Working as a police officer in Mexico

Sudden gunshots awakened the dark amid the rain!

Kennedy had not gone to the United States with Victor; he had been left behind to take charge temporarily, while Zolf Sherman was commanding the police at the front.

He was exhausted.

He had just fallen asleep when he heard the gunshots.

He sprang up like a coil, putting on slippers, wearing only a T-shirt that read: Loyal to Victor!

Kennedy rushed out of the room and saw a group of panicked police officers running with weapons. He grabbed one of them, "Where is the shooting coming from?"

"Sir, some officers have revolted; they are assaulting City Hall."

!!!!

Revolt?

Kennedy's brain crashed. The boss had just left, and someone was pulling this tonight? And it was their own people?

His blood pressure soared instantly, and he cursed aloud, "Fuck XXXX! Sound the alarm, Guard Company counterattack!"

"Yes, sir!"

Kennedy ran to his office and made a call. The voice on the other end was bustling, as if they were... thumping to a rhythm.

"James Ryan! XXXX! I command the National Guard to enter full city alert; someone is attacking City Hall. Get your men over here fast, damn it!"

The drunken Guard Corps leader shuddered upon hearing the word "revolt."

The alcohol was instantly sobered up.

He wasn't out at a banquet but was celebrating a subordinate's birthday. To show care for his subordinates, James Ryan had come specifically to have a couple of drinks.

"Stop drinking! Move it! Which battalion is on duty tonight?"

The adjutant next to him noticed that his commander's expression was off and hastily answered, "Armored 1st Battalion, 3rd Company and Aviation 5th Battalion, 7th Company, 3rd Platoon."

The National Guard is divided into five battalions, averaging 3,000 men each, except for the 2nd Battalion stationed in Ensenada City and the 3rd and 4th Battalions in Sonora State, maintaining local stability.

The 1st and 5th Battalion, six thousand men, are in Tijuana.

The 1st Battalion, known as the Armored Battalion, is equipped with 3 TPz-1 armored vehicles, 7 "Weasel 1" airborne combat vehicles, and 8 BTR-80 armored personnel carriers!

Tanks and other equipment would be supplied after Victor returned.

The 5th Battalion is the air force, equipped with 5 French-made AS 365 helicopters, nicknamed "Dolphins," and 5 Bell 212 helicopters, which are more formidable than the Mexican Government Forces.

But to be on par with the Yanks, they still had a distance to go; the United States has a total strength of 440,000 personnel, currently organized into 10 combat divisions, 22 independent combat brigades, regiments, and 2 special operations groups (airborne troops) and one reconnaissance group, a total of 440,000 men.

Just hearing the numbers could make one's hands and feet feel numb.

"I command!" James Ryan shouted, and the officers immediately stood up. "1st Battalion, 3rd Company, and 5th Battalion, 7th Company, 3rd Platoon fully armed to City Hall, armed suppression of the Rebels!"

Hearing his order, the officers were also stunned. Someone was actually staging a revolt?

This was serious!

Otherwise, when Victor came back and found the home was gone, that would truly be a joke.

"Yes, sir!"

As James Ryan's orders were given, the emergency response team reacted quickly. The 5th Battalion commander, who had been drinking with him, personally piloted an AS 365, causing the adjutant to hurriedly hold him back.

"Commander, you can't be flying planes when you're drinking!"

"Is that a rule? In Tijuana, you can only not drive when you've been drinking, which rule says you can't fly a plane? TMD, cut the crap, everyone on board, let's fuck those sons of bitches up!"

Seeing the boss wouldn't listen, the adjutant had no choice but to obey and could only direct the team to board the plane, with the fire god cannon mounted right beside the hatch!

"Take off, take off!"

The commander pressed the start button, the sound of the propeller slowly grew louder until it became deafening, he pulled the control stick, and shot straight into the sky.

