Working as a police officer in Mexico

"The Supreme Leader Victor once said: lose humanity, lose a lot; lose animal instincts, lose everything. This filthy and terrible world needs us to smash it with our fists!"

"Those bastards who conspire with drug traffickers try to make us submit through terror. Let's make them understand who gives them the real terror."

"I don't know which countries used to mock us when we were under the shadow of drug traffickers, but I know that when the Supreme Leader's bullet grazed my head, the rope choking my neck snapped."

Santos has a shadow of his Godfather, with his gaze turned below, "If I fail, let me die in battle, but I will not fail. There are only two outcomes: either we eliminate all the drug traffickers, or the drug traffickers conquer us again. If we fail..."

His eyes slightly tighten, "Then use the Mexican flag to wrap my corpse, I want to die in front of my country!"

"Victory! Long live!"

"Long live anti-drug efforts!"

The emotions in the entire Army Command School were stirred, with all the students raising their voices loudly to the sky.

"Principal, should we stop them?" the director of studies asked softly.

Principal Robert O'Roark stood by the window, holding a cigarette, his gaze deep. After a long look, he spoke, "If they lose their fierceness, what we cultivate will not be soldiers but sheep, and sheep can only be slaughtered."

The director of studies nodded, "Do you agree to their application then?"

"Wait for the news. Soldiers take obeying orders as their duty!"

Principal Robert O'Roark quietly watched Santos, with a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

At least...

He is patriotic.

...

Mexico suddenly declared war on two drug trafficking cartels, a counter-communist armed group, and a country, immediately making headlines in major countries globally.

On the 17th, at 8 PM in the evening, the Mexico Counterintelligence General Bureau's spokesperson released four photos to the media.

The first is of Mossad Director David Barnea's three children and his wife.

"Next, we will kill them."

"We will announce the location of their residence. Please convey to David Barnea, he can prepare to shed tears."

After speaking, he left calmly.

A reporter wanted to rush forward but was stopped by bodyguards on the scene.

On the screen at the site, the addresses of the four individuals appeared slowly, down to the building number.

"Too arrogant."

A Syrian reporter murmured, but then grinned, "But I like it, long live Victor!"

"Tyrant, this is a tyrant, an uncivilized butcher act!!" Someone with a big voice shouted, it was an Egyptian reporter.

"Hit you, traitor to the Arab world!" The Syrian reporter went up with a punch, venting the loss of land and resentment against Israel.

Bear in mind, Egypt was the first and only Arab country to establish diplomatic relations with Israel in 1979, which is simply a disgrace.

The teams of reporters started brawling.

Finally, the Mexicans on the side joined to help, anyway, the Egyptian reporter was carried out, receiving over ten kicks on the face.

In the southern part of Tel Aviv City, Haidian District, hidden in a nondescript old brown building.

This is the headquarters of Mossad.

When Victor declared war for the first time, the place had already received the news and started preparing intelligence for the army.

Mossad Agent Claude Durant knocked on David Barnea's door, saluted him, "Director!"

David Barnea's face was heavy, "Can I trust you, Claude?"

"Of course! You are my guide and my mentor!"

His expression slightly eased, "I want you to protect my family."

"They're all in Israel, is there still a need to worry about safety?" Claude Durant asked with knitted brows.

David Barnea sighed, "You don't understand, actually... I don't quite trust some of our people below because they might be working for Mexico. We have to admit, the Mexican intelligence agency capable of infiltrating people into the United States White House is far superior in some capabilities than us."

This is indeed true.

The "White House presidential office shooting" incident, although unknown to outsiders, Mossad knows some rough details.

Old Bush's executive secretary and National Security Advisor Bahash Johnson turned out to be a Mexican pawn and even shot the then Defense Minister.

When David Barnea learned of the details, he was stunned.

Claude Durant noticed his somewhat pleading eyes, hesitated, and nodded, "Leave it to me!"

"Thank you very much." David Barnea expressed gratitude and shook his hand, also discreetly indicating to him that he would definitely promote him.

Claude Durant walked out of the office respectfully, took the "Weapon Acquisition Card" and fetched an Uzi Submachine Gun and four magazines.

This was specially approved by the Director.

The firepower should be strong.

The Mexicans cannot dispatch large forces, but for one or two people, there is absolutely no worry. As soon as a gunshot is fired, the nearby militia will definitely arrive.

This is Israel's joint defense mechanism.

Claude Durant drove off in a bright Mercedes-Benz, heading to the destination.

The destination was very close, about 6 kilometers from Mossad headquarters, but strangely, when he got out of the car, he didn't store the Uzi Submachine Gun but carried it directly from the car, walked to the trunk, and took out two HGB85 Hand Grenades from a box.

Hmm... Defensive Hand Grenades, 400 steel balls.

He walked to the door, pressed the bell, but there was no response from inside. He took out his mobile phone, reported the situation to the Director, who said, "I'll call them."

After hanging up, four or five minutes later, the door slowly opened a gap, revealing a teenage boy, "Claude!"

He spoke lightly, clearly having met him before.

Claude Durant nodded with a smile, "The Director asked me to come to protect you guys."

"Thank you, thank you!" The teenager opened the door, repeatedly expressing gratitude.

"Where's your mom?"

"They are all in the basement, I will go call them." The boy, seeing a familiar face, didn't ponder much, as they were extremely familiar.

At least known each other for ten years.

Always behind his father.

He shouted at the basement entrance, but no one responded. He scratched his head, "Claude, wait a moment, I'll go call them."

Thump, thump, thump went down the steps.

Claude Durant's smile gradually faded away as he walked to the basement entrance, took out a Hand Grenade, his brow quivered slightly.

"I've been with you for ten years, why still make me an ordinary agent, I've been with you for ten years! Ten years!!!"

"Every time you said you'd promote me, then..."

"Why every time it's never me!"

He angrily growled, pulled the ring of the Hand Grenade, and tossed it down, boom!

One boom shook the ground two or three times.

"Kill you... kill your entire family, the Mexican intelligence agency offered me a 2 million US dollar bonus and promised to make me a Middle Eastern Intelligence Ambassador, eliminate your entire family!"

Claude Durant had long been harboring resentment.

Loyalty is the least reliable; it requires a mix of favors and deterrence.

Your boss lets you sit on the back burner for ten years but still draws a picture for you, making you do the dirty work. After two years, you'll be depressed. Holding on for ten years? That's not easy.

Claude Durant threw another Hand Grenade down the basement. After the detonation was over, he climbed down the ladder, only to see four bodies lying in the basement, limbs scattered all over, blood everywhere.

All three kids were dead, and David Barnea's wife's hand stretched out, blood gushing from her mouth.

He pulled the bolt of the gun.

Rattatatatatatata!

A magazine of 40 extended bullets swept past, turning into honeycomb coal, still not satisfied, he fiercely stomped on the opponent's head, like cracking a watermelon, the pungent smell of blood made Claude Durant's whole body tremble. He planned to climb the ladder up, but several times he was too shaken to control his hands.

By the time he went out the door, he ran into the police who arrived upon hearing the news, ensuing a firefight. He shot all his bullets, but the welcome "Mexican support" never arrived.

In an instant, he realized...

Driven by rage, he had lost his mind.

BAM!

With a shot from a sniper, it fell.

"Victor, fuck XM!"

Became Claude Durant's last thought.

......