Working as a police officer in Mexico

El Mencho hung up the phone, his brows furrowed tightly.

"You take people to the Hilton Hotel and bring the person over, remember, be gentle," he said to his confidant.

He was cunning, El Mencho was described as a blend of the old drug trafficker's slickness with the ruthlessness and venom of the new school, many were cautious, but only he was both crazy and cautious.

"The CIA wants to support their own?"

If it were true, then he should play their dog and ask for more benefits, if false... surely no one would be that bored.

And there were only a few who knew his private phone number.

"Mexico is getting more and more interesting."

...

Mexico City.

Cuauhtémoc walked out of the National Palace, protected by several Presidential Guards.

He was going to attend an open class at a school.

Just as he was about to get in the car, he suddenly heard someone calling him from behind.

Cuauhtémoc turned around in confusion and saw his Guard Commander, nicknamed "Rookie" Carlos, rushing out with soldiers.

"What's wrong?"

Carlos's eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, making anyone he stared at feel uneasy, until he fixed his gaze on the secretary, "Mr. Nunez, something has happened to you!"

Nunez's pupils shrank, and when he saw the President looking at him in surprise, he forced a smile, "Carlos, I don't understand what you mean."

"You don't need to know, the News Intelligence Department invites you over for tea, and your issues, we will explain them to you slowly."

Nunez couldn't keep up the act any longer, he shoved aside a colleague next to him, reaching into his coat, while Carlos was even faster, firing three shots straight at his heart.

Quick, accurate, ruthless!

Actually, because of the adrenaline rush, one normally doesn't feel pain from being shot, but after a few seconds, the person would be lying on the ground convulsing.

The guards nearby formed a human wall protecting Cuauhtémoc.

And while Nunez lay on the ground, an FN M1910 pistol fell out of his coat.

"What is this all about?" Cuauhtémoc asked, his face turning a shade of steel.

"The Northern Intelligence Agency intercepted some intelligence; quite a few people in Mexico City want to harm you and your family and are plotting a coup!"

"But rest assured, your family is safe, nothing will happen to them."

In addition to serving as the commander of the Presidential Guard, Carlos also held the position of Deputy Director of the Mexican News Department, and just as well, Mexico's intelligence agencies had been thrown into disarray, filled with Victor's people.

"Who are these people?"

Carlos looked at him and mentioned some names.

After hearing the names, Cuauhtémoc looked at him in disbelief, "Impossible! They are all from the Workers' Party, and they are also my comrades!"

"The real struggle is never about how many comrades we have on the road, but rather, how many persist. Sir, this path is full of corruption, degradation and desire. People always join, and some will leave ahead of time."

Carlos said something profoundly, a phrase Victor was fond of, "The real struggle is just beginning!"

Cuauhtémoc gazed at Nunez's corpse, his eyes filled with complexity. The secretary had been with him for a long time when he was just a low-paid civil servant.

He had followed him to establish the Workers' Party in San Luis Potosi, declaring war on drug traffickers, witnessing the glory; his sister had also been raped and killed by a drug trafficker. Logically, they were comrades in arms for the long term.

Why?

Could it be true that in the face of greater power, people lose a lot?

Rationality? Dreams? Humanity? All gone!

"Mr. President, a call from Governor Victor," Carlos said, handing over the phone at that moment.

Cuauhtémoc's hand trembled as he took the phone.

"Victor~"

"Buddy, the struggle has never been about civilities, but about life and death. Let these people go, bury them. I plan to send another 600 troops to Mexico City."

"Three days, you deal with it. After three days, I will deal with it for you!"

Victor's slightly somber and cold speech contained not a trace of comfort, only iron-blood.

Listening to the dial tone on the phone, Cuauhtémoc took a deep breath, stood up, and looked at Carlos, "What do you need me to do?"

"Please order their arrest!"

"No."

Cuauhtémoc shook his head, gritting his teeth, "Traitors die! Bury them all alive!"

"Understood! Sir!" Carlos exclaimed excitedly.

Meanwhile, in Tijuana, Victor called over his George Smiley and said to him a sentence.
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"I grant you permission to expand the Thirteen Protectors, you will be in charge, comprising 3,000 men selected from various units, functioning independently of the Press Bureau, and answerable only to me."

"The only thing you have to do is..."

"Loyalty!" George Smiley learned to interject.

"Go, I want to see the presence of Taibao in every field, even in the Mexican Mountains and the seas; you are my last line of defense."

George Smiley gave a solemn salute and, as he walked out the door, it was as if the shadow of a man named Heinrich Louis Bodmer followed.

"The Empire's dagger" began to show its fangs.

Victor opened his notebook; he was personally designing a flag.

An emblem that could rally everyone against drug traffickers and evil: "Symbol!"

However, why did this emblem look so crooked?

...

Sinaloa. Outskirts North of Culiacán, night.

On a hastily leveled helipad.

The air force deployed 4 CH-47 "Chinook" helicopters and 7 Mi-8s, and using the cover of darkness, transported a company of armed military forces along with 7 LAV-25 wheeled infantry fighting vehicles and 3 "Weasel" airborne armored vehicles.

This "Chinook" was of course a new provision by Victor to the air force, nicknamed the flying railcar, an American model tandem-rotor, twin-engined, heavy-lift helicopter capable of all-weather multi-role operations.

The Northern Governorship now had the capability to rapidly deploy troops across Mexico!

Should Mexico City stir slightly, within two hours, nearly 300 soldiers could storm in from two companies.

Frontline commander Kennedy, upon learning of Rommel's breakthrough on the outskirts north of Culiacán, was excessively excited and deployed the 3rd company of the 4th battalion of the 2nd regiment, nicknamed "Meritorious Ace Battalion," into the rear battlefield.

This regiment had been personally decorated by Victor.

The old EDM troops had fought alongside Victor into Guadalupe Island, then struck hard against the Tijuana Cartel there.

This was the true lineage!

Among them, some officers were Victor's old colleagues from his time as a jail guard.

The team was led by a Major as battalion commander.

"Commander!" Rommel and his adjutant Fedor von Bock hurriedly saluted.

The other party was not jovial, "I am in charge of the frontline combat, here is the order from headquarters." An orderly beside him handed Rommel a document written by Kennedy himself.

He opened it to see: "Order Major Horatio Herbert Kitchener to assume the role of wartime commander, with full authority!"

"Have you read it, gentlemen?" Horatio asked, as Rommel promptly stood up straight, passing the document back with both hands.

"Attack within half an hour, everyone advance on Culiacán!"

"The Mi-8 helicopters will clear the path for us."

Fedor von Bock hesitated, "Major, the battle today was fierce, our soldiers might need rest."

"I will lead the charge myself!" Horatio's remark left the other party speechless; Fedor, with his mouth half-open, bowed his head.

"Let us handle it, Commander," Rommel urged, fearing for the other's life.

"I am a warrior, Captain, anyone can charge, anyone can sacrifice, why can't it be me?"

"Your task is to attack the west side to draw their fire; it's a major feint. I will enter directly from the northern suburbs of Culiacán. Go ahead with the street-fighting; don't worry, the 'Chinook' will work through the night, and we expect to transport over 1,000 men by tomorrow morning at seven," he said.

"What we need to do is to expand the battlefield!"

"Take back this city that has been virtually in the air from the drug traffickers for nearly a century!"

Horatio's words were flat, but they made Rommel's blood boil, "Hey! Victor!"

Adjutant Fedor von Bock, and all those around, raised their hands to salute.

Slowly the sound spread to all the soldiers.

The voice was powerful!

"From the south of Sinaloa!"

"Pierce through Mexico, sweep away the drug traffickers!"

...