Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 665 - 388: Max-Level Military Doctor

"Morphine!!"

A medic from the 338th Regiment, A Camp of the Fourth Division, Benjamin Solomon, clutched tightly at a wounded soldier's thigh, blood seeping through the gaps between his fingers, his bespectacled demeanor remained composed.

The wounded man screamed in agony.

Having occupied "China", and holding a strategic position, they faced an attack by over 5000 troops from the 12th Cavalry Regiment and the Spanish Foreign Legion.

570 against 5000!

The scene was thick with the smell of gunpowder right from the start.

In his makeshift operating room, there were over thirty wounded, all slumped on the ground, some of them in severe shock.

Tatatat...

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire nearby startled Benjamin Solomon. With a tense expression, he looked outside.

Their makeshift hospital was less than 100 meters from the perimeter.

Bang!

The door was kicked open, and a soldier garbed in forest green, posing as a government trooper, charged in with a raised gun. His eyes lit up at the sight of the wounded!

It was like a butcher entering a pigsty.

He pulled the trigger on the closest wounded man, killing him.

Benjamin Solomon couldn't just stand by. He grabbed an AR-15 automatic rifle from the table and shot the intruder dead before he could catch his breath. Immediately after, two more armed drug traffickers stormed into the medical room.

The first one hadn't reacted before he was shot dead.

The other, screaming, charged at Solomon with a bayonet, but obviously...

The refined doctor was also a master at knife play.

Swinging the gunstock, he smashed it fiercely into the man's face, the crack of splintering bones audible as the assailant's eye was smashed; he screamed and fell dead on the spot!

After taking down three thugs, Solomon, holding his rifle, looked outside for help, but no sooner had he stepped out than he ran into five charging soldiers.

He split his legs, positioned the AR-15 at his hip, and pulled the trigger, dropping two.

Click-click-click...

Out of bullets, the chamber was empty.

Two soldiers with bayonets charged at him; Solomon kicked one's bayonet away and pulled out a dagger, performing a makeshift surgery on the man's neck, stabbing him six or seven times.

The remaining two, seeing the ferocious military doctor, glanced at each other, swallowed nervously, and screamed as they attacked together.

Solomon's adrenaline surged, quickly dispatching one, but his bayonet fell to the ground, and he was left to engage in hand-to-hand combat with the last soldier, rolling on the ground, his glasses knocked off.

A gunshot rang out.

A lightly wounded comrade had shot the soldier dead with a handgun.

Solomon, gasping heavily, picked up his broken glasses from the ground, fixing them with a gauze bandage while moving back towards the medical room, "This area is no longer safe, move, all wounded move to the back!"

"Solomon, what about you?" a wounded man asked.

He picked up an M249 light machine gun, collecting ammunition. Solomon, his face bloodied, told them, "Take care of yourselves, I'll be back."

With that, he tore off the armband signifying "medic" and charged alone towards the front line.

Soon, the roar of bullets and screams of pseudo-government soldiers filled the air.

Whooosh~~!!

On the main battlefield in "China," a soldier from the 12th Cavalry Regiment wielding an M2 Flamethrower aimed at the houses at the village entrance, instantly igniting them; they planned to bulldoze their way through.

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However, their elation was short-lived as a stray bullet struck the flamethrower, causing it to explode on the spot, engulfing the soldier in flames, who screamed agonizingly.

"Machine Gun Immortal" John Baslone was crouching in a waist-high trench, his machine gun roaring. Beside him, his assistant gunner fed belt ammunition, blasting two enemy soldiers.

Elsewhere, an M2 Browning heavy machine gun, designed to target infantry, was in action.

"Armored vehicle!" the assistant gunner pointed towards the distance.

John Baslone saw the U.S. Military's M113 armored transport, nicknamed the "Battlefield Taxi," recklessly careening about, its tracks rolling.

Its machine gun was erratically firing, cleverly weaving along buildings to avoid the Browning heavy machine gun; the other 7.62 rounds couldn't penetrate its armor.

But how does the saying go?

Don't get too arrogant; there's always someone to take you down.

Before they could gloat, a soldier from the Northern Army wielding an M72 rocket launcher struck it with a shot.

A direct hit to the core!

The infantry following behind were unlucky, numerous wounded by the exploding fragments, lying on the ground crying.

For a moment, they failed to break through the defense line.

Scared, they all ran backward.

In a forest outside the village battlefield in "China."

The 12th Cavalry Regiment's commander, Barry Thomas, angrily set down his binoculars, cursing fiercely, so close, just a bit more!

This was the third time; their large troop had been held back outside a small village.

"Execute the leader of the charge! Who ordered the retreat?" Barry Thomas shouted at his subordinate.

"Commander, Captain Caster has fallen…"