Working as a police officer in Mexico

William Goodrian, wearing a helmet and smoking, sat in the Humvee as it entered the city!

As the commander of the Fifth Group, he would be responsible for suppressing this area and in charge of building an airport, protecting the railway, and ensuring the local mines were operational.

This was the location of Mexico's third largest iron ore mine, of great strategic importance, an asset Victor needed.

On both sides of the street, the people stood cramped, anxious, and seemingly soulless. Some even had a look of hatred in their eyes as they mechanically chanted their welcoming lines while holding bunches of flowers.

And behind them…

Collapsed houses, corpses buried underneath, dried blood… Experience tales at My Virtual Library Empire

It was like something out of a movie by the famously sardonic director, David Fincher.

William Goodrian frowned, turning to his adjutant, "If we don't wage war, in five, ten, twenty years, the people here will completely see us as invaders!"

"Just like… East and West Germany."

The Berlin Wall merely broke internal barriers, but in terms of systems and lifestyle, the people remained distinct until East Germany gradually integrated decades later.

"Drag 200 drug traffickers out, chop off their heads, and hang them on every main street."

"Understood!"

William Goodrian took a drag of his cigarette, his gaze dark as he surveyed the surroundings; those he looked at felt a chill down their spine.

"There are reporters ahead, commander, they want to interview you."

"Let them come."

The driver moved the Humvee to the side, not blocking the army's route, while the guards pushed the nearby civilians back, ensuring they didn't get too close—something Victor might pretend to do.

But William Goodrian had no such intention.

"Good afternoon, Colonel, congratulations on taking down Torreon. What impact does this have on the Northern Army's overall strategy?" asked a male reporter with a microphone.

"We will maintain a high-pressure attitude against drug traffickers and rebels. Torreon is a central hub in the Midwest, and here we..." William Goodrian was speaking when suddenly an explosion erupted from a nearby building!

"Watch out!" A guard nearby hurriedly pushed him towards an armored vehicle for cover.

"It's okay, don't panic," William Goodrian patted the guard's shoulder, peered out, and saw smoke billowing from a nearby building while a squad of soldiers rushed in amidst gunfire.

The crowd below scrambled frantically, screaming in chaos.

After about four or five minutes, the Northern Army dragged two people out; one was covered in blood and clearly wouldn't last long.

"Commander, there were five assassins originally planning to throw bombs, but it seems there was a mishap, and the rest were blown up on the spot; only these two survived," reported the leading lieutenant, saluting.

William Goodrian stood up, straightened his clothes, and walked over, only to see the wounded man vomiting blood, his eyeballs… had literally popped out?

Half of his face was mutilated.

The other man, however, glared fiercely at William Goodrian, "You lapdog of a tyrant! You will meet a bad end, our Southern Army will kill you! The freedom of drugs will eventually spread all over Mexico!"

Drugs freedom?

William Goodrian squinted his eyes.

"I don't like his eyes."

The lieutenant, catching the hint, pulled out a Dagger, grabbed the man's head, and fiercely plunged the blade into his eye, stirring brutally amidst his screams, gouging out an eyeball.

The drug trafficker writhed on the ground in pain, covering his eye and wailing.

"Commander, I can take out all the contents of his head," the lieutenant said in a muffled voice.

William Goodrian appreciated his ruthlessness, "What's your name, Lieutenant?"

The man puffed out his chest, "Adolf Eichmann!"

"Great, young man. I now appoint you as the chairman of the Fifth Group's post-war committee in Torreon, help me find the hidden drug traffickers."

"No problem, commander!"

William Goodrian nodded in satisfaction, pointing to the two drug traffickers, "Hang them by the roadside."

Having said that, he turned to leave but stopped, turning back to Adolf Eichmann, "Hang those blown-up bastards on the streetlights too; they disturbed my speech, dead and still deserve to be shot."

Yes, that was Goodrian, he always held grudges.

It was his temper, why Siegmut List of the Marine First Division let him station here, anyone causing trouble gets killed!

The Northern Army's Hooligan Fist easily shocked those drug traffickers.

In Guerrero State's City of Juárez.

The drug traffickers had their command post here, close to the coast, perhaps thinking they could escape if they couldn't win.

Inside a heavily guarded school, bustling people were visible…

In a large room inside, sand tables and maps lay scattered, with about a dozen individuals pointing and discussing, looking very professional.

Gustavo, wearing a long robe with a standing collar, his beard making him look tired, the leader of the Zapatista National Liberation Army appeared exhausted recently.

His mistress and illegitimate child had died, which worried him, so he had to use CIA connections to send the rest of his family to the United States, hoping for asylum.

Himself?

He would be on the frontline in the struggle against Victor!

He shouldn't be called the leader of the Theological Army internally anymore, externally he should be the commander of the Southwestern Mexico Army, though he currently felt a bit helpless.