Working as a police officer in Mexico

Terrorist organizations, everyone has the right to execute them!

Velupillai's Tiger Organization also dabbles in other criminal ventures—smuggling, drug trafficking, human trafficking, and so on. Where else would they get their funding?

"Ah! Ah!"

The traitor Charles knelt on the ground, clutching his hair in anguish, trembling all over. He grabbed Lundestat's feet and shouted, "Why? Why kill them? Why?"

"You're wavering in your stance, aren't you? Are you a civilian now, or still part of the terrorist organization?" the deputy battalion commander squinted his eyes and said coldly.

The other party was truly scared…

If he weren't afraid of death, he wouldn't have betrayed Velupillai.

He collapsed on the ground, utterly despondent, devoid of any spirit.

Gerhard von Rundstedt glanced at him with contempt. You've already defected, and you're still putting on an act?

After the slaughter was complete, Rundstedt led Velupillai Prabakaran's relatives and withdrew, with Charles hurriedly following behind.

However, after traveling two kilometers into a small forest, he suddenly ordered the troops to rest. Everyone was to hide and remain utterly silent.

No one knew why, but a military order is absolute. They obeyed without question as usual.

After about two hours, the sky began to brighten.

"Get up, we're heading back to Inuvil Village to kill them all."

Gerhard von Rundstedt led 60 soldiers in a surprise counterattack. By then, more people had appeared in the village, moving corpses. They never expected the Mexican army to return.

"Enemy attack!!"

The two sides began exchanging fire. The opposing group wasn't small, around 200 people, and their firepower was formidable. They also seemed tactically skilled, indicating they were seasoned fighters.

Yet, they faced Mexico's most elite unit—the independent Fourth Battalion under direct command of the military...

60 soldiers armed with 20 individual rocket launchers began bombarding the village indiscriminately.

Leveling everything in their path.

While leaning against a wall, Rundstedt's eyes casually swept across the battlefield. Suddenly, he froze. In one of the buildings opposite, he spotted a face.

Short and stout, like a water barrel!

That massive pancake-shaped face was too distinctive.

"Velupillai Prabakaran!!!" he shouted, a note of excitement in his voice. His voice was so loud that, even in this chaotic battlefield, many people heard it.

The chubby man also heard it. He whipped his head around and saw a man staring at him with bloodshot eyes from a distance. A slight shiver ran through him.

A foreboding sense of doom began to creep over his heart.

...

Recently, Victor had taken a liking to fishing.

He found it calming.

Sitting by the river, he could stay there for hours.

Casare, however, was restless. He kept fidgeting with the fishing line every now and then, clearly lacking patience. When Victor finally caught a fish, Casare would eagerly help with the net.

"Boss, another big one!" He grabbed the fish by its gills, lifting it triumphantly like he was seeking approval.

"You... Fishing requires patience and calm, yet all you do is fuss. How will you handle tasks in the future? Are you going to keep acting so reckless?" Victor pointed at him.

Anyone else would feel immense pressure hearing such criticism from their leader. But Casare? Who was he?

Known for his exceptional EQ and IQ, he simply gave a candid smile and said, "Boss, that's what you're here for, isn't it? You make the calls, I charge forward. You steer the ship, and I crank the engine."

He hit the nail on the head.

Victor couldn't even work up the energy to stay mad, only laughing as he pointed at Casare.

"General."

The Director of the Counterintelligence Bureau, Jeff Bennett, jogged over with an excited expression. "We've got a big fish. Mossad's handler for Mexico is currently in Sonora State and is under surveillance by our people."

Victor reeled in his fishing hook, grabbed a handful of bait, and tossed it into the river. Instantly, he could see a flurry of fish jumping for it.

"The fish all compete for the bait, but the fisherman watches silently. The first one to leap out isn't always the biggest catch."

As he spoke, a sudden commotion startled the smaller fish competing over the bait. They scattered in panic.

A Pacific sturgeon shot out of nowhere, devouring one of the smaller fish that couldn't escape in time.

Jeff Bennett lowered his voice. "Do you think we can still catch the big one after this?"

"Wait. The fish are still in the lake; they can't escape me."

"Understood, I get it."

