Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1616: 742: I, Bramo, Am Victor's Loyal "Friend!

Chapter 1616: Chapter 742: I, Bramo, Am Victor’s Loyal “Friend!

February 10, 1996, early morning, thick fog enveloped everything.

The Illinois-Indiana State Border, once a symbol of welco for interstate travelers, now lood in the fog like a tombstone.

West of the state border, a hilly area was covered by camouflage nets.

Nurous M1A1 “Abrams” main battle tanks, repainted with the Illinois star emblem, and the low rumble of M2 “Bradley” infantry fighting vehicles, with their exhaust ports spewing white mist mixing with the morning fog.

The soldiers wore Illinois standard digital camouflage, repeatedly checking their equipnt, with expressions of nervous excitent on their faces.

Beside an M2A3 command version “Bradley” equipped with extra communication antennas, at the front line, Ludwig Becker glanced at his wristwatch, the hands precisely pointing to the mont of attack initiation.

He picked up the transmitter, his voice transmitted through an encrypted channel to the ears of every attack unit commander.

“Operation Thunder begins. May God be with Illinois.”

The order was given!

“Boom!!!”

In an instant, the M109A6 “Paladin” self-propelled howitzers, previously deployed at the rear of the attack line, unleashed a deafening roar!

The massive flas from the muzzle brakes instantly dispelled the surrounding fog, shells cutting through the cold air with a piercing whistle, flying towards the Indiana land on the other side of the state border.

On the Indiana side, about fifteen miles west of Gree City.

National Guard Corporal Tom Harrington was sitting in the passenger seat of a “Humr,” listlessly drinking cold coffee. His unit had been urgently deployed here for defense, to deal with “possible disturbances from Illinois.”

“I heard the xicans started a thing with us in the east?” The driver yawned, “It’s fucking crazy…”

Before he could finish speaking, the distant rumble from the horizon stunned him.

Imdiately, the shrill sound of alarms blared from behind their makeshift position!

“Artillery fire!!!”

Harrington dropped the coffee cup, shouting hoarsely, and slamd the car door open, trying to jump out.

Too late.

A 155mm shell landed precisely less than twenty ters in front of the “Humr.”

“Boom——!”

The enormous explosion devoured everything.

The scorching blast wave flipped the “Humr” like a toy, tearing it apart. Then it ignited like a fireball.

Harrington couldn’t even feel the pain, as his vision was consud by endless darkness in an instant.

Many people say the artillery is ferocious…

But for the dead, it’s just a mont; it’s “much better” than the cold weapon era, at least there’s no torture. Of course, if you didn’t die at first, it’s a bit troubleso.

The artillery was like a plow, repeatedly tilling the hastily established defensive line of the Indiana National Guard.

Before the artillery barrage completely subsided, on the west side of the state border, the roar of engines suddenly intensified!

“Advance!” The company commander’s voice ca through the tank’s intercom system, hoarse with static.

An M1A1 “Abrams” main battle tank, painted with a blue star emblem, ramd through obstacles along the way, its thick 120mm smoothbore gun looking massive.

Fitting a fist would be no problem.

Of course, hee hee hee…

Heavy tracks crushed the frozen ground, leaving deep ruts, leading the steel torrent behind it, irresistibly crossing the state border!

“We’ve crossed the state line, sir!” The gunner’s voice had a hint of excitent.

“Target spotted, ten o’clock direction, enemy infantry position!” The commander ordered, “Armor-piercing shell! Load!”

“Armor-piercing shell, okay!”

“Boom!”

The tank jolted suddenly, the shell flew out of the barrel, and a machine gun nest that had just mounted weak resistance turned to dust instantly.

The M2 “Bradley” fighting vehicles following the tanks opened their doors, and Illinois infantry jumped out, advancing with skilled tactical movents, following the armored vehicles. They poured bullets from M16 rifles and M249 squad machine guns toward any place that might harbor resistance.

The Indiana National Guard was caught off guard, their equipnt, training, and morale could not compare to the ticulously crafted spearhead of Becker’s attack. Many soldiers wore expressions of disbelief in their final monts.

The attacking spearhead pressed relentlessly eastward.

Towards the direction of Gree City and Hammond, the sound of gunfire and explosions beca increasingly intense.

anwhile, Illinois artillery began extending deeper into the area.

Several 152mm shells, deviating from their intended trajectory, whistled over fields and forests, crashing into a peaceful residential area nad “Forest Edge” on the outskirts of Chicago.

At this mont, it was early morning, and many residents were just waking up, preparing to start a new day.

“Mom, what’s that sound?” A blonde girl pointed outside the window at the intermittent whistling in the sky and asked.

Her mother was preparing breakfast and looked up at the sound, her face turning pale instantly.

“Oh, God…”

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Continuous explosions rang out within the residential area!

A two-story house was directly hit, collapsing in flas, bricks and wood splinters flying everywhere, cars parked along the street overturned and caught fire, and the previously lively scene on the street was shattered beyond recognition.

The piercing alarms of fire trucks and ambulances replaced the morning bird song, as survivors cried and ran out of their hos, dressed in pajamas, faces covered in soot and blood, eyes filled with terror.