Three more AS 365s roared into the air behind him, carrying the officers towards City Hall, while the ground forces from the 1st Battalion were rolling in armored vehicles.

Uh...

The ground troops have no rights!

After finishing the call with James Ryan, Kennedy, without even time to change his shoes, headed out to command the battle in his slippers.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A TPz-1 armored personnel carrier of the rebels, with its Rh202 20mm autocannon at a 75-degree elevation, swept across the City Hall building.

All the windows shattered.

The walls were pierced, the office inside was a complete mess, and papers from the desks flew everywhere.

Debris from the damaged walls flew all around, and if you were unlucky and had bad luck, you'd really suffer.

The defenders in the City Hall belonged to the 4th Company of the "Special Service Guard" Battalion, roughly more than 80 people.

This battalion also belonged to the ground police forces, but it was primarily responsible for guarding important locations and protecting classified personnel, all from former EDM members. They generally didn't recruit "locals," unless you showed exceptionally outstanding performance and had particularly firm beliefs, like extreme loyalty to Victor.

This unit had strong combat capabilities, and even without heavy weaponry, they managed to hold back the rebels with the use of cover and tactics.

Demetrius, anxiously looking at his watch, saw time dragging on and couldn't wait any longer. His gambler's psyche exploded, "Give me a gun!"

"Sir, you can't go out there, it's too dangerous."

He pushed aside a guard, grabbed a standard-issued M16A1 assault rifle from the ground police forces, his eyes red, and said to the ally he had dragged down with him, "If you want to survive, you've got to be indifferent to life or death! If we fail, our whole family will die."

"Follow me!"

Demetrius bellowed with his mouth wide open. When fighting drug traffickers on the front lines, he liked to intimidate the enemy and boost his own side's courage with his roars, earning the nickname: "Lion King."

He often joked that Lady Luck was definitely his woman; otherwise, how could he have been spared unharmed so many times in the hail of bullets!

"Bullets turn the corner when they see me," that was Demetrius's boast.

But maybe Lady Luck decided to nap this time, not sleeping in the late hours, and here you are, starting a rebellion?

Or maybe, Tijuana is Victor's "God's" territory, and Lady Luck can't see this place.

biu!!

Pop!

The one running the fastest and shouting the happiest, Demetrius, got hit in the neck by a stray bullet from who knows where. After stumbling forward a couple of steps, he fell to the ground convulsing and then stopped moving altogether.

Fuck...

That death was just too careless!

????

Is it necessary to be so blunt? Struggle a bit, for goodness' sake. Aren't you the Lion King?

Scream! Go on!

Shit! Scream, I said!

The death of Demetrius sent a visible shudder through the battlefield, and the Rebels suddenly clammed up, their morale audibly plummeting at a rate visible to the naked eye.

And just then.

Buzzing~

The roar of propellers in the sky shattered their hesitation as the ground forces of the Rebels aimlessly raised their heads, only to see an HOT-2 missile heading straight for their armored vehicle in an attack!

A beautiful hit.

The front of the TPz-1 armored personnel carrier was blown open, but the people inside should be okay.

The Rebels who were too close were sliced by the shrapnel flying in all directions.

Helicopters don't often operate alone, and after firing the missiles, the two following helicopters proceed to sweep the ground.

At the door of the cabin, an officer with headphones operated the fire god cannon, spraying rounds below, thousands of bullets firing away, and the spent shell casings "ding ding ding" fell from the aircraft.

This longevity has its reasons.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

At the very least, a regular tank that encounters it must also concede defeat.

Not to mention people, exploding on impact, limbs severed, the smell of blood spreading through the air.

Firing down from a superior position, there's nowhere to run; the entire entrance of city hall was nothing but burning armored vehicles and corpses scattered all over the ground.

"Swat! Down! Down! Down!" bellowed the excited commander, clearly overhead but also extremely exhilarated, instructing the assault team to rappel.

The National Guard also has a well-trained Special Forces unit, Swat Special Police Force!

