Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 592 - 360: The Fox of Mexico!_3

"From now on, you follow me, and don’t worry, anyone who dares to mess with you is messing with me," Ethan Hunt said passionately.

But he had two more sentences he hadn’t finished yet.

Anyone who messes with me is messing with the boss!

Anyone who messes with me is messing with hundreds of thousands of troops of the Northern Mexican Army.

Penelope Kennedy smiled, holding him like a little kitten.

Ethan Hunt looked out the window at the light rain, his face bitter.

F***!

Men who can’t control their lower half really do suffer.

No, I must report this to the General.

We will face this together.

Truly a good subordinate of Victor.

Didn’t think about him during the f***, but now, when it’s time to take responsibility, thinking about himself.

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Ethan Hunt didn’t feel embarrassed at all.

I’ve bled for the Party!

And...

This woman might be useful to the Northern Army?

He looked down at Penelope Kennedy, kissed her forehead, and turned off the light.

Ah...

I can only sacrifice a bit more then, there should still be some left to give.

The battlefield here was ablaze.

And there, on the front lines, the battlefield was just as ablaze.

Following Rommel’s plan, making it look like a tank group charge in Saltillo, which was really just wood on wheels, looked impressive.

Taking advantage of the rainy night to push into Nuevo Leon.

Making quite a noise, not hiding at all, and soon discovered by drug traffickers.

In the increasingly heavy rain and darkness, they saw a bunch of tanks charging in the distance, causing the traffickers to go pale.

"Quick, call for backup, we have 100, no, 300 tanks attacking from the west, request support, request support!" the drug trafficker leader frantically said.

"Brother-in-law, no, Lieutenant, let’s run, we can’t hold them off," said a pale-faced lieutenant standing by.

"Run? You’ll lose your head, no running! Backup will arrive soon."

The drug trafficker leader glanced at his brother-in-law, took a deep breath, "Didn’t Mexico City send down a batch of goods? Give them to the boys to smoke."

The lieutenant looked tense and embarrassed... stood still.

"So? Go!"

"Brother-in-law, that stuff... has already been sold."

The drug trafficker leader’s eyes bulged, staring at him, nearly passing out from anger, kicked him over, cursing.

That’s how it is at the base, after getting the goods, most of the traffickers sell them, the money goes into the pockets of the commanders, and the soldiers below... no, the cannon fodder, get nothing.

"How much is left?"

"890 grams..."

About close to 1.8 pounds...

The leader’s mouth twitched, raising his head, letting the rain hit his face, clenching his teeth, "Give the brothers money, tell them to hold out for an hour, 200 US Dollars!"

The lieutenant looked heartbroken.

"Go! Do you want to die here?"

"Yes, yes, yes." The other hurriedly ran off.

"Come on! You northern bastards!" the drug trafficker leader, gripping his gun in the rainy night.

You’d think he was the hero if you didn’t know any better.

"300 tank units attacking the flank."

This news nearly scared the Monterrey command center in Nuevo Leon to death, waking up even the sleepiest, quickly calling the American advisors.

A group gathered around the map.

"I think we should support, if the lines are breached, they could reach Monterrey in 4 hours," said an American advisor with a furrowed brow.

"Does the Northern Army even have 300 tanks? That’s, damn, a Soviet division’s formation, could the northerners have that much firepower?" someone raised an objection, "It’s definitely a mistake by the frontline soldiers."

"Would you bet on it?" the American advisor asked, looking at him.

The other fell silent, frowning and smoking nervously.

"If we move troops there, we completely lose the initiative; perhaps, we should turn this passive situation into an active one, directly pushing two regiments from Monterrey into Avila State, they surely won’t dare to attack then," said a younger-looking officer, pointing on the map.

The American advisor looked at him, "Who are you?"

"Sir, a staff member of the Mexico City brigade One, Federico Ferrari Orsi."

"Lower-ranking officers, out," an American remarked sharply.

Speechless with shock, Federico opened his mouth, feeling insulted, attempted to speak, but was dragged out by two guards.

"Such an absurd tactic!" he still heard the scornful voice of the American advisor, "Rescue, as I said, our U.S. military has experience, this is surely the main force of the Northern Army!"

Federico Ferrari Orsi felt cold, shouting, "No, we can’t go, it’s too passive... woe is me!"

A guard covered his mouth.

What use is a bicycle to a lower-ranking officer.

Just like the "Hammock System" in the Japanese military, lower ranks can’t oppose the upper, and they also get beaten.

In Monterrey’s command center, the traffickers looked at each other, finally agreeing to this viewpoint.

Ordering nearby reinforcements to move closer to the line!

They must hold the tank group.

"Quick, quick, quick! Assemble!" An urgent assembly call echoed in a camp 39 kilometers from the front line, a group of people quickly gathered, and after 40 minutes, a group of over 3000 men headed towards the destination.

Meanwhile, on a mountain directly opposite the camp.

An infrared telescope was fixed on them.

"Report to the command, the bait is out."

Next to him, someone started transmitting the message using a portable communication device.

These scouts had already been deployed.

As Rommel, stationed in a small town in Southern Coahuila, received the word of enemy movement, he breathed a sigh of relief, but quickly turned expressionless, looking at the map.

"I command!"

His staff hurried to write down the General’s words.

"As planned, tank clusters charging, the 330th and 334th Regiments will attack, cutting off the national highway, heading towards Biya’er Dam, and the 335th Regiment will launch a surprise attack along Falken Waterfront."

"Begin the Nuevo Leon campaign!"

...