In fact, many people here should be said to be working as "temporary workers" for drug traffickers.
It's similar to rounding up numbers!
But no matter who you are, once you pick up a weapon, you are a drug trafficker, an enemy, deserving to be eliminated. Bullets won't fly up to your face and then check your ID card.
A pickup truck smashed through the drug traffickers blocking the road, drifting suavely.
At the back of the truck was a DShK heavy machine gun, with a drug trafficker standing behind it, even wearing headphones and sunglasses, firing at the supermarket rooftop!
Bang bang bang...
Bullets hit the exterior wall, and the fragments of cement that splattered on one's face were painful.
This thing was meant to shoot down planes!
The bullets were so thick (draw with your own pencil after taking off your pants).
The cartridge cases fell from the side, clinking on the truck before dropping to the ground, still smoking.
On the battlefield, machine guns like this don't need to be aimed, just sweep fire in the general direction.
If you get shot, you're just plain unlucky, bad luck.
Bang...
Suddenly, the head of the drug trafficker operating the heavy machine gun jerked back, and he was thrown off the pickup truck, half his face seemingly torn off forcibly.
"Requesting support! Requesting support!" The commander on the rooftop shouted into the walkie-talkie as he saw more and more drug traffickers gathering below.
After all, the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) had only trained for three months, at best considered as farmers armed with elite weapons. How can you develop combat experience without going through several battles?
In 1993, the U.S. Military stumbled in Somalia, Black Hawks went down, 19 died, but nearly 3,000 were killed!
This casualty ratio is simply defying the heavens.
Keep in mind, the Somalis back then had things like RPGs too.
What does this show?
Combat experience is really important. You can say the Yanks are bad, but you can't say they're incompetent!
Similarly, under the "human wave tactics" of the drug traffickers, the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) was under immense pressure and could only call for support.
"Understood!" came a reassuring reply from the other end of the walkie-talkie.
Then I saw 4 AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicles bursting out from the garage on the side, all specially modified, equipped with Reactive Armor up to 100mm thick, effectively defending against bullets and regular artillery.
The most important change was the primary weapon, switching from a 7.5mm machine gun to an M61A1!
This thing is also commonly known as the "fire god cannon"!
Armored vehicles equipped with aircraft guns, damn, that's quite sneaky.
However, it seems the old Russians once mounted naval guns on tanks.
Weapons are just large building blocks for men, as long as you dare to imagine, you can fit anything on them.
The 4 AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicles equipped with fire god cannons advanced like divine punishers descending from the heavens, charging into the midst of the drug traffickers.
"We have to start recruiting ex-military, ordinary drug traffickers just can't enhance our combat power."
"Big brother, this will greatly increase our costs," his younger brother said, frowning.
"Higher cost is better than being annihilated in the future."
El Mencho pointed to the retreating drug traffickers on the TV, "What can you do with that kind of combat power? Bully civilians, that's about it. What we need is to stand against Victor!"
Everyone glanced at the TV, knowing their stuff.
The gap in weapons can be filled gradually, but the gap in personnel quality is indeed significant.
"I plan to pull in a bunch of soldiers from Guatemala and Honduras, to turn Jalisco's new generation into a military organization. Gentlemen, our business is not just business, it's a war."
El Mencho's eyes narrowed, his face trembling, "A war that decides life and death!"
...
"Victor!!"
In Hero Square, the weakened Zambada suddenly raised his head, his eyes seeming to penetrate the glass to see the place where Victor was.
His voice was loud!
Or it had been amplified.
"You kill me, can you kill all the drug traffickers in Mexico? Can you kill all the drug traffickers in Latin America? Can you kill all the drug traffickers in the world!"
"You can't!"
"You're just a cop, you can't change anything, you stinkin' cop, those big-shots whose wealth you've cut off will all want your head!"
Zambada was hysterical!
"Fire!" Casare issued the command.
The 120mm M1981 self-propelled howitzer bonged against him.
"I am immortal! Desire will never die! Greed will never die."
Boom!
That shell exploded into a mushroom cloud, and the ground shook three times.
Crowds in front of the TV leaned close, as the smoke cleared, not a feather remained, he was blasted to nothingness.
Quite a few people swallowed hard.
This kind of artillery execution for drug traffickers...
Some thought it was too much.
Victor, having heard Zambada's last roar, squinted and smiled, "The wild dog's bark!"
Immortal?
Blasted you to nothingness with one shell!
See if you still won't die.
...