Working as a police officer in Mexico

What the hell is Guzman calling for?

What's there to talk about with a drug trafficker like him.

It's either you die or I perish.

Victor frowned and glanced at Casare.

As a trusted "Fatty Tiger," he understood immediately.

What trash you are!

What kind of trash is my boss, and you want him to answer the phone?

It's beneath him!

Victor is now the Governor of the Northern Province, and anyone visiting Mexico in the future can't bypass him. You think you, just a lowly drug trafficker, can call him directly? That's like using a Katyusha to swat a mosquito—complete overkill!

Casare took the phone from the secretary. As soon as he opened his mouth, even Victor thought he swore dirtily.

"Yo, isn't this the great filial son? What? Mr. Guzman wants to see your mother's other leg?"

!!!

A top-notch Mexican cold joke.

Why don't you collect five pieces and then summon your mom to appear?

The smile on Casare's face froze. Looking at his boss, he gave a sheepish grin, "He hung up."

In his own office, Guzman kicked the broken phone on the floor, his face alternating between blue and purple. He was shivering with rage, trembling all over. He hadn't been able to control himself and smashed the phone when he heard that sentence.

That kind of insult was unbearable for anyone.

Guzman, upset, panted quickly. He pulled open the drawer, took out a box of medicine, poured several pills into his hand, and shoved them into his mouth.

The doctor said he was somewhat anxious and irritable, and he needed calming medications. With such high mental stress, he could easily explode someday.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and picked up another phone on the desk. With trembling hands, and suppressing his anger, he dialed again.

"I... Let's negotiate. Give me back my mother, and I'll forfeit three cities in Chihuahua State!"

Casare, on the other end, was momentarily startled when he heard this, hastily covered the mouthpiece, and turned to Victor, "Boss, Guzman wants to negotiate..."

"The victor never needs to negotiate."

Victor exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke, "Tell him, anything that belongs to Victor, my soldiers will come and take it. In two days, we will try his mother in Tijuana Square. He can watch it on TV. Oh, and I'll use a Humvee to drag his mother out!"

"I want to see how much horsepower a 70-year-old hag can withstand."

"Victor! @!@#$%!"

Guzman's cursing voice came through from the other side of the phone—he finally lost his temper.

Victor laughed. See, the other side is really in a hurry.

I thought he didn't care.

Casare then cut off the call, and Guzman's voice abruptly ceased.

"Boss, are you really going to quarter... no, quarter her with four horses?"

Victor was quite fond of his own invention of "Humvee quartering" and was determined to publicize it worldwide.

"Elderly people need to face some hardships."

Casare nodded, glanced at Jason Bourne, and the two exchanged looks. Indeed, the boss treated everyone equally!

Not giving someone 70 bullets just because they're 70—that's the model of conscience.

Victor threw the cigarette on the ground.

"I command!"

"Frontline troops, advance along the whole line as planned!"

...

"Ovregaon Military Airport" was brightly lit.

Seven newly assembled P-51s stood on the tarmac, their U.S. military emblems not yet scraped off.

The alarm suddenly blared, and the ground crew directed the P-51s to leave the tarmac. The pilots on board gave them a thumbs-up, ready to go.

The ground personnel, following the orders from the headset, waved the flag. The P-51s on the runway roared, throttled up, and charged into the sky with MK82 series low-drag bombs.

Tonight, seven P-51s would bomb God's Division 2nd Regiment stationed on the border of Sinaloa State!

The ground troops will advance in full force, swallowing up these 4,500 men!

Victor only had 12 fighter pilots on hand, a number that had been fixed for a while. The selection criteria for these pilots were high, and usually, they were treated like gold.

Finally, they came in handy.

"'Governor's' air bombing squadron has taken off, please follow up with ground troops," said the control tower operator into the microphone.

"Understood."

On the other side, the Mexico joint operations center was bustling, efficiently deploying its forces, as one police inspector contacted the frontline ground troops.

"Ground troops follow up, repeat, ground troops follow up!"

"Understood."

In charge of frontline command, Kennedy Heisenberg waved his hand from atop a Humvee, "Advance!"

If he had a pipe at hand, one might have mistaken him for five-star General MacArthur.

The ground troops were already seated in vehicles; as soon as the order was given, three regiments attacked Sinaloa State from different locations!

War had fully erupted!

God's Division 2nd Regiment was guarding the northern city of San Blas in Sinaloa, which had about 120,000 residents and was Guzman's "first line of defense."

On some rooftop in "San Blas."

A couple was busy with their beloved activity, about to make love, when a rumbling sound came from the sky. The man, with closed eyes, opened them, and by the moonlight, he saw several planes fly over his head. Not far away, they dropped a "black and slippery" thing.

Then...

Boom!!!

A huge explosion formed a fireball that shot into the sky, lighting up the night in an instant!

"Ah!!" The woman shrieked, covering her mouth, her breasts quivering.

"My God!" The man's eyes widened as he murmured. No sooner had he spoken, familiar sounds came from afar, as three more planes flew by, dropping bombs in several places around "San Blas."

