Working as a police officer in Mexico

Didn't see clearly?

That shockwave was practically kissing your forehead, and you say you didn't see it?

The TOS-1 "Flamethrower Tank" has a comically short effective range of 0.5 to 3 kilometers, so damn close that you'd get roasted along with the target.

But if the boss (reader) says they didn't see it, then it's not good enough.

Kennedy took out his walkie-talkie, "Vehicles 1, 2, 3, and 4, another round, repeat, another round. Choose more visible targets this time; the boss didn't get a clear view."

Zzzzt zzzzt zzzzt~

The static from the walkie-talkie was quite noisy, "Roger that!"

Legend has it that in ancient times, when Bao Si played with the fire signals to fool the warlords, she was actually using the TOS-1. Many witnesses were present then.

Who else in a common household could afford that?

This round, with 24 tubes per vehicle, meant 96 thermobaric bombs from four vehicles. Not to exaggerate, but that's like the price of a New York apartment, right?

If we dare to dream a little bigger, probably enough to swap for a few tea eggs.

"Loaded and ready!"

Kennedy glanced at the boss, and upon receiving Victor's nod, he pressed the walkie-talkie: "Fire!"

In a field directly north of the steel factory.

There was a makeshift tank cover, crude at best, even less elaborate than the Yasukuni Shrine, just surrounded by sandbags as though to shield it from the sun, and no idea where the weeds blocking it came from.

Oh, what a treasure this was...

The armored vehicles didn't get this kind of royal treatment.

Men are always chasing the new and growing tired of the old. When the Anti-Drug Force first embraced the "Weasel 1 Airborne Combat Vehicle" they called it Sweetie, but after it got blown up by an RPG at the steel factory, they started calling it "Crispy Little Bird."

Sure enough, the bigger and more powerful the weapon, the more it's adored.

"Fire!"

Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh!!!!!!

The 24-tube launched thermobaric bombs flew out directly, and the officers standing by covered their ears, crouching down. The noise from the launch was easily enough to perforate eardrums if you weren't careful.

That's why you often see artillerymen clutching their ears and lying on the ground after firing.

Bong! Bong! Bong!

The clouds above the steel factory seemed to scatter from the blasts.

About 4 kilometers away inside Hermosillo City, the order wasn't disturbed by the southward move of the Anti-Drug Force.

For most ordinary people, it hardly made any difference.

What kind of people would be scared of the police?

But in Mexico, it seems like the cat is afraid of the mouse; 24 hours a day, 25 hours belong to the drug traffickers, and one hour is just given away.

After the first massive explosion at the Hermosillo Steel Factory attracted several curious onlookers, in just a few minutes, another wave of noise hit!

At the rooftop of the tallest building, stood "curious spectators," who fell silent almost instantaneously as they watched the condensation clouds in the distance.

"Was that an earthquake, Marsellino?" One man with glasses couldn't help but swallow and looked at his colleague beside him.

What kind of joke was that? Even from such a distance, it felt almost scorching; he wiped the bead of sweat off his forehead.

"Does your place have exploding earthquakes?" The man next to him, lean and in a shirt, glanced at him. "That must be artillery fire!"

"Artillery? You tell me that's a nuclear bomb I'd believe you, those are condensation clouds, man. What kind of weapon could vaporize the moisture in the air?"

The man with glasses seemed well-read, understanding some physics.

A layman would probably just say, "Wow, that's sick!" and then wonder how many seconds they could stand it.

This group...

They didn't look like your average Joe.

Dressed up to the nines.

"So, shall we go find out what kind of weapon it was?" asked the man with glasses.

"You going? Victor executes spies without a second thought. I don't want my wife to use the compensation to find another man. Work is for the country; life is mine." Marsellino shrugged. "I need to think about asking for a leave."

"You're still considering that? Our group is the worst performer in the organization! If we take any more breaks, we'll be out in the cold!" Four Eyes exclaimed in surprise.

Marsellino waved his hand dismissively, "The tasks are too hard, I can't complete them. Maybe it's time for the Spanish Intelligence to send someone else."

Throwing in the towel!

Never seen such a lazy leader!

"Forget about achievements; staying alive is what matters most, buddy. Our group is the longest surviving," Marsellino turned his head to look at them with a meaningful tone, then adjusted his tie, "Stay alive for promotions and pay raises. If you die, the king won't remember you."

"Is he even an intelligence officer?" Four Eyes muttered, pointing at Marsellino's retreating figure.

The colleague next to him pulled at Four Eyes, "Marsellino's right, life is ours to keep."

They belonged to Spain's National Intelligence Centre (CNI)... ah, Franco hadn't been dead for twenty years yet, and there wasn't much motivation to begin with. They had adopted a laid-back approach, but in reality, Spain had a complicated view of its old colonies. They desired influence but couldn't muster the strength, so they just sent spies here and there to cause some trouble.

This lot of spies were a mixed bag and the source of many jokes.

There were quite a few like Marsellino.

"Aren't we going to check out what kind of weapon it is?" Four Eyes frowned and asked.

"The only people more anxious than us will be the CIA. Once they know, NATO will know, and once NATO knows, we will too. So, no rush," the colleague pulled at him, patting his shoulder.

Four Eyes, though reluctant at heart, felt helpless because, without his colleague's assistance, venturing alone to the steel factory could indeed lead to execution if caught!

