Working as a police officer in Mexico

"What do you want for lunch?"

Belsaria Ramsfield thought for a moment, "How about a burger?"

Women in Europe and America tend to be more direct; they rarely say whatever. Of course, there are exceptions, but they are few. They express what they want to eat.

If you go out with a girl and ask her what to eat and she says whatever, and you take her to a hot pot restaurant, she'll complain that her makeup will melt off.

XXXX!

Go eat hot pot with your ass, whatever your MLGB! (The author has gone mad).

Victor nodded, and the two picked a roadside burger joint with a rather imposing name.

"BULL Demon king"

Journey to the West has come to the United States?

Agents from the Special Service went down first, pushing the door open and glancing inside, mainly checking for anyone who looked particularly "ferocious."

That is, those who are conventionally considered ugly.

With facial scars, tattoos, and such that at first glance don't seem like the good guys.

The patrons inside saw Victor walk in and paused, then saw a chubby guy in a blue cultural T-shirt stand up, his face red and his ears hot, as if he was choking. Finally, his girlfriend hastily handed him a Coke, and he managed to gulp it down.

"Hi, Victor!"

He raised his hand excitedly.

Victor smiled as he shook hands with him.

"I really like you, man; you're like Superman. I've even got recordings of your speeches at my place." The chubby guy posed, imitating him, "I'm gonna drown the drug traffickers in the toilet. Forgiving them is God's business. My job is to send them to meet God. Awesome!"

This was one of his supporters, no wonder he looked so "cute."

"You've got great taste, sir."

"Is this your girlfriend?" the chubby guy asked, pointing to Belsaria beside him and wearing an exaggerated smile, "Very pretty."

Victor wanted to clarify, but instead, Belsaria graciously shook the man's hand, "Thank you."

"Don't bother them, sit down," the chubby guy's girlfriend pulled on him, and he chuckled awkwardly, "Mr. Victor, rest assured, even if the whole United States is against you, I still support you."

"Long live the war on drugs!"

"Cheers!"

He said and drained his Coke in one gulp.

Victor gave him a thumbs-up.

Fortunately, the burger joint was filled with his supporters. If he had encountered Niger, NMD, he would have had to carry bleach with him (as a weapon).

"You're really popular," Belsaria commented with a smile.

Victor, ever the gentleman, pulled out a chair for her, "I'm just spreading the right values, don't you think? Don't you think that America is living too comfortably? Just suppose, and I mean just suppose, that one day America becomes the only superpower on this planet, then the arrogance and numbness within will only lead to an explosive increase in the number of addicts."

"By that time, the streets would be full of addicts hallucinating and going crazy; drug traffickers will sell their drugs brazenly in broad daylight, and everyone will lose hope in life!"

"I'm just protecting the last line of defense for you all."

"No... that shouldn't happen, right?" Belsaria was confounded by Victor's words.

They were truly frightening.

By then...

Will America be a beacon or a drug nation?

Victor looked at her meaningfully, "Maybe, but if we don't work hard now, when the real disaster arrives, we'll only be able to kneel on the ground and wail."

"Aren't you afraid?"

Victor laughed at the question, "Afraid?"

"What I fear is not death or defeat; what I fear is that this world still has drugs. If one day I die and this world remains tainted..." he paused.

The following words were left unsaid, but Belsaria seemed to hear it. Was he implying he would take down the whole world with him?!

"Mexico needs me, America needs me, the world needs me!"

Victor's words and gaze were full of aggressiveness.

But damn, it was MANLY!

Is this... what you call personal charm?

...

Kennedy, nicknamed "Aztec Warrior," was given a new title.

"Tyrant's lapdog!"

He ordered the execution of all direct relatives of police officers involved in the coup and sent other relatives to the infamous "Reform and Labor Camp."

Located in Ensenada City.

Specifically for building roads and bridges.

It was just Mexico's tradition of not using live piles, otherwise, they would all be embedded in the concrete.

The people detained here were the "elite talents," including those who dared to hold banners cursing Victor on the streets, those who stomped on Victor's portraits on the ground.

And even...

Those who publicly demanded Victor step down.

Several drug trafficker-controlled TV stations reported that this was persecution.

In response, the Anti-Drug Force replied: Yes, you're right.

Daring and responsible—what about it?

Apart from those directly involved in the rebellion, other superiors of Demetrius were also internally dealt with, promptly replaced by those "loyal" to Victor.

A meticulous cleansing from top to bottom.

But, just as many people are unaware, the potential for upward mobility for the indigenous population of Mexico has been directly and subtly cut off.

In the future, serving in the Anti-Drug Force for less than 10 years will make it very difficult to climb the ranks.

At this moment, Kennedy was in the office, auditing the plan submitted by the "Mexico Joint Operations Department."

