Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Charge! Charge! Charge! Kill them all!!" The company commander of the Fourth Battalion led his men charging toward the barracks.

The sound of gunfire in Morelia sent the civilians into a state of panic.

Frantically hiding.

There were also some who were brave, standing on distant rooftops with binoculars watching the explosions far away.

"The fight has started, the fight has started," said a young man about 18 years old, excitedly.

"Let me see," said his much younger brother, quickly demanding, scratching his head in urgency, "Who? The Northern Army? Or is it a drug trafficker turf war?"

"With this firepower, it must be the Northern Army!"

"Oh yeah!" His brother raised his hands and cheered, taking off his shirt to wear it inside out, with the words: Long Live Victor!

"I'll go get the Northern Army alliance flag."

Some people detested Victor, but naturally, there were those who would offer all they had to welcome the Royal Army!

In the residential area, many windows displayed flags symbolizing the Northern Army, and some even wrote on the walls: Drug traffickers are all son of a b*tches!

Meanwhile, the drug traffickers at the city hall were also panicking, calling drug traffickers from surrounding cities for support, and phoning the front lines, requesting backup. If Morelia fell, there was no point in fighting; getting home would be difficult, leaving only death on the road.

Including the supply lines that would be cut off.

At this time in the Northern Mexican Army frontline command post.

Kennedy was also exhausted, having just laid down when he was called up.

You could see streaks of white hair on his forehead.

The intensity of the recent wars was rising, making him feel overwhelmed.

His abilities still weren't enough...

"What's the matter?"

"General, we've made contact with the Fourth Battalion that retreated from Mexico City."

Kennedy was startled and quickly asked, "Where are they?"

Tijuana had sent out many messages; if the Fourth Battalion was spotted, they were to report immediately and ensure Casare's safety.

The staff officer's face looked constipated, "In Morelia, the Fourth Battalion is attacking Morelia!"

"???"

"According to our intercepted intelligence, Michoacán is in chaos. From Uruapan, Zamora, and Patzcuaro, many drug traffickers and some anti-Northern Army militias are all heading to support Morelia. In opposition to them, C company of the 16th Regiment of the 3rd Marine Division stationed in Licom State noticed drug traffickers showing signs of retreat."

"Casare has gotten so bold?!" Kennedy blurted out, but after speaking, he realized his words could be misinterpreted. He looked at the staff officer, who bowed his head, pretending not to hear.

"Dispatch the air force for reconnaissance, transmit photos to headquarters," Kennedy decided to be cautious.

War is a matter of national importance!

If they gambled everything, the Emperor would have to beg for alms.

On March 15, 1991, at 4:31 AM.

One and a half hours after the Fourth Battalion engaged in a firefight in Morelia, a sci-fi-like SR-71 reconnaissance aircraft pierced through the clouds!

It was fast!

This aircraft could only be described with one word: cool, and another word: fast!

It still holds the record for the fastest manned aircraft within the Earth's atmosphere to this day.

The United States supposedly produced 35, but the 36th was in Mexico...

Using it for reconnaissance behind the drug traffickers was like having a see-through cheat, but the price was not cheap. In addition to the required 120 million points, it also needed corresponding maintenance equipment; Yanks' stuff was notoriously fussy.

"This is Blackbird, I've reached the target area and begun the mission," said the co-pilot to the officials behind him, opening the aviation camera, and the high-definition image immediately came into view.

It included tanks moving through the city streets and the gunfire and artillery could be seen very clearly.

Kennedy, seated at the rear, furrowed his brows and puffed on a cigarette. After a couple of drags to clear his mind, he squinted closely at the screen, as if trying to find Casare within.

With a swoosh, he stood up, "Phone!"

The adjacent staff officer hastily pulled the phone over, and he dialed a number, "Connect me to the General; this is the frontline command post."

A few minutes later, Victor's voice appeared on the phone, "Kennedy, it seems you've brought me good news."

"General, we've found Casare and his men."

"However, they're attacking the capital of Michoacán."

Victor jolted awake, his sleepiness vanishing instantly, "Casare took his men to attack Morelia?!"