It seemed that being in a position of power made one's rhetoric increasingly abstract.

Victor cast his hook back into the river. Just as he settled back into his chair to clear his mind, a loud rumbling noise erupted from the distant bridge.

Casare turned his head and saw a group of around a dozen heavily modified motorcycles roaring by, the noise grating on everyone's nerves.

His heart sank, and he glanced at his boss. Victor was already frowning slightly.

"Damn it, what's going on? How are people street racing here? Call the police!" Casare blurted out.

This area was actually quite remote...

Far out from Mexico City, surrounded by mountains. These racers were clearly hill runners, never expecting that someone like their leader would be out here.

It was part of Victor's mystique—avoiding the opulence of the National Palace for a desolate spot like this.

After all, hadn't someone once stumbled upon a corpse while fishing calmly in the same spot?

"Pack it up; I can't enjoy this with all that noise. Let's go," Victor said, shaking his head. He turned to Joseph Xiafei behind him.

The Special Service agents quickly began packing up.

The rest of the entourage escorted Victor to his vehicle while Casare deliberately hung back, speaking quietly to his secretary with a dissatisfied expression. "Have Carlos send someone to take a look at this. How can there still be street races in a prime area like Mexico City? What's being done about this?"

"I'll call immediately," the secretary said hastily.

Victor had just settled into the car when Chief Secretary Traudl Junge handed him the phone. "General, Military Headquarters is on the line."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "This is him."

"General, Velupillai Prabakaran was killed three hours ago by the Fourth Battalion, along with his eldest son and brother. His younger sister, brother-in-law, and 21 other relatives were captured alive," reported Erich Ludendorff, the Army Chief, with barely concealed excitement.

Victor's mood lifted instantly. It had only been eight days since the Fourth Battalion deployed to Sri Lanka, and they'd already delivered such dazzling results. What a show of prowess—what an achievement!

"Transport Velupillai Prabakaran's body and the prisoners to Mexico City. I want to hold a public execution with media coverage. Send a telegram to Manstein, and tell him I'm very pleased with their performance."

"But make it clear—the Tiger Organization must be eradicated, crushed, and utterly annihilated. Prabakaran's father's and ancestors' graves must be blown up. Dig up their bones and grind them into powder with armored vehicles. Also, commission someone to write his biography, documenting everything he's done so he will be infamous for eternity."

Erich Ludendorff was trembling as he held the phone.

That was brutal—beyond words. Killing wasn't enough; he would desecrate graves too. Ruthless...

Instinctively standing at attention, he replied, "Understood."

After hanging up, Ludendorff glanced at his adjutant. Hesitating for a moment, he asked, "Do me a favor and think—have I ever offended the General?"

Adjutant: "???"

Victor sat in the car, still in disbelief. Could it really have gone this smoothly?

But then he chuckled at himself.

And why shouldn't it go smoothly?

Would he rather it drag on?

The Tiger Organization didn't have the numbers to resist and happened to run into the full force of the Fourth Battalion. Bad luck for them.

"Drive. Back to the National Palace."

Meanwh​​ile, in Sri Lanka.

Deputy Battalion Commander Gerhard von Rundstedt was reporting their success to Manstein, who couldn't believe it at first, repeatedly asking for confirmation.

Only after Rundstedt swore solemnly did the battalion commander believe him.

The bodies were transported to Jaffna.

People flocking to the scene quickly lined both sides of the road.

The bodies were hauled on flatbed trucks. Velupillai Prabakaran was pale, bloated, and still had his eyes wide open in death. (He truly died with his eyes open.)

His forehead bore a visible bullet wound—the fatal injury.

As the crowds grew bigger, Rundstedt grew increasingly tense, with every soldier locking and loading their weapons just in case.

This was a Tamil-dominated area. If conflict broke out, it wouldn't end well.

Just as the atmosphere reached a boiling point...

Manstein arrived, leading over 700 reinforcements. Without hesitation, they barreled through the crowd, honking mercilessly and never easing off the gas. Let's see who dared block their way!!

But in the distance…

A Tamil man in a police uniform watched with a hostile gaze, clutching his clothes tightly. His jacket seemed unusually bulky.

It was as if something was concealed beneath it!

...