Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 642 The British messed up again.

A sense of self-satisfaction permeates 10 Downing Street in London, England.

"Well done, gentlemen!" The Prime Minister raised his champagne glass to his staff. "Victor, that brute, finally succumbed to the pressure and backed down. Medellín will be our stage to showcase British standards and let the world see what true humanitarian intervention and order restoration are!"

"It's also a good time for us to flex our muscles in Latin America again. The United States has fallen, and the European Union and the Western world need a new leader. The British Empire will always remain the British Empire. Cheers to our empire!"

A group of people cheered and jumped for joy.

But they forgot a taboo.

You can't open champagne at halftime!
The British media were making a huge fuss about it.

The Times' front-page headline read, "A just takeover: British troops will light up the darkness of Medellín."

The Guardian commented, "From War Crimes to Redemption: A Moment of Responsibility for Britain." BBC news broadcasts featured commentators confidently asserting that the arrival of British troops would "end the cycle of violence" and "bring long-lost rule of law and human rights dignity to ravaged Medellín."

To highlight this historic moment and moral high ground.

The UK Ministry of Defence and the BBC have planned a grand "entry ceremony," which they will broadcast live.

A well-equipped and disciplined advance team of the 16th Air Assault Brigade, traveling in armored personnel carriers and light tactical vehicles, and escorted by several armed helicopters, slowly advanced along Medellín's main thoroughfare, "Liberator Avenue."

The vehicle was adorned with a prominent Union Jack and an olive branch, a symbol of peace.

The BBC's live broadcast team was in the lead command vehicle, with cameras pointed at both sides of the street.

Chief correspondent Sarah Jones, holding a microphone to the camera, said: "Dear viewers, you are witnessing a historic turning point. Medellin, once shrouded in violence and fear, is now welcoming the dawn of hope. The resolute faces of the British soldiers represent the international community's firm commitment to peace and human rights! Look, on both sides of the street, citizens are waving to us! Although the number is small, it is undoubtedly the first ray of light in the darkness."

"They have been waiting for British civilization for a long time!"

As the camera panned across the scene, a few bold citizens were indeed peeking out from dilapidated windows or alleyways, their faces a mixture of numbness, curiosity, and a barely perceptible hint of wariness and hatred.

The convoy continued its journey, heading towards the city center square.

It was once the frontline command post in Mexico, and is now planned to serve as a temporary command center for British troops and a symbol of the safety zone.

Sarah Jones was also enthusiastically describing how the British Army would establish safe passages, distribute humanitarian aid, and identify and resettle those who had laid down their weapons.

Everything seemed to be in good order.

at this time!

"boom!"

A sharp gunshot, as clear as shattering glass, abruptly shattered the carefully constructed prelude to peace during the live broadcast!

The live stream camera shook violently, and Sarah Jones's voice stopped abruptly.

Immediately afterwards, a barrage of gunfire erupted from all directions!
Bullets struck the thick steel plates of the armored vehicle, producing a piercing "clang" and the sharp whistling of ricochets! More bullets whistled towards the relatively lightly armored vehicles and infantry in the ranks!
"RPG!!!" A shrill, distorted English voice exploded from the communication channel!

A rocket trailing a plume of flame suddenly shot out from a dark sewer opening, heading straight for the lead FV107 "Cutlass" armored reconnaissance vehicle!

Boom! ! !

A massive explosion occurred right in front of the live camera!
The "curved blade" was instantly engulfed in flames and thick smoke, its body was blasted upwards, and parts flew everywhere!

The scorching heat even caused the live broadcast camera to overexpose instantly, turning into a blinding white light!

"Oh my God! We are under attack! Repeat! We are under heavy attack!!" Sarah Jones's terrified scream finally broke through her throat, piercing the live broadcast signal and the eardrums of all British viewers and world opinion!

The live stream footage shook and rotated violently, revealing hellish scenes wherever the camera panned:
The once "resolute" British soldiers were now in a sorry state, some unable to lift their heads due to the sudden firepower, huddled behind vehicles or beside roadblocks.

Someone was shot and fell to the ground, writhing and howling in pain, blood quickly spreading on the dirty road.

A transport truck was hit in the fuel tank by machine gun fire, bursting into flames and sending thick smoke billowing into the sky.

The surviving soldiers frantically searched for cover, firing wildly at windows, ruins, and alleyways where attackers might be hiding. Gunfire, explosions, screams, orders, and curses mingled together, creating a deafening cacophony.

Several figures, nimble as ghosts, dressed in civilian clothes or tattered militant attire, used sewer openings, breaches in blasted walls, and even burning vehicles as cover, unleashing a torrent of fire from assault rifles, machine guns, and even old shotguns at the chaotic British convoy. Their tactical maneuvers were extremely practiced; they fired a few shots and immediately moved to new positions, clearly locals in Medellín, intimately familiar with the city's terrain!

"Requesting air support! We are surrounded! Enemy numbers unknown! Heavy firepower! Heavy weapons! Repeat! Requesting urgent air support!" The British commander's roar over the communications channel was filled with unbelievable panic and despair.

