Chapter 1105: Failure, Phone Call, and Surprise

"Hoo..."

"Hoo..."

A middle-aged man in his late thirties sat leaning against a car tire. His suit, worth over a thousand dollars, was stained with blood and utterly ruined.

He was one of the "commanders" of this operation, a senior cadre of the Perez family.

He was breathing heavily, one hand pressed against his left abdomen, and the other holding a pistol.

Blood flowed steadily and stubbornly from the gaps between his fingers at his waist. His face was pale and gray. He knew he couldn't last much longer with this injury.

In this moment, his heart was filled with resentment and fury toward Bob and the rest of the family.

Humans are always like this: when failure or a major mistake occurs, they never blame themselves; they blame those who made the decision.

He was just the executor; he made no mistake. The fault lay with Bob, who hadn't figured out the situation here and rashly ordered them to attack. This was a suicide mission!

He seemed to forget that when he left the estate, he had guaranteed Bob and the others that he would eliminate the Lawrence Farm!

He had promised to burn the crops, destroy the distillery and warehouse, and make the Perez family name ring out across Likalai State!

He forgot all that. Now, there was only fear, numb anxiety, and a desperate will to survive.

The surrounding gunfire had mostly stopped. This was a failed attack.

They had considered that the Lawrence Farm would have defenses, but both Bob and the others assumed the defenses would be concentrated at the farmhouse and the distillery.

That would have put them on the offensive, giving them greater freedom and maneuverability in the fight.

No one had anticipated that these people would not only fail to defend the farmhouse and distillery, but would proactively come out to attack the convoy. Furthermore, they were numerous, and their firepower was intense.

The middle-aged cadre, leaning against the tire, looked terrified and defeated. As footsteps approached, he glanced at the pistol in his right hand. After a few seconds of deliberation, he tossed it under the car.

"There's one more person here."

Someone discovered him. A group of men, carrying rifles and even multiple submachine guns, stepped around the vehicles.

The Perez family cadre, watching the country cowboys slowly surround him, concealed his resentment and said, "I need to see your Boss."

One cowboy suddenly put his fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. The others continued to stare at the cadre.

After about a minute, another man, who appeared to be their leader, walked over.

This man looked to be about forty-five or forty-six years old. He was the son of the farm's head manager, the next generation manager—pending how long his father lived.

If his father held on for a few more years, he would likely be bypassed, as his own sons were now growing up.

There was a rumor on the farm that the next owner of the farm would not be any of the current adult Lawrence family members, but the little child who followed Patricia around—Ace.

Therefore, when choosing the next head manager, they prioritized candidates close in age to Patricia's generation, or the generation of grandchildren four years older than Ace.

While he might not become the ultimate head manager, his status on the farm was second only to a few individuals. He was content with this.

He wore two guns and two holsters at his waist, along with magazines and two grenades.

Seeing the man's attire, the Perez family cadre almost laughed in fury.

Their firepower was so intense it was nearly comparable to that of a militia or the army. He had even momentarily thought he heard a heavy machine gun during the exchange.

He dismissed the idea as auditory hallucination due to stress, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Do you want to see me, or someone higher up?"

The middle-aged cadre looked down at his constantly bleeding wound. He knew he couldn't afford to delay any longer. Any more delay and he would surely die.

He didn't care about the others; he only wanted to survive.

"I am a direct member of the Perez family. I have... sufficient information regarding the Perez family. But I am injured."

He moved his hand away from his wound to show the severity, which looked scary, though only outwardly.

The manager's son worked all jobs on the farm and had participated in several serious gunfights. He knew that if this man hadn't died from internal bleeding already, he likely wouldn't die quickly.

Internal bleeding, such as organ damage, usually kills a person within minutes.

Forty to fifty minutes had passed since the fight started, and this man was still alive, meaning he could last at least another twenty minutes.

"I don't care who you are. I only want to know what you can offer us."

The middle-aged cadre pursed his lips. "I have information Lance wants—information he can't get!"

