Working as a police officer in Mexico

Battalion Commander William James Hearst lifted his head, spitting out a mouthful of sand, "Hey, hey, hey! Bomb over there, bomb over there!"

As if the missiles could actually take orders.

They paid no heed at all, zipping right over the battlefield.

Furious, the Battalion Commander cursed, "Navy idiots must have eyes on their asses."

Meanwhile, at the rear, at God Division's 17th Regiment headquarters.

The hired American advisor, peering through binoculars, spotted black dots approaching from a distance, getting closer and closer.

His sixth sense told him something was terribly wrong.

When he finally saw clearly what it was, his eyes widened suddenly.

"Missile! Missile! Run!!!"

He dropped the binoculars and bolted.

Those in the headquarters who heard him were mostly confused, but some reacted quickly and ran immediately.

Don't ask why.

The American advisor certainly had his reasons.

Just as a few people had run a few meters out, a Flying Fish MM38 ship-to-ship missile struck the temporary headquarters directly—the one packed with 42 kilograms of high explosives.

Boom!

It flipped over vehicles nearby.

The shockwave, layer after layer, lifted the slow-escaping advisor off his feet, sending him sliding across the ground for several meters before he trembled to his feet, feeling all his bones ache.

That face...

Blood streaming incessantly from all seven orifices.

"Save me... help," he wailed piteously.

Drug traffickers attacking Madella heard the commotion behind and instinctively looked back, and upon seeing the scene, someone blurted out.

The commander is dead!

This rumor instantly swept through everyone.

The Regular Army too has its hierarchies.

Without the boss, the fighting spirit vanished, and they began to fall back, retreating en masse.

Battalion Commander William James Hearst was dumbfounded, "What's happening?"

"Commander, it seems... the missile hit their headquarters!"

???

Modern warfare, always so absurd and unbelievable. Sometimes, a commander goes out for a meal with an entourage of just two and gets plucked from his position.

Others get taken out in their offices.

Of course, we're not talking about Mikhail Svimonishvili.

Decapitation strikes often signify the end of a localized conflict.

God Division's 17th Regiment...

Do they have a commander anymore?

"Quick, request armed helicopter air strikes, now's the time to expand our victory," Battalion Commander William James Hearst excitedly shouted.

He called Commander Vasili directly. When the latter heard the headquarters had been bombed, he too was stunned but understood it was a prime opportunity to devour the 17th Regiment and went to coordinate the assault.

But the drug traffickers, obviously not waiting to be hit, retreated from the battlefield with the help of the American advisor.

By the time four Mi-8s flew in from Sonora State, the enemy had long gone, having narrowly avoided a few RPGs, angering the helicopter pilots who cursed "Army morons!" over the public channel.

The first battle at Madella came to a dramatic halt.

New York. Wyndham Hotel!

Helson Wales inquired, "They say you and the pilots from Newburgh Air Force Base have a gentleman's agreement for a challenge?"

Victor smiled and looked back at him.

"Uh, I'm afraid I have to apologize, but that match has to be canceled now; they've been sent on a necessary military operation. Aside from the ground crew, there are probably only a few dogs left at Newburgh Air Force Base," Helson Wales explained with an apology.

Victor was taken aback, instantly understanding the implication.

They've gone to be flyers on the frontline.

The skies above the Persian Gulf are already buzzing with action!

Old Bush intends to show Sadaam who's the daddy and who's the son!

"It was just a joke anyway," Victor dismissed with a wave of his hand, attributing his previous attitude to impulsiveness.

On reflection, a loss would nag at him, and a win would be too embarrassing for the Americans.

Considering the magnitude of assistance, Victor was quite willing to step back.

But... it seems there'll be no planes to fly now.

His expression shifted, and turning to Helson Wales, he said, "Mr. Staff Officer, I have a small favor to ask of you."

"Please, go ahead."

"Are you still sponsoring that Mustang for us?"

Helson Wales's face turned awkward, looking at Victor's hopeful gaze, he reluctantly nodded in agreement.

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Here you go!
Experience tales at empire

Anyway, it's just an old relic from World War II; the U.S. Military doesn't need it anymore.

Indeed, you see if you don't ask for it, they'll think you don't want it.

