Working as a police officer in Mexico

Mexicali Capital TV Station.

Unlike a local, small station, the signal tower on the roof could be seen from a great distance away.

North of here bordered Calexico, California, and northeast, Arizona—part of the US-Mexico Border area—countless African Americans managed to make their way into the United States through here.

The annual flow of people hovered around 20 million.

In such a large city, with its own security issues, whenever drug traffickers caused trouble, many snakeheads, vagabonds, and even illegal immigrants would start to riot.

Drug traffickers provided them with weapons!

And they promised them money if they caused chaos in the capital of Mexicali, playing a significant role in the Baja California riots.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!"

About 200 African Americans stood in front of the convoy.

A young African American man, brandishing a knife, ran to the front of a Hummer, pulled down his pants, and twerked at the convoy.

The other African Americans cheered, praising this warrior.

Perhaps it was the vanity that egged him on, but he turned around and started making obscene gestures at the convoy.

Laughing, he shook vigorously.

biu!

A gunshot rang out, and the African American man, clutching his groin, fell to the ground, screaming.

The Commander withdrew his body from the window and, through the rearview mirror, saw the stunned expression on "Rookie" Carlos Prada's face, shrugged and said, "I just don't like people doing that to me, that's all."

Carlos swore to himself that the Commander was just being insecure!

"Sweep forward, anyone in the way is to be treated as a drug trafficker!" The Director's order came through the radio.

The Commander patted the driver, who floored the gas and charged forward. The Hummer's right tire crushed the African American who lay on the ground, while he himself climbed out the sunroof, mounted the heavy machine gun on top, and started firing indiscriminately at the African Americans!

African American + Drug Trafficker + Riot + Assault on Police = BUFF maxed out!

Did you really think Victor, with such a "generous" heart, would let you go just like that?

12.7mm bullets were their ultimate fate!

"They're shooting! The police are shooting, run for it!"

Male or female, anyone with a weapon was a drug trafficker.

Apart from a few who hid behind, the rest of the group, the black men, all lay in pools of blood.

A French-made AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicle's tracks rolled over a downed African American drug trafficker, whose hair got tangled in the treads, and the sound of bones cracking was distinctly audible along with the sharp screams that abruptly ceased as brains burst out.

The rest of the convoy followed suit, the blood and unidentified fluids trailed long behind under the pull of the wheels, adding a bloody stench to the already smelly air.

It was like trying to stop a car with an insect's arm!

This scene was witnessed by many bystanders, who were horrified, hands over their mouths, but there were also isolated reporters who captured the moment.

The Mexicali TV Station covered an area of about 5000 square meters, making it a large station—ideal for use as a "base camp."

The iron gate had been blocked from the inside with abandoned vehicles.

EDM members got out of their vehicles, carried a "blowpipe" surface-to-air missile, and blasted the iron gate open!

Why bother with hands when you can blow half a wall to oblivion?

Kennedy led the assault team inside, most of them modeled after the German GSG9 Special Forces, highly skilled in indoors combat.

From the outside, one could see the sparks flying from the gun barrels on each floor.

Kennedy charged up to the third floor, colliding with a drug trafficker armed with an assault rifle. His scalp tingled as he rolled back, sliding down the stairs, and he didn't forget to pull down two teammates who were about to charge up.

Tap tap tap...

Bullets hit the wall, scattering the lettering everywhere.

And there was a lot of noise, perhaps from more than seven or eight people.

"M34!" Kennedy shouted to his teammates behind him.

The latter quickly pulled one out from his pocket and handed it over to him.

This grenade had been used by the U.S. Military, deemed "one of the most dangerous hand grenades."

After Kennedy removed the safety, it instantly emitted a thick smoke. Lying on the steps, he tossed it into the corridor with a backhanded throw.

This device... was known as the M34 white phosphorus grenade!