This caught the manager's son's attention. Everyone knew the rise of the Lawrence Farm was due to Lance. Hearing that he had something Lance needed, the manager's son immediately made a decision.

"Take him back. We have a doctor there. You're lucky."

A few cowboys took up the task. They stabilized the cadre's wound, threw him into the car hidden behind the crops, and sped toward the farm.

The others remained to clean up the site.

They would dispose of the bodies collectively, stripping off any expensive clothing they had.

Although the cowboys' income wasn't low, it lagged behind the Perez family's income. And since their life paths were limited, even if they wanted to buy nice clothes, it wasn't easy.

They would also keep the weapons. The stripped, naked bodies would be piled into a pit, burned with fire, and then buried, preventing the bodies from causing pestilence in the hot summer.

The vehicles would also be taken, repaired, and become farm property.

A little over an hour after the fighting started, two cars returned to the farmhouse, escorted by a dozen cowboys on horseback.

The middle-aged cadre saw the defenses and firepower of the farm. He cursed Bob and everyone who planned this operation in his mind.

He saw many people and incredibly strong firepower. They had lost unfairly.

Unfairly because they had underestimated the farm's true strength and overestimated their own capabilities.

"Who is that?" As he was carried out of the car, he was roughly tossed onto the ground.

Three old men, looking like old cowboys, sat on rocking chairs under the eaves. One of them, holding a pipe, pointed at him.

The cowboy next to him immediately answered, "He claims to be a Perez family cadre and knows information Lance might want, so I brought him back."

The three old men looked at him. They looked indistinguishable from ordinary old farmers.

They weren't tall, straight-backed, or muscular, as people might imagine. They were slightly hunched and short. Apart from being clean, there was little that matched the popular image.

But they possessed a distinctive aura. Just sitting there, even without striking looks, their presence was commanding.

"Have the doctor look at him."

"How are the others?"

The cowboy standing next to the cadre grinned, showing yellow, smoke-stained teeth. "They're mostly eliminated."

The three old men nodded. The result was satisfactory.

The one on the left asked, "What was our casualty count?"

The cowboy's expression didn't change. "Quite a few injured. We didn't do a full count. Maybe a hundred?"

"Not many dead. At most twenty or thirty?"

"I'm not sure. We'll only know once they return."

This was the direct result of applying effective strategy and tactics in combat.

It was a classic ambush: a surprise attack launched where the enemy least expected it, overwhelming them with superior firepower.

Even after the fighting started, the Perez family men had no idea where the attackers were or how many there were.

Under the oppressive firepower, compounded by the use of explosives and grenades, the battle was unequal from the start, and there was no chance for fairness.

The three old men nodded, reasonably satisfied with the outcome.

One of the old men put down his pipe and stood up. "That's enough."

"I'm going to call Lance."

He used the armrest to stand up. The middle-aged cadre finally relaxed. He was lifted and taken to the farm's clinic.

Since Patricia was pregnant and resting at the farm, Lance had hired a private medical team for her.

The farm was quite far from the nearest hospital, so the clinic was essentially a small hospital.

Besides obstetrics, it had a general surgery department—the busiest department on the farm.

Cowboys' lives were full of accidents. For example, riding a horse, the horse might step into a hole and fall.

The cowboy would be violently thrown off, and the seemingly soft plants on the ground would reveal sharp, hard roots that could inflict terrible wounds.

They used to rely on the farm veterinarian to patch them up. But after the clinic was built, they grew to love the doctors and the clinic.

At least they didn't have to deal with the vet's rough methods. The nurses were gentle and pretty.

When the medical team first arrived, some cowboys deliberately injured themselves to enjoy the free medical service.

This foolish behavior only stopped after the three old men severely reprimanded them.

After Ace was born, the clinic remained. Life was convenient for the medical team here.

Lance built a train station, making travel to nearby cities and home easy. The income was much higher than working in a hospital. Everyone was satisfied.

