Working as a police officer in Mexico

Ethan Hunt walked out of the convenience store, chewing gum, and glanced at the unfamiliar man, who quickly averted his eyes.

"The things they do are even cruder than EDM!" he muttered to himself as he got into his Mercedes-Benz and started cruising around the capital of Colombia.

A rich lady gives you money, it's only right to spend it.

Otherwise, how could he live with himself for the efforts he put in last night?

The tail behind him got all confused; when they saw him enter a public restroom, the two exchanged glances and followed suit.

Just as they turned the corner, a fist as big as a sandbag whooshed toward them, knocking one out cold with its heavy force, while Ethan grabbed the other by the head and slammed it against the wall. Dizzy, he was then strangled by Ethan's hands, which twisted to both sides.

Hmm~

A very crisp sound.

As he was searching the two men's bodies, a man walked in and, seeing the scene, quickly raised his hands and covered his eyes, "Hey, buddy, I didn't see anything, I didn't see anything."

While saying this, he walked out.

Ethan flipped the arms of the two men and saw the Cali Cartel's LOGO, wondering why these drug traffickers and gangsters liked to tattoo themselves.

Zero professional ethics.

How is this different from dying with an ID card in your mouth?

Ethan's eyes turned fierce, and he cursed under his breath. He had to kill that engineer Salsedo from the Cali Cartel; the guy had started to suspect him.

He dragged the two drug traffickers into the bathroom and drowned them in the toilet, pressing their heads down; after all, shooting would leave evidence.

Leaving the bathroom, he didn't forget to wash his hands.

Not long after he left, a sanitation worker came humming into the bathroom, dragging the mop along, but then suddenly noticed the last stall door was firmly shut. After knocking and getting no response, he bent down.

Oh crap!

Two men, four legs?

Fuck, what are you doing in the bathroom?

He knocked hard on the door, "Hey! You can't do this here"!

After Ethan left the bathroom, he slipped back into the car with a grave expression, picked up the phone from the dashboard, and dialed a number, "Hello, this is Houston Burger Shop."

"Prepare 3 chicken burgers for me, and a Coke. I only want Pepsi, no Coke. I'll pick it up in ten minutes."

After hanging up, he tossed the phone behind him, made a U-turn on the spot with a quick turn of the steering wheel, and floored the accelerator, the roar from the exhaust heard by everyone around.

Boom~

About seven or eight minutes later, he arrived at a burger shop and drove straight into the yard, where a red-clad worker naturally shut the gate behind him.

After Ethan got out of the car, several people holding instruments began thoroughly checking the car for listening devices—now that's what you call professional.

"What's up, Blanco suspects you?" a colleague asked with a furrowed brow.

"I'm not sure, but I just got tailed by people from Cali. Damn, those guys in Colombia are even sharper than the CIA. Is there any way we can kill Salsedo? But since I killed the tail, he's going to suspect me even more. I don't think I can stay around Blanco much longer," Ethan inquired, his brows furrowed.

The colleague looked at him strangely, "What, you sound a bit regretful? Did you have fun last night?"

"What are you thinking! This is work." Ethan, remembering the overwhelming weight from last night, felt his legs tremble and his face turned pale, he swallowed and pointed to the colleague searching for listening devices, "Buddy, set up a timed bomb under the chassis for me. I'm going to blast her to smithereens!"

Man, really... heartless!

"The best thing now is to kill Salsedo first."

Ethan glanced at his colleague, "You have a way?"

"Buddy, we're in Colombia not just to freeride; you do the muscle work, we do the tech work."

"If you mention muscle work again, believe it or not, I'll kill you!" Ethan snapped, feeling a maddening itch—this made him feel like he was being treated as a male escort.

The colleague laughed, pulled him inside the burger shop, and into two private rooms at the back, where they could see plenty of military surveillance equipment, and several photos and network diagrams pinned to the walls.

"Salsedo!" the colleague pointed at a photo with several delineating lines and written time and location, enough to make anyone with trypophobia scalp itch.

"He appears every afternoon at 4 at a stand in Santa Fe de Bogota, loves to eat fried plantains, and the vendor, we've checked, is a nephew of Salsedo's. They might be engaging in some sort of communication."

"During this time, he's alone; we have an opportunity to kill him!"

"Where did you get all this intel?"

The colleague spread his hands, "Tech work~"

This made Ethan's blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar all skyrocket.

"Ethan, do you need the bomb?" a colleague checking the car at the door popped his head in to ask.

"Do you have something that can blow up a 200-pound fat female pig?"

"Isn't that your dear?"

"Fuck off, that's your mom!"

......

Thrum thrum thrum~

"Grand Duke Viktor" blew its horn majestically as the new migrant workers at the Port of Peñasco in Sonora State looked up, bewildered.

"Move it! Move it!"

"It's the Coast Guard from Baja California!"

A well-informed Old Migrant Worker dragged along a stunned teenager, "That's a ship! A warship, the Coast Guard from Baja California has come." The old man's mouth quivered, mainly because the flag was so prominent, with Victor's face hanging on it.

"Is that Mr. Victor's troops?" the youth's eyes sparkled, "Then why are we running? Aren't they here to kill the drug traffickers?"

