65: Eagle sauce is furious! I am the organization; I command you

Chapter 65: Eagleland's Fury! I Am the Organization; I Order You to Transmit the Message Even if It Means Death! (Two-in-One)

Establishing a truly meaningful ‘Great Wall Watcher’ organization was not a sudden whim of Lu Ze’s.

Rather, when he fully disclosed to Da Xia that he belonged to an organization, he already had a clear concept.

‘This organization is merely a means to cover my true identity.’ This was the most crucial point Lu Ze was certain of in his heart.

With the Glamour Mask and the micro-miniature voice changer, used in combination, he could completely change his identity every day, and any tracking or reconnaissance methods would be ineffective, even visual tracking.

Therefore, today he could be the shadowy leader of the ‘Great Wall Watcher’ organization, tomorrow he could be the first CEO of the ‘Great Wall Watcher,’ he could be a messenger, or he could be a high-ranking dignitary.

Lu Ze could even transform into any other person he remembered, but this would carry significant risks, as even if the voice and appearance were identical, mimicking someone else’s demeanor and body language was not so easy and could easily reveal flaws.

In a strict sense, he was the entire ‘Great Wall Watcher’ organization!

In Da Xia's eyes, this Mysterious Organization had a strict structure and countless talented individuals, but in reality, it might all just be ‘roles’ played by Lu Ze.

‘As for everyone else, they are completely unimportant.’

‘As long as my true identity isn’t discovered, that’s already enough.’ Lu Ze continued to think inwardly.

He didn't care whether the members recruited into this organization were useful or if they could truly play a role.

These people were merely a smokescreen for his replication technology, making it clear that all of this was done by the ‘Great Wall Watcher’ organization, hidden behind Eagleland, and had nothing to do with Lu Ze, the very ordinary D-level employee at LLNL.

This was the true purpose of the organization; these members were just decorative vases, perhaps not even needing to do anything or know any secrets, yet capable of attracting a great deal of hatred for him.

Unless, in the future, this ‘Great Wall Watcher’ organization could truly become a super organization hidden behind Eagleland.

That would be Lu Ze’s second direction for the organization: to turn this Western-dominated world upside down, otherwise, wouldn't it be too boring for him to only gain achievement points by replicating some technological items with this system?

Eagleland and the Western world have been the boss for too long; the entire third world has suffered enough from their exploitation, and now it’s time for a change.

“Now, let’s go find the targets I’ve chosen.” Lu Ze stood up and murmured softly.

He slowly walked out of the LLNL Laboratory area, and in a secluded and quiet corner of the forest, he put on the Glamour Mask and voice changer.

Lu Ze, originally in his early twenties, now became a middle-aged white man in his forties, with even his pupils turning a ghostly blue, and his clothes changed. He now looked like a genuine old white man, even speaking with a strong Eagleland Southern accent.

This ‘new’ Lu Ze slowly walked out along the path.

He had already found his target individuals, and there were two of them.

They were the two tough guys from Texas he had accidentally discovered earlier in the town square of Livermore.

One fat, one thin; one white, one black; there were simply no more suitable candidates than them.

At the same time.

Inside the Pentagon, the highest center of Eagleland’s military power.

A series of furious shouts emanated from the Asia-Pacific Security Affairs Director’s office.

“What’s going on? What exactly happened?” A bald white man in his fifties pointed at someone next to him and cursed, “I want to know why Da Xia’s newly unveiled J-20 looks so similar to our F22?”

He pointed at the two pictures of the J-20 in the report, his face flushed: “There’s a ghost in the house, do you know that?”

“Director Charles, we need to be careful with our words.” The subordinate quickly advised, “It’s only the aerodynamic layout and fuselage that are similar; it shouldn’t be due to data leaks.”

Fighter jets don’t have appearance copyrights; just because you, Eagleland, can use it, does that mean others, Da Xia, cannot? Let alone being highly similar, even if they copied it 1:1, you’d have no one to complain to.

He added, “And this involves Lockheed Martin and Boeing.”

“At this stage, this matter absolutely cannot be escalated.”

As an assistant, he naturally had to analyze the pros and cons of the matter immediately.

The most crucial reason here was that if you, Director Charles, say there’s an internal traitor, then who is this traitor?

The F22 was jointly developed by Lockheed Martin, the current largest military-industrial complex in Eagleland, as the prime contractor, and Boeing, the largest aerospace giant.

Are you going to investigate these two companies? Are you, Charles, underestimating this behemoth military-industrial complex that provides more than half of the funding for presidential candidates and political parties every election?

Even all the congressional seats related to defense are sustained by the funding provided by major military-industrial complexes like Lockheed Martin and Raytheon.

Now, with Lockheed Martin repeatedly and strongly proposing to dismantle the F22 production line, and with the proposal almost passing in Congress, are you still going to cause trouble for them?

What if the F22 production line, which loses billions of usd annually, cannot be dismantled? What if the F35 project, which brings in tens of billions of usd in profits annually, is shelved? Do you know how many people’s interests are involved? Even the people on Wall Street have a stake in this.

Director Charles and he should avoid all forms of transportation after retirement; they might even accidentally be shot and killed by a gang member while walking.

“My emotions were indeed a bit agitated just now…” Charles Brown slumped back into his office chair.

“Currently, they have only released photos; in reality, this could just be Da Xia’s bluster.”

