Working as a police officer in Mexico

Victor hadn't finished smoking his cigarette when Special Agent Stephen Moyer came back, his expression carrying a hint of relief.

"The gentlemen have agreed to your demands," he said.

"Transfer the money into the account!"

Victor signaled Casare beside him, who hurriedly handed over the prepared card number.

A flicker of irritation crossed Stephen Moyer's eyes as he took the card number, his brow furrowed. "You still don't trust us?"

Victor chuckled, "I like to have the money in hand."

He just didn't trust the integrity of the Mexican bureaucracy.

It was strange for a country's credibility to be doubted by its own police, and with no other option, Stephen Moyer had to make another call to hurry things along.

Just then, they heard Stephen Moyer's voice coming from the doorway, "Sir! What if he truly brings people to Mexico City for the money?"

Victor paused, glanced at Alejandro, and said with a smile, "Is that about me?"

"I think those gentlemen intend to trick you into going first and then try to renege on the deal if possible. They've done plenty of such despicable things."

Victor nodded, stepped outside, and saw that Stephen Moyer was visibly irritated. He snatched the mobile phone from him, "Hello, gentlemen, don't you want to pay?"

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The person on the other end of the line was quiet for a moment before speaking in a very displeased tone, "Victor?"

"Yes, sir. May I ask when the money will be transferred?"

"You're a police officer, and you need to understand that you must follow orders..."

Victor let out a derisive laugh, "Say that again, and I'll start charging extra. Mr., save your bullshit for someone else. I just want to know when my money will be in the account! If you don't pay up, are you talking about your mother?"

"Either pay up or I'll blast your grains out."

"I'll ask one more time, are you going to pay or not?"

Victor could hear the person on the other line's breathing grow heavier, "Yes!"

This brazen style was very much like that of a military leader.

Even the warlords in Africa weren't like this.

He laughed, handed the phone back to Stephen Moyer, "There, it's settled. Make them transfer the money quick, or my armored car won't have fuel."

The special agent quickly said a few words into the phone, then looked at Victor with a strange expression, "Do you know who that just was?"

"Nobody gets away with owing me money!"

"Pay up or get lost."

By the time Victor returned to the office, Casare eagerly reported, "The money's come through."

See, that's why you gotta chew them out.

The transfer was surprisingly fast.

Victor was also impatient; as long as you pay up, you're the boss.

Everything is negotiable.

"For the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV), I'll take 500 men with me. I'll leave 100 for the Guadalupe Island Police and take the rest. You're in charge of public safety at these two places," Victor told Alejandro.

Alejandro nodded, his expression turning serious, "You can count on me!"

"Casare, advance separately. Arrive in Mexicali by 9 p.m. sharp!"

Casare checked his watch, it was already five, leaving them just four hours – a real test of the troops' ability to assemble.

Marles Training Camp.

Located 20 kilometers from the outskirts of Ensenada City.

Beep beep beep~

The emergency siren sounded.

The Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) members in training and resting quickly grabbed their gear.

Dressed uniformly in dark black fatigues, the Mexican national emblem stitched on the left chest of their shirts and on the right, their motto: "Fearless sacrifice, guarding our homeland!"

Victor spared no expense on this unit; although they didn't match up to his own direct troops, they were nonetheless no less inferior to others.

Individual equipment: Steyr MPi69 submachine gun, 3 magazines of ammunition.

The training hadn't gone on for long. Asking them to use sniper rifles was a joke; just lift the gun and spray was the way to go. As long as you shoot faster than the drug trafficker, you survive.

Wasn't that good enough for taking on drug traffickers?

Anyway, fire support and all was up to the "Guadalupe Island" Police Department.

The EDM officer in charge of training stood on the platform, watching everyone below, and with a wave of his hand, ordered, "Get on the vehicles!"

Hundreds of people boarded the troop carriers in unison.

A few minutes later, two BTR-80 armored personnel carriers with bells took the lead on the road.

The sounds echoed nonstop across the pavement.

...

It was still light at six in the evening.

A convoy of about fifty vehicles traveled on the Mexican national highway.

Emblazoned on the sides: Guadalupe Island Police Department.

They were riding in plain sight!

Afraid of drug traffickers attacking? No way!

To prevent RPGs from blowing up the armored cars, they were fitted with reactive armor, each spaced more than 10 meters apart, ensuring there was time to retaliate!

Three Humvees were leading the way.

Carlos Prada sat in the vehicle, a bit nervously, gripping his firearm tightly, with his bulletproof vest meticulously fastened.

"Hey, rookie!" called an EDM member from the front passenger seat as he tossed a can of Red Bull to Carlos, who fumbled with it as seen in the rearview mirror, laughed, and said, "Don't be nervous."

Carlos Prada had just graduated from Marles Training Camp as the top of his class and joined the "Guadalcanal Police Department." Owing to his outstanding physical qualities, he was immediately included in the EDM reserve squad.

He nodded when he heard the team leader's words.

"Traffic jam?" suddenly asked the driver, and Carlos looked ahead and saw that indeed, at a tunnel entrance, a line of cars stretched out as far as the eye could see.

