Working as a police officer in Mexico

"OMG!"

Boom!

Straight to heaven.

Clearly, sniper rifles were somewhat inferior to rocket launchers.

"Change positions, quick!"

Two men scurried to another room, disheveled; within minutes, mortar shells blasted in their direction.

In another alley,

"Ricardo! Reload! Reload, motherfucker, are you dead yet?" Sergeant Gómez bellowed.

They were eight, trapped in a building down an alley, surrounded by gangs of drug traffickers; just looking at them made your scalp tingle, and only pickup trucks could enter — tough to turn around.

"Yell what?!"

"I can hear you!"

Ricardo, holding his ears, yelled back, handing over a drum magazine. Gómez reloaded and continued firing, sliding in suppressive fire, but something was off—the barrel was getting hot!

"Where's the spare barrel?!"

Ricardo felt behind him and his heart sank—fucking empty!

Gómez gave him a look and cursed, "You're definitely the idiot God sent to make my life miserable."

"Don't panic, I've got a plan."

Ricardo yanked down his pants, took out a fluffy toy, and proceeded to piss on the gun barrel.

!!!

Gómez was shocked. When the urine splashed onto his face and lips, a rancid smell hit him, almost making him retch.

"I… fuck! Dammit!"

Ricardo pointed ahead, "Stay alive, and you can fuck all you want!"

Fucking generous, huh?

"EDM, HEAT, the number of drug traffickers exceeds our estimated target..."

Voices from the intelligence department buzzed through the headset.

Special Ops teams were fighting inside; outside, their support was observing the speed and numbers of drug traffickers gathering, looking for ways to provide cover.

Outside a residential building, two employees of Mexico International News Department were peering through binoculars, watching waves of drug traffickers, armed with an assortment of weapons, storming toward the new judicial building.

Above, two Mi-28 attack helicopters flew by!

The "downwash" nearly blew away the intelligence personnel. Looking up, their eyes also betrayed their nervousness.

In mid-air, one of the choppers fired a 9M114 missile directly at the judicial building—Pablo's fury unleashed.

The missile smoothly headed for the building, not caring who might still be inside. It hit a wall, and the explosion sheared off a corner of the building.

Those hiding inside were just unlucky—hardly any lucky survivors.

Jonathan Pannier felt the building shake, the wind blew in through the gaping holes, not the least bit refreshing, his back drenched with sweat.

They stood in the corridor, flanked by stylish floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view outside, and to their horror, they saw an armed helicopter targeting them.

"Get down! Get down!!"

Jonathan Pannier shouted frantically.

Thunk~

A pause, then a roaring resume, rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!

The machine gun fired relentlessly.

Four or five team members caught in the middle were hit by the bullets, blood sprayed wildly, and their bodies dropped onto a car roof, sliding off it like lumps of mud.

As for the car, its alarm blared, wailing.

Jonathan Pannier's lips were parched, listening to the shared intelligence in his earpiece, surveying the chaotic battlefield, and checking his watch—time was up.

"Kennedy, retreat! Execute the retreat plan!"

"Roger that!"

The EDM forces engaging the perimeter were also having a rough time. Kennedy swore he really, truly could not believe it—he had seen a T-55 tank here!!

With the words "Long live Medellin!" marked on it.

"Fucking hell!"

How absurd could things get?

A drug trafficker's tank in the capital?

Actually, there's some history to this. Everyone knows that Pablo wasn't fond of Americans, but if you're out in the world, you have to align yourself with powers.

He sided with the Soviets.

That was one of the reasons the United States was later determined to kill him!

In the '60s, Colombia was one of the most chaotic countries in the world. Under the backdrop of the US-Soviet Cold War, Colombia remained troubled by civil war, which became even more complex after the crisis in 1962.

This wasn't only because the country's strategic location was key to both US and Soviet interests, both superpowers had cultivated their proxies here, but also due to Colombia's unique geography.

And here, the proxy wars began!

Those familiar with Colombian history know the country's internal conflict was severe—to the point where you couldn't even tell there was a conflict.

Being the largest drug trafficking organization locally, Medellin was naturally an ally the Soviets sought to court. There were even rumors that the Russian Bear had asked Pablo to take over Santa Fe de Bogota, to plant a nail in America's backyard.