The live stream ended with a chilling close-up: a young British soldier, his face covered in blood and his helmet blown off, staring blankly at the camera against a backdrop of burning vehicles and a chaotic battlefield. The next second, the signal dropped, and the screen turned into a blinding static.

In London, inside the Prime Minister's office, champagne glasses were still raised in mid-air, but everyone's smiles were frozen on their faces, leaving only a deathly silence and the static noise from the screens.

The Prime Minister's face turned from red to white, then from white to green, and finally to ashen.

The world was in an uproar!
The media, which were praising "British standards" and "a glimmer of humanity" just a moment ago, were rendered speechless by the bloody live broadcast footage!

Did Medellín's "Liberation" Turn into a "Slaughterhouse"? British Troops Entry into the City Met with a Bloody Ambush!

"Screams Before Live Broadcast Interrupted: BBC Reporter's First-Hand Account of Hellish Moments for British Troops"

Medellín drug traffickers turn their guns on new owners!

"Safe passages" become death traps, dealing a fatal blow to British strategy!

The titles were increasingly sensational and filled with immense irony.

Inside his office at the National Palace, Casare stared at the live satellite feed and the global headlines, his earlier anger vanishing, leaving him speechless with astonishment. He then burst into a triumphant laugh: "Hahaha! Boss, did you see that?! The British! Their entry ceremony, God, it was more entertaining than the best comedy! They thought they were going to pick peaches? They stepped right into a meat grinder! Serves them right! Let them taste the power of the Medellín sewer rats!"

Casare's laughter echoed in the spacious office, carrying a sense of unbridled pleasure. Victor stared at the chaotic image frozen on the screen amidst the static; his frustration had indeed dissipated considerably. Though it was unethical, seeing the other party humiliated was still quite satisfying.

His voice was steady. "Those old men in London, and those commentators sitting in the studio spouting humanitarianism and order, they don't understand Medellín at all. They think that wearing shiny military boots and waving the flag of peace can turn the wolves here into docile sheep?"

"Western 'saintly' rhetoric only makes these rats lurking in the sewers think they have an opportunity to take advantage of them, that they are weak and easy to bully. They only recognize one thing."

Victor turned around, his eyes sharp. "That's the fear forged in blood and fire. Only by making them pay an unbearable price will they know who the true masters of this place are. Mercy? That will only lead to them taking advantage of you."

He tapped on the keyboard on the table, his fingers flying across the social media interface.

A few seconds later, a concise yet powerful message was released:

“A real person knows how to admit their mistakes and correct them. Obviously, the drug dealers in Medellín don’t have that. They should all be sent to meet God.”

This message, without directly mentioning the British army or celebrating victory, was like an invisible slap in the face to the British government and the media outlets that advocated takeover. It reminded everyone: the people you've provoked are not some entity that can be easily disciplined using international standards.

Meanwhile, on Medellín's "Liberator's Avenue," now a scene of purgatory, the communication channels were filled with desperate screams and the static of electricity:
"Falcon! Falcon! This is the advance team! We're pinned down at the crossroads! Heavy casualties! Repeat, heavy casualties! We need air support! Immediately! Right now!"

"Mortar! Three o'clock! Take cover!!"

"Medic! We need a medic here! Damn it! The stretcher's been shot through!"

"We're running out of ammunition! Does anyone have any rifle magazines?! Grenades will do too!"

The deathly silence at 10 Downing Street in London was shattered by hurried footsteps and the shrill ring of a telephone. The Prime Minister's face was ashen, his lips trembling. His earlier smugness had vanished, replaced by disbelief, panic, and a public humiliation.

The staff were like headless flies, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' phone lines were ringing off the hook, and the Ministry of National Defense's command center was in complete chaos.

"Contact the Americans! Don't they have a base in Panama?!"

"France! Spain! They have power in the Caribbean too! Quickly!"

"Where is the Colombian government?! Let them send troops! This is their territory!"

However, a distant solution is insufficient to address an immediate crisis, and the Colombian government's response was ambiguous and ineffective.

Amid the chaos, someone suggested that name:
"Mexico! Mexico is also part of the Allied forces! They're the closest! They have the capability to intervene!"

This proposal was like a needle, instantly piercing the prime minister's last shred of dignity.

He slammed his hand on the table, his voice sharp with excitement:
"No! Absolutely not! Go find the Mexicans?! Absolutely not!"

"To wag your tail and beg for mercy from that butcher Victor?! To bow down to the man who just humiliated our entire nation?! Just hours ago, the whole world was watching us take over Medellin! Now you want me to beg him? Absolutely not!"

He slammed his fist on the heavy mahogany desk, making the crystal ashtray on it vibrate. "My pride? No! The dignity of all Great Britain! We haven't lost yet! What's one damned ambush? Street fighting is always full of surprises!"

"Let the Ministry of National Defense figure something out! Immediately! Right now! We have the resources!"

The staff members fell silent, exchanging bewildered glances.

