Chapter 1146: A Return to Old Grounds (Patreon)

"I fail to see how slaughtering tens or even hundreds of thousands will bring peace to the fallen soldiers under your command. This isn’t even a legitimate act of war. With all due respect, such madness is nothing more than a selfish attempt at personal consolation. And you, General, in my eyes, are nothing but a desperate fool."

As Mason finished, Jack instinctively tensed. He hadn’t expected the old man to speak so bluntly. If those words triggered Hammer’s wrath, Jack would be forced to use his worst-case contingency plan.

To his surprise, Hammer laughed instead of lashing out, seemingly enjoying this ideological debate with the British veteran. "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants—that’s Thomas Jefferson."

"And Oscar Wilde once said patriotism is the virtue of the vicious," Mason replied, almost making Jack burst out laughing.

Thomas Jefferson was the third President of the United States and the primary author of the Declaration of Independence—one of the nation’s revered Founding Fathers alongside Washington and Franklin. But Mason was a Brit. When American colonists called for freedom and began the War of Independence, Britain saw them as traitors.

As for Wilde, the quote came from an Irishman born in Dublin. His “nation” was the same British Empire that left Ireland to starve during the Great Famine.

History is interesting like that—patriot or traitor, it all depends on who's speaking.

Hammer, who had stayed calm until now, finally snapped and punched Mason hard in the ribs.

The British old man was surprisingly tough. He straightened up soon after and even mocked, “Thank you for proving my point.”

Jack had planned to stall with words, not take beatings. Now the spotlight was on Mason, forcing Jack to change tactics.

“General, I implore you to consider my earlier proposal. If you truly care about your soldiers, you must see that this is over. Why not spare the lives of those who followed you?”

Jack pointed to the sky. “There are drones and satellites watching us. Nothing here escapes their sight. The Air Force hasn’t bombed this place yet because many still believe you are a patriot at heart. The Pentagon doesn’t think a decorated war hero like you would slaughter innocent people.”

“That’s only because they underestimate my resolve.” Hammer glanced at his men, then gave Buster a signal. “Lock them up. And call everyone to assemble.”

Jack exhaled slightly. Things hadn’t gone off the rails—yet.

——

“Move!” Another rifle butt slammed into Jack’s back—the same bowl-cut, thick-lipped Black soldier from before.

Jack staggered forward, blood dried on his cheek like a war hero facing execution.

Inside the cells, unlucky tourists caught during their visit to the island reached through the bars. Recognizing Larry Henderson, the man with three kids who’d been taken hostage and was now returned, some began to pray aloud.

After locking Henderson up, Major Buster pointed at Jack and Mason. “Put them in a separate cell.”

Jack rolled his eyes and asked casually, “Hey Mason, remember which cell was yours?”

Catching on, Mason looked up to the second floor. “Of course. Fourth on the left. My VIP suite. Quite luxurious, actually. Brings back memories.”

Hearing this, Buster sneered. “In that case, I don’t mind giving you a nostalgic visit. Put them in that cell.”

Clang—the iron bars slammed shut. As footsteps faded, Mason plopped down on the musty bed, patting it with mock affection before coughing violently from the dust.

“Cough, cough… Looks like our mission’s complete?”

“Far from it,” Jack replied, glancing around the tiny cell. “This is worse than any cell I’ve been in. How did you survive in here?”

The room was no more than five square meters. So cramped, even stretching an arm risked hitting the walls. Honestly, it was worse than a four-man cell in Margrave.

“Hope,” Mason said. “The hope that I’d be free one day. That maybe I’d see my love, my daughter. Small as it was, it kept me alive. Kept me sane.”

As he spoke, he began tearing strips from the old bed sheets. Jack knew what he was doing and helped.

“You knew Womack wouldn’t free you easily. You tore up the pardon letter. So why did you help me?”

“I already told you—freedom and seeing my daughter again are the only reasons I’m still sane. Why wouldn’t I help you?” Mason cast a sideways glance as he started braiding the strips into rope.

“Womack is a bastard I don’t trust. But you, young fox, and that old fox behind you—you’re bargaining chips. I couldn’t just let you die here and get bombed along with this place.”

Jack examined the rusty cell door. Breaking it wouldn’t be impossible. Still, he owed Mason a debt.

“I might be able to smuggle Jade out of the country, but it’ll take time—maybe a year or two.”

He paused. “And only if she agrees.”

“Yeah… If she agrees…” Mason’s hands slowed. It seemed he’d never considered that possibility. Now the uncertainty crept in.

“No matter. Even if she refuses, I’ll find a way to be near her.”

Jack shook his head. “Then you’d better convince her. Because my unit specializes in hunting fugitives. I don’t want to see you back on our wanted list.”

Mason chuckled bitterly. “Isn’t it a bit early for this talk?”

“I doubt we’ll have time later.” Jack rolled his eyes. “You’ve never thought of handing over that secret?”

“Give me a hand.” Mason gestured, and together they lifted one end of the metal bed, breaking off a leg.

“Hand it over? The second Womack gets those film reels, I’ll get a bullet in the head. That’s always been their way.”

“But what if we reverse the order?” Jack asked, watching Mason tie the rope to the bed leg.

“What do you mean?” Mason swung the makeshift weapon through the bars, puzzled.

“You disappear first. Then hand over the film. In exchange, the FBI quietly drops the case.”

Jack’s words made Mason pause mid-swing.