The Old Migrant Worker slapped him on the head, "What are you scared of? Scared of the drug traffickers? Do you want them to bring you here as cannon fodder?"

No sooner did he finish speaking than they saw two pickup trucks blocking the escape path of the workers, the drug traffickers on them firing machine guns overhead, "Get back to work!"

"Pick up your weapons, an extra 200 US Dollars each, plus a 500 US Dollar reward for killing a policeman!"

"Otherwise, I'll kill you!"

The Old Migrant Worker grabbed the teen and shrank to the side, winding around inside the container like an old eel.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh~

They heard a sound overhead and looked up to see two helicopters circling past.

Swooosh swooosh swooosh~

Missiles were launched from the underbelly towards the Coast Guard ship, creating a startling view from below.

"Missile attack!" shouted the officer in charge of the radar warning.

"The Matra Simbad twin missile launch system is activated!"

"Intercept the missiles!"

The captain issued commands calmly.

Whooo whooo whooo~

A dull roar reached their ears; then, looking out the window, they could see the twin missiles trailing fins flying towards the ones in mid-air.

Interception, huh...

As long as you have more than the enemy, there's always a chance of intercepting them, of course, it mostly comes down to luck.

Beng beng beng!

The shockwaves from the explosions in the sky knocked several large shipping containers into the sea at the port, and many workers were so frightened that they crouched on the ground, hugging their heads and trembling.

Damn, that's terrifying!!

Is this the power of Baja California's Coast Guard?

"Northwest Wind anti-air missiles, aim at the helicopters and fire!" the captain ordered as he watched the helicopters in the sky.

This TNC45 class may have only a 500-ton displacement, but its firepower is intense, equipped with missiles, cannons, decoys, and even torpedoes. In its class, very few can match it, right?

The "Northwest Wind" anti-air missiles are made in France; the warheads are heavy, weighing 3 kilograms, made of high explosive and 1850 tungsten alloy steel balls, and fitted with both impact and laser proximity fuses. To put it simply, even Apaches have been shot down by it.

Its speed is 2.5 Mach, a bit faster than a Stinger.

The maximum effective ceiling is 3 kilometers, which is just right for hitting helicopters.

The biggest advantage of this weapon is that it can be installed anywhere—on land, on naval ships, and the French even plan to install it on submarines.

To give submarines the ability to strike at helicopters.

With weapons, it's all about innovation.

Mounted on the "Grand Duke Victor" are six linked automatic launchers that, following the command to fire, activate in just five seconds.

"Quickly, release the decoy flares!"

The pilots in the drug traffickers' helicopters pressed a button and red smoke wafted into the sky, intended to decoy the enemy's infrared-guided weapons away from the real targets.

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But...

The Northwest Wind is, after all, a product of France, and they are one of the five good men. Their military industry is unparalleled, commanding 75% of the mid-range weapon market in Africa.

It can automatically distinguish between real and fake targets, calculate the exact target based on the images it carries, and then lock on to the real target.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Of the six launched missiles, three were deceived, but the other three hit the two helicopters directly.

"Forced landing! Emergency..." the pilot cried out urgently, and the helicopter disintegrated in mid-air while another fell directly into the harbor, its rotor blades flying wildly, slicing the defending drug traffickers in half as easily as cutting through a watermelon.

Blood and gore everywhere!

A horrific scene.

"Continue suppressive fire! Advance the boarding teams!"

The Otto Melera 76mm naval gun on the "Grand Duke Victor" fired indiscriminately at targets in the port. What did this tell us? In face of the tide of steel, all resistance was insignificant.

Unless, of course, you had an even more terrifying weapon.

Technology is the foremost productive force in war.

"Tat tat tat~" Some drug traffickers who wouldn't back down continued to fire twin machine guns at the vessel. Bullets against a patrol ship's hull?

Even a Barrett would probably not penetrate.

The drug trafficker's mouth hung half open, mostly because the machine gun's vibration was quite strong. Just as he finished his burst and was about to flee, he saw a gun barrel in front of the boat tilt downwards, aligning with him, and then, tat tat tat...

The legs were still running below, but the man himself was gone.

Gone... just like that!

About twenty Coast Guard assault team members rode speedboats to the dock, sweeping through the remaining armed forces.

The boy and the Old Migrant Worker were lucky to hide in a crevice of a container, spared from the violence, but the limbs and body parts outside chilled them to the bone.

Thud thud~

Footsteps sounded, then they saw a figure passing by, clad in black and holding an assault rifle. Suddenly, the person turned sharply, aiming the rifle at their hiding spot.

The boy saw...

It was a man with goggles, the reflection in the lenses mirroring his own face; the Mexican flag adorned the man's chest, and on his right peck was a half-face portrait.

In a moment of quick thinking, the boy extended his fist and exclaimed, "Long live Victor!"

The figure paused.

The Old Migrant Worker held his breath.

Then they saw the figure extend their hand and form a fist, lightly tapping the boy's hand, "Long live Victor!"

"Victory belongs to us!"

"Peace belongs to the people!"

"Glory to Victor!"

...