"Agreed!"
The CIA Director thought for a mont and then nodded in agreent, but he always felt that sothing was going to go wrong!
If Victor were so easily subdued, would he still be Victor?
He might as well be called Hirohito, given how comfortably he played the underling, and his grandfather was so foreign pipe-smoker.
"Just like that, gentlen, we cannot allow such a tiger to continue lurking in our backyard, you understand?"
"Understood!"
…
He couldn’t pee anymore!
Not a drop of urine was left.
On Socorro Island,
A gaunt Spanish soldier with chapped lips was shaking, trying to produce so urine to drink, but he hadn’t taken in any water, so what could he do?
The drinking water had been cut off long ago, and now he didn’t even have the strength to fire his gun.
But there were ways…
Soone had thought of a thod—deoxyribose was a liquid, and presumably, it didn’t require water to consu.
However, he couldn’t get over the psychological hurdle.
The Spanish soldier looked up and saw the surging sea under the glaring sun—clearly undrinkable.
Huh?
Suddenly, he spotted a dark shape rising from the sea, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, he rubbed his eyes.
"Submarine! Submarine!"
The soldier shouted and then ran toward the caves, but his steps were weak and wobbly. He didn’t make it up but instead slid back down.
That’s when he heard the noisy voices, a group of wild-looking soldiers and drug traffickers rushing down. Every one of them had a look of excitent on their faces as they ran past him towards the submarine.
"We’re saved! We’re saved!"
"Thank God for Pablo! Thank the North Arican Drug Syndicate!!!"
"Ha ha ha ha, I knew it, I was right to take drugs!!"
What nonsense were these people spouting?
The soldier watched in horror as they swam out, climbed onto the submarine, and started receiving supplies being tossed from above.
Those who swam out dragged the supplies to shore, and without waiting, tore open the bottled water and guzzled it down!
They were brought back to life in an instant.
"Ahh!!!!"
"Thank God for Pablo!!!"
The soldier lying on the ground saw this and his eyes turned red with envy. He stood up, rushed over, and started drinking water, grabbing compressed biscuits on the side and stuffing them into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out like a toad’s.
He looked up, his ears twitching at the sound, when he saw several black dots in the distant sky. His pupils tightened and a horrible sense of fear surged up.
Pfft…
He spat out a mouthful and scread with a heart-wrenching voice, "xico! The xicans are coming!!!!"
Everyone looked up to see three "Warthog" A-10 attack jets appearing from the horizon, diving straight down. The 30mm GAU-8 Gatling-style seven-barrel avenger cannon started a "sweep" of the ground below.
"Run!!!"
The Spanish soldier yelled, took off running, bullets pumling the ground with a puff-puff sound. Bullets that thick—if they hit anyone, there was no chance of survival.
The beach was in chaos!
Experience tales with .Côm
"Fire, fire dammit…" an officer desperately pulled out his pistol and fired into the sky, screaming, "Co down here! You mongrel xicans, I’m not afraid of you…"
Pfft…
Before he could finish speaking, his head blew up.
In an instant, the blood drenched his body in red, and the headless corpse swayed before collapsing heavily.
A Spanish soldier hiding behind a large boulder, green and trembling with fear, clutched a cross tightly in his hands, praying incessantly.
But it proved…
In the face of bullets, even Jesus would whisper, "Run!".
An AGM-65 "Maverick" air-to-ground missile whistled by, hitting the boulder with a boom, the Spanish soldier didn’t even get to scream before he was directly blown to rubble!
The Drug Association’s submarine, noticing the planes, hurriedly prepared to subrge. But for such a large object, you can’t start it up in a mont—it takes ti.
Such a big thing lying on the sea—wasn’t it just a target?
Although A-10 is a fighter jet, it also has missiles, huh.
Three "Mavericks" sent the Type 613 submarine straight to heaven.
The massive explosion triggered an internal blast, so loud that it could be heard for miles around. The huge fireball scorched the surrounding sea, causing many small fish to float up, even emitting a fragrant sll.
Several minutes later,
The Warthog disengaged from the battlefield, dusted off its rear, and flew towards the airbase.
Leaving behind a ss of feathers.
Lieutenant Colonel Emilio Mora looked at the beach...
The sand was blackened, littered with dismbered limbs. A gust of wind brought the heavy scent of blood, almost making him vomit.
"Beasts, beasts!!!" a major beside him knelt on the ground, covering his face and crying out.
The scene...
Was simply too cruel!
There must have been hundreds of people lying beneath!
The sea swept the bodies away with a wave.
Emilio Mora blankly watched this scene, wondering if dying so far away on these islands really had any aning at all?
He felt profound doubt about the Cabinet’s decision.
To die for a few politicians’ ambitions?
Emilio Mora hated this feeling of helplessness!
Your Majesty...
Fuck you XXX!
However, while so suffered, others rejoiced.
At the San Ignacio Airport of the Air Force 3rd Squadron,
Colonel Manfred von Richthofen was undergoing rigorous training. He believed that soldiers needed constant training, otherwise, they would lose their fighting ability. Since he led by example, the n underneath him naturally followed suit with cries and howls.
This, too, was a characteristic of the Northern Army as a "new military interest group," at least it hadn’t yet decayed.
Hearing the sound of an airplane engine, he looked up and saw the Warthog landing safely, relieving his heart.
Pilots dealt with challenging death as their profession. You could encounter any dangerous and enemy situation in the sky, and every ti, Colonel Manfred von Richthofen was worried. But soldiers exist to challenge danger!
"Colonel, a call from the Governor’s Mansion!" a staff officer ran up shouting.
Manfred von Richthofen’s eyebrows twitched. He jogged over and asked, "Who’s calling?"
"The General."
"Why didn’t you say so earlier!" Manfred glared at him, his feet moving quickly. He ran to the office, panting, picked up the phone, took a deep breath to steady his breathing, and shouted loudly, "General!"
Victor’s ears were almost deafened. He moved the receiver slightly away.
Recently, everyone who called was shouting loudly, then yelling "General." So even cried loyalty. Anyway, Victor hadn’t stopped them.
What was this called?
This was called adoration!
Victor laughed and praised him, "Well done, you’ve done great. The Governor’s Mansion will award your unit a collective second-class rit. I hope you will continue this excellent work."
"Yes, General!" Manfred von Richthofen said excitedly.
"However, there’s another matter that needs the 3rd Squadron’s attention. I wonder if you dare to accept it."
Manfred von Richthofen was still young, not yet 30 years old. A 28-year-old colonel—this was simply the epito of impulsiveness and ruthlessness. Still, where else could you find a colonel of this age?
It was pure fantasy.
Oh, perhaps in the Soviet Union.
What’s the joke again?
A general and his grandson were taking a walk, and the grandson asked, "Grandpa, can I be a general?"
"Of course," replied the grandpa.
"Can I be a Marshal?"
"That won’t work; the Marshal also has his nephews."
Northern xico was more like a "Eden" to the political system, where you could soar if you were capable.
Victor and the other military people would never hold you down.
They would rather have more and more capable people rise and join them in maintaining the justice of this world!
Hearing Victor’s words, Manfred von Richthofen shouted, "General, my life and my fighter jet are ready to be sacrificed for you! Wansheng!!"
See, this is loyalty.
Young man, you look just like the kind General material.
"Arican warships have slipped into our waters. Go bomb them, teach them a lesson, let their arrogance and the ravenous wolves be buried in the sea!"
...
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