Working as a police officer in Mexico

Chapter 117 Judgment lies with Victor! (Vote for monthly tickets!)

Lower California. Mexicali TV Station.

Midday prime time.

As the host with a finely made-up face had just finished reading the news, and the camera began to pull back in preparation for her to deliver the closing remarks, a crew member rushed in from outside the broadcast booth, handing a document to the director.

The host immediately understood that some new material had suddenly come in.

The director glanced at it, motioned for someone to hand it to the host. When she received it, her eyebrows furrowed, but being a professional, she composed her face.

"We interrupt with an important message!"

"Armed drug traffickers have attacked a military base in Sonora State, just six kilometers from the Lower California border region. There are many casualties, and artillery fire has even fallen within Lower California territory, causing 17 civilian casualties. I, the Security Forces, strongly condemn this act and will make the drug traffickers pay with blood for blood debt!"

"The Secretary of Public Security for Baja California, Alejandro, stated there will be a new round of crackdowns on drug traffickers!"

Major Barella: What exactly was I attacked by?

But this thing wasn't settled by who spoke first.

Before the shelling was even over, the town hall press release was already damn well written.

If you're half a step slow, not even shit would be left for you.

...

After two rounds of continuous shelling from 12 A-19 type cannons.

The fully armed 500 members of the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) stormed into a place in Sonora State called Cambra Valley.

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This place was home to the drug traffickers and their relatives, including about 2000 hectares of plantations, a significant industrial area for Sinaloa.

Behind the ground troops, there was a battalion of artillery formed by 12 BM-13 type rocket launchers.

"Direction of ground troop attack!"

"Maintain 300 meters!"

"Advance with barrage!"

"Fire!"

12 BM-13 type rocket launchers lined up, and upon the commander's order, 192 rockets were fired at the target!

Boom boom boom boom boom!

At 200 meters where the ground troops were charging, a series of explosions occurred, and smoke obscured the vision of both friend and foe.

This tactic was invented during the Battle of the Somme in World War I and has been referred to by infantry as "pre-charge piano music," capable of protecting the lives of one's soldiers within an effective range.

In the Humvee, the driver sped along, charging toward the valley. The machine gunner nearly bounced off, fingers clamped on the trigger, not letting go, but the smoke was really choking. The driver, covering his nose, didn't notice a deep, about 40cm hole, the right tire bumped, and the vehicle lost control.

It flipped...

Infantrymen relying solely on their legs buried their heads and charged forward.

When the explosion happened at Camp 36, the drug trafficking leaders in the valley sensed something was wrong. It must've been Victor attacking.

This damn bastard, couldn't he rest for two days?

He yelled at the drug traffickers to push out the heavy weapons.

"Quick! Aim toward that smoky area!" At the commanding heights of the valley, about a hundred drug trafficking members were quite orderly, seeming busy but not chaotic, even drawing out artillery positions.

Many cannons could be seen, but their models couldn't be identified, looking more homemade. The barrels were quite thick, though, big enough to stick your head into.

At least the caliber was over 100mm.

Actually, these were cannons the drug traffickers used to "launch" drugs, when, at times, they encountered inspections at the U.S.-Mexico Border and couldn't deliver the goods. They thought to stuff the drugs into the barrels and fire them across.

With such brains, what couldn't they do?

However, in Mexico, apart from being drug traffickers, it seems the only other option is to be done in by drug traffickers.

These DIY cannons, after being modified by "external experts," at least could match the mortars from World War II.

"Standby!" The drug trafficker's lieutenant raised the banner, but then saw one trafficker still bent over. He went over and kicked him, "Damn, standby already!"

The other man scrambled up, grenade in hand, nervously awaiting for the leader to drop his hand, then hastily stuffed the grenade into the barrel.

Pop~

A soft noise, and the grenade flew out, exploding in the smoke.

As long as it explodes, it causes damage!

A grenade landed right in the middle of a police squad of about seven or eight people. The leading police sergeant's pupils shrank, he screamed, "¡Refugiarse! (Take cover!)"

He went to kick the grenade away.

But before his foot could touch it, the grenade exploded, flipping the sergeant—and nearly 200 pounds, including equipment—into the air. As he fell, he was a bloody mess, his right leg blasted away from the shin down.

His face was also severely injured, gasping with blood seeping from his nostrils, looking like he wouldn't survive.

The blast and flying shrapnel also took down the nearby policemen.

This...

Is it war or drug enforcement?

"Artillery! Artillery! Covering fire ahead!"

The officer responsible for the EDTV was an old EDM soldier, also Victor's second man next to Kennedy, nicknamed "M4" Zolf Sherman!

Hearing this nickname, you'd know he had a towering physique.

He saw the drug traffickers had cannons and hurriedly called out to the artillery battalion behind him.

"Copy that!"

The Katyusha artillery crew crisply raised their angles—they didn't know the exact coordinates, so just bomb away!

Never mind precision, just pound them.

The old Russians' weapons were designed without much thought for coordinates, as long as they could cover the area with fire, it was enough.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh...

Zolf Sherman watched hundreds of rockets fly over his head, and the valley even shook twice from the blasts. He grinned, "Blow the damn thing up!"

But just as he was ready for the second round of artillery fire... it ceased.

In a hurry, about to press his radio, the voice from the other end came first, and it sounded very rushed, "We're under attack! Repeat, we're under attack, damn it, they're all drug traffickers, glory to Victor! Long live Victor!"

At the very end, the voice carried a mix of despair and madness.