The plan called for a massacre in Guzman's hometown!

The place was situated in "Los Mochis," a peripheral small town with a population of around 1,000 people, below which Guzman's mother lived in a village called "Kandahar."

The population there was roughly 200.

This was only about... over 100 kilometers away from the border of Sonora State.

Seeing this distance, Kennedy furrowed his brows.

Rocket artillery with a range of 100 kilometers is quite rare, but short-range missiles can destroy targets in an instant.

But... the Anti-Drug Force doesn't have them.
Your adventure continues at empire

If such weapons were to appear, with Mexico's geographical location, they would be comparable to nuclear weapons; the latter require auxiliary launch methods, whereas short-range missiles go 'whoosh'—

The Cold War would turn into a hot war.

Smaller countries don't have much say in their actions; sometimes when carrying out missions, they have to skulk and sneak.

In the end, the Mexico Joint Operations Department opted for special operations, meaning: dispatching a combat squad of about 80 men to fly in low altitude aboard armed helicopters towards the village of "Kandahar."

Then they would perform air-to-ground bombing, followed by abducting Guzman's mother back within 20 minutes; if they couldn't quell the fighting within those 20 minutes, they could face counterattacks from drug traffickers.

About 600 armed forces were stationed in the small town of "Los Mochis."

To ensure sufficient firepower, they could also order Coast Guard vessels to provide artillery support from "Haiki River," a waterway through the Gulf of California.

The Joint Operations Department stated that if the drug traffickers were provoked and gathered en masse, ground forces could push forward and block the junction, bombarding other areas of Sinaloa.

After the special attack on the village of "Kandahar," if successful, the operation could evolve into an occupation mission, taking control of the town of "Los Mochis," which would then be firmly fixed in place like a nail.

They could attack significant targets in Sinaloa when advancing, or retreat to Sonora State, which was an absolutely strategic location.

The strategists did have grand ambitions, as they wanted to use this opportunity to strike a blitzkrieg on their opponents.

However, this would definitely pull at a thread that might unravel the entire situation, throwing all the remaining three states in Northern Mexico into chaos.

A full-blown war was imminent!

"War simulation predicts an 87% chance of success," a superintendent from the combat command remarked.

War is always a gamble; it is impossible to achieve a 100% chance of success.

If anyone tells you something is 100% certain, they're definitely lying. Even black people can't say with 100% certainty where their father is.

"We have also calculated that there's about a 21% chance it may provoke resistance from local armed groups, such as the Government Forces or the police department," the superintendent continued.

"Let's wipe them out together!" Kennedy said directly. "Anyone who stands in our way is our enemy. On the battlefield, seeing the Navy SEALs, if their guns are aimed at us, all we have to do is send them to their deaths."

The superintendent adjusted his glasses.

Without hesitation, Kennedy swiftly signed his name and handed the plan back, "I'll coordinate with the other police forces..."

"Which unit will we use? Send Swat? Or select from within the police force?"

Kennedy narrowed his eyes, his hands crossed, pondering for a moment.

"Let John McTavish take Task Force 141 over there."

This was the ace unit that Victor had created after the reorganization.

Task Force 141 fell under the "Mexico Combat Command," belonging directly to the operational sequence, with a total strength of 89 men, led by the first-grade superintendent, John McTavish.

His resume stated as much.

He graduated from the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and School, joined the Navy SEALs, and participated in more than 70 overseas operations.

Among them, during an operation codenamed "Acid Action" in Panama, he and his teammates eliminated the so-called "Panama Special Warfare Battalion" commander and 76 of his officers.

The rest of Task Force 141 were also elite members from Special Forces, including the SAA, SEALs, Australian SASR, Polish GROM, and so forth.

Their current task was to train, train, and train some more.

Waiting for the day they would emerge onto the world stage.

"This requires the Director's digital code," the superintendent from the joint command said, looking troubled.

"The Director has appointed me to act in his stead, I will take full responsibility for everything," Kennedy stated firmly.

"Set the time for August 10, 1990, at 4 a.m.! Operation Codename: 'Magic Bullet Shooter'!"

The other man hesitated for a moment, then saluted.

"Yes, sir!"

Kennedy knew what the Director was up to; you have to impress the Americans by showing your capabilities.

The better you perform, the more justified they feel in their support.

Nobody wants to pick an idiot as a puppet, right?

After all, with so many 'godsons' in the United States, you need to perform well enough to draw their attention, as they too vie for favor.

But you can't stand out too much.

Otherwise, 'daddy' might become unhappy, fearing you'll eventually challenge his status.

Truly, it's a damn nuisance; sooner or later, I'll show those American devils who's the son and who's the father!

Well, the Statue of Liberty has been blown up.

Next time, I'll erect a Victor Statue!!!

...