Working as a police officer in Mexico

Nickname: Sitting atop the SA34 "Little Antelope" was Vayeback Diouf, who belonged to a South African mercenary company named EO! (Executive Outcomes!)

They didn't care who the customer was, as long as you paid, all you had to consider was how you wanted to sit in the seat you desired.

They had participated in numerous coups, with ample combat experience.

"I hate the ocean!" Vayeback muttered, looking down at the churning waves below, his name a clear indication that he was suited for desert warfare.

"Proceed according to plan, Strong Sailor, breach from the northwest corner of the island and establish a firebase there, and don't go too deep!" he instructed through his headset.

"Got it!"

They saw a Bell 214 heading towards the designated spot.

The mercenary known as Strong Sailor grabbed onto the handrail, bold and daring as he leaned out, squinting around before gesturing to the pilot to descend to the ground below.

"All ready!"

Inside the cabin, the sound of bullets being chambered was heard everywhere.

"God bless!"

"If I make it through this one, I can buy my daughter a piano."

"Ah Men!"

The mercenaries were quite calm, accustomed to life and death and the fires of war, the cooler they appeared.

To them, this was just another ordinary operation to land on an island. They'd heard the target was a cop – in Africa, they'd fought against warlords, could cops be more heavily armed than them?

The Bell 212 found a place to land, and as soon as Strong Sailor disembarked from the helicopter, he felt that something was amiss – it was too quiet... Uncomfortably so.

The sound of the ocean waves felt unsettling.

Watching the 17-member squad starting to set up the firebase on the plateau, just as he was about to press the earpiece to report, suddenly, he saw a red line streak across the sky.

A flare!

The word flashed through Strong Sailor's mind.

Immediately, a barrage of flares shot up, illuminating the sky in an instant.

The faces of the mercenaries on the plateau were all bewildered.

"Charge! Get in there!" Strong Sailor reacted quickly. It was no longer possible to retreat; the only option was to charge in.

"¡Póngalo! (Fire!)"

Located 600 meters behind the plateau were 10 M-30 type 122mm howitzers. Following the command, the neatly arranged howitzers fired in unison.

The artillery barrage engulfed the plateau.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

That pricey Bell 212 was blown to bits.

From afar in the sky, Vayeback's eyes widened. As soon as he saw the flares, he sensed trouble. Watching the flames rising from a distance, he knew a mercenary squad was done for.

"Fly over there, blow them up, shit! Where did the cops get the artillery from?"

The pilot flew the helicopter, which was equipped with two missiles, onto the artillery positions. One shot was all needed to make everything OK!

"Watch out for ground anti-air!" the technician on the SA34 "Little Antelope" suddenly shouted just as a stream of bullets shot up with a rattle from below.

The pilot, well-coordinated with his technician, jerked the control stick. But someone in the cabin lost their footing and stumbled, falling out of the open door with a scream that ended abruptly with a thud.

"Goddamn it, take it out! Take it out!" Vayeback's eyes were blood-red as he barked at the anti-aircraft twin-gun below.

With a serious expression, the pilot pressed the fire button.

The 20mm cannon fired at the concealed anti-aircraft position, blasting the ground and kicking up dust.

The twin gun fell silent momentarily, but before any sense of relief could set in,

they saw two figures on a nearby rise, shouldering a "Blowpipe" portable anti-air missiles – Vayeback was all too familiar with it; he'd served in the United Kingdom.

Damn it!

Was this the police?

"Evade! Evade!" Vayeback's voice turned shrill as he screamed.

Whoosh~

Blowpipe fired!

Didn't matter what the odds were; flying a helicopter so low was basically courting death.

The pilot clenched his teeth, his face flushed with strain, and Vayeback glared, terror filling his eyes, but it was of no use.

All he could do was watch as the Blowpipe scored a hit.

The aircraft disintegrated midair.

The Desert Ant belonged in the desert; coming to midair was practically begging for death.

That also proved a point: no matter how badass you are on land, in the sky, your life is in someone else's hands.

Inside a dugout command post.

Victor, holding a pair of binoculars, watched the fireball in the distance crash into the sea and happily slapped his thigh, "Good job, they'll be promoted after this fight is over."

