Working as a police officer in Mexico

Chapter 433 - 302: What? You want me to kill Victor??_2

Come on!

You Northern Army bastards!

Grandpa ain’t scared of you!!

At 11:31 am on October 25, 1990, Siegmut List, the Commander of the 1st Marine Division, and his deputy inspected the frontlines and made a speech.

Around 12:10 pm.

20 RM70 122mm rocket launchers, brought from the rear to assist Marine First Division’s over three hundred artillery pieces, began the bombardment!

The battle of Juarez, thoroughly ignited!

During the artillery strike, drug traffickers in the city slickly hid in concrete-poured buildings.

The barrage continued for an hour, setting the entire city ablaze with roaring fires!

And that wasn’t all—after the artillery fire, came the air strikes, as the air force targeted critical facilities.

This was the hallmark of the Northern Army.

Extreme artillery assaults!

Victor couldn’t afford it even if US dollars were used, but points…

Luckily enough were earned on the battlefield, sustaining the war effort, or else the frontline troops would run out of ammunition, unable to guarantee firepower.

At 2:00 pm.

Belonging to the Marine First Division, the First, Third, Fifth, and Ninth Regiments, totaling over twenty thousand men, attacked Juarez from three sides according to the original plan.

The war mode shifted into urban street fighting!

20 M1A1 main battle tanks, along with 30 M48 medium tanks forming the spearhead units, breached the smashed city walls and charged inside.

Drug traffickers stationed around a church on the perimeter fought back fiercely!

With one shot from the M1A1 main battle tank’s M-256 120mm gun, the bullet capable of penetrating several dozens of millimeters of steel couldn’t even blast a corner off!

The traffickers were clearly well-prepared, having fortified significantly.

In a second-floor room, a ZIS-3 anti-tank gun emblazoned with slogans lay horizontally, its barrel inscribed with "Long live great Juarez!"

"Load it! Load it!"

"Aim at that tank! F***in’ calamari!" A black man wearing a helmet was even speaking fluent English.

And across his chest was written, "IRA!"

Anyone familiar with history knew this was the emblem of the Irish Resistance Army.

What the hell was this unit, resisting the British, doing here?

Making a quick buck?

This thing… it’s listed as a terrorist organization in many countries.

"Fire!"

At the black commander’s order, the gunner pulled the cord, launching a shell towards the side of the M1A1 main battle tank.

Upon impact with the defensive net, bang...

A violent explosion sent flames shooting four to five meters high. The vehicle was intact, but the tank crew inside were shaken, feeling as if their internal organs had shifted.

"Circle around, circle around!" the tank commander yelled, clutching his stomach.

But the infantry following on his side were not so lucky, as a high-explosive shell took down more than a dozen Northern Army soldiers.

A medic crouching behind some broken walls dashed over, pressing on his helmet to keep himself from being erratic.

Ratatat... Ratatat...

The machine gun on the fifth floor of the church roared, its crossfire suppressing any attempt to lift heads.

At this angle, the tank couldn’t raise its gun—and you couldn’t just let the tank fire 360 degrees.

The female medic took a bullet to the neck, the force knocking her heavily askew onto the ground. Mouth agape, blood gushed out with each attempt to speak.

Reaching out to a Northern soldier hiding behind, he tried to pull her in, but bullets from nowhere shot the medic full of holes.

She died with her eyes open.

"Rocket launcher!"

A Northern Army lieutenant rushed forward with an RO-A 93mm aerosol bomb launcher, firing at the fifth floor’s point of resistance!

Boom~~~

Flames erupted outward, and the screaming traffickers jumped down from above. Unlucky ones... had their heads burst open.

Before the lieutenant could feel elated, an explosion from a rocket at his feet sent him flying into darkness.

"Charge! Charge! Charge!"

The Captain persisted in anger, wielding his M16 as he stormed the damn building. Soldiers poured in through the front door, while others leapt through the windows, peppering traffickers with their submachine guns. The Big Ben on the wall was obliterated.

The painting of Jesus was riddled with bullet holes—someone unaware might think it was Kangxi.

Click-click-click!

The sound of submachine guns reloading sent chills down one’s spine. As a soldier attempted to reload, a trafficker burst from a side room...

In a panic, he pulled the pin of a hand grenade and threw it at the trafficker, who also fired. The gunshot mingled with the explosion, and both men fell.

A trafficker descending from the second floor with an M2 Flamethrower aimed at the Northern soldiers rushing upstairs, unleashing flames.

Whoosh~~

Although the "burn time" was only about 47 seconds, and the effective range of the flames was about 50 meters, it remained a practical weapon, producing temperatures over 1000 degrees Celsius.

And it couldn’t be extinguished.

Northern soldiers screamed and writhed, human willpower sometimes unable to overcome physical agony!

The flamethrower-wielding trafficker didn’t move downstairs, craftily retreating to the second floor instead, while his following comrade threw down bundled hand grenades below.

Boom!

The load-bearing walls trembled.

"Take it down! Take down the first floor again!!" The second-floor leader shouted, forcefully shoving a trafficker beside him.

Even if disgruntled, the man had to grit his teeth, bellow, and shoulder his gun to descend.

The leader was the oversight team—on the battlefield, killing was necessary.

Traffickers counterattacked!

Instead, they pushed the Northern Army out of the first floor, getting the upper hand. Your next read is at NovelBin.Côm

In the "specific" combat space of a building, many weapons couldn’t be used, such as rocket launchers and artillery. It came down to tactics, technical skills, and courage.