Working as a police officer in Mexico

Guzman's anger had not yet subsided.

when he received a call from the front-line troops.

"What!"

"You're saying the Americans have launched an attack?"

The expression on Guzman's face was like he had swallowed a mouthful of dog shit.

"Yes! I'm not mistaken, it's written USA on the fuselage. It's American planes that dropped several missiles on us. We've suffered heavy losses, and the Mexican Anti-Narcotics Force's ground troops are engaging us in battle!" The leader of the 2nd Battalion was one of Guzman's childhood friends.

Known as the Ten of Hearts on the most-wanted playing cards.

He was very meticulous in his dealings and had been by Guzman's side for over 15 years. He knew exactly what character the other party was and would never deceive himself.

Guzman's mind was in chaos.

He was, after all, just a drug trafficker. Asking him to commit arson or murder was absolutely no problem, but when violence evolved into war, it'd no longer be like random street slashings.

If you let Brother Crow serve as a mercenary on the African battlefield, no matter how nonchalant he seemed, he'd be even more so when blown to pieces.

His militarization of drug traffickers relied entirely on American advisors.

He knew jack shit about waging war.

"Battalion chief! Get down! Get down!" A frantic voice suddenly came through the phone, pulling Guzman's scattered thoughts back, just as he heard a huge explosion on the other end.

His eardrums felt like they were shattering.

"Hello! Hello! Hello!" Guzman's tone grew longer each time, but no one picked up the phone on the other end, only the sound of static electricity, which then abruptly stopped.

It was over.

Another brother was gone!

Was that bastard Victor trying to kill off everyone around him!

Before Guzman had time to grieve, the air raid alarm in Culiacán suddenly blared, and a bodyguard rushed in, "Sir, an unidentified aircraft was spotted. Please move to the underground bunker."

He shivered, pupils constricting, thinking of the United States Air Force, and under the protection of his bodyguards, he took the elevator straight to the basement, approximately ten meters deep, and the tunnel was deliberately constructed in a curved shape, which could effectively prevent shockwaves and shrapnel.

Of course, it was not nuclear-proof like the White House bunker.

But it was completely sufficient against some aerial attacks.

Initially, it was the "Godfather" Gallardo who had spent the money to build it, as he was quite a coward, always fearing that one day he might offend the government and be beheaded. But you wouldn't think that Mexico had planes; it was useless until its death, and unexpectedly, Guzman made use of it.

The head of the bodyguards was an American, a captain of the Delta Force, whom he had poached. The man held a walkie-talkie, communicating with the outside.

Guzman could understand English.

He had specifically hired an American teacher and spoke with a fluent New York accent.

In 2017 when he was extradited to the United States, he defended himself in court in English.

Do you think it's that easy to be a gang leader?

When you're out in the world, more skills won't weigh you down.

He heard the American advisor on the other end of the walkie-talkie saying loudly, "I see them, f***! P-51s, does the active United States Air Force still use these antiques? This is from the Northern Army!"

Northern Army = Anti-Drug Force.

Victor again! It was Victor again!

Guzman's head heated up in an instant, snatching the walkie-talkie and pressing the side switch, "I authorize you to use any weapon, shoot them down! Bring these bastards down!"

After venting his fury, he handed it back to the captain of the bodyguards.

The latter wiped the saliva off it with his suit...

NMD, drug traffickers just don't care about hygiene.

Who knows if there's E. coli in the saliva… oh, that's probably only present in an anus.

...

"Quick! Prepare the anti-aircraft defenses!" the American advisor shouted on the ground.

Then a missile carrier vehicle was pulled out, clearly the "Sam"-2 anti-aircraft missile, known by the U.S. military as the "U-2 killer".

This thing had a track record you could check.

It had shot down seven U-2s, and during the Vietnam War, it had taken out more than 800 aircraft.

Unlike the Sidewinder series, this thing relied solely on the explosion of its warhead, controlled by ground radar. Of course, without radar, it had to be operated manually.

What's the main selling point of the Russian stuff?

Cheap, durable, idiot-proof!

It had a kill radius of about 60 meters at low altitude, and 250 meters at high altitude.

It specialized in taking down high-flyers.

Culiacán, after all, was the capital of the Sinaloa Cartel, and under the advisors' stern demands, four "Sam"-2 missiles were procured from Victor Bout, which were relatively cheap.

Old acquaintance price: 70,000 US dollars each.

But there were only four of them, with the main defense still being the ZU-23-2 anti-aircraft cannon, mainly because it's economical.

The two 2A14 autocannons on it could hit low-flying aircraft and engage infantry below.

Convinced by Victor Bout, they bought 60 units; each battalion below had two, and the remaining 20 were "buried" in Culiacán.

You had no idea where they were hidden.

Possibly in some civilian house, just as your plane flew overhead, they would take cover below and give you a blast, sneaky and cunning indeed.

Hearing the American advisor's orders,

the anti-aircraft platoon swiftly took their positions, a six-man team with two men quickly pushing down the barrel of the ZU-23-2 anti-aircraft cannon, and the tires flattened firmly on the ground, some adjusting the angle of the barrel.

A drug trafficker took a seat at the rear, operating the gun.

This was a fixed position, but there were also mobile ones.

In the back of a pickup truck...

The driver fired at the planes as he chased them!