Once ignited, the temperature could reach 2700 degrees Celsius, burning for no less than 60 seconds, with a spread diameter of up to 35 meters.

Boom...

The flames, due to the angle, grazed past their scalps and shot forward.

The drug traffickers in the corridor weren't so lucky.

Once the flames touched them, they were instantly engulfed.

Their screams sounded like demons climbing up from hell!

A drug trafficker couldn't take it anymore and screamed as he jumped straight down from the third floor.

"Ahhh!!"

A burning drug trafficker stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes shooting flames as he charged toward Kennedy and others, obviously a tough guy wanting to go down together.

But his body...

His ankle made a crackling sound, and the whole person just melted away.

Kennedy swallowed hard.

Sweat beads started falling from his head.

"Move, move, move, enter from the other side!" even this battle-hardened warrior felt fear.

Those who have seen death know that different ways of dying bring different kinds of shock—has anyone seen a hanging giant?

Has anyone seen what a hanged person looks like?

Has anyone seen someone struck by lightning?

The cruelty of war is that it makes the ways of dying more diverse, extremely challenging the soldier's sanity, morality, and values.

This is also one of the reasons why, later on, more than a thousand soldiers in the United States committed suicide annually due to PTSD from the war.

On the stairs, a charred corpse with hollow eyes watched the departing figures of Kennedy and others.

The biggest difference between drug traffickers and regular army, besides weapons, is combat prowess!

The EDM assault team moved forward, and those behind did not hesitate to build defensive fortifications right beside the vehicles.

Indeed, it wasn't long before cries and roars surrounded them!

The TV station was at a triangular intersection, with hundreds of drug traffickers pouring out from all sides, taking high ground and shooting at the convoy!

Ratatat...

Clang clang... the sound of bullets hitting the vehicle bodies.

"Biu!"

A rookie officer hiding behind a semi-trailer got a bullet in his temple and fell to the ground stiffly; an old soldier came over, took a look, then gestured to the commander, "Sniper!"

"FH70 howitzers! Damn it, blow them up!"

Victor's cursing voice came through the walkie-talkie.

A few officers hurriedly turned the gun carriage, aiming the howitzer... did this thing... need to be aimed at an angle?

As long as they found where the sniper was, they just had to shoot over there!

The 155mm howitzer was aimed at a building approximately 900 meters away; with one command, the ground shook backward.

The shell passed under the cover of night towards its target.

The drug trafficker sniper, looking through his scope at the distance, suddenly saw a shell charging toward him, and his mind went blank.

I'm just shooting a gun?

You're bombing me with artillery?!

The howitzer shell hit the wall, the massive shock wave along with the gunpowder directly collapsed the building, and the sniper instantly vaporized.

Half a floor was blasted away...

The enormous noise turned everyone's attention over there.

This...

Damn, that's not playing fair!

A chill went through the drug traffickers' hearts; the best way to instill fear was to have a larger caliber and then annihilate them, dead people can't be afraid.

"Rookie" Carlos Prada had been hiding on the side, adapting quickly and even daring to stick his head out to take a look; he pulled out his gun and fired at the drug traffickers.

Shoot once, then move to a new place.

Keep your head down and hide.

But clearly, his sense of direction was poor; running and running he realized something was wrong—why had the sounds beside his ear diminished? He looked up to see that he had moved at least 500 meters away from the battlefield.

Just as he was about to go back, he suddenly saw several figures, looking anxious and disheveled, running out from a building, with people around them looking like bodyguards, and a sturdy man in the middle looked like someone important?

The "rookie" hiding on the side watched this scene nervously.

On impulse, he pulled out a grenade.

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And threw it right over!

Boom...

The walls collapsed, and Carlos, wielding his gun, charged out, spraying a barrage of bullets into the cloud of dust at the figures standing there!

Upstairs, Carlos felt his brain losing rationality.

"Don't, don't kill me! I'm Zambada! Don't shoot! I surrender!!"

...