...

"Boss, did you get a clear view this time?" Kennedy turned and asked.

Everyone's gaze shifted to Victor, who had a pleased expression. Nearly 200 thermobaric bombs in two volleys, bombarding the steel factory, might have possibly, most probably left no room for survival, right?

"Let's send in the ground troops for a sweep, boss!" Zolf Sherman said with a grimace, "That was a bit pricey."

Do you know how much one of these thermobaric bombs costs?

400,000 points a pop!

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Just now, a direct expenditure of 80 million!

NMD!

Even if it's not burning cash, those points hurt to spend, and even converted, 80 million could get me a frigate!

Then turn around and sell it, and at the very least, earn a few billion US dollars.

To some extent, points are more expensive than money!

Victor, having been told this by Zolf Sherman, froze for a moment, and then his face creased in distress.

Sure it felt good, but TMD now is the time for wisdom!

He checked the time and took a deep breath, "Eat, the ground is so hot, and my officers aren't superheroes."

"Wait until the ground cools down, then we'll talk."

Victor tossed the binoculars to Kennedy, "Brought some beef from the rear, tell the cooks to add it to the meal!"

You need a full belly to have strength.

Meanwhile, inside the steel factory.

It's purgatory on earth!!

The high temperature generated by the explosion of the thermobaric bomb didn't dissipate, but instead set all the surrounding structures ablaze. It was all fire and dust, looking at it made your scalp tingle, you'd think a volcano had erupted!

The Caracara falcons that loved to circle above the steel factory had disappeared, and the weeds in the cracks were scorched away. You simply couldn't see... a single trace of life!

Bang...

The wall collapsed with a crash, kicking up a cloud of dust.

A figure with its mouth agape lay in a second-story room, eyeballs rolled up, mouth full of fresh blood, the skin on the body charred, revealing the flesh and tissue underneath.

The ribs in the chest were severely caved in, the death was extremely gruesome!

But he was lucky...

At least he still had a body, plenty of drug traffickers were vaporized!

And that was because Victor was "merciful" enough to use a conventional thermobaric bomb—if it were a GBU-43 Large Aerial Blast Bomb instead, then... Mexico would be facing sanctions tomorrow.

The steel factory was eerily quiet.

Only the smoke rising from the ground and the occasional cracking sounds reminded people there was still some life left.

Nighttime, around eight or nine o'clock.

After a full 15 hours, the anti-drug force's ground troop finally converged on the steel factory from all directions. But upon entering, they were nearly overcome by the heat in the air.

"Be careful, don't get burned!" commanded Zolf Sherman, his brow furrowed.

"Captain, can this steel factory still be used?" inquired a senior police sergeant at his side.

"What are you thinking?"

"If this place were made into an airstrip, we'd be flying straight to the United States!"

Zolf Sherman glanced at him, oh boy, you look so upright and honest, but turns out you have a ruthless streak, "Don't talk nonsense, the United States doesn't need anti-drug operations."

"Who knows? The drugs from Mexico shipped to the United States can't possibly be eaten by dogs, right?" the senior police sergeant muttered.

"Captain! Captain, there's a bomb shelter here." A police officer stood outside a ruin and shouted.

Zolf Sherman hurried over to see several team members strenuously pulling at an iron plate embedded in the ground; the blast wave had wedged it even deeper, and it couldn't be moved by hand. They needed tools.

It took two people with a steel bar, working together, to pry the iron plate open.

Inside, it was pitch dark.

"Hey! Anyone still alive down there?" A police officer kneeling on the ground shouted into the hole in Spanish and then again in English.

"If there is, respond."

Zolf Sherman nearly kicked him flying, "Get down there!"

"Lights!"

A few officers pulled out their tactical glow sticks, cracked them on, and tossed them down the hole. The underground bomb shelter was immediately lit up with a few points of light. They climbed down following the ladder, and about a dozen people lay scattered inside.

All TMD dead.

It looked like they suffered heavy trauma from internal compression.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

These people still retained their appearance from just before death, not disfigured.

"Huh?"

A sergeant holding a glow stick scrutinized a body lying in the center, frowning, then a light bulb went off, "Alfredo! Boss, this is Alfredo Beltran Leyva, Guzman's cousin, the money launderer for the Sinaloa Drug Cartel!"

He excitedly shouted out to the others!

Zolf Sherman's face also lit up with joy, they'd caught a big fish!

...

"Alfredo is dead?"

Victor was also stunned to hear this news.

"Yes! The youngest of the four Beltran Leyva brothers. And along with other Sinaloa Group leaders, a total of 16 people, many of whom were on the wanted lists in both the US and Mexico. Boss, we're going to be famous again!"

"Chop off his head, send it to the outskirts of Hermosillo, and demand all armed men in the city lay down their weapons and surrender or allow their evacuation before 5 p.m. tomorrow. Otherwise, it's total reappraisal!"

"Tomorrow, I will enter the city!"

Victor declared emphatically, his eyes narrowing.

Sorry, Guzman, you've lost another cousin!

It's just that the video of the thermobaric bomb isn't convenient to broadcast on television, otherwise, just loop it for all of Mexico to see who they are dealing with.

The greatest use of thermobaric bombs, actually, is deterrence. You think hiding will leave me helpless?

I'll simply level you and the building together.

Modern warfare is getting more and more brutal.

...

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