Working as a police officer in Mexico

To prevent the scenario of "watching from the sidelines while allies are in trouble" on the battlefield, Victor imposed severe penalties for not attempting to save comrades in distress. "Yes, officer!" Rommel slammed his fist on the table heavily. Damn! They'd been tricked by the drug traffickers. At that time, about 60 miles behind the Western Army, there was a place called Savilian Village. Meaning: the homeland of Warriors. Federico Ferrari Orsi, leading two battalions, fiercely attacked this area, bombarding the 4.5 square kilometers of land with the cannons they carried. Four thousand drug traffickers launched a fierce onslaught. Meanwhile, Fedor von Bock, who preferred to play it safe, had stationed a distinguished platoon on the front lines. Marine Fourth Division 336th Regiment A Battalion A Company. This unit was originally Mexico's 112th Regiment, a military force that had reestablished order and had distinguished itself during attacks on the industrial parks, later becoming one of the main battalions. In subsequent campaigns south and north, it frequently distinguished itself in battle; the first commander, Vasili, now served as deputy commander of the Marine Fourth Division. And A Company, with all 276 members, was responsible for protecting the feint troops! Tatatat… Bang bang bang… Gunfire was everywhere in the village. Two soldiers supported a wounded comrade as they retreated; drug traffickers behind them opened fire, a bullet penetrating the leg of the man on the right, who kneeled on the ground with a scream of pain. Wearing a mask, his eyes fierce. "Philis, run!! I'll cover for you." As he said this, he sat and swept the area with his rifle; the drug traffickers behind him scared, ducked. "Surrender, and we'll treat the prisoners well!" yelled a drug trafficker through a megaphone. "There are only soldiers of Victor who die in battle, none who surrender to drug traffickers! I joined the army, not to surrender, you bastards!" Philis roared. "Ah!!!!" His face turned red. He picked up his injured comrade from before, removing the pull-handle he carried and attaching it to the wounded man's back. "Let go of me, Philis!" "We're brothers, I'll bring you both home!" He patted the other's helmet. With a shout, lifting what felt like nearly 100 kilograms of weight in equipment, he dragged his comrade back. Bullets and shells whizzed past his ears. The wounded comrade on the ground continued to fire. A nearby car, blown apart, still emitted flames. Philis's breathing was rough, a tinge of rust in his nostrils—the smell of blood. Puff… Shot in the left leg! Philis fell heavily to the ground; the comrade on his back tumbled off, his fate unknown. The drug traffickers stood up and charged forward. Tatatat… Philis took four or five bullets, blood spewing from his mouth; struggling, he pulled the pin of a hand grenade and tucked it into his shirt. Four or five drug traffickers approached, looking down at him from above, guns pointing at him. Philis looked up at the sky, where he seemed to see a woman leaning on a doorframe, looking at him, "Mom, I can't come back." He loosened his grip on the grenade. The drug traffickers' eyes widened in shock! Boom!!! The explosion took the nearby drug traffickers with it. Let's go to hell together! In hell, Victor's soldiers are even stronger! This was just a glimpse of the battle at Savilian Village. A Company: 300 against 4000! In this village, they fought back and forth for the high ground, in the highest church. Bodies lay everywhere. Taken four times by drug traffickers, the company commander himself led soldiers to retake it, a statue of God standing in the middle of an open space, its eyes hollow, watching both sides fight. You tell me… Did it feel that humans are ridiculous as it fell? "Take back the church! Take it back!!" drug traffickers outside yelled, tossing hand grenades inside, shaking the ground three times. Not with cinematic flames but like Heavenly Maiden Scattering Flowers. Four or five drug traffickers stormed in, clashing with the Northern Army inside. Blood splattered in the eye sockets of Jesus. He, at last, shed tears. But the next second, a hand grenade fell at his feet, and with a loud bang, the two-meter-tall statue was instantly shattered. Jesus… Even on the battlefield, could not save himself. You've got to grab a gun, asshole! Outside the village. Federico Ferrari Orsi, his staff showing signs of distress. Six hours! Four thousand men had fought for six hours, damn it, and still hadn't taken the village! "Are the Northern Army all superhumans? Fill it! Keep pushing men in!" he yelled, shoving the small-time leader in front of him. At this point in the war, other tricks were useless; it was a matter of who had tougher bones. The Monterrey Division might have recognized him as the commander, otherwise, they'd have just shot him on the spot. "The losses are too severe, we've lost two companies," a man with a big beard said in a muffled voice. Federico Ferrari Orsi took a deep breath, "Continue the charge, no matter the cost, otherwise, we'll all die here!" "Why don't you charge?" someone muttered softly. Suddenly, the entire space went quiet. Everyone looked at him with strange eyes. Federico's heart chilled; looking at the tense battlefield, his eyelids twitched—he was, after all, parachuted in, and the people of the Monterrey Division didn't really acknowledge him; you stand behind and give blind orders while brothers up front charge. Isn't this sending us to our deaths? "Give me a gun!" Federico shouted, snatching an AK from a drug trafficker, "Follow me! Anyone who runs, I'll kill him first! If we can't take Savilian Village, we'll die here, no going back!" Having said that, he resolutely charged into the village. The drug trafficker leaders behind him had no choice but to follow. Both sides continued to clash in the small village.