Chapter 996: Conditions of Aid

In the morning, Lans was on the phone with Erwin, discussing matters in Denuozhou.

“I heard Gold Standard Brewery plans to drop the investigation into Richard’s death, and they’ve completely stopped their attacks on us.”

“This may be tied to the governor’s campaign—there’s still half a year until campaigning heats up, and Wade’s popularity is very high.”

Lans distributed his earnings to the mayor, the local police force, the law enforcement agencies, and the interest groups; for them, only Wade’s rise to office could protect these interests.

So they would hope more than anyone else that Wade would defeat the lieutenant governor in the election.

At the same time, because Wade’s several economic development proposals had achieved certain “results,” many believed he was skilled in economics and could help Denuozhou’s stagnant economy find new growth points.

Although part of it was luck—he benefited from the war—overall, his performance was far superior to everyone else’s.

Denuozhou voters believed that even if he wasn’t a good governor, he was at least one who could boost the economy.

Some also felt he had no concrete patronage ties within Denuozhou and could focus more on raising people’s incomes rather than colluding to fill his own pockets.

Campaigns require money; even though many now support Mayor Wade, his campaign still needs funding.

He himself has money, but how many politicians fund their campaigns from their own pockets?

“Mayor Wade reached out to me these past few days—he mentioned his campaign plans for the second half of the year.”

Lans grunted, signaling him to continue.

“The overall campaign plan will begin around June, end by September, and the final vote will be held in October.”

“Mayor Wade said he hopes we can donate at least five hundred thousand for campaign activities during the summer break.”

“Five hundred thousand,” Lans repeated.

Erwin said, “Yes, five hundred thousand.”

Five hundred thousand wasn’t a large sum for a governor’s campaign.

The current governor spent roughly 2.7 million during his election; this year, several consulting agencies generally believe that as the Federation gains more from the war, the economy is beginning to rise.

Campaign funding will also be higher than in previous years, with preliminary estimates suggesting a 20 to 30 percent increase over the last campaign’s budget.

That’s just over three million.

In the next presidential election year, funding is projected to exceed seventeen million!

These consulting agencies based their assessments on historical campaign spending patterns, and their estimates carry some weight—if a particularly tough opponent emerges, funding will continue to rise.

Three million is Wade’s own estimate for how much he’ll invest in his gubernatorial campaign.

He can afford it; the Wade family is the most powerful in Jingang City—the Williams family could raise this sum, let alone the Wades.

But spending this much would hurt them financially, and if they lose, they risk total ruin.

So politicians don’t use their own money for campaigns unless they’re so rich they don’t care how much they spend.

After thinking for a moment, Lans said, “Give him a million—double it.”

“But you must tell him this money must be a meaningful, valuable investment.”

Some things don’t need to be spelled out, but they must be hinted at.

Never underestimate a politician’s moral bottom line—because they have none, and they’re always ready to break whatever line exists.

If later he claims he thought it was purely campaign funding, Lans won’t have a good way to deal with him.

Spell it out clearly—if he pretends not to understand, then it’s not Lans’s fault.

“I’ll pass it on,” Erwin paused, “Hiram has been telling me lately he wants to go to Lapa.”

With Denuozhou’s “state of war” now over, Hiram has nothing left to do—he just wanders around aimlessly all day.

He’s tired of this peaceful life; recently he read in the papers that Lapa is like hell on earth, and it caught his interest.

It’s not that he wants to observe up close how starving people die—he’s seen that in the Empire—he simply has a gut feeling that Lans will soon make a major move.

Many years ago, when he was scrubbing ship hulls at the shipyard, his ultimate dream was to become rich.

Own a house in the Federation, and have a few hundred credits in his pocket.

Get married to a girl who might not suit him but must be beautiful, have children, and live a happy life.

He’d long since achieved that dream; logically, he should have been able to rest—but those old dreams now felt dull and meaningless to him.

What he truly wanted was excitement.

The feeling of speaking with bullets on the battlefield—that’s what he revered!

He wanted to go to Lapa, but without Lans’s approval, he couldn’t get there.

Erwin saw how bored he was—so bored he came bothering him—and he was somewhat tempted.

“Gold Standard Brewery won’t finish assembling those machines until March or April; from trial production to full-scale output, it’ll be at least June or July.”