Zolf Sherman was baffled; were the drug traffickers... starting to employ flanking tactics?

Damn it!

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These fuckers are actually starting to use tactics?

The drug traffickers are getting smarter?

After all, they're human too, not so dumb; they won't just stupidly stay in one place and get bombed. Drug trafficker operations move fast, and they're well-suited to guerrilla warfare—it's damn hard to find dozens of them when they just scatter.

Zolf Sherman was very calm as he switched the radio frequency, "Pilot, the artillery support team is under attack, please head over for support."

"Understood!"

An MI-8 helicopter took off from Lower California border, seating 20 soldiers within, all from the EDM elite squad, dressed in uniform black combat fatigues, DEM characteristic masks, emblazoned with the team's insignia.

A soaring eagle above, and below it, a bust of Victor.

Huh, a new design, cool or not?

"Gentlemen, our job is to complete the mission! Fear nothing at any time, in any place, or through any suffering!"

The commander was a Senior Police Sergeant, with a penetrating gaze and a deep voice.

The helicopter flew towards its destination, the sound of gunfire already audible. Hovering a few hundred meters from the battlefield, all personnel rappelled down. Just as they were about to retract the ropes, the radar sounded an alarm.

"Fast-moving ground target approaching!"

The pilot executed a slick maneuver, but after the missile flew by, it continued tracking them.

"FIM-92!! (Stinger!)" the pilot glanced back, cursed, his face grim as he evasively maneuvered the helicopter, even diving into the forest below.

"May Victor bless him, gentlemen, let's go!" the Senior Police Sergeant said, leading his squad toward the artillery support team, after witnessing this scene.

At a small high point opposite to them, two blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners were clad in camouflage, one spotty-faced man who looked quite tender, but with a rough voice said, "Hey, missed!"

The other man, carrying a Stinger, frowned. "We've got rats coming."

The spotty man blew his bangs out of the way, with a grin like an old friend, "Brave, what's there to fear? You scared of the Mexican Police?"

"I'd be surprised if they had helicopters; you've trained with the Mexican Special Forces, haven't you? They're absolutely terrible."

Brave knitted his brows, "My gut tells me, these guys are no joke."

This sounded like a joke, but it made the spotty-faced man's expression stiffen, "You sure?"

Seeing his affirmation, he was straightforward, "Then let's bail!"

They were "advisors" hired by the drug traffickers, their appearance made it clear they had served in the U.S. military, and they had extensive combat experience.

Brave's "gut feeling" had saved them many times on the battlefield.

"Look out!" he suddenly pulled the spotty man down, as a burst of bullets struck the dirt wall behind them, making piupiupiu noises.

"Fuck, they're fast!" the spotty man shouted, lifting his head just to see a group of policemen approaching, clearly they had been spotted from afar.

No shit!

You're standing there with your blonde hair, trying to be Super Saiyan or what?

Who wouldn't see you?

"Kill them!" ordered the Senior Police Sergeant leading the team, catching a glimpse of the attackers and realizing they didn't look Mexican.

Capture them alive? That only leads to unnecessary risks; let's see if they can survive.

Brave was fierce, "Fight our way out, fuck! Fuck!"

Before he could finish talking, he saw the enemy fire a rocket launcher directly at them.

Brave and his lot target planes, these policemen target people!

He dragged the spotty man and jumped off the knoll, as the massive shock wave from behind "blew" them away, slamming them hard on the ground.

This taught one lesson.

Rambo is fake!

Who could possibly not be blasted away?

Brave felt like his internal organs had shifted, struggling to stand using sheer willpower, he supported the spotty man and ran into the forest.

...

"Take up arms! Protect your fields, pick up weapons and kill the cops outside!"

"Raise them, charge out! These cops want to destroy your wealth, kill them and besides protecting your fields, you'll get a 100 US Dollar reward."

In the valley, the drug traffickers also armed the farmers, distributing weapons to them, continuously brainwashing them.

"All of this is thanks to Mr. Guzman, he lets you have food so you don't starve to death. But now someone's coming to take your land, what will you do?"

"Kill them!" someone shouted, and what followed was a suppressed roar of rage.

Zolf Sherman, leading the "Infantry Policemen," was about to rush into the valley when he heard a shout from inside!

Then hundreds emerged... Farmers? Drug traffickers?

Carrying scythes, dung forks, and sticks?

This scene baffled the officers of the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit. Those at the forefront instinctively lowered their muzzles, but then a woman, with a fierce expression, hacked at one of their heads with a scythe. The helmet took the hit; the scythe slid down, embedding itself into his shoulder.

The policeman screamed, kicking the woman away, trembling as he saw the scythe in his shoulder.

These fuckers, using their own families as weapons?

There were 2000 hectares of plantation in the valley sustaining tens of thousands of farmers, they too were stakeholders in the drug traffickers' business. When the police conducted anti-drug operations, these folks were actually the most resistant.

Sometimes...

They just wanted something to eat.

The drug traffickers very well knew this, so when recruiting, they also emphasized this aspect.

And most importantly... the Mexican authorities themselves were unreliable; they removed the section regarding farmers' rights to their land from the constitution.

And then...

You know how it goes!

Zolf Sherman's gaze changed, but he quickly recovered, holding down his communication device, he calmly gave the order, "Open fire!"

"Anyone who takes up arms and resists is a drug trafficker!"

"Our job is to clean them out."

Civilians? Drug traffickers?

Judgment is in Mr. Victor's hands.

...

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