Chaos ensued!

The entire city was thrown into complete turmoil.

"Run, run fast," the man shouted in panic.

"Wait, wait for me, I'm not dressed," the woman yelled in terror, but her companion with the big elephant nose had already taken off.

It truly is ruthless to ditch.

But it also highlights a problem: women are more concerned about physical disgrace than men. You see, why don't men take loans?

Because even if it gets out, your first thought is, "Damn it, don't pixelate me, give me a close-up."

Running around naked doesn't matter.

It's not the same for women.

The P-51 targeted several important goals, dropping three 500-pound bombs on the 2nd Regiment's barracks. The real blast wave of a 500-pound aerial bomb can have a TNT equivalent of 45%, meaning that one bomb contains nearly 225 pounds (about 100 kilograms) of pure explosives.
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The direct lethal radius is between 100 and 150 meters.

This means that once it's dropped, there's little chance you'd be able to run away.

But it's not realistic that they all died from the explosion. Many drug traffickers came out in their boxers, firing their guns into the sky.

Some even pushed anti-aircraft guns out of the warehouses.

Their military proficiency has skyrocketed in just a few months.

"Return to base! Super 69! What are you doing?!" The squadron leader, who had planned to leave after the bombs were dropped, suddenly saw a P-51 from the formation making a circle in the sky before diving towards the ground at high speed.

No matter how he shouted into the headset, no one responded.

That P-51 with "Super 69" as its nickname dived down, and its four 20mm Hispano cannons strafed the ground with fire.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh...

Ratatat!

Bullets kicked up dust on the ground, and the drug traffickers holding guns were swept away, beyond any need for rescue.

"Fire! Fire!!!"

The operator behind a ZU-23-2 anti-aircraft gun started firing at "Super 69," but the latter maneuvered elegantly, climbing swiftly before turning in a smooth arc and firing from behind the gun.

The drug traffickers nearby were sent straight to hell.

"Oh ho!" The pilot yelled excitedly. Seeing more people gathering, he followed his formation and flew away.

Watching the departing plane, the commander of the 2nd Regiment clenched his teeth, "Americans!"

The aircraft's paint job even had "USA" on it!

The Americans had joined the drug war!

"Quick, put out the fires, rescue the wounded," he ordered.

Just as he was about to report to Guzman, his staff came running in a panic, "Commander, the 4th Company outside the city is calling for reinforcements; Victor's men are attacking."

"What!"

...

No one expected Victor's army to launch a surprise attack.

Even the fierce drug traffickers were caught off guard in the face of well-prepared Anti-Drug Forces.

"San Blas," "Topolobampo," and "Choix" – three cities were attacked in succession.

"Boom~"

The M1A2 main battle tank's main gun, an M-256 120mm 44-caliber smoothbore gun, roared as a depleted uranium armor-piercing, fin-stabilized, discarding sabot (APFSDS) round slammed into a building.

It directly took out the load-bearing wall.

Good grief...

A loud noise, and half the floor collapsed.

Burying everyone inside.

The M1A2 main battle tank's tracks ground over the rubble, making a crunching noise, flanked by two "Weasel" 1 airborne armored vehicles, prevent any sudden appearance of infantry.

The Happy Stick from World War II had been renowned for a while.

An unending stream of ground troops continued to pour into the city.

Begging the beginning of the Anti-Drug Force's favored urban warfare.

If you don't surrender...

The Aerosol Bomb comes right at you.

Not a blade of grass will grow!

If I don't care about the buildings, there won't be many casualties!

The P-51 returned to "Ovregaon Military Airport," where a team of ground crew had already prepared everything, refueling, and rearming.

It can't be just one flight, right?

At the very least, they had to provide air support to the ground troops for the whole night.

The pilot of "Super 69" had just got down when the squadron leader grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the aircraft.

"Manfred von Richthofen! What are you, the American Superman?!"

"Why didn't you follow orders!"

The pinned young man, about twenty-something, was taken aback, "Captain, I just wanted to kill more of the enemy's living forces."

"You don't have to!" the squadron leader shouted, "A soldier's duty is to obey orders. Leave the ground affairs to the ground forces! You, Inspector Manfred, are not needed for the next bombing run. Go back to your room and copy the soldier's duties!"

The squadron leader pushed him away forcefully and said to the onlooking police officers, "Ernst Udet, you take his place."

An acne-faced but burly young man eagerly acknowledged, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Reflect on your actions, or else I will propose to Mr. Victor that you be transferred to the upcoming Air Force school to serve as an instructor. Please remember, your plane is more important than your life!" the squadron leader left with a stern face.

Manfred von Richthofen looked dazed as the officers dispersed, each returning to their duties. At most, people he was acquainted with patted his shoulder.

"Hey Ernst, stop looking and get ready. Don't mess around in the sky," said one of the ground crew, bumping the freckled young man.

Ernst Udet nodded, "Okay!"

He glanced at Manfred, then put on his helmet and climbed aboard the plane.

The P-51, rearmed, flew back into the sky.

This time, the target was...

The Capital of Sinaloa: Culiacán!