inevitably face breach of contract accusations and relentless questioning from Washington politicians if he forcibly detained the team.
The colonel stared at Dojima Iwao's expressionless face and viciously pulled a tactical pen from his breast pocket.
He snatched the bottom copy of the release slip from Dojima Iwao and pressed it against a nearby military supply box.
The pen tip roughly swept across the signature line, and he signed his name.
"Once you leave this base, your life or death is none of the United States Army's concern."
The colonel slapped the clearance slip on Dojima Iwao's chest, then turned and strode back to the command post.
Dojima Ichiro accepted the release order.
He turned around and faced the special operations team that was fully prepared and ready to go behind him.
He raised his right hand, which was wearing a tactical glove, and made a gesture in mid-air.
"Get on the train."
The special operations team members quickly lifted the heavy protective case.
The heavy bulletproof doors and truck tailgates opened one after another. More than a hundred fully armed team members were quickly dispersed and reorganized, and orderly boarded the huge convoy parked behind them.
The convoy consisted of four Chevrolet Suburban SUVs equipped with heavy armor plating and run-flat tires as the vanguard and rearguard, closely guarded by eight Oshkosh heavy-duty high-mobility tactical trucks with desert camouflage tarpaulins and roll cages.
The roar of diesel engines igniting echoed throughout the distribution area, vibrating the surrounding scorching air.
Dojima Iwao sat in the passenger seat of the first SUV.
The heavy convoy slammed on the gas pedal. Tires screeched against the sand as it plunged headlong into the endless yellow sand and fog of war in the north, heading in the opposite direction of the American defense line.