Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1588: 732: What the Hell Are You Doing! (Part 3)

Capítulo 1588: Chapter 732: What the Hell Are You Doing! (Part 3)

A dium-sized supermarket called “Aztec Market” operated by xican immigrants was running as usual when suddenly, ten or so people wearing white hoods that only revealed their eyes, ard with rifles, shotguns, and clubs, jumped out of vehicles.

“For the dead children!” “Go back to xico!” They shouted madly and began smashing the glass doors and windows of the supermarket without any explanation.

The shopkeeper, a man in his fifties nad Kathy, rushed out in panic trying to stop them: “Stop! What are you doing?!”

“Bang!” The response was a gunshot, but not aid at him. A mber of the mob fired a shot at the ceiling, causing the custors inside the store to scream.

“Take out all the money! And everything valuable!” The leader of the mob pointed a gun at Kathy.

“No! You can’t do this!” Kathy’s daughter, eighteen-year-old Maria, rushed out from the back trying to protect her father and the family store.

“Little xican bitch!” Another mber of the mob cursed, seemingly enraged by Maria’s resistance, raised his hand and shot Kathy.

Kathy’s chest blossod with blood as he staggered and fell.

“Daddy!!!” Maria let out a heart-wrenching scream and rushed to her father.

“Bang!”

Another gunshot.

Maria’s scream abruptly stopped, a bloody hole appeared on her forehead, and she collapsed weakly beside her father.

The death of the daughter, like the collapse of the last dam.

The mob completely shed the last shred of disguise, shouting wildly as they rushed into the supermarket, beginning indiscriminate beating, smashing, looting, and burning.

The surrounding shops, as long as they were xican or had Latino characteristics, were all dood. Cries, gunshots, the sound of breaking, and manic laughter were intertwined, plunging the entire block into hellish chaos.

Soon, the Augusta police who received the alarm arrived at the scene. But after so of the police cars stopped, the officers looked at the chaos in front of them and did not imdiately stop the mob.

One officer even said into the walkie-talkie, “Boss, the scene is out of control, it’s the ‘White Brotherhood’ executing ‘justice’, should we wait and see?”

As soon as he finished speaking, in the nearby police car, a young police officer looked at the smashed stores and the bodies on the ground, a hint of reluctance flashed in his eyes, just about to step forward, but was pulled back by his partner, an old policeman with a fleshy face.

The old policeman lowered his voice, “Don’t ddle, kid, these xicans deserve it, the higher-ups don’t want to manage, why should we stick our necks out?”

He even took out a cigarette, leaning against the hood of the police car, coldly watching the mob set fire to a furniture store, the raging flas reflecting off his expressionless face.

So policen not only didn’t stop the violence but even tacitly approved and indirectly participated in blocking the street, preventing people of other ethnicities from coming to the rescue.

The news quickly reached the 133rd Infantry Battalion of the National Guard stationed outside Augusta, this battalion also suffering from unpaid salaries, soldiers were angry, coupled with the influence of local extre rhetoric, the morale had long been unstable.

When rumors of “white families being wiped out” and “xican insurrection retaliation in city” twisted ssages reached the camp, the atmosphere in the camp exploded instantly.

“Damn! Those xican bastards killed our people, the police are useless!” A first-class sergeant nad Jackson suddenly kicked over the chair in front of him, he was well known in the camp as a hardliner, also a sympathizer of the “White Brotherhood”.

“Brothers!” Jackson shouted at the soldiers gathered around him, equally emotional, “The governnt doesn’t pay, the police are useless! Are we just going to watch those bastards who stole our jobs, now kill our compatriots, go unpunished? Are our guns just sticks?!”

“No!” Dozens of soldiers shouted with red eyes.

“What are we waiting for then?!”

Jackson raised his M16A2 rifle, “Follow ! Go to the city to ‘restore order’! Make those guys cough up our things!”

Amid the chaos, a group of about forty to fifty soldiers began taking weapons, clamoring to rush to the armory for more ammunition, so even trying to drive.

“Stop! What are you doing?! Imdiately return to the barracks! This is an order!” An on-duty officer rushed over upon hearing, spreading his arms blocking the door of the armory, his face pale, but trying to maintain discipline.

Jackson stopped, looking coldly at the young officer, he knew him, a “rookie” who had just graduated from the military academy not long ago.

“Lieutenant, get out of the way.”

“Sergeant Major! I order you! Imdiately disperse your n!” The lieutenant forced himself to stay calm and raised his voice.

Jackson’s facial muscles twitched, he suddenly raised the M16 in his hand, almost without hesitation, aid at the lieutenant’s chest.

“Bang!”

The crisp sound of gunfire was particularly sharp in the camp.

The young lieutenant looked down in disbelief at the bullet hole in his chest gushing blood, then looked up at Jackson, before falling straight backward.

“Who else wants to block the way?!”

Jackson’s gun barrel spewing blue smoke, he shouted at other military officers and a few soldiers who wanted to stop him, “Anyone who doesn’t want to die, get out of the way! Don’t block the brothers making a fortune.”

This shot shattered the last bit of order in the camp.

More soldiers, after the shock, were swept along by a mad crowd ntality and the desire for plunder, joining the ranks of the riot. They drove military trucks, jeeps, and even armored personnel carriers, crashing through the base gate, roaring toward the already fiery Augusta City.