Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1393: 670: Retaliatory Operation!

Chapter 1393: Chapter 670: Retaliatory Operation!

The cold air mixed with an almond scent hit him in the face, and the filter on Rodriguez’s gas mask imdiately began to work. Twenty black tal cans were neatly lined up on the refrigeration rack.

“These are the ones!” He shone a UV light on them, and fluorescent markings instantly appeared on the canisters, “Black Death aerosol, stored under high pressure. If it leaks…”

He hadn’t finished speaking when suddenly the roar of an RPG rocket launcher sounded outside the warehouse.

A rocket pierced the tin roof and exploded at the entrance of the cold storage room. Flas instantly licked the tal cans, Rodriguez roared and rushed forward, using his body to shield the can closest to the explosion point, the scorching blast wave singeing his tactical vest.

“Retreat! Evacuate with the samples!”

He rushed out, dragging a tal can with him, while his team behind covered his retreat, firing submachine guns at ard militants storming the warehouse. One team mber was hit in the shoulder by a stray bullet, screaming in agony as he fell, blood spreading across the floor, mixing with the brown liquid seeping from a can.

In the rocky area of Veracruz Port, the marines’ inflatable boat was chasing a small boat.

The two smugglers on board were frantically throwing tal cans into the sea. One canister hit a rock and cracked open, brown liquid flowing down the rock, crabs on the reef instantly flipped belly up.

“Shoot the boat’s stern! Don’t hit the cans!” the captain shouted into the radio.

Bullets from M16 rifles splashed water around the small boat. One smuggler was hit in the thigh, screaming as he fell into the sea. The other grabbed the last canister to throw it onto the beach, but his wrist was shot through by a precise shot from an SWWE team mber.

The tal can rolled to the boat’s bottom, making a dull noise.

In Warehouse No. 3 of the Panama Colon Free Trade Zone, the smoke from the RPG rocket hadn’t yet dissipated when Captain Rodriguez dragged the tal can out of the cold storage room. His tactical vest had been sliced open by shrapnel, and blood was seeping from the wound.

“Suppressive fire on the left!”

He roared as he dove between a pile of containers, firing three consecutive shots from his MP5 submachine gun towards the warehouse entrance. Three ard militants in work pants who had just rushed in were blown away by precise bullets, blood splattering on boxes marked “dical Supplies,” staining the word “Supplies” sticky.

Team mber Marcos was holding an injured comrade behind the refrigeration unit, the bandages in the first aid kit already soaked in blood.

“Captain, Pedro’s not going to make it!”

His voice was choked with sobs. Pedro’s carotid artery had been pierced by a stray bullet, blood gushing through his fingers as the light in his eyes slowly dimd.

Rodriguez gritted his teeth, changing the magazine, the sound of tal clashing echoing sharply in the warehouse.

“Drag him to the Safe Zone!” He sharply leaned out for a shot, and the bullet hit the barrel of an ard militant’s AK-47, the sparks illuminating their ferocious face. This group was clearly not ordinary smugglers; their tactical maneuvers were precise and ruthless. Soone even carried a bomb package attempting to charge forward to die together, but Rodriguez shot the detonator, blowing the person to pieces in the flas.

Outside the warehouse ca the sound of tires screeching on the ground, as three pickup trucks crashed through the gates, mounted heavy machine guns in their beds starting to fire.

Bullets hitting the containers sounded like hail striking a tin roof, and Rodriguez suddenly noticed a mark on the windshield of a pickup truck!

Very familiar!

“It’s Khun Sa’s core Guard Corps!” His heart sank. Such a level of ard force usually only protected Khun Sa personally. Their presence at the Panama warehouse indicated the importance of this Black Death sample was beyond imagination.

“Throw smoke grenades!”

Rodriguez tossed a smoke grenade, and gray-white smoke instantly enveloped the center of the warehouse. The team took the opportunity to stagger their retreat, with Marcos carrying Pedro’s body, his submachine gun always aid at the edge of the smoke. As they retreated to the back door of the warehouse, the last team mber suddenly cried out, a bullet piercing his knee, and he fell to the ground, yelling at Rodriguez, “Captain, leave !”

Rodriguez’s eyes turned red.

He watched the shadows of ard militants approaching through the smoke, then looked at the tal can in his arms, suddenly stuffing it into Marcos’s hands, “Take the sample, go to the designated evacuation point!”

“Captain!”

“Follow orders!” Rodriguez shoved Marcos hard, grabbing his submachine gun and rushing towards the injured team mber. He knew that only by buying ti could the Black Death sample be safely removed.

Gunfire continued at the warehouse’s back door for seventeen minutes.

When Marcos, carrying the tal can, raced onto the rescue helicopter, through the porthole, he saw the back door of the warehouse engulfed in flas. That was Rodriguez detonating the last grenade, and in the flas, it seed as though he saw the captain standing amidst the inferno, giving a thumbs-up in the direction of the helicopter.

“Captain!!”

The sea waves were crashing against the jagged rocks with a dull roar, the marines’ inflatable boat bobbed in the waves, M16 rifle bullets piercing through the night to hit the engine of the smugglers’ small boat precisely.

“Bang!” as the engine smoked, the boat lost power instantly, spinning around the rocks. The remaining smuggler clutched his bleeding wrist, madly grabbing the last tal can, biting open the safety seal with his teeth, intent on detonating the can before being captured alive, to spread the Black Death on the beach.

“Shoot his hand!” Santana, the inflatable boat captain, aid at the smuggler’s elbow, pulling the trigger. The bullet pierced through his bone precisely, and the tal can clattered into the sea, bobbing in the waves.