Working as a police officer in Mexico

"What!!!"

The night in Tijuana was lively, and a shocked voice came from the security department building. It was so loud that even the employees working the night shift at the door could hear it clearly.

But a glance showed everyone in the boss's office shrinking their heads.

Someone was definitely about to get a scolding!

"4,800 rockets! 38 tons of gunpowder, Kennedy blasted it all away in an hour? Didn't I equip him with 7,000? Are they all used up?"

Victor cursed furiously, throwing the "ammunition request" slip that Casare had handed him onto the ground, "What does he think I am? Does he think I'm made of money?"

"No, aren't you?" mumbled Casare from the side.

The office instantly fell silent.

"Ahem, ahem, ahem..."

Victor bent down to pick up the slip, but then saw Casare sprint over with a speed that didn't match his physique, pick it up, dust it off, and hand it over.

"So much ammo wasted on a steel factory, and it still hasn't been taken down?"

Kennedy was saying that the steel factory was originally constructed during World War II, specifically to withstand American aerial bombings, so it was very sturdy, and it also had crisscrossing tunnels underneath, which made it even harder," explained Casare.

"Why didn't he call me himself?"

Casare gave a sheepish laugh, implying that Kennedy was afraid of getting a rebuke from you, no?

Victor waved his hand, "Tell the support troops to bring ammo with them when they go up, and also haul up the four TOS-1s that are sitting in the warehouse. If that doesn't work, then use thermobaric bombs—so much fuss for nothing!"

He was a typical proponent of "firepower supremacy."

If there was a stronghold that couldn't be taken down, it surely meant the artillery wasn't powerful enough. A steel factory? Send up a thermobaric bomb. No matter what kind of place it was, it would all turn into a graveyard!

"Boss, if we use thermobaric bombs, wouldn't the Americans have something to say?"

"Then hide them during the day, bomb at night, and camouflage it a bit more—right now, the Yanks don't have that much of their attention on us," Victor said with a frown.

He definitely didn't want to be paying out compensation money.

If the conditions were there, then fight!

The Americans were keeping their eyes on the world; they had been drooling over Russian Bear for a long time, just waiting for it to collapse. As the 90s approached, many countries had broken away from their big brother, and for those with strategic foresight, the Cold War that had been stalemated for decades seemed likely to decide a victor in the approaching years.

The Russian Bear's weakness was apparent to all.

The annual expenditure of over 5 billion US dollars on the Afghan battlefield was severely dragging down the empire, mired in counterinsurgency warfare, they all wanted to go home.

So, sometimes, as long as Mexico isn't too defiant, doesn't affect America's core interests, and doesn't deploy any medium or long-range missiles, why would the United States strike you?

You are their frontline for gathering refugees.

"So how many thermobaric bombs are we preparing?"

Victor furrowed his brows and fell silent. Considering Kennedy's speed of wastage, it wouldn't even take a day for him to use up everything once it's hauled up there.

"Arrange it; I'm going to inspect the front lines!"

"Isn't it too dangerous for the boss?" Casare said, worried.

"Afraid of what!"

"Right now, God wouldn't dare take me!"

Fearing that he might blow up heaven itself.

Seeing that the boss was adamant, Casare could only agree and got busy making arrangements.

In the office, only Victor remained. He frowned as he looked at the ammunition consumption on the data report, feeling a twinge in his teeth.

This way, points could hardly be saved.

Could one set up their own "arms factory" for production?

It seemed that there were production lines for sale in Golden Finger.

He blinked and scrolled down vigorously, spotting [Production Tools] below [Characters], which he hadn't noticed before, nor even unlocked.

There were numerous items crammed together.

From screwdrivers to tunnel boring machines, everything including photolithography machines, offshore drilling equipments, was available; and so were bullet production lines with various models, ranging from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands per day.

There were also bomb production lines, heavy guided missile production, and more.

The prices, however... weren't cheap.

Victor suddenly had an idea. If he had production lines, wouldn't there be blueprints as well? Scrolling aggressively on Golden Finger, in the grayed-out, locked section, he found [Blueprints], which were further divided into several sections.

Pre-WWII, WWII~Cold War, Post Cold War…

Plus, there were firearms, naval ships, planes, tanks and armored vehicles, artillery, and so on.

Victor scrolled casually, and there it was—Tu-160 "White Swan," though perhaps it was still locked, as there were "???" question marks below it.

Apart from the Russian Bear's...

He could also see America's F-35, nicknamed "Lightning," which had entered service in 2009!

If he had enough points...

Did that mean he could possess advanced weapons faster than the Americans?

And then use these devices for global drug enforcement...

Wouldn't that be too extravagant?!

Victor swallowed greedily. If he had the blueprints, he could produce these weapons himself, grab some technical staff, and would Mexico's indigenous military-industrial industry be able to start exporting under a label?

As for whether he might be accused of violating intellectual property rights?

You sue your way; I definitely won't compensate, just keep a thick skin about it.

