Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 608 - 366: Victor Starts to Open His Jaws Wide!

Frontline.

Del Oro!

This southern stronghold in Coahuila State, solemn. The streetsides are adorned with chrysanthemums symbolizing remembrance.

Quiet enough to make one sad.

In Victor Square.

Hundreds of coffins lay adorned with the Mexican flag, symbolizing courage. Inside, lay those from Company A who had perished in the "Savilian Village" battle.

Some had their skulls shattered by bombs, their faces unrecognizable, but morticians spent a long time restoring them so that they could rest peacefully on their journey.

Many bodies still bore shrapnel.

General Kennedy, dressed in military uniform.

Followed by Rommel of the Fourth Marine Division and Chief of Staff Fedor von Bock.

And hundreds of warriors.

In the low, mournful music, the honor guard slowly entered, carrying the coffins into a C-130 transport plane.

"Fire the salute!"

Bang!

Bang!

The bullets flew at a 45-degree angle, piercing the sky!

The transport plane soared into the heavens, like a great bird flying towards freedom.

The flight from Del Oro to Tijuana took over two hours, with clear authorization, while control towers along the way expressed their condolences.

Upon arrival at the capital,

The sky had already started drizzling.

Many foreign representatives had gone to the rainy side.

Victor, however, stood in the rain in military uniform, silently watching as the plane circled overhead three times before slowly landing.

"He sure knows how to touch hearts," Diane Rodham muttered under the shelter, her voice not soft.

But no one paid her any attention.

They just thought she was a crazy woman, unaware of what should be said at such times?

Wait until she gets beaten up, then she will wail.

Indeed, Donald, being a military man, greatly admired Victor's gesture, believing that a nation that respects its warriors is one with hope.

At 10:45 AM.

The transport plane landed at Tijuana Victor International Airport where the honor guard fired 275 gun salutes, symbolizing the 275 martyrs of Company A, with only one remaining alive.

He sat in a wheelchair, with tears in his eyes, his body badly wounded, but his life spared, with two doctors following behind.

Victor approached the hatch of the transport plane.

"Let me," he said softly to the honor guards, extending his hand to lift the coffin, feeling its weight on his shoulders, he patted it, "It's time to go home."

Casare wiped his eyes, following him, taking one corner from another honor guard, solemnly moving forward in the pouring rain.

Placing the coffins in designated positions.

The national anthem began, Victor, hand on heart, sang loudly as rainwater seeped into his mouth, tasting slightly salty.

And as the song ended, following protocol, Victor proceeded to lay a wreath; drenched, he approached the coffins before hundreds of attendees and journalists, kneeling on one knee, a grown man's eyes reddened.

A tough guy was choking up.

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Journalists captured this moment, broadcasting it via television.

Millions in Mexico and around the world saw Victor's respect for the sacrificed soldiers, a leader kneeling on one knee, a rare sight in world history.

Donald watched this, sighing softly.

If not for the differing standpoints, if he were decades younger, serving under such a leader would be every soldier's wish.

Victor's kneeling.

For the CIA aiming to dismantle his influence within the military, it seemed a futile path; he consolidated personal adoration in one gesture!

This was destined to become an iconic historical moment.

After mourning the coffins for a few minutes, Victor slowly rose, turned towards the crowd, raised his hand, clenched his fist, "Long live the brave warriors of Mexico!"

"Long live all the martyrs who sacrificed for the homeland!"

That day, the rain was heavy.

The warriors below saw a man, hand held high; Casare felt a warmth spreading in his chest as he raised his hand, shouting, "Long live!"

Soon, dozens, then hundreds, and eventually the entire venue was cheering!

In a Tijuana residential area.

Two boys on the ground stopped their playing; one of them suddenly jumped up, "Long live! Long live the Mexican War on Drugs! Long live Victor!"

"Brother!" he turned to his milk-drinking younger brother, shouting excitedly, "I'll grow up to be a warrior, and if I'm sacrificed and lie in a coffin, how cool would it be to have people cheering for me."

He said, rushing into the house, grabbing a military cap, placing it on his head, saluting his milk-drinking brother with an awkward gesture, looking a bit comical, but his expression was serious.

"Brother, I will protect you like our father, I am a soldier!"

His brother, eyes wide, seemed to understand, his eyebrows curving, then clapping his hands.

Although he couldn't speak clearly, he must have been happy.

"Dear comrades, please wait for us. When Mexico is full of dandelions, I will come to find you. Then, please do not forget me."

Victor's voice carried a hopeful wish for the future.

In the Venezuelan camp, only Nicholas Maro Moro remained while others were in the rain; he watched Victor, slightly distracted, then raised his hand and shouted.

He didn't know what he shouted.

But he knew shouting was right.

Luz Inasi Lu Dasilva's gaze was complex; in his eyes...

The figures of Victor and Che Guevara overlapped.

"Perhaps, the savior of Latin Americans has truly come."

The memorial continued until two in the afternoon; military vehicles transported the coffins to the national cemetery, where they would be received by their families' remembrances.