Working as a police officer in Mexico

There were steadfast internationalist warriors, steadfast feudal warriors, and naturally, there would be capitalist warriors too—those who fought for global peace, and those who fought for their own interests.

Federico Ferrari Orsi, feeling utterly bewildered, sat in the vehicle, watching the heavy rain pour outside.

Perhaps...

He was fighting just for a bite to eat.

He had once joined the "Anti-Victor Alliance" for his livelihood, but the indiscriminate bombing by the Northern Army had robbed him of his home, his family and friends, and so much more, filling his heart with fury towards the dictator.

Victor?

Under the guise of drug prohibition, he was actually a national scourge!

He waged wars to satisfy his own interests!

A shameful, despicable scoundrel.

Now, staff officer Federico held respect for Mr. Jose Andres Guardado; he had placed his bets on himself in Nuevo Leon.

This was the first time he was needed so resolutely; he couldn't disappoint.

He glanced at his watch, picked up the walkie-talkie, "Everyone, speed up, we need to enter the enemy-occupied zone by 8 AM, $500 reward per person!"

The staff officer sitting next to him, who had a good relationship with Federico, hesitated, then spoke, "Perhaps we should offer our brothers more benefits."

"What do you mean?"

"There are three villages in the border area that have surrendered to Victor; they are traitors and should be... taught a lesson."

Federico frowned.

He understood.

Looting and slaughter!

"According to our plan, we'll cross the border line, and en route, there's a village just perfectly placed, with about 400 people. If we want to disrupt the battlefield, we should start there. Relying on our combat prowess, it won't take long to take it down, then we will be fully able to proceed with the mission."

Federico fell silent; he truly detested this.

But he understood, one couldn't measure drug traffickers' combat strength with moral standards; they needed to know what was profitable.

He hesitated, squinting, "We split into three groups; I'll lead two battalions to cut off Western Army's retreat, and you along with Luca each take two battalions to create chaos. Your job is to stir the waters, diverting enemy focus."

He still felt they needed to "handle proper business."

"Yes!"

The staff officers, sitting in the passenger seat next to him, looked surprised, exchanged glances, and quickly agreed.

After all, what's quicker than looting.

The "Monterrey Division," with three battalions nearly 7000 strong, was fully equipped with AK47s, RPG series rocket launchers, Soviet Army's RD-54 rigs, RPK-74 light machine guns, two RGD-5 hand grenades per person, and SSH-40 steel helmets. My God, to the uninitiated, it seemed like the Soviets had invaded.

But this group was indeed trained purely in American style.

Mostly made up of desperados, drug traffickers, gamblers, and hooligans, they were fierce and thrilling in combat.

Just to maintain these men, "New Leon Power" had to spend at least several million dollars every month.

However, the silver lining was no need for pension funds.

What a joke, as if drug traffickers needed that.

After a grueling four-hour march, the "Monterrey" division entered the border area, splitting into three groups, each moving separately.

Due to the recent liberation, Coahuila's security was entirely maintained by the fourth division; the border was too long, unpatrolled.

The forces from National Guard hadn't yet taken over there.

Moo~

On the hillside, a young boy sat cross-legged on a rock, with two cows grazing nearby, tails flicking, backsides sticky with shit, mosquitoes buzzing around.

The boy sat on the rock, holding a yellowed book in his hand, finger tracing the words line by line as he read aloud, "This is… huh?"

Confused by a word he didn't recognize, he scratched his head and circled it with a pencil, "I'll ask the teacher later."

Just thinking of the teacher brought a smile to his pitch-dark face.

His parents had died, and he had been scavenging since his youth. In the era of Old Mexico, he was forced to plant YS; once General Victor's soldiers broke through, all those drug traffickers were shot.

He had seen the drug runners who bullied him hanged!

Yet he was not scared, but instead, a wave of excitement surged through his heart.

Later, he was listed as a single household, but because of his young age, he received a monthly subsidy of 600 pesos from the Northern Government and was placed in the care of a lonely old man from the village.

They even built schools, allowing them to study; not sending kids to school would result in criticism from the family.

Moreover, two teachers were sent from the city to teach them.

The candy that teacher gave...

It was really sweet!

Their smiles were genuinely beautiful.

Although mature for his age, the boy helped with herding cows in his spare time and always carried a book; he wanted to get into a good university.

Then...

Then he would help even more people!

Woo woo woo~

The boy was about to turn a page when he suddenly heard a mechanical noise; the cows too paused oddly, still busily chewing.

The boy stood up, looked in the direction of the sound, and saw many vehicles driving on the road and many strangers in military uniform.

That military uniform was not the Northern Army's.

He stared, heart racing, jumped off the rock, dropping his book without time to pick it up, not bothering with the cows, he dashed through a shortcut towards the village.

"It's bad! It's bad!"

At the village entrance, an old farmer drying corn saw him running over, about to trample his corn, and shouted, "Alaman! Stop running! What's the matter?"