Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 805: 439: Bro, something big has happened! Something

Chapter 805: Chapter 439: Bro, sothing big has happened! Sothing really big!! (Happy Winter Solstice~)

Coahuila State, Akuna City.

Border, just a few hundred ters across from Texas.

Between them lies a barrier filled with trash, and on the xico side, a burnt-out car thrown sideways.

After the last conflict erupted, although the Pentagon forcefully intervened to stop the fighting, and the xican Army retreated from Texas, the Lone Star State still sees this as a humiliating disgrace.

After all, no army has dared to invade here since the 19th century.

This has enraged many “opposing factions” within the Lone Star State. What do these people advocate? Texas seceding from the United States to beco North Arica’s fourth independent country, then extending its influence to the Pacific Ocean.

Where the hell did these morons co up with this idea?

What’s in the Pacific Ocean?

Sharks. Are you planning to give sharks Lone Star State IDs?

So, this faction is basically disliked by both sides—hated within the United States, and in xico, they’re viewed as traitors with venomous contempt.

The 136th Infantry Regint of Texas is stationed here, facing off against a regint under the 338th Division of the 4th Marine Corps of xico.

Over at the Yanks’ camp, music is blaring loudly…

“What the hell are these damn Yanks doing? Are they high or sothing?” a private cursed, while the corporal next to him held binoculars and stared intensely.

In the middle of the camp, there’s even a Christmas tree…

Decorated with bells that jingled “ding, ding, ding” whenever the wind blew.

It’s not even December yet—why are they so eager to go ho already?

“Corporal, look over there.” Soone nearby yelled, and the corporal imdiately aid his binoculars in that direction. He spotted two U.S. soldiers standing at the border, shouting loudly.

One of them held up a photo—it was a portrait of Victor, ripped in half and thrown to the ground. One of them laughed maniacally, unzipped his fly, pulled out his junk, and began pissing on the image, hurling obscene insults nonstop.

“Fuck!”

“Corporal, they’re insulting the General. Let’s kill them!”

The rookies were fuming with rage.

The 4th Marine Corps had recently supplented its forces with nearly 20,000 new recruits, most of whom hailed from Ensenada City—Victor’s stronghold. Anywhere in xico might betray him, but not here.

Another batch of recruits ca from Loreto City in Southern Baja California, Victor’s hotown. In his mories, he lived here for over twenty years during childhood with his parents—relatives, neighbors, and childhood friends were all rooted here.

Later, when Victor rose to power, so even proposed renaming Loreto to “Victor City.” At this place, anyone over 60 receives a monthly pension of 1,200 pesos funded by the local governnt.

With this backdrop, recruitnt here garnered approximately 1,000 eligible young n, mostly assigned under Roml’s command. If deed promising, so might be chosen as Victor’s Guards.

What’s this called?

In the old days, this would have been called a bodyguard unit.

Seeing the Yanks utterly desecrate Victor’s portrait naturally stirred outrage—they were clamoring to retaliate and teach them a lesson.

BANG!

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Birds perched on the trees separating the border scattered in terror, and screams erupted without warning.

The soldier who had been pissing fell to the ground, clutching his crotch, writhing in agony. His companion jumped back in panic, dropping his cigarette to the dirt, scalp tingling, as he scrambled to drag the wounded man away.

A sniper… shot the bird?

Everyone suddenly felt a chill in their groin. Damn, that’s vicious! Can he even be saved?

If he survives, he’ll be peeing sitting down for the rest of his life.

The sudden gunshot clearly stunned the U.S. soldiers. Alarm bells imdiately replaced the music, and the 136th Infantry Regint quickly transitioned into full-war mode.

“Who fired the shot?!” Colonel Lewis Santos of the regint stord out of his tent, frowning and yelling. His face was stern—a textbook square jaw.

“Colonel, the xicans shot first. They injured one of our soldiers—his crotch is blown to pieces…” The Vice Colonel spat out angrily as he rushed over.

Lewis Santos’ brow furrowed; he had a gut feeling sothing wasn’t right—it must have been one of their own provoking the other side.

Did he not know the kind of trouble his soldiers were capable of causing?

“Strike back, Colonel! We didn’t fire the first shot!” The Vice Colonel was itching for a fight, and many of the soldiers under his command seed equally bloodthirsty.

“Hold the troops in line! No one is allowed to retaliate. I’m contacting the Governor now.” Santos barked.

The Vice Colonel grew agitated, grabbing Santos by the arm. “Colonel…”

“Shut up! Steve, I’m the Colonel!”

Santos snapped coldly, his gaze frosty. “Cut the crap with your little sches. I don’t care if you belong to the opposition or the unification faction—you stay quiet. If you cause trouble, I’ll arrest you under warti regulations.”

Steve’s lip twitched as he watched Santos leave, bitterness etched across his face.

“Colonel Santos is way too soft. What now? Boss, the Red Shoes Club only gave us three days. If that shipnt doesn’t get moved, we’re done for.” An officer behind Steve whispered worriedly.

From the sound of things…

They were working for soone?

Brr-brr-brr~

Steve’s pocket buzzed as his phone started ringing. Irritated, he picked up. “What?!”

“Good afternoon, Steve.” The voice on the other end spoke with a polished Arican accent. Though the words sounded polite, the tone carried a chill that seeped into the air.