Named after the famed Commander Swat.

All 86 members, the elite of the elite, the Special Forces of Special Forces, all in solemn black combat suits, with the mask bearing an eagle soaring in the sky, and an arm showing Victor's portrait.

Their motto is: For freedom and justice, we fight to the end!

This has cost Victor quite a few points; Commander Swat alone had the SAS background added by Victor, imbibed with dozens of combat concepts and deep theoretical knowledge. He alone was close to 6 million points, and the average man under him was 2 million each, far exceeding the cost of the once EDM.

The entire team was almost 1.7 billion points!

Victor was planning to mold a few Special Forces units for every force, letting the National Guard Corps savor the taste of "sharp blades and pointed tips" first.

Hearing the commander's order, Commander Swat gestured to the other 9 members to tighten the ropes and rappel down under fire support.

To annihilate the remaining Rebels.

Swat's officers surely wouldn't have the "techniques" of rappelling like the Indian; at the very least, they'd do so safely, unlike the Indian who, to save time, would just drop down from above.

Scary enough to make ordinary people fret.

Starting to intimidate the enemy with their own presence.

When Swat heard groans coming from inside the armored vehicle, they stuffed the barrel of the gun into the gap and pulled the trigger.

Bullets clattered on the metal, but the voices inside ceased.

Uh huh...

Much quieter now.

The actions of these Rebels were stupid and amateurish. Damn it, your heavy firepower consists of just one armored vehicle and a heavy machine gun on top of a Humvee, and you decide to stage an armed revolt?

Read exclusive chapters at empire

How many officers are there in Tijuana?

Nearly 7,000!

Once the support troops arrived, those who were to die died, those who would surrender surrendered.

"Stop shooting! Please, stop shooting!" Kennedy, wearing slippers, walked out and saw prisoners on the ground, bound and bloodied, evidently beaten.

"Rez Cabrera?!"

He recognized someone, his brows furrowed, and he rushed over to grab the person's collar, gritting his teeth, "You've got guts!"

"I'm sorry, Chief Kennedy, I was wrong. Don't kill me! It was all Demetrius, he sided with the Spanish intelligence agency, he forced me!" The man named Rez Cabrera wailed.

Spilling all the beans, he pushed all the blame onto the now-dead Demetrius, but adults must face the consequences of their actions.

"Take him away, break his hands and feet, draw his tendons; I want to see just how brave he is to betray Mr. Victor!"

Kennedy's face was grim, "The Spanish intelligence agency?"

"Call Station 13, damn waste! The Director employs them and they don't even know shit; the Spaniards are right under our noses. Tell George Smiley I want every person in the Spanish intelligence dead!"

"James Ryan!"

The leader of the National Guard shuddered, hearing Kennedy calling for him, and promptly stood straight, seeing that the other was a four-star while he himself was a two-star. But in terms of authority, the other was also second-in-command of the ground forces and equally second in charge of police armed forces.

He had to obey.

"Take your men and surround the Spanish Office in Tijuana! Don't let a fly get in."

Huh?

James Ryan was startled; such audacity?

Seeing Kennedy's look, he hastily shivered, saluted loud and clear, and hurried with the newly arrived troops toward the Spanish Office.

"Chief, should we report this to the Director? It might lead to diplomatic problems."

"Diplomatic problems?"

Kennedy sneered derisively, "Let's see if Spanish planes can even fly over the Danish Strait."

"I order!"

Snap!

All the officers present stood to attention.

"Lock down Tijuana, search for Rebels, and execute the traitors' families without trial!"

Kennedy didn't care about anything else but his boss's authority.

Hearing his command, the remaining captives clearly panicked, shouting loudly, blaming themselves for everything.

"Don't bring disaster upon families, Kennedy!" a Rebel shouted.

"You dare to betray, let your whole family die! You think I run a relief station? Don't worry, I'll have them killed right in front of you, making sure you don't go first!"

...