In the Soviet Union, this was commonly used on trucks and army vehicles; the Russians liked to aim it flat.

The seven P-51s didn't realize they had been detected by the enemy, by the time they stormed into the skies over Culiacán. Stay updated via empire

The American advisor with binoculars immediately gave the order, "Fire HEI-T high-explosive incendiary tracer rounds!"

"Ready! Fire!"

23×152mm caliber anti-aircraft rounds shot up into the sky, instantly creating a glowing arch in the air.

Upon hearing the air raid siren, ordinary civilians hiding in their homes pulled back the curtains and peered out cautiously to see a sky alight with sparks, a spectacle they had never seen in their lifetime.

The sudden anti-aircraft fire caught them a bit off guard.

"Spread out!" the squadron leader pulled on the control stick, gracefully evading the line of fire and, taking advantage of a gap, turned his head to look to both sides.

The fighter jets weaving through the fire, backlit by the moonlight, presented a scene of pure romance for men.

On the ground, the casings from the ZU-23-2 anti-aircraft gun ejected "clang, clang, clang" to the ground, creating an impressive sight.

True to its reputation as the "Poor Country's Weapon" and "Low Altitude Bully," after the Millennium, this piece of equipment was still broadly used in over a dozen conflict hotspots around the world.

But... it had a flaw.

It tended to overheat the gun barrel.

The manufacturer's manual clearly stated, "Not suitable for continuous fire, requires intermittent shooting, and the gun barrel must be changed after every 100 bullets (two ammunition boxes)."

But in the heat of war, change my ass!

They can't even be bothered to change their underwear.

Ernst Udet, who succeeded Manfred von Richthofen, calmly evaded as an alarm suddenly beeped from his radar.

He quickly looked behind to see a missile rushing towards "Super 68"!

"Super 68" slammed on the throttle to accelerate, gritting his teeth and flying higher to create some distance as the missile drew nearer.

Planning to escape using the P-51's speed, but the SAM-2 disagreed, with a top speed of Mach 4!

After all, the P-51 was a World War II aircraft, while the SAM-2 was a product of the post-1950s.

Getting closer! Closer!

Boom!

The SAM-2 exploded right beside "Super 68," its shrapnel-based destructive power instantly blowing off the aircraft's tail fin.

The tail mangled by the blast, the aircraft spiraled out of control, plunging to the ground like a dead bird, while the stunned "Super 68" pilot forced himself to stay calm.

"Bail out! 'Super 68' bail out!" the squadron leader urgently broadcasted over the radio.

Alarms blared all around, the altitude meter spun wildly, and now there was only one option left for escape—ejecting. The pilot unbuckled his seatbelt, popped open the cockpit, and was flung out.

Ernst Udet on "Super 69" watched as the aircraft crashed and burst into flames, while the pilot in mid-air had already opened his parachute.

But all he could do was watch helplessly.

"Drop your payload and return to base!"

"Captain, what about Migos?" someone anxiously asked over the radio.

There was silence, then, "Governor Victor will bless him, carry out the order!"

The remaining P-51s hastily dropped their payloads and quickly headed back, with Ernst Udet targeting a building and dropping his bombs directly on it—Boom! A mushroom cloud erupted.

As he headed back, he looked down to the ground.

He thought he saw...

Migos being hung up in a residential area.

Drug traffickers were converging on him.

Migos Jose Antonio cut away his parachute, with serious injuries, limping and with his face scraped. He saw a boy lying next to the street where he fell, dirty all over, and even stinking, cowering and timidly looking at him.

He took off his chest "Victor Medal" symbolizing courage, tossed it to the boy with a smile, "Go quickly, it's not safe here. If you get a chance, please bury my medal with my grave."

The boy was dumbfounded.

Migos Jose Antonio yelled at him, "Go now!"

The little boy shuddered, picked up the medal, and ran off covering his head.

He crawled into a hole, as if he knew it well, but he didn't leave; instead, he lay there, peering out.

He saw a "giant" shadow standing strong, his left leg injured and bleeding steadily, the military uniform on his body looking so good, his golden hair dashing.

More and more drug traffickers gathered around.

Clearly, they wanted to capture him alive to claim credit with Godfather Guzman.

Migos Jose Antonio wiped the fresh blood from his face with his sleeve, drew his pistol, gazing towards Tijuana with a longing look.

He faced the approaching traffickers.

He shouted loudly in Spanish.

"Wrap my body in the flag of Victor, the Anti-Drug cause will prevail! The cause of humanity will prevail!"

"Hail Victor! Long live!"

Migos Jose Antonio let out a heart-wrenching cry again, thrust the barrel of the gun into his own mouth, without a moment's hesitation.

Bang!

His body collapsed.

Blood seeped from his temple, his eyes gazing at the sky.

Victor!

Long live!

This scene shocked all the surrounding traffickers into a brief silence on the battlefield.

The little boy hunched in the hole clamped his mouth shut tightly.

He watched this shocking scene, eyes wide.

Looking at the body, he glanced at the medal in his hand, inscribed with Spanish words he couldn't read or recognize.

In fact, it read: My body and fighter jet guard the azure!

The figure on it was a half-body portrait.

He muttered to himself, "Hail Victor!"

As the traffickers snapped back to reality, discontent with being intimidated by a single pilot, they swarmed and buried his body out of sight.

Paper tiger...

Resorting to violence against the dead!

...