It was clear from his tone that he was filled with disbelief.

"Yes, and the drug traffickers have already started calling for backup. The troops at the front are retreating; they want to encircle and annihilate the Fourth Battalion."

Victor fell silent for a moment.

"Then let's take Michoacán!"

"I'll have the staff department provide you with tactical guidance. We must hold onto the Fourth Battalion. Order the Jalisco military to launch a full-scale attack. Let me see just how capable these drug traffickers are under American guidance."

"Yes!"

Kennedy hung up the phone, and his eyes sharpened at once, "Get me a line to the Jalisco front."
Experience more on My Virtual Library Empire

…

Victor also felt that Casare truly had guts.

In Mexico City, he loudly declared the execution of traitors, killed the capitalists and the drug traffickers' lackeys, heads rolled, and as he left, he painted at the National Palace's entrance with black paint: "Light shines eternally! Long live the drug prohibition!"

The Japanese referred to this incident as: "The Inauspicious Mexico City Incident."

Its influence was still escalating because this really was the first large-scale massacre of opposition figures. To those outside, it didn't matter if they used drugs or not, if you played politics with assassination, that did not conform to the rules; no, it should be said, they couldn't be killed.

Wasn't it like this with Ceausescu in 1989?

When he was arrested, how many global leaders pleaded on his behalf, but in the end, he died, of course, later he was still killed, but it caused a lot of commotion in the media.

And what to mention Casare's method of extinction?

There were calls for Victor to hand him over, to be judged by the court, and such calls were growing louder. Who knew that at such a time, he would run off intending to liberate Michoacán.

Victor smiled, dressed himself, and with the protection of his guards, walked out of the villa towards the Governor's Mansion.

Leading the way were two Mercedes-Benz cars, followed by a modified Cadillac, and he himself sat in a bulletproof Rolls-Royce.

All belonging to the big drug traffickers.

Sitting in the car, he looked at the bustling nightlife in the distance and felt a hint of satisfaction, while up on the tallest building there were lights celebrating the Governor's thirtieth birthday.

He could see the cruise ships passing under the bridge, people singing and dancing onboard, and pedestrians on the roads not rushing in destitution. Or they could sit quietly on the street corner, chatting and boasting with a few good friends, even having a drink or two.

This gave Victor a sense of pride.

At the very least, I haven't led my country into the abyss…

As he gazed out, lost in thought, he suddenly heard a roaring sound and saw in the rearview mirror three sports cars rushing up from behind, a Porsche, Ferrari racing on the bridge?

These cars, finding the convoy too slow, honked their horns impatiently.

Suddenly, a red Ferrari drove on the opposite lane, scaring the drivers there to swerve dramatically, nearly flipping over in a death-defying sway.

The Ferrari pulled up beside the Rolls-Royce, the window rolling down to reveal a very fashionably-dressed young girl in the passenger seat, and a man with diamond rings all over his hands in the driver's seat.

He spat expletives outside the window; though inaudible, the raised middle finger made it clear he was sending a foul greeting to Victor's entire family.

With a roar of the engine, he accelerated and then swerved aggressively beside him, causing the Mercedes in front to almost crash into the barrier. If not for the driver's expert driving, they would have flown off.

Victor's expression darkened.

He hated people showing off.

Couldn't they be low-profile like him?

"Find out which family is so arrogant."

The driver nodded, glanced at Victor's expression in the rearview mirror, "Right away, General."

Street racers were notoriously many in Tijuana.

In that Ferrari, the girl in the passenger seat suddenly asked, "Jack, that convoy looks wealthy. Is this okay?"

"Do I look poor to you? Hahaha!" The man driving pressed the horn fiercely, "I'll tell you, in Tijuana, I am the Crown Prince!"

"My dad is the Director of the Tijuana Drug Enforcement Department!"

"Just because they drive a broken Rolls-Royce? What's there to fear!!"

Hearing her boyfriend's words relaxed the girl slightly, but as she glanced sideways, she noticed something different about those cars.

Didn't they have the Mexican flag hanging on their hoods?

Such odd people, whose cars display a national flag.

...