"Ssszzz~" The walkie-talkie on the dashboard cracked twice, "What's going on? Tank, what happened up front?"

The team leader in the passenger seat picked up the walkie-talkie, "Traffic jam."

"Stay alert."

"Understood!"

"This is going to take at least half an hour," the driver muttered.

Nicknamed "Tank," the captain casually glanced aside and suddenly noticed several men sitting in a red sedan diagonally opposite, their arms inked with tattoos, chewing something in their mouths, and staring intently in this direction.

On a garbage truck to the right, the driver wearing a hat also seemed off, with one hand underneath, as if holding something—surely it couldn't be a XX.

"Watch out for the red sedan on the left front and the garbage truck behind," the captain shouted, pulling the bolt of his gun.

Rookie Carlos quickly threw the Red Bull behind him, his palms sweating with nervousness.

Tank reported the situation to the command center behind them.

"You have permission to get out and return fire," came the reply.

"Understood!"

The captain glanced at Carlos, "You stay in the vehicle, everyone else dismount if they make a move!"

In the red sedan, the tattooed man in the passenger seat held a pistol in his left hand, and beside the person in the back seat lay a CETME Ameli machine gun, its magazine sticking out at an angle.

The tattooed man hooked his right hand on the door latch, ready to get out of the car.

"Get out!" the captain yelled. Seven or eight men disembarked from two Humvees, each picking a target and raising their guns, "Don't move!"

"Don't move! Hands up."

"Tank" shouted loudly; the opposition slowly raised their hands, but then suddenly made a move to charge.

Rat-a-tat-tat...

"Open fire!"

Bullets bounced off, turning everyone inside the red sedan into Swiss cheese.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

From inside the vehicle, rookie Carlos suddenly saw a person jump onto an off-road vehicle at the far end of the tunnel, holding... a rocket launcher??

"Captain! Look out!!!"

Carlos yelled hoarsely.

Whoosh~~

The rocket launcher, trailing a sound, flew towards "Tank and the others." Carlos felt the vehicle lurch, something seemed to slam into it from behind.

The towering 2.35-meter-tall BTR-80 armored personnel carrier directly used its side to block the rocket!

This thing...

Not only was it equipped with reactive armor but it had also been DIY-modified for increased lateral protection—the "Guadalcanal Police Department Maintenance Division" had let their imagination run wild.

Protective bricks were stacked onto the BTR-80 armored personnel carrier, with a thickness of up to 110mm. Combined with the reactive armor, although it lost its firing ports, it had become much more durable!

The RPG explosion on its side sent a massive shockwave that shook the vehicle, drifting it over a meter, its rear bumping into other vehicles.

"Return fire! Return fire! Ram them!" came the order over the radio to command the vehicles.

The BTR-80 armored personnel carrier rotated its front, and the 14.5mm KPVT heavy machine gun swept ahead.

The traffic jam outside the tunnel was nothing but an illusion.

It was an ambush by drug traffickers!

Rookie Carlos saw a "Sergeant York" anti-aircraft gun charging up behind the convoy—a vehicle similar to an armored car, but it was armed with a cannon!

A 40mm autocannon!

Meant for anti-air defenses, but who said it couldn't target enemies at the front?

Boom, boom, boom!

With the support of machine cannon fire, all the glass on the vehicles ahead shattered, and unsatisfied, the BTR-80 armored personnel carrier surged forward, ramming through.

The traffickers were savvy, blocking the tunnel with vehicles to impede their progress.

Rat-a-tat-tat...

The battle was far from over; gunfire erupted from the hillside. It started faint but soon turned rapid and intensified.

"NSV heavy machine gun!!"

From the command vehicle behind, Victor recognized the type of gunfire, noting the traffickers had significantly upgraded their arsenal.

Bullets struck the vehicle, clanging loudly...

"Mole, Mole, the enemy's machine gun position is found, blow them away!" Kennedy picked up the radio to give the order.

"Understood!" the artillery operator replied.

...

Behind the hill where the machine gun nest was located,

about a dozen traffickers were frantically assembling... a mortar?!

An American "M-224 mortar"!

"Damn it, where's the manual, isn't there a manual for this thing?" the leader was an anxious wreck, as they had no systematic training.

Exactly...

They had only been shown by the black market seller a few times.

Still, the traffickers fumbled with the operation.

As one trafficker tried to load a shell, a crisp rolling sound was heard, followed by a launch, the projectile flying towards the convoy.

But the angle was slightly off, exploding ahead instead.

"Success! We did it." the trafficker celebrated, dancing with joy.

Pop!

His head burst open under the watchful eyes of the other traffickers.

"Sniper! There's a sniper!"

The leader, his face splattered with blood, quickly got down and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Meanwhile, a sniper on a distant rooftop cycled the bolt of his Steyr-Mannlicher SSG 69 sniper rifle, leapt down, and quickly moved to another location, not forgetting to press his earpiece while running.

"11 o'clock direction, hillside, straight-line distance 470 meters, fire for effect!"

...