Suddenly, Victor noticed a small line of text at the bottom.

"To unlock the blueprint page, eradicate drug traffickers in 16 states!"

So the conditions were written in such small print!

16 states?

That's half of Mexico!

As long as he knew the target, this man was filled with motivation. Victor pressed the phone next to him, "Hurry Casare, tell him to arrange it quickly, we leave in twenty minutes!"

I'm going to supervise the battle at the frontline.

Steel factory?

I'll turn it into flat ground for you!

...

John Pocali sat on the stairs of the steel factory, eating the beef can that was distributed, a bit hard. He was American and had served in the Delta, but he had done some disgraceful things there.

Uh...

He had raped an RB woman and was about to be sentenced, but due to his special identity, he was just asked to retire on the spot. After retiring, he went to Africa to be a mercenary and now belonged to Guzman's unit of gunmen: the third battalion of Los Zetas!

This third battalion was full of "foreigners", just like the French Foreign Legion, having all sorts of people except the locals.

Because of his rich experience and profound combat experience, John Pocali was now the captain of Squad 7 of the third battalion, under his command were 15 elite soldiers, most of whom had served in the military.

"Captain!"

A voice came through the earpiece hanging on his ear.

John Pocali quickly pressed the earpiece, "Received, go ahead!"

"Someone has infiltrated!"

"F***!" he cursed.

It was already 11 p.m. Aren't these damn cops sleeping at night? Can't they rest properly?

John Pocali, with an MP5 in hand, crouched and ran into the room next door, the noise waking up his teammate lying beside him.

Crouching, he took out the infrared night-vision binoculars and pressed the earpiece, "Report your position."

"Northwest side, 11 o'clock direction."

Looking in the direction he mentioned, it was a dark night with a sky devoid of stars, and through the device, several "hot spots" were seen moving.

"Get up! Sanjay, go wake people up," John Pocali said to his squad member.

The one called Sanjay had an Asian face.

He was the only Asian in the squad, previously having served in India's Para Commandos, an airborne infantry unit, best known for capturing Tiger Hill across the Indus River during the Kargil war.

He was small and nimble, invisible in the night unless you looked closely.

Through the infrared night-vision device, a figure was seen vaulting over a broken wall, barely touching the ground when suddenly an explosion boomed!

Anti-infantry mine!!

Damn, how sneaky, buried next to the ruins. The explosion was loud, and the steel factory which had been silent instantly came alive like it was injected with adrenaline, with gunfire and cannon sounds erupting everywhere.

Elsewhere, firefights broke out.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"Fire!"

John Pocali leaned against the wall, aiming his MP5 and spraying bullets.

Next to him, a drug trafficker lay on the ground, peeking through a hole in the wall, with a CIS 0.50 inch machine gun firing away below.

The 12.7×99mm NATO caliber rifle round, a hit meant certain death!

Whoosh~!!

It wasn't clear who fired the flare, it flew into the air, brightening the surrounding area, momentarily dazzling Pocali's eyes.

"Armored vehicle! Sanjay! Take it out!"

John Pocali's pupils contracted, his vision restored, and he saw a Weasel 1 Airborne Combat Vehicle appear below at some point.

The machine gun on it went rat-tat-tat with suppressive fire. Seeing the flare, they knew there was no more hiding, being seen meant being targeted by rocket launchers.

The launcher at the vehicle's rear horizontal base opened up!

The "TOW" anti-tank missile was preheating!

The Indian guy Sanjay heard the captain's order, grabbed the RPG leaning next to him, assisted by his teammate, and was just about to aim.

Inside the "Weasel" 1, the sweaty vehicle commander promptly pressed the launch button.

"TOW" took off!

The missile dragged a string behind, looking outdated, but enough to do the job!

This thing boasted the ability to pierce through all current tank armors, the sound of it flying out like a donkey braying.

That tailfin...

Looked damn... well...

"NMDB!" the Indian guy Sanjay's pupils dilated, watching the incoming missile, cried out, and threw the RPG aside, covered his head, and ran like the wind. Just as he was about to flee the room, the massive shock wave numbed his face.

His 100-pound body, like a rag doll, was flung out, rolling down the stairs to land in a heap on the ground, life and death unknown.

If this had been a Korean, they would've already run away.

They definitely would've outrun the missile!

The "Weasel" 1 Airborne Combat Vehicle fired and then fled, the small vehicle may seem insignificant, but those tracks were quite nimble, the machine gun still firing at John Pocali.

Maybe it got cocky, but after "Weasel" 1 reloaded its ammunition, it aimed to continue its rampage.

Then...

The tracks were blown by a mine.

At 2.75 tons, it was even lighter than a normal car, and with no mine protection on the chassis, the little vehicle was immediately immobilized, about to become a target, the crew hurriedly ran out.

Boom!

Minutes after they ran, a rocket, from who knows where, turned the Little Bean into a Little Devil.

"Boss! They're in! The cops have stormed the building!"

...