Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1681: 763: I Honestly Don't Understand What It's Lik

Capítulo 1681: Chapter 763: I Honestly Don’t Understand What It’s Like to Be Gang Beaten! (Part 2)

Herman Bark is a rugged, muscular middle-aged man with dark skin, bearing a scar on his face from an anti-narcotics operation in his early years. He stands on the third floor of the town center city hall, observing the soldiers digging fortifications and laying booby traps through a broken window with binoculars.

“Bury the anti-tank mines beneath the surface of the main street, but leave the detonation lines controlled. Wait until their lead vehicles pass, then hit the middle one, blocking the entire street!”

“The church bell tower is our eyes. Send the sniper team and observers up, but prepare at least three evacuation routes. The British will undoubtedly target that first.”

“Have the chemical plant’s tanks been checked? When necessary, turn them into our incendiary bombs.”

“Disperse and hide the extra ammunition and dical supplies, store them according to the ‘rat hole’ principle, ensuring every combat group can find supplies nearby.”

Orders were issued one by one, and the soldiers executed them silently and efficiently. Among them were seasoned veterans and tender-faced rookies, but at this mont, their eyes showed a nearly numb determination.

May 2nd, early morning, White River was shrouded in mist.

The first to reach the outskirts of Logansport were the British Army.

A squadron from the SAS had already infiltrated as vanguards, clearing outposts and marking fire points.

Following closely were the main forces of the Royal Anglian Regint’s first battalion, approaching the town’s southern entrance riding on Saxon armored personnel carriers and a few Challenger 1 main battle tanks along the highway.

SAS sniper “Wild Dog” lay atop an abandoned water tower outside the town, covered in a camouflage net, and his L96A1 sniper rifle’s scope slowly scanned the silent town.

The streets were deserted, most windows were dark, with tattered curtains occasionally fluttering in the breeze.

It was too quiet, unnervingly quiet.

“Command, this is ‘Wild Dog’. No obvious targets detected. Suggest Company B probe from the east industrial area, where visibility is relatively open, and the building structures vary in strength, allowing our armored vehicles to utilize their firepower,” he whispered into his throat mic.

“Received, ‘Wild Dog.’ Continue surveillance,” ca the calm voice of the battalion commander over the radio.

Soon, four Saxon armored vehicles escorted about a platoon of Anglo Regint soldiers, cautiously entering the town’s eastern industrial area. It was a place of old factories and warehouses, with rusted pipes and towering chimneys forming a steel jungle.

Platoon leader Sergeant Major Jas Cavendish, a veteran of the Falkland Islands War, signaled the convoy to stop. The soldiers disembarked, using the armored vehicles as a base, forming a vigilant formation to advance and search.

Sunlight stread through the broken factory roofs, casting mottled shadows on the dusty and oily ground.

“Keep your distance, and watch the windows and rooftops.”

Cavendish whispered, the muzzle of his L85A1 assault rifle moving with his gaze. He hated places like this, where views were obstructed, echoes were severe, and every shadow could harbor an enemy.

Suddenly, a sharp gunshot rang out from the second floor of a three-story factory building to the front left.

A British soldier bending over to check the ground had his helt burst into a spray of blood, collapsing without a sound.

“Sniper! Second floor! Third window on the left!” soone shouted.

British soldiers imdiately sought cover, bullets whizzing and hitting the armored vehicle and concrete pillars, erupting sparks and debris.

The 7.62mm machine guns on two Saxon armored vehicles quickly swiveled and fired fiercely at that window, shattering bricks and stones.

Almost simultaneously, two M136 AT4s ca flying from the roof of another factory building!

“Rockets!!!!” a shrill warning sounded.

One rocket flew over the top of a Saxon, exploding in the distance.

The other hit an armored vehicle’s side directly!

“Boom!”

The explosion wasn’t particularly violent, but the shaped charge easily tore through the Sasxon’s relatively thin side armor, and screams echoed from inside, with black smoke mixing with flas pouring from the breach.

“Find cover! Damn it, don’t bunch up!” Cavendish shouted, seeing a silhouette erge from a nearby service tunnel, raising a rifle, he imdiately shot a burst, forcing the opponent to retreat.

Combat erupted at multiple points in the industrial area at once.

The xican defenders seed to be everywhere, yet nowhere with a main force. Shots ca from unexpected angles, with rifles, machine guns, and occasional rockets and mortar shells. British soldiers fought back vigorously, relying on their training and equipnt, using assault rifles, machine guns, and rifle grenades to suppress suspicious fire points, calling for rear mortar support.

But the progress was suffocatingly slow.

Clearing each building required ti and incurred casualties. xicans often relocated through pre-made breaches in walls or underground passages after causing damage, leaving only empty rooms and potential booby traps.

“Damn these rats!” a young British soldier, upon rushing into a seemingly empty workshop, tripped over an almost invisible fine line.

“Click.”

His face instantly turned pale.

“Tripwire!”

Before he could finish speaking, an improvised explosive device filled with nails and broken glass exploded underneath a pile of scrap parts!

The shrapnel and steel balls sprayed out in a fan, and this soldier and his companion imdiately behind him fell to the ground, bloodied and ragged.