As the middle-aged cadre lay on the operating table, anesthetic was injected into him. Looking up at the surgical light, he felt a peace he hadn't known before.

"...Mmm, that's the general situation. I'll know the specifics after they return, but generally, the crisis is over."

The voice on the phone was confident. Lance smiled. "That's good. I will continuously reinforce the farm's defenses. Later tonight, they will send some supplies over."

Hearing about the supplies, the old man, Herbert, who was on the phone, was curious. "We lack nothing here!"

He first affirmed the farm's ample supplies, then asked, "What are they sending?"

"More heavy machine guns and ammunition, and two armored vehicles. They'll be disguised as new tractors for shipping. Once they arrive, the accompanying personnel will help you assemble them."

While heavy machine guns could be acquired through connections, buying and transporting armored vehicles domestically was not simple.

The Federation was far from stable now. Localism and sectionalism were rampant. If local forces possessed too much military power, it would certainly cause issues.

Therefore, the two armored cars were first disguised as tractors and parts. Once transported, they could be quickly converted back into armored vehicles.

Hearing about the new toys, the old man, Herbert, grew excited. "Could you find a way to get us some howitzers?"

"If the opportunity arises, I will consider it," Lance easily dismissed the request. He reminded the old man to keep the senior cadre secure, and once his wounds healed, Lance's men would retrieve him.

Meanwhile, some of the men who escaped the fight had already left the vicinity of the Lawrence Farm.

The roadside ambush hadn't eliminated all the drivers immediately. A few lucky ones realized something was wrong and managed to turn their cars and flee.

Even after driving a long distance, they were still shaking violently!

They were gangsters, symbols of malice, brutality, and ruthlessness, but they, too, felt fear when facing a more savage and cruel opponent!

The men stopped at a motel near the interstate. They immediately called Bob. They had to tell him what happened and then rest before quickly leaving the area.

The phone rang for a moment, then was answered. Bob was also troubled. Some of his plans weren't progressing well, which hurt his personal standing.

But if the Lance family's base of operations was severely hit, these problems would be solved.

Fortunately, he received the call.

There were others in the room. He made a shushing gesture and waited for silence before speaking into the receiver. "What's the situation like over there?"

His tone was casual. He had heard rumors of cowboys and armed forces on the farm, but he hadn't taken them seriously.

He was operating under a significant informational error. In his experience, few farms he had dealt with posed a threat to the Perez family's forces.

He was used to dealing with small and medium-sized farms. His error in judgment led him to believe the Lawrence Farm was no different, which was a mistake.

"The situation is very bad, Bob." The content and the trembling in the voice coming through the receiver immediately erased the casual look on Bob's face.

"What happened?" His expression turned serious, and his tone was no longer filled with expectation.

The trembling voice on the other end immediately said, "We followed the plan, taking the back roads toward the Lawrence Farm. About four or five kilometers away, we were ambushed."

"I don't know how many people they had, but their firepower was intense—rifles and grenades. We were pinned down on the road."

Bob's face grew darker and darker. He fell silent for a moment. "How many men did we lose?"

There was only silence on the phone. This silence gave him a terrible feeling. He couldn't help but raise his voice. "F***! I'm asking you a question!"

"How many men did we lose?"

Everyone in the room sensed the danger emanating from Bob. No one dared to breathe, even those who opposed Bob.

The man calling Bob was a low-ranking captain. He shuddered in fear but finally had to answer. "Only about thirty men escaped..."

Hearing this, Bob's tense body suddenly relaxed. "So, most of them are dead?"

"It seems so."

"F***!" Bob's breathing became ragged. "Get back here immediately. I need detailed information."

"Understood?"

The captain calling Bob immediately nodded and hung up.

It was evening, and they were still shaken. It wasn't appropriate to continue traveling.

The men decided to rest here for the night, eat something, and leave early the next morning, hoping to escape Likalai State by the next day.

They didn't know that the moment their cars entered the motel parking lot, the motel owner, who had been dozing, instantly snapped awake upon seeing their out-of-state license plates!