Working as a police officer in Mexico

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This bunch of people didn't intend to annihilate the Northern Army, they just wanted to teach them a lesson.

This side of the river is Jalisco State!

You little brats from the Northern Army better put your hands down.

By the time air support arrives, these people will have already run away.

Nine crew members including three nearby individuals sacrificed inside the TPz-1 armored vehicle, usually when hit directly by an RPG, that intense shock could completely rearrange one's internal organs.

Even Jesus would turn into a sandwich cookie in there.

Looking at the fallen bodies of the Northern Army, the leading lieutenant felt a surge in his chest and a painful churn in his gut, his face turning iron blue.

This is it, criticism is coming my way.

Meanwhile, in a town at the border of Jalisco State and Sinaloa State—Tepic, located within a forest, a natural barrier, the area is quite infested with mosquitoes.

Calling it a town is actually an overstatement; it's more like a village.

At the entrance, you could see five fully armed gunmen standing, with numerous hidden and visible sentinels nearby, any slight disturbance would be detected immediately.

"Win! Win! Win!"

The village was filled with clamor.

On an open-air pavilion, you could see people encircling in three inner and three outer layers, and within, a bald man with a straw in his mouth connected to a bottle filled with liquid. He lit a lighter, took a hit, and the man was in ecstasy.

The look on his face was ecstatic, don't let your mind wander.

Opposite him stood a younger man with a bandana, holding a revolver loaded with orange-yellow bullets. His face bore a scar, and he gestured to the people around him to cheer louder.

The crowd, of course, played along, "Aoaoao!!"

They threw banknotes in front of both men, Hong Kong dollars, US dollars, rubles, and even Italian lira could be seen. Here, all money was equal.

The young man with the bandana deftly spun the revolver's cylinder, cocked it with a click, and with a fiercely evil glare at the bald man opposite him, he stuck the gun in his mouth and with the other hand gave his opponent the middle finger.

Bang!

His head burst open instantly!

The corpse fell heavily to the ground.

The bald man across jumped up, grabbed the banknotes from the ground, waved them in the air, raised his hands, and shouted excitedly!

Those who won money with him also shouted and carried him around the village in celebration.

El Mencho stood by the window watching this scene, tilting his head, lighting a cigarette for himself, blew out a puff of smoke, and then turned around. Inside the room sat the top brass of Jalisco New Generation.

Most of them were his brothers.

That's how a drug trafficking group is, the main structure of power is made of blood relations and fellow townsmen.

El Mencho didn't like big cities, he believed those places weren't suitable for him for now.

"We can't engage the Northern Army head-on," he said to his top brass in a hoarse voice, the weather in the forest was marked by a notable difference between day and night, causing him a slight cold.

"The weapons of the Northern Army are not something we can match. The idiots from Sinaloa and Tijuana have already set the example for us; in a head-on confrontation, we are far inferior to them, but..."

El Mencho lowered his voice, "We are more familiar with the mountainous terrain of Jalisco State. We must wage guerrilla warfare, small units harassing them. If we can defeat them, we swallow them; if not, we run. The Soviet Union was dragged down by Afghanistan just like that."

You have to admit, he really had a brain.

And he was also extremely brutal. Compared to Guzman, El Mencho had no humanity at all; at least Guzman wouldn't harm the innocent. When Guzman's son was captured twice, the poor people affected by the violence received compensation from Guzman's family.

But what about El Mencho? His weapons were civilian cars stolen and modified into armored vehicles, and his subordinates would even steal luxury cars for him from wealthy homes. Once, a rich man had six luxury cars stolen by his men at one time.

Why are there no locals in this village?

All 121 of them had been silenced by him!

He wouldn't allow anyone else to know his whereabouts.

An utter bastard!

"Have you read the books I gave you? Cristoni..." El Mencho glanced at his brother-in-law. The guy was young, just 18, but he had gotten his sister pregnant.

He had to take responsibility, right?

It was either marrying her or being buried. Cristoni certainly preferred the latter.

To him, seeing El Mencho was like seeing a tiger, rather scary. Hearing himself being called, he shuddered subconsciously, "Read it, read it! In the face of a stronger enemy, we must understand the principles: if the enemy advances, we retreat; if the enemy halts, we harass; if the enemy tires, we strike; if the enemy retreats, we pursue. Exhaust the enemy's strength, and we mustn't fight head-to-head."

El Mencho nodded in satisfaction, "Well done."

Cristoni's face flushed with excitement upon receiving the praise. He was an ambitious man, naturally hoping to go further on the path of drug trafficking since he could be the brother-in-law!

"You all must remember this point, do not wage a war where we go down together."

"Understood!" The top brass in the room responded one after another.

"I plan to send a troop into the northern mountains and desert to engage in guerrilla warfare. Who will go?" El Mencho spoke up, and as soon as the words came out, his brother-in-law Cristoni, who had been smiling, shrank back.

Heading to the rear for action?

Wasn't that a near-certain death?

Cristoni lowered his head.

He still lacked the courage.

El Mencho scanned everyone; those he laid eyes on all dodged his gaze and no one stood up voluntarily. They were drug traffickers, after all, able to fight only when the wind was at their back. Continue reading on My Virtual Library Empire

"Since no one stands up, I will have to call names myself."

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