He'd actually wanted to equip them with the FIM-92 Stinger.

But American stuff was just too high-tech and complicated, with a complex charging system and operation procedures, so he switched to Blowpipe anti-air missiles instead.

Casare watched Victor's mood.

He wasn't sure whether to address him as Director or General anymore.

As long as loyalty was in place, that's what mattered.

"Director, other forces have spotted the drug trafficker's landing troops, should we open fire?"

"Fire!"

...

Over 20 assault boats were preparing to embark from the dock.

They were about to reach the shore.

The AK-630M type 30mm 6-barrel naval guns positioned on both sides of the dock opened fire.

Have you ever seen a net of gunfire?

Just spraying wildly.

"Ah! Ahh!! Ahhh!!!" A young drug trafficker cowered in the assault boat, not even knowing where he'd thrown his gun, his face covered in blood as he screamed in terror, a stench of urine emanating from his crotch.

He was so scared he wet himself!

Big brother, you lied to me!

You said we were going to fight cops, but this is like damn warlords!

He wanted to go home, to find his mother. He stood to jump into the water, but as soon as he got up, pop—

The upper half of his body was gone.

Turned into rain.

His lower half fell into the water where marine creatures lurking below swarmed over it. Within moments, a 300-meter zone in front of the dock became a no-go area.

Using naval guns against assault boats.

Who else could pull this off?

Of course, some were lucky.

Mercenaries from EO company, through sheer luck, made it to the shore and quickly lay down, planning to crawl in a low posture, trying to advance using the blind spots of the naval gun's fire.

Hm?

Suddenly something popped up ahead with English words on it. The mercenary squinted, and saw written: This is facing the enemy!

Boom boom!

The explosion instantly blasted him into the air.

His last thought: "NMB, claymores on the shore!!!"

Victim mode engaged.

On the dock here, Victor had laid out 40 claymores. These things wouldn't just explode if you stepped on them, they'd also detonate if you entered their vicinity.

Following one explosion came a chain reaction, blowing the nearby mercenaries into pieces; they writhed on the ground, clutching their severed legs and howling.

As for any remaining landmines afterward?

Let the drug traffickers roll!

Spread out on the ground, they'd roll back and forth.

...

The continuous blasts petrified the residents of Guadalupe Island.

Many hid under their blankets, shivering uncontrollably.

In the midst of war, civilians have no choice but to pray that the shells are not blind.

Of course, there were also those who boldly peeped through their windows.

"The helicopter's been shot down!" Campos, full of excitement, was shaking Santos's arm.

Explosions are man's romance.

Santos, equally thrilled, nodded his head, "I knew Mr. Victor would protect the island. When I grow up, I want to join his team."

Campos hesitated, then said, "Then I should sign up for the police academy."

"Will your parents agree?"

"If they don't, I'll scare them with Mr. Victor!"

Looking at him with a bizarre expression, Santos thought to himself, what a filial son.

"Then I'll drive a tank in the future, and you'll be my assistant."

Campos nodded but then asked, puzzled, "Does Mr. Victor have tanks? Isn't he a police officer?"

"Who says police can't have tanks? You've seen the rocket launchers, right? Whatever the Mexican Government has, Victor has, and what they don't, Victor still has."

"Amazing. If you ask me, Mr. Victor is like an emperor from TV," Campos said, his mouth agape.

Santos cut him off, "No! Sir promotes justice and light, those feudal emperors are an insult."

Seeing his buddy get so worked up, Campos shrugged, "I was just joking."

What kind of times are we living in that there are still emperors?

Oh, except in Africa!

So why not in Mexico?

Stephanie, with her small eyes, watched the distant artillery fire, the thunderous noise ringing in her ears, feeling nothing but chaos and panic.

Turning her head, she asked Dexter at the door, "Daddy, why do boys like these sounds?"

Dexter patted her head, his gaze complex as he looked at the two adolescent boys, "Because those who don't know fear admire war, but real men oppose it."

"What about Mr. Victor? Is he a man?"

Dexter took a deep breath, "He's preventing a war!"

...