The assistant’s meaning was very clear: this matter must be handled with a cool head. Just two photos, whose authenticity is unknown, cannot decide anything.

Even if they really wanted to find trouble with Lockheed Martin, it would definitely not be now, nor would it be decided by their Asia-Pacific Security Affairs office.

“I understand.” Charles Brown nodded: “Submit this matter as ‘Unconfirmed Routine Security Affairs.’”

They, Eagleland, often use PPT reports to scare people, so it’s normal for Da Xia to use such tactics.

However, he felt a faint worry in his heart.

Was this really just Da Xia’s bluster? Why did he feel it was more like a ‘declaration of war’?

Currently, only the aerodynamic layout and fuselage are similar; will all technologies be completely similar in the future? Will it be too late to react then?

Furthermore, can the F35 multi-role fighter truly meet the future Air Force needs of Eagleland?

‘Damn military-industrial complex, resorting to all means for profit.’ Charles Brown cursed silently in his heart.

But what could be done?

Even after he retired, he would still have to join a military-industrial complex enterprise as a senior executive for his retirement.

On one bustling day in this world.

In the distant Middle East, in an underground tunnel, boxes of tightly packed goods were being urgently transported.

“Adan’er, what are these things? Are they custom-made goods?” a transporter asked curiously.

Adan’er shook his head: “I don’t know, but it certainly doesn’t look like food.”

They had previously transported all kinds of items, whether food items like fried chicken, cola, etc., or ordinary clothes, mobile phones, and even weapons and ammunition, all could be secretly transported through this tunnel.

But the items to be transported this time only had a simple numerical mark 732 on them, something he had never seen before.

“Don’t talk, we’re about to go above ground.” A man in his thirties, who was leading, reprimanded.

Immediately, everyone’s face showed a hint of seriousness, but no one felt any tension.

In this place, the tunnels were safe, while the surface was the most dangerous.

They could be subjected to aerial attacks at any time, especially the tunnel exits, which were prime targets.

Every day, comrades died because of this, which had become commonplace, and most people had even become numb.

And following behind them was a reporter from Al Jazeera, tracking and filming.

As the most authoritative media in the Arab world, he planned to film a video about the difficulties of people’s lives.

Just as they stepped above ground.

Suddenly, objects with bright tail flames, accompanied by a fierce whistling sound, crashed down from the sky.

This was an airstrike from outside the wall; they must have discovered this supply tunnel.

“Get down, find cover!” someone shouted.

Everyone almost instinctively hugged the boxes in their hands and quickly hid among the ruins of buildings; this was muscle memory from hundreds of thousands of times.

They only knew that the cargo being transported this time was very important, and they had to transport it back intact, even if it meant sacrificing their own lives as cover.

‘Boom! Boom!’

Explosions filled their ears, and the stirred-up earth buried live people in the ruins; their noses and mouths were all filled with dust.

A minute later, this round of attacks finally ended.

“Adan’er, Abbas, are you all alive?” the leading man shouted.

“I’m fine, are you injured?” Adan’er checked his body, only having some minor scrapes.

“I’m alright, just a shrapnel wound on my thigh…” a companion next to him said without changing his expression, oblivious to the blood continuously flowing from his thigh.

To be alive was already a great fortune.

The explosion site was over fifty meters from them; the supplies were undamaged, and all the transporters only sustained minor injuries.

However, just as everyone felt the relief of having survived a disaster.

They had apparently forgotten that there was still a reporter filming behind them, and the attack site happened to be near there.

It was imaginable.

“Mr. Faris, are you alright?” A soft female voice, still shaken, sounded.

However, her shouts received no reply for a long time.

Not even a moan or a cry of pain was heard.

Everyone’s heart sank as if into an ice cellar.

“Quickly go find him; he should still be alive.”

They were well aware of the importance of war correspondents; even if they could transmit a little bit of true information to the world, the people here would have a glimmer of hope.

This was also why they were willing to accept Al Jazeera’s filming and recording process.

Finally, after five minutes of searching, the reporter named ‘Faris’ was found in a collapsed ruin.

“We’ll take you to the hospital immediately, Mr. Faris, hold on.” Adan’er leaned in and quickly said.

“It’s too late…” Faris’s blinking seemed to consume his last bit of strength.

His breathing was now very weak, and the blood he coughed up overflowed from the corners of his mouth and neck; several shrapnel pieces had pierced his kidneys and abdominal cavity, leaving a large pool of blood on the ground.

Faris knew his condition; his current life could not last until the hospital. Those few pieces of shrapnel had completely shattered his internal organs.

He should have died instantly when he was attacked, but he still had one last mission to complete.

“Ye, please help me.” Faris said, his voice as faint as a mosquito, extremely weak.

“Mr. Faris, you said…” The female reporter, with tears in her eyes, tried hard to lean in and listen.

She was the TV station’s reporter, Ye Ying.

She had been following Faris recently, learning various interview and filming tasks, and never expected to encounter such a disaster.

“I hope you must send this report back to Al Jazeera, to your TV station, to let the whole world see…” Faris used all his strength to say this last sentence, then closed his eyes.

Until his moment of death, the word ‘PRESS’ was written on his helmet and vest.

But this was Gaza.

The previous attack was not a misfire; its main purpose was to eliminate Faris.

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