"Please deliver the weapons to us as soon as possible; my soldiers are eager to avenge Lady Liberty, you know, they are steadfast American Believers." Victor's eyes gleamed.

"Are they dive bombers?"

He couldn't wait to pilot the fighter jet and pay a 'visit' to the drug traffickers, hang a couple of MK82 series glide bombs under the wings, NMD, 500-pound bombs, regardless of what you're made of, he'll blow you into scrap metal.

He'll blow you so hard that even Guzman's 168 cm height will be reduced to 1.68, the height of the gravestone should be about right.

Helson Wales's face twitched; this was quite a demand.

"The Mustangs and the initial sponsorship will arrive at the airport tomorrow, and the rest will be delivered to Mexico within three days."

"Thank you!"

Victor's gratitude sounded sincere.

"So may I ask..."

Helson Wales hurriedly stood up, glanced at his watch, "Sorry, Mr. Victor, I need to rush back to Washington, it's unfortunate that I don't have more time to chat with you, please be safe on your way."

Run, run as fast as you can.

If you keep sitting there, this guy will start asking if you can sponsor something else; he's just a greedy beggar!

Watching the man's retreating figure, Victor looked at Casare and said, "I just wanted to ask if he could sponsor some F14s; was it too much to ask?"

He had a special affection for the F14, nicknamed "tomcat."

Although it was a bit of a flop when it first came out in the '70s, by the '80s, during Reagan's tenure, a critical point in the US-Soviet competition for dominance, the F14 scored a 2-0 victory over SU22 in the "Sidra Bay" aerial combat in North Africa.

That was the F14's first air combat victory.

Although it rarely saw defeat, its combat record wasn't stellar either; Victor still had a clear memory that during the Persian Gulf War, the F14s were deployed over 4,100 sorties, but only managed to shoot down one Mi-8 helicopter.

It had become the "ammunition transporter" for minor nations.

But it was still handsome!

In terms of popularity, even the beautiful new fighter jets like the F-16 and Su-27 were no match for this cat.

Tom Cruise looked incredibly cool piloting the F14 in Top Gun.

The US Navy didn't care for it, but Victor liked it.

Casare, hearing Victor's words, couldn't help but laugh and cry, "Boss, you're going to empty the Yanks' coffers."

"How could that be possible, Americans are rich." He lowered his voice, "It's hard to come across such idiots who have more money than sense."

"Send a letter to Grumman Corporation and ask if they are willing to sell the F14!"

Casare nodded.

Just then, Jason Bourne came up fast, whispered something into his ear.

"What!?"

Victor's eyes widened.

Saddam's son, the 26-year-old Uday, is representing his father and going to Mexico City to see Cuauhtémoc.

???

What kind of move is this?

Your dad is busy fighting at the front, and you come to Mexico City?

"Our informants tell us Uday hopes Mexico will take their side in the Kuwait War, hoping that all Latin American countries will stand up against the United States!"

Victor almost spat out the mouthful of old pot he was chewing.

You two are really a weird combo, earlier you tell Kuwait, "Big brother, let's forget the several billions I owe you, 'cause we're the same race."

Kuwait refused.

So while they were sleeping, you go and do the dirty; you send hundreds of tanks charging in, and Iraq's treads are everywhere on Kuwait's 18,000 square kilometers of land.

When you've finished with Kuwait and the big player behind them steps up, you see you're in trouble, and you start shouting, "ALB, brothers of the world, help me," calling for a united front against the United States.

Who's going to listen to you then?

Saddam might be tough, but even he was uncertain, so he sent out both his sons and many confidants to form alliances.

North America has been suffering close to the United States for a long time.

"Does he know who the Emperor of Mexico is?" Victor squinted, snickering, "Let him come to see me."

"In Aztec, seeing me is like seeing God."

"Let's go! Back to Tijuana."

Casare and Jason Bourne exchanged looks.

"Boss, did you just say Emperador (Emperor)?"

"Seems like it."

"So, should I let Kennedy know to take some people to Mexico City to pull down Cuauhtémoc? Then go to the Vatican and kidnap the Pope, have him bless your coronation?"

Jason Bourne burst into laughter, "The Director's position doesn't need Jesus to confirm it."

Casare shot back at him.

"You're even better at bullshitting than I am."

...

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