Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Turn the table?"

Pablo laughed as if he had heard something amusing, his face quivering with mirth, and bam! He slapped the table. "What right does he have to turn the table on me? I, Pablo Escobar, am the President, the Emperor of Colombia."

"Cesar Gabriel Trujillo is just a bastard. Take him out, find someone to take him out. No, we have to kill all his children too. I want his whole family dead. Isn't he anti-drug? Then make him take drugs, make his whole family take drugs. I want to see if he can sacrifice his family for justice."

Ochoa frowned. He didn't agree with this... clashing head-on, especially against the state. No matter how corrupt Colombia is, some things a drug trafficker shouldn't meddle with.

But...

What could he say?

A Pablo who had lost his mind was a madman.

Ochoa just stood there quietly. A few minutes later, he nodded, "I understand. I'll do as you say."

He felt bleak about the future; it was really bleak.

Having already bombed the Victory Goddess Statue and offended the United States, the Medellin Cartel had been listed as a "terrorist organization" and hunted worldwide. Even if the Yankees were genuinely profit-driven, they couldn't possibly continue supporting them.

Even people who raise dogs in rural areas know that if a dog bites its owner, it must be killed the same day.

Serves you right...

You tried to act high and mighty, and now you're getting screwed!

In dealing with the Colombian drug trafficking issue, the US-Mexico rare agreement meant only some arms dealers would consider giving him weapons for the money.

In Ochoa's view, the Medellin Cartel had evolved from a drug-trafficking organization to a militant group, but he couldn't secure industrial and agricultural support, unable to strengthen his forces. Despite Mexican defectors joining them, numbering over a hundred thousand, they were essentially like duckweed, blown away with the wind.

But even knowing that resistance might be a dead end.

Ochoa still completed Pablo's tasks perfectly.

He had known him since childhood; his father was a drug trafficker, and his mother was a prostitute. The drug trafficker was killed, and the prostitute contracted sexually transmitted diseases. He learned to fight from a young age just to survive.

In 1973, he robbed two Americans on the streets of Medellin but got beaten badly when caught. Pablo happened by, saved him, and invited him into his "home appliance smuggling group."

From then until now, it had been almost 20 years!

They had struggled together and struck it rich together. Ochoa was very stubborn; the CIA contacted him, and the Mexican Intelligence Bureau reached out to turn him into a whistleblower, but he killed them all.

Although uneducated, he understood loyalty and integrity. Not everyone is like Sima Yi; if his mother hadn't died early, he would have had no filial piety left.

Looking at Pablo, who hung his head, Ochoa pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "Boss, have one."

Pablo slowly lifted his head, staring in surprise at the cigarette offered to him, "With your wealth, you're still smoking these cheap cigarettes?"

"When we first met, you gave me these to smoke. I think they're the best in the world."

Pablo paused momentarily, took the cigarette, and Ochoa lit it for him.

"If one day you can't hold on anymore, just leave."

Ochoa shook his head, "If it weren't for you, I'd have died on the streets of Medellin long ago. If the Mexican bastards want to come, then we'll fight them to the death. If we die, we die. We've lived a good life, no regrets."

Pablo turned his head, looked at his brother's face, and laughed, "Hahaha, hahaha!"

"If he wants my life, let him come and get it. Whoever wants my head has to chop it off themselves. The Colombian Government wants me dead, the Americans want me dead, and the Mexicans want me dead. Fine, let's make it a fight to the death."

"Fuck them!"

Ochoa raised his hand, "Fuck them!"

The sound in the room was deafening, and the underlings cleaning downstairs looked up in confusion, glancing at each other.

August 23, 1992.

Colombia's largest drug-trafficking cartel, Medellin, suddenly declared the Colombian Government "unconstitutional" and Antioquia Province independent!

This was its first public break from the Colombian Government since gaining autonomy a month earlier.

At 8 p.m., the Presidential spokesperson announced the Medellin Cartel's rebellion, ordering a military crackdown!

After the press conference, two infantry brigades advanced on Medellin!

On August 24, gunfire erupted between both sides, and a Colombian Young Lion Fighter was shot down by anti-aircraft guns and destroyed!

On August 25, over 300 Medellin drug-trafficking organization Special Forces attacked under the cover of darkness, causing the collapse of the 127th Infantry Brigade with over 400 casualties, including the brigade commander and vice-commander!

30th.

The Medellin Artillery Regiment's over 40 PI-20 152mm towed howitzers bombarded the 77th Infantry Brigade...

The Colombian Military had no artillery to retaliate, only passively taking the blows.

It was a disgraceful mess, losing face in front of the cameras.

...

News of the war quickly reached Victor's desk.

"Boss, should we send troops?" Casare asked, wide-eyed.

"Send troops? Did Colombia join Ren Lian? Did they ask us for help?" Victor tossed the files in his hand onto the desk. "None of these happened, so they'll only think you're meddling."

"How long have our soldiers enjoyed peace? Of course, we can send troops, but we need an excuse and benefits. Cesar Gabriel Trujillo is close to the Americans."

Even though he was advocating for "global anti-drug," he was noble, but you can't think he's stupid.

Guatemala's Alfonso Portillo made concessions on domestic resources to gain his support, and Colombia just says thank you?

Emeralds, oil, natural gas, coal, gold, and nickel—even coffee, they won't reject them.

"Just wait. The Staff Department evaluates the Colombian Military and Medellin's chances of victory at 11.7%."

Latin America was originally the Yankees' backyard; its military capabilities were weak. Colombia boasts over 200,000 soldiers, but they only have 800 Humvees, 118 armored vehicles, and almost no tanks—very poor combat capability. Otherwise, how could the shocking "Palace of Justice Siege" happen?"

"What we need to do now is to develop education and the economy, and watch the world's changing trends," Victor said calmly.

To develop, literacy must be addressed. The Mexico literacy rate in 1990 was still 22%. The future internet era and space exploration require high-quality talent. For this, Victor signed the "Education Act," mandating that 8% of the annual GDP be invested in education!

He also proposed the "University Students Teaching Program in Rural Areas," urging them to settle at the grassroots. If someone agrees to sign a ten-year educational plan, they will be directly appointed as tenured teachers without exams, with priority for promotion after ten years!

The same goes for civil servants.

The wealth disparity in many Mexican states is still large; you need to show the people that their lives are improving. Otherwise... why should they let you be boss?

Victor now wants to avoid wars and, if necessary, fight on someone else's turf.

The real challenges have only just begun.

Thud, thud, thud~

Confidential Secretary Martin Bowman knocked and entered, calling out to Casare, "Sir."

The latter nodded back.

"General, there's a letter here. Larry, the President of Blackrock, an American asset management company, wants to visit you in Mexico."

Victor, holding the letter, laughed, "See? Financial tycoons are scum. They're not afraid when you kill them, but when they can't make money, they're scared. This so-called asset management company is surely backed by Jewish financing, only eyeing the empty industries in Mexico to have a bite."

"So reject them?" Casare raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Aren't we in need of a lot of money? Why refuse it when it's sent to us? To deal with them, you must be strong; let Goebbels handle them."

"Goebbels? I'm afraid... he'll turn them into sashimi." Casare shuddered at the thought of that guy.

"Eat them, and a new batch will come. Anyway, Jews will reproduce!"

...