Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1693: 765: History Repeats Itself! (3)

Capítulo 1693: Chapter 765: History Repeats Itself! (3)

He raised his head, eyes sharply sweeping over the crowd: “It doesn’t matter if the thod is unattractive, what matters is whether it’s useful.”

He looked at Major Sanchez: “Prepare the leaflet content, make it vicious enough, and diverse enough, write in Italian. As for won’s clothing… go collect them from those abandoned factories and shops in the city, or directly purchase the cheapest ones—underwear, skirts, stockings, won’s shirts… the more, the better, and the colors must be bright. Use transport planes to fly over their positions during tis without obvious air defense threats, and drop them for ! Like sowing seeds!”

“Yes, General!” Major Sanchez stood to attention with excitent.

Kitchener picked up the phone on the table: “Connect to the Leader’s office, encrypted line one.”

Once the call connected, he concisely reported this “provocation tactic” plan to Victor.

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

What a trick…

You’re giving this move…

Soone who doesn’t know might think it’s the Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

Then Victor seed to chuckle softly, with a hint of helplessness and ferocity: “Damn, alright. At this point in the war, face is the least useful thing, I only want results, approved to execute, but rember, dropping the clothes is just the beginning. Your fist needs to be clenched, and when they show their heads, hit them to death for ! I want this ‘Bertolini’ na to beco a joke within the NATO forces from now on!”

“Understood! Guaranteed to complete the task!”

On the morning of May 7, 1996, the weather was clear.

The defensive positions of the remnants of Italy’s “Sniper” Brigade and its attached units were located in a hilly area about 40 kiloters southeast of Gree City.

It was not the focus of the frontline. After experiencing the nightmare of the Komodo River Valley, Colonel Luca Bertolini strictly followed his father’s “turtle strategy”, shrinking troops to several mutually supporting highlands, digging deep fortifications, widely laying mines, maintaining communication silence, and never initiating attacks.

There was a pervasive oppressive and negative atmosphere on the positions, with soldiers doing nothing apart from standing guard, hiding in bunkers, staring blankly, or quietly complaining.

Around ten o’clock in the morning, a dull sound of engines ca from the sky. It was not the usual sharp sound of fighter or attack aircraft, but a heavier, slower sound.

The Italian soldiers on the positions instinctively looked up, searching for the location of air defense weapons, but found no signs of enemy aircraft diving to attack.

Only three C-130 “Hercules” transport planes, slightly old and marked with the xican Air Force insignia, flew over the Italian positions in a loose formation at about two thousand ters altitude.

At this height, ordinary air-defense machine guns couldn’t reach, and even single-soldier air-defense missiles were slightly awkward in range, and the opponent seed to have no intention of dropping bombs.

“What are they up to?” A corporal in the bunker muttered.

Soon, the answer was revealed.

From the tail hatch of the transport plane, a large number of colorful “dots” suddenly poured out, like Heavenly Maiden Scattering Flowers, or bizarre colorful snowflakes, fluttering down. Under the sunlight, those “dots” reflected the sheen of silk, cotton, and synthetic fibers.

“What is that?” The soldiers widened their eyes.

As the altitude lowered, the objects gradually beca clear. Clothes! A large number of, various kinds of won’s clothing!

Red, pink, purple dresses, lace-edged underwear, flesh-colored stockings, printed won’s shirts, and even a few brightly colored won’s bathrobes… Thousands, overwhelming, scattered by high-altitude airflow, drifted down, slowly falling, covering the Italian army’s positions, trenches, machine gun nests, command tents…

First, there was a dead silence on the positions, everyone was stunned by this surreal scene.

Then, so light clothing, like stockings and underwear, was the first to fall on the soldiers’ helts, shoulders, or hung on barbed wire and tree branches.

A young private instinctively grabbed sothing that floated to his face, it was a pair of bright red won’s panties, the fabric was thin, still carrying the sll of inferior perfu.

He threw it away as if electrocuted, his face flushed red.

“Bastards!!” A Sergeant Major reacted, cursing loudly.

But this was far from over.

Mixed among the clothing were a large number of snowflake-like paper pieces—leaflets. The paper pieces were heavier, falling faster, hitting the bunkers, the ground, being blown by the wind, flying everywhere.

The soldiers picked up the leaflets, which printed in large Italian font various extrely insulting words:

[Printed with a simple cartoon: an Italian soldier wearing a skirt running away, behind him is a xican tank, next to the text:]

“Run, Bertolini’s little girls! Your skirts won’t slow you down, will they? Need us to air-drop so high heels too?”

“To the ‘n’ of Italy’s ×× Brigade:

The speed at which you abandoned your comrades in the Komodo River Valley broke the world record!

Your current posture, hiding in the fortifications, is like frightened ostriches!

Ostriches still bury their heads in the sand, you? Only bury your heads in your mothers’ aprons!

Pick up weapons? No, you’re better suited to pick up these needles and threads, maybe you can nd your commander’s broken courage!”

—Gifted by the xican Army’s × Corps Frontline Command

And the leaflets wrote:

“Rember? September 1943, your fathers handed over their guns to the Germans.