Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1553: 722: History Doesn't Lie Either!

Capítulo 1553: Chapter 722: History Doesn’t Lie Either!

December 31, 1995, Michoacán State.

The leaden gray clouds hung low, shrouding the mountains in a gloomy haze.

At a military airport sowhere on the state border, the air was filled with the scent of aviation fuel and the impending mountain rain.

Four pilots in heavy flight suits, with helts tucked under their arms, marched in step toward the tarmac. The squadron leader stopped in the shadows of the hangar, looking up at the overcast sky.

“Today is the last day of the year.

He murmured, his voice almost drowned out by the distant roar of engines, “Let’s send those ‘Traditional Guardians’ in the mountains a New Year’s gift.”

On the tarmac, four modified C-130 transport planes were lined up neatly, with ground crew refueling them with Agent Orange.

Massive tal tanks glinted coldly inside the aircraft, with fuel hoses snaking beneath the wings.

“Rember the flight altitude,” the squadron leader turned to face his crew, “We need to make sure every drop is evenly spread over their ‘Holy Land.'”

Young pilot Rodriguez instinctively touched the cross on his chest.

This was his first ti participating in such a mission.

He had just graduated from the air force academy, and such a rare opportunity was not easy to co by.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” The squadron leader’s gaze swept over him.

“No, officer.” Rodriguez replied, standing at attention, “I was just wondering what those people in the mountains are doing at this mont.”

The squadron leader let out a cold laugh, “Praying for their God to show up, buckle up, Lieutenant, today we’re going to show them that the true God never descends.”

Is not the God of Steel also a god?

Long live the Emperor?!

They boarded the planes one by one, the cockpit buzzing with electronic equipnt and the cold glint of flashing instrunt panels.

Rodriguez donned his helt, his fingers adeptly operating the control panel.

“This is Vulture One, requesting takeoff clearance.”

“Clearance granted, Vulture Squad. Happy hunting.”

The engine’s roar intensified abruptly, the plane accelerated down the runway, then lifted sharply, soaring into the dense clouds.

anwhile, deep in the Santa Ana Mountain Range, the Kola Tribe’s ritual was reaching its climax. (The last chapter was a branch).

No choice, it was indeed fertile.

Old priest Paloma stood before the giant stone idol, his hands covered in fresh blood. His eyes bulged with fanaticism, a necklace of finger bones hung around his neck.

Hundreds of tribe mbers prostrated on the ground, their faces painted with red and white war paint. They bowed strenuously, their foreheads stained with blood.

Paloma raised the Obsidian Dagger high, “The Mountain God will grant us strength so that our bullets never miss, our blades always stay sharp, and we beco invincible to bullets and shells!”

These rituals seed trained, identical to so African tribes, couldn’t they at least change it a bit?

A deep rumble ca from above the clouds.

The crowd began to stir, uneasy whispers spreading across the ritual site.

“Do not panic!” Paloma commanded sternly, though his own hands trembled, “It’s the Mountain God’s chariot! He is coming for us!”

He turned to the idol, praying with even greater fervor: “Great Mountain God, show your strength! Let those who desecrate our Holy Land taste your wrath!”

The first C-130 pierced through the clouds, passing over the ritual site.

From the rear of the plane, a plu of orange-yellow mist began to pour out, extending like a venomous giant python in the air.

“It’s toxic fog! The governnt’s toxic fog!” soone scread.

Paloma knelt before the idol, frantically bowing, “Mountain God, protect your people! Use your power to dispel this wicked mist!”

But the idol remained silent, the bloodstains on the stone flashing dark red in the somber daylight.

The Agent Orange fell like fine rain, a viscous, acrid-slling liquid covering the ritual site, the crowd, and the idol. People began to cough, their eyes burning, skin itching.

“Mountain God!”

Paloma’s voice turned into a wail, his face blistering from the agent’s corrosion, “Why have you abandoned us? We’ve offered the finest sacrifices! We’ve followed the ancient rituals!”

He clawed at his face frantically, tearing off chunks of skin with his nails, “Answer ! Why?!”

Responding to him was only the fading roar of the departing plane and another approaching C-130.

In the tribal village, the misery was even more appalling.

Won and children ran out from the thatched huts, watching in terror as the orange-yellow mist engulfed the village.

Children began to cry and scream, their skin rapidly blistering and ulcerating. A young mother’s baby wailed shrilly in her arms, its tiny body covered in horrific blisters.

“Water! Quickly, find water to wash it off!” the village chief ordered loudly, but his own arm was also swelling and ulcerating.

However, the water source had long been contaminated.

Dead fish floated in the creek by the edge of the village, their eyes bulging, gill plates oozing dark blood.

In the forest, animals ran and cried out madly. A jaguar writhed in agony on the ground, clawing at its own fur until it was a bloody ss, while monkeys fell from the trees, their lungs corroded by the chemicals.

Lieutenant Rodriguez looked down from the cockpit, seeing a mass of orange-yellow mist enveloping the mountains as if shrouding them in a cloak of venom. He saw a few black specks running in the mist, then falling.

“Vulture Two reporting, first round of spraying complete.”