Working as a police officer in Mexico

727: Chapter 410: Economy is the Underlying Infrastructure!

727: Chapter 410: Economy is the Underlying Infrastructure!

Buzz Buzz Buzz~

A UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter hovered over the Chimalhuacán Slum.

The words “Mexican News Group” were written on the body of the aircraft.

The legendary war correspondent Hernandez, wearing earmuffs, looked down at the entire city, with a photographer filming his face.

For his long-time coverage of the Mexican Anti-Narcotics Force and constant presence on the front line, he was awarded the Oak Leaf Knight Iron Cross Medal, the second highest class of medals under the Cuauhtémoc regime, and the only non-military individual to have received this honor.

“We are now looking at Chimalhuacán’s 21st district, home to 17 large, medium, and small crime syndicates, among which the Aryan Brotherhood stands out.

They are an extremist white terrorist organization, taking pleasure in hunting people of color.

They are involved in drug trafficking, subverting governments, human organ smuggling, and all manner of evil deeds!”

Hernandez spoke with a solemn expression, “The Government Forces will definitely eliminate these scourges to the nation!”

Once they broke into Mexico City, they were no longer called the Northern Army, but the Government Forces, signifying their legitimacy.

The Southern little court will be bombed to extinction sooner or later.

Upon hearing Hernandez’s belittling speech, it caused an uproar in the California base of the Aryan Brotherhood.

San Quentin State Prison, California, with the highest security level.

This is the “Holy Land” of the Aryan Brotherhood; it was here that they were founded.

A fat man with vicious looks, munching fiercely on a hamburger, the juices dripping down from his mouth onto the chest hair, with a piece of hand bone hanging around his neck.

“Damn, this reporter is so arrogant!” A fellow prisoner couldn’t help but blurt out while watching the television.

The fat man paused, turned his head, beckoned the prisoner who instantly moved closer, fawningly saying, “Big Brother.”

But before he could finish speaking, his head was seized by the fat man and violently slammed onto the table, knocking him out cold.

“When eating, don’t talk, didn’t your mother teach you that?”

As he spoke, his voice sounded like a leaky fan.

The guard in the distance saw this scene and frowned slightly, but cautiously walked around, pretending not to see.

This person was not to be trifled with.

“Baron” Barry Mills!

One of the “three founders” of the Aryan Brotherhood!

In 1979, in an Atlanta prison, when a gang member was cheated in a drug deal, “Baron” Mills nearly decapitated the swindler.

At that time, he also clashed with the guards; the Aryan Brotherhood stabbed 17 people to death, including 11 from a black gang, making a name for themselves in one fight.

Later, as the Aryan Brotherhood grew larger, “Baron” Mills controlled the gang from prison; they were different from regular gangs, they ruled their gang with “Nietzsche Thought.”

“Baron” Barry Mills looked up at the television, his eyes filled with a vicious glare, “Find someone to take him out.”

“Nobody can insult us!”

“Especially a Mexican bastard!”

The henchmen standing behind nodded; killing a reporter was not too difficult.

Bang!

Bang Bang Bang!

Suddenly, gunshots rang out on the television.

Everyone looked over and saw that the gangsters below in the Chimalhuacán Slum had spotted the helicopter; they took up AK47s on the rooftops and streets, firing into the sky.

Hernandez was startled, and the accompanying officer grabbed his arm and pulled him into the helicopter.

“Well done!

Kill him!

Kill the damn reporter!”

In the prison, members of the Aryan Brotherhood shouted, “Baron” Barry Mills’s mouth twitched with joy but not for long.

On the other side of the helicopter, an officer with a fire god cannon started strafing below.

Dada dada dada!

The gangsters on the rooftops had no time to dodge and were blown apart, their heads and bodies flying separately.

“F***!

F***!” How did the Mexican News Group get a fire god cannon?

They are not reporters; they are policemen!”

“Such despicable and shameless Mexicans!”

“Sh**!”

Lacking in martial virtue!

The UH-60 Black Hawk arrogantly flew away.

The members of the Aryan Brotherhood below were left fuming with rage.

The helicopter flew to the outskirts and landed in a square, where four or five logistics soldiers came up to help.

“How was it?

What was the scene in the Chimalhuacán Slum like?”

Colonel Otto Moritz Walter Model, commander of the 179th Regiment, asked Hernandez.

“The atmosphere is tense, no civilians seen on the streets.

My guess is that our propaganda policy has stirred up the populace, and gangsters have forced them to stay inside.

The impact of water cuts is significant and is very conducive to launching an attack.”

Hernandez spoke clearly and concisely.

Apart from being the editor of the “Mexican News Group,” he was also a member of the Workers’ Party established by Cuauhtémoc, the chief editor for all of Mexico’s radio and television news, and the deputy director of the intelligence department of the “News Bureau”…

Colonel Otto Moritz Walter Model nodded slightly upon hearing his opinion, looked at his watch, and said, “Adjutant, order the regiment to be fully armed; in thirty minutes, the first company will take the lead in advancing from the ‘Morse Hotel’ on the west side!”

“Steady and forceful!”

“Our mission is to liberate within a one-kilometer radius, to provide support for the following troops…”

“Commander, Commander!”

Just as he was issuing the command, the Chief of Staff rushed over, panting heavily.

“What’s the matter?”

“Orders from the division headquarters.” The Chief of Staff handed the intelligence report to him, saying, “Order our unit to penetrate 3 kilometers and secure the ‘Benito Pablo Juárez García’ square, to assist the local civilians in resisting the gangs.”