“He’s like a giant fly here right now—nobody likes him, but nobody can do anything about him.”

“So… if possible.”

Lans thought for a moment and agreed, “Let him pick his own date—tell me the ship number before he arrives…”

Before the call ended, someone knocked on the door; Lans said a few brief words, hung up, and said, “Come in.”

The person who entered was Andy.

Lans was surprised—Andy was a bit dim-witted, and even in front of Lans, he acted arrogant, though Lans had no idea what Andy had to be arrogant about.

But he didn’t care much; as long as Andy didn’t interfere with his plans, Lans could pretend he didn’t notice.

“Mr. Lans, Pedro says he’ll call you in five minutes—he has something to discuss with you.”

Lans nodded. “Understood.”

Then he looked at Andy; Andy looked back at Lans. After a moment of eye contact, Andy gradually couldn’t bear the quiet pressure hidden in Lans’s gaze and looked away.

But then he suddenly felt ashamed and looked back at Lans—yet even after mentally preparing himself, he still felt he was far shorter than Lans.

“Do you have anything else?” Lans asked—clearly dismissing him.

Andy understood. He bit his lip. “No, nothing.”

Lans tilted his head slightly—clearly meaning, “Then why the hell are you still standing there?”

Andy finally gave a cold farewell and left the room.

In fact, Pedro had first called Andy; in that call, he expressed a desire for more aid.

More food, more money, more medicine, more intelligence.

And weapons.

He explicitly requested weapons, but Andy didn’t agree.

Although they had a weapons aid program, it wasn’t time yet—they still needed to wait until the situation worsened further, until the selected “seeds” had begun sprouting and developed the will to overthrow Diego’s rule, before considering limited weapons support.

Congress and the Defense Force had previously discussed this issue and agreed they shouldn’t push too fast or too aggressively—it would be too obvious, too deliberate.

And once Federation weapons entered Lapa, there would be no turning back.

So this matter required extreme caution.

He couldn’t reach an agreement with Pedro, so Pedro suddenly insisted on speaking directly with Lans.

He had tried his best to explain that he had no connection to Lans, but Pedro was certain Lans was the one in charge.

He didn’t want to waste time with Andy, someone who couldn’t make decisions—he demanded to speak directly with Lans.

Andy originally wanted to refuse, but under Pedro’s firm stance, he ultimately had no choice but to agree.

And so this scene unfolded.

Andy felt… he had been humiliated by a lowly peasant.

Not by Lans—but by that middle-school teacher named Pedro.

He was just a middle-school teacher from Yalan, a backward, impoverished place far from the world’s center and civilization! What gave him the right to think Andy was just a lackey, and that Lans was the real boss?

And his tone toward Andy—so condescending—made Andy furious!

He felt humiliated, but didn’t know how to handle it, and since it involved arms deals, he could only inform Lans.

If it were any other matter, he might have just ignored it—but clearly Pedro was about to make a major move.

After Andy left, Lans waited less than two minutes before the phone rang.

The voice on the other end sounded familiar to Lans; during the symposium, Pedro had been an “active proponent of Federation systems,” enthusiastically embracing Federation propaganda and frequently bringing up discussions.

Whether the Federation’s system of free elections could work in Lapa, where most people were illiterate and poorly educated.

Whether Lapa’s people could understand what candidates meant when they spoke during campaigns.

And whether they could comprehend what their ballots truly meant.

Lans encouraged such discussions—truth wasn’t afraid of debate; the more you debated, the clearer it became.

So he had a strong impression of Pedro, and remembered his voice.

“Pedro?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Andy said you wanted to speak with me?”

There was a pause of three or four seconds before Pedro’s voice came back.

“That’s correct, Mr. Lans. Andy can’t make decisions, but I believe you can—on this matter.”

“We need weapons!”

His tone was firm, carrying an iron-willed resolve that made Lans speculate about his current situation.

He guessed, “Are you facing some trouble?”

Pedro didn’t deny it, nor did he confirm: “Diego’s army is chasing us hard—we can’t stop.”

“And Diego calls us anti-government forces; we’ve completed all voting procedures and will soon make a public announcement.”

Lans asked, “Announce what?”

Pedro’s voice carried a fervor he himself hadn’t realized: “Of course—we announce that we truly exist!”