British Defense Secretary Malcolm Rifkind began with difficulty: "Mr. Prime Minister, reinforcements will take time. It will take at least 24 hours to organize a large-scale airborne deployment. Furthermore, Medellín is a complex city, and airstrikes will struggle to precisely eliminate the scattered attackers, leading to civilian casualties..."

“I don’t care!” the Prime Minister interrupted him rudely. “I want to see action! Immediately! Get the troops in Panama on standby! Contact our friends in Colombia and have their people fill in! There’s always a way! But going to the Mexicans? Don’t even think about it! That’s a disgrace!”

See, this is double standards.

Now that it's their own people's turn, they don't care about the common people anymore.

Tut tut...

Karl Lagerfeld of England…

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away in Mexico City, the atmosphere was completely different.

While the presidential palace maintained official restraint, an atmosphere of ease and even schadenfreude was hard to conceal, while the scene in the city's bars and radio stations was completely different.

"Breaking news! Breaking news! The gentlemen of London have kicked a hornet's nest in Medellín! A bloody hornet's nest!" A magnetic male voice rang out on a popular evening radio program, accompanied by a modified version of a British military song with a distinctly sarcastic tone.

"The BBC's grand live broadcast has turned into a global 'death show'! How about we dedicate a song to the British warriors who are bravely fighting rats in the sewers of Colombia?"

Then, a tune of "The Grenadier's March," sung off-key in a cheerful Mexican street style, came through the radio:
"Grenadiers, advance bravely! Medellin's hell awaits you!"
The rats in the sewers are smiling, and the RPG is firing a salute for you!
How does champagne taste? Not as wonderful as gunpowder smoke!

Hang in there, John Bull! Don't let the sun never set become a laughing stock! La la la~

The bar erupted in laughter and whistles.

The television screen repeatedly played the chaotic and bloody scenes before the BBC live broadcast was interrupted, accompanied by the presenter's seemingly serious but undisguised sarcastic commentary: "It seems that British standards have encountered a serious localization challenge in Medellín. The drug dealers' welcoming ceremony has clearly caught the gentlemen of London off guard."

Social media was flooded with scathing satire and memes from Mexican netizens, juxtaposing images of British soldiers in disarray with previously touted "order restoration" photos, accompanied by captions such as: "Humanitarian intervention in progress," "The right way to light up the darkness?" and "A new highlight for the British Empire!"

Just as London was in a state of chaos and Mexico was mocking and ridiculing, the situation on the southern front of the Colombian war suddenly changed!
The Cali Group, which had been suffering heavy losses and on the verge of collapse due to the continuous attacks from the Allied forces, keenly seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"The British are done for! Kill the Allied forces on the southern front!" The commander at the Cali front practically roared as he gave the order.

The last of their accumulated strength, like the final bite of a dying viper, was suddenly unleashed while the Allied forces on the southern front were still reeling from the shock of the Medellín incident and the brief disruption to communications!
Instead of retreating into a defensive posture, they took advantage of the familiar terrain and the Allied forces' momentary lapse in concentration to launch a fierce counterattack.

Caught off guard, the Allied forces on the southern front, especially the Colombian government forces, were thrown into chaos. Their carefully constructed positions were breached at multiple points, supply lines were attacked, and command posts were bombarded by artillery fire! Within just a few hours, the Allies paid a heavy price on the southern front, losing large swaths of previously hard-won territory. The entire front was in grave danger, and months of progress were almost completely wiped out!

"It's over! The southern front has collapsed!" Desperate cries echoed within the Allied forces. This sudden double blow (the disastrous defeat at Medellín + the retreat on the southern front) completely shattered the previous optimism that "victory was in sight."

This stark reality was like a bucket of ice water poured over the heads of Colombian opposition politicians who had still harbored a sliver of hope, or even secretly hoped to use Britain's help to resolve the issues of Victor and the drug lords.

Their hands trembled as they looked at the battle report.

The "sewer rats" of Medellín, who dared to ambush even the British regular army and cause such heavy losses, were far more terrifying and lawless than they imagined!

Even the British couldn't protect it!
Who else could do it? Their previous calculations now seem so naive and dangerous.

A deep-seated fear replaced all political calculations.

In northern Colombia, at a facility "guarded" by Victor's elite troops, the impeached former Colombian president Armando Benede sat quietly in a chair.

There was a television in the room, broadcasting news of the Medellín tragedy and the collapse of the southern front. His adjutant held a constantly vibrating satellite phone, its screen displaying countless missed calls from Bogotá, London, and even Berlin.

The adjutant whispered, "The President is calling again from London; it's very urgent, and there's also news from Bogotá..."

Armando didn't even lift his eyelids. "I don't have that much time. I need to talk to General Erich Manstein of Mexico and the Brazilian Defense Minister about the 'Coba' garrison alliance. Let those clowns... die somewhere else!"

He felt a bittersweet feeling.

A bunch of blind opposition members, they made the wrong bets, they deserve it!

He was also waiting, waiting to settle scores with them.

...

(End of this chapter)