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They provided him with armed helicopters, tanks, anything you dare to ask for, we dare to supply!

So, before the Mexican drug traffickers got involved, Pablo had already secretly transported some military weapons to Santa Fe de Bogota and even constructed several airfields capable of accommodating military aircraft.

Otherwise, how could a drug trafficker, no matter how brash, get to this extent?

It was not long after the Russians landed that Pablo was taken out.

There's no foul play here, Victor swears.

It's less a haphazard dance of makeshift crews in the Latin American region than the leftovers of the Cold War era, at the end of the day, it's the poor at the bottom who suffer.

With crime, once you let it loose, you can't contain it.

So, Victor's plan is to kill all the drug traffickers!

To some extent, the CIA and KGB are his adversaries, but thankfully the Russian Bear is on its last legs.

Nobody expected them to bring out the T55, though.

Pablo... has he gone mad?

No matter how much work you do beforehand, once something like this happens, all plans are just plans!

Having T55 tanks in the hands of drug traffickers is simply unreasonable.

The D-10T style 100mm rifled tank cannon fired a shell aimed at the EDM operatives' position.

Boom!

The tank reeled backward, and the drug trafficker who was standing behind, having no clue about infantry-tank coordination, was instantly crushed under it, screaming as his bones obviously broke.

But who the hell cares about him at a time like this.

The massive explosion directly turned two EDM members hiding behind a scrapped car into shreds.

"Hey, hey, hey! Fire support, are you blind? Blow it up! Blow it up!"

EDM may lack in many things, but they have an abundance of rocket launchers, mainly for providing individual firepower; Vic always feels uncomfortable going out without packing some serious hardware.

Hearing Kennedy's orders, an EDM operative targeting the fire point fired two high-explosive bombs at the T55.

The T-55 tank was already superior to its main antagonists, the American M48 Patton tank and the British Centurion tank, lighter in weight and superior in firepower, protection, and reliability.

The old workhorse was reliable, but there's no need for excessive exaggeration and praise.

After all, it's a product from 45 years ago, still commonly used in the Afghan war mainly because it's cheap.

The Russians produce classics.

But military-grade steel plating with only a 100 millimeters in thickness, do you think it can withstand a modern rocket launcher's high-explosive bomb?

Let's put it this way...

Did you buy insurance, how much for third-party?

Seeing the EDM members with a rocket launcher, the tank commander shouted at the driver to dodge quickly!

The drug trafficker, just scrambled up from the tracks, instantly got crushed under the treads, tens of tons pressing down eliciting a horrific scream.

The rocket struck the hull!

The explosion directly blasted the joint between the turret and the hull into "corpse detachment!"

T55!

You bring a TMD into urban combat, aren't you just turning yourself into a target?

Obviously, the military advisors didn't do much teaching, the Soviets got dizzy after a couple of drinks.

The turret of the T55 blasted four to five meters into the air, and that wasn't all; a sympathetic detonation followed. Due to the small space inside the tank, stocked with dozens of shells, thousands of machine gun bullets, and hundreds of gallons of fuel, once these volatiles ignited, the explosion could turn the entire tank into scrap metal.

As for the people inside...

Being left with a whole body would count as a mercy.

This is why, on the battlefield, you often see many tank crewmen bail out at the first sight of armed personnel with RPGs.

The shockwave caused by the sympathetic detonation flattened a swath of drug traffickers around it!

You could see with the naked eye...

A shockwave, laying everyone on the ground.

Directly cleared an opening.

Kennedy's eyes lit up.

"Everyone, fall back!"

"Gómez, provide cover with the machine gun!"

Hearing the orders through the earpiece, the machine gun team rapidly responded, setting up their gun and firing bursts at the blasted buildings.

Ricardo also saw the retreating HEAT.

"Hey, Parsel Keat." He saw a familiar face and called out.

The American looked back, smiled with his mouth wide open, flipped him the middle finger, and Ricardo smiled back in response.

Whoosh!

Thump!!!

But before the smile faded, he saw Parsel Keat's head explode, and his body took a couple more steps before collapsing heavily to the ground.

Ricardo's smile...

froze!

...

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