“We’ve even chosen a name for our cause—”

“La Paz Democratic Rights Front!”

After hearing it, Lans couldn’t help laughing. “That really does sound like a rebel group’s name!”

He paused. “How much do you want?”

Pedro’s face lit up with joy; he shouted “Yes!”—his emotions clearly stirred.

“That’s the other thing I wanted to discuss with you. We’re currently moving northeast. Diego’s reach doesn’t extend that far yet.”

“To establish ourselves here, we need money.”

“To fight them, we need weapons!”

“And everything else!”

After listening carefully, Lans asked, “Give me a number. I can quickly arrange to get you the money and other supplies.”

“But weapons will take a few days—I need to order a batch from the Federation.”

“How many do you want?”

Pedro already had a number in mind.

At first, he only wanted a hundred weapons—even pistols would do.

But he quickly dismissed that idea and raised it to two hundred.

During his call with Andy, swept up in emotion, he blurted out three hundred.

But now, the moment he opened his mouth, three hundred became five hundred.

He fell silent, thinking of a strategy. He didn’t know how much these weapons would cost, but he guessed it wouldn’t be cheap.

He’d once heard that the Lianbangzheng Prefecture’s Guofang Force purchased the Gray 1010 bolt-action rifle, a model from Gray Industries, priced at one hundred and eighty Lianbang Sol per unit.

As for ammunition, he wasn’t sure.

One hundred and eighty Sol per rifle—five hundred rifles meant ninety thousand Sol. A astronomical sum. And he wanted even more aid!

So when he made this demand, he wasn’t even sure Lans would agree.

What he didn’t know was that the outbreak of war had brought many changes—including the price of the classic Gray 1010 bolt-action rifle, which had dropped to fifty Sol.

Besides high production volume, the Guofang Force had already launched its first wartime equipment replacement program.

Frontline soldiers needed more powerful weapons—they needed to suppress enemies, not fire one round at a time with a bolt-action rifle.

So Gray Industries, under orders from the Guofang Force and military, designed a brand-new automatic rifle in a short time.

The Gray 1024 automatic rifle.

Upgraded from the 1010 bolt-action, it could fire thirty-five rounds continuously, was easy to maintain, but had polarized reviews on the frontlines.

Some thought it perfect for battle—emptying all rounds in three to five seconds gave them a strong sense of security.

Others felt it wasted ammunition and required frequent magazine changes, risking danger during reloads.

But regardless of opinion, it was being fully deployed.

Naturally, the 1010 bolt-action rifle, now completely abandoned by the military, with surplus stock and no major orders, had been fully devalued.

For Gray Industries or arms dealers with inventory, if they didn’t offload these rifles quickly, they’d become a burden.

They’d need staff to manage them, plus storage and maintenance costs.

So now, as long as they didn’t lose money, plenty of arms dealers were eager to sell—making it a surprisingly cheap expense.

Lans didn’t answer immediately. He thought, recalling whether he’d missed anything in the past two days.

Pedro’s sudden idea of using force to resist Diego should have emerged only in the next “version.”

Why had he brought it up early? Lans found himself curious.

He thought for a while, but found nothing unusual.

During this time, Pedro didn’t rush Lans. He knew this required thought and time.

After about two minutes, Lans spoke: “Principally, we shouldn’t smuggle weapons into La Paz. But I’ve seen the mad ruler here, and the ordinary people living as if in hell.”

“So I can agree to you.”

“But, Pedro, there’s a condition. I can’t give you all the weapons at once. You must prove to me you won’t use them to kill innocent civilians.”

The words sounded so noble that for a moment, Pedro wondered—was Lans a good man?

But he quickly dismissed this unrealistic thought.

He asked, “How do I prove it?”

Lans answered without hesitation: “Take control of your own territory.”

“Attack a city and fully occupy it.”

“I’ll send you fifty rifles and five thousand rounds first.”

“After you capture the city, I’ll deliver the rest.”

“I must ensure these weapons are used only against tyrannical rule. I hope you understand.”

Pedro thought long and hard. Attacking a city now wasn’t suitable—they hadn’t grown strong enough.

Only with sufficient strength could they do this.

But now he had no choice. He couldn’t lose Lans, this “generous, kind man.” So he agreed.

(End of Chapter)