Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 590 - 360: The Fox of Mexico!

On the third day of the "Cancun Drug Traffickers Riot."

In Coahuila State, the Marine Fourth Division of the U.S. Military, comprising five fully organized brigades—about 22,000 men—headed south to New Leon State!

They were determined to secure a strategic harbor for the Northern Mexican Army, connecting the Gulf of Mexico with Campeche Bay!

From here, if necessary, the Navy could reach Houston within two hours which, from a strategic standpoint, was all advantageous and not detrimental in the least.

This had long been the keynote advocated by the "Staff Department," but because the first three marine divisions had been handling local terror with heavy hands, it was decided to wait until Rommel became combat-ready to hand over the task to him.

But anyone could see that the General was giving him a "stage" to perform—if he did well, perhaps he could climb another rung on the ladder!

Word was spreading that they were planning to form an army group.

Victor’s fondness for Rommel was obvious to everyone.

Truly a favored treatment of his main lineage.

On a slope in Monclova, a border city in Coahuila State, a platoon of guards was nervously surveying the surroundings, fearing that drug traffickers might sneak up on them—they were less than 3 miles away from the traffickers!

They could see the newly built bunkers and offensive defensive measures.

Rommel, with binoculars in hand, was accompanied by Chief of Staff Fedor von Bock and several battalion officers. If a shell came their way, oh boy, they would perish before achieving victory.

It must be said that Rommel was indeed bold.

"The drug traffickers have quite a dense defensive line," Fedor von Bock muttered, "It seems we can only bring together the heavy artillery to strike. I don’t believe they won’t collapse."

"How many shells do we need?"

"How much time will we need?"

"How much effort?"

Rommel asked these three emotionless questions in a row, rendering the staff speechless.

The so-called drug war in Mexico had been raging for over a year and a half now, and any person with learning ability had grown stronger; pummeled into submission by the Northern Army’s heavy artillery and bombardments, they too had learned how to defend.

Tunnels!

The kind that spread everywhere—so much so that to prevent damage from bunker busters and avoid the hollow space effect, these drug traffickers even hired physicists to study the angles that would minimize damage.

They were savvy.

Everyone was making progress.

Many scholars from the United States next door were more than willing to accept such orders—after all, drug traffickers were flush with cash.

Who doesn’t get along with money?

"How are those wooden tanks I asked you to make coming along?" Rommel turned and asked.

"About a hundred or so have been made... Commander, what are we using these wooden tanks for?" asked Fedor von Bock.

"Map!"

The guards hurriedly took out a map, and two of them unfolded it.

"I plan to set up a tank platoon and place 100 tanks around 300 kilometers away at Saltio, creating the illusion of a collective charge. What do you think the drug traffickers will do?"

Rommel didn’t wait for an answer; he pointed at several cities on both sides of Monterrey and said, "They will send reinforcements. If Monterrey falls, then the situation is beyond saving."

"Once the situation is muddled, we will gather the remaining tank battalions for an attack on Eastern Anawak from Monclova, bypassing the defenses in front of us, and occupying the strategic points at the earliest. Then we’ll carry out a three-pronged sweep. At that point, the drug traffickers will be caught between a rock and a hard place—if they move, they fear losing Monterrey; if they don’t, they fear a collapse from a southern advance from the Northwest. The initiative will be in our hands."

Cunning!

Devious!

Sly!

These words surfaced in Chief of Staff Blogger’s mind.

Is this really how the war could be fought?

He looked up, frowning, "What if those tanks are discovered by the enemy?"

"In the drug war, we are always the aggressors, leaving the drug traffickers screaming in agony. Do you think in the dead of night they would charge at a ’tank group’? Even if it’s fake, would they dare to bet? Tomorrow at 2 am, the forecast predicts light rain and low visibility—it’s the perfect opportunity to attack," Rommel said with narrowed eyes.

Bock took a deep breath.

When he was previously the commander of the Fourth Battalion, the commander had shown a bold aggressive style of combat—essentially charging fearlessly towards the enemy camp, tearing open a gap, and then tilting the balance of battle.

But now, directly in command of a division, Rommel had started to attack from the perspectives of weather, geography, and psychology—qualities befitting of a "General."

"You go take command at Saltio."

Bock didn’t say anything more, just snapped a salute, and left to make arrangements.

Rommel looked at the defense position before him, then turned and walked away!

The storm was approaching!

Let New Leon State be the site of his rise to fame!

To prevent the U.S. Military’s satellites from tracking their location, Rommel requested two EA-18G Growlers for electronic warfare and a partial area electronic jamming so they wouldn’t be watched by the "eye in the sky."

Actually, the Yanks were also out of energy now.

With domestic political turmoil and widespread unrest in Cancun City, the Congress was displeased, discussing whether to send an aircraft carrier to maintain order.

But they feared Victor’s overly strong reaction.

They’d been playing chicken, and now, they’re pecked by the chicken.

They were treating the drug traffickers as nothing more than ordinary night pots.

Brother, these folks are fighting for their lives, who is playing house with you?

Half-past ten in the morning.

The light rain arrived as scheduled.

There was the sound of raindrops pattering against the window in the darkness.

Squeak, squeak, squeak—

The windshield wipers swished over the glass, making a loud noise.

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With the assistance of the Special Mission Intelligence Department of Mexico, Ethan Hunt boarded a cruise ship and escaped from the Yucatan Peninsula, picked up and brought to Palenque in Chiapas.

Initially assigned to go to Tijuana, he was instead appointed as Director of the Southern Alliance Intelligence Bureau, in charge of all intelligence agencies of the Northern Army, including the Special Mission Intelligence Department.