Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 686 The Horn!

January 9, 1995, dawn.

The morning mist had not yet completely dissipated on the southern border of Texas when the muffled roar of engines broke the silence.

Along the vast desert and the meandering Rio Grande, a massive torrent of steel is rolling across the border, its tracks and wheels kicking up clouds of dust.

The Mexican invasion…

Wait, no, how can something that's considered righteous be called an invasion?
The Indian elder Comanche, whose origins are unknown, expressed his hope that the "royal army" would reclaim Texas!
There was no declaration of war, no ultimatum.

Less than six hours after Paul delivered his impassioned national address in Austin, the 1st and 2nd Mechanized Infantry Divisions of Army Group Est, Mexico, which had been preparing for a long time, crossed the Mexican-German border at multiple points like beasts unleashed from their shackles.

Their offensive axis was clearly aimed at the heart of Texas’s wealth: Corpus Christi, a deep-water port guarding the Gulf of Mexico, and the border towns of Laredo and Brownsville.

Once these key locations are controlled, Texas's economic lifeline and logistical supply lines will be severed.

On a desolate stretch of border west of Brownsville, a small patrol belonging to the Texas Department of Public Safety first discovered the anomaly.

They only had a rudimentary sandbag fortification and an old M60 machine gun.

"My God...look over there!" A young police officer's voice trembled as he pointed to the billowing dust appearing on the southern horizon.

The experienced police chief grabbed the binoculars, glanced at the screen, and his face instantly turned grim.

Under the sunlight, countless dark green vehicles were moving in a long procession. Leading the way were BTR-80 armored personnel carriers carrying infantry and numerous military trucks painted in desert camouflage. Further away were the slow but determined outlines of tanks, namely M1A1 main battle tanks and the M1A2, which the Mexicans called "Salamanders".

"It's the Mexicans! They've crossed the border! Quick! Report to headquarters! We've been subjected to a large-scale military invasion!"

The old sheriff yelled hoarsely into the radio, but all he heard in his headset was static interference; the other side's electronic jamming had already begun.

Before they could mount any decent resistance, several bullets from the 14.5mm heavy machine gun on the BTR-60 whistled through the air, accurately shattering the hood of their jeep and overturning their sandbag fortifications.

The bullets made muffled thuds as they hit the sandbags and the ground.

"Retreat! Get in the car! Get out of this hellhole!" The old sheriff knew this was futile, so he pulled the young officer onto the only still-functioning pickup truck, slammed on the gas, and fled north in a panic, pursued by bullets.

Behind them, the Mexican army's vanguard encountered almost no resistance and easily rolled over the undefended border barbed wire.

High in the air, two Mexican Air Force F-22 fighter jets and four Warthog fighter jets conducted armed reconnaissance flights in formation along the north of the border.

"Eagle Nest calling Hound Squadron. Sensors indicate no aerial threats ahead. Texas's F-16s have been drawn to the Red River on the eastern front. You are free to hunt any moving ground targets. Repeat, free to hunt." The instructions came through the radio from the rear AWACS aircraft.

The lead pilot looked down at the friendly armored column crawling like ants below, and the occasional Texas civilian vehicles or scattered military vehicles that appeared in the distance, trying to escape north.

"Hound One received, suspicious convoy spotted, requesting attack."

"Request for approval."

The Warthog fighter pilot pushed the control stick, and the fighter jet swooped down, its cannons spitting fire, and aerial bombs fell with a piercing whistle, instantly turning several trucks on the road that couldn't avoid it into burning iron coffins.

The Warthog fighter jet's dive tore through the sky, and the aerial bombs detached from their pylons, bearing the judgment of physics, and struck the ground first.

boom--! ! !
A massive fireball, billowing with thick black smoke, shot into the sky, and the scorching heatwave instantly engulfed the pickup truck at the front that was trying to speed away.

The vehicle didn't break apart; instead, it was thrown into the air, tumbling and smoking!
Immediately afterwards, a 30mm depleted uranium armor-piercing ammunition belt, like a scorching whip, was drawn from the rotary cannon of another Warthog and lashed precisely into the middle of the convoy.

They've beaten the dog!
"Pfft! Sizzle—!"

The hood of a civilian car was completely ripped off, and the next moment, a hail of bullets entered the car.

Blood and human tissue instantly atomized and sprayed out from the riddled windows and metal ruptures. An unrecognizable wreckage was thrown from the passenger seat by the impact and crashed onto the scorching asphalt road, lying lifeless.

The vehicles that were lucky enough to escape direct hits panicked. One truck swerved sharply, trying to veer off the road, but lost its balance and overturned violently, sliding along with a screeching metallic scraping sound, sparks flying everywhere.

The car door was slammed open, and a blood-covered man struggled to crawl out, his legs twisted at an eerie angle.

He looked up at the sky, his pupils dilated to their limit with extreme fear. Another Warthog was making its second dive, and he could even make out the menacing cannon barrel on the nose and the blurry outline of the pilot's helmet.

"No...no..." His screams were completely drowned out by the roar of the engine and the sound of explosions.

Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—!
Another burst of machine gun shells precisely slicing through the overturned truck. The fuel tank was hit, and a huge explosion rang out again, scalding fuel spraying out and instantly engulfing the struggling man and the entire wreckage of the truck.

He transformed into a shrill, screaming torch, writhing and tumbling wildly. In just a few seconds, he turned into a charred, curled-up mass of carbonized matter, filling the air with a nauseating stench of roasted meat and burning plastic.

"Hound squad, target cleared. Turn northwest and continue patrol."

The lead pilot's voice came through the radio, calm and even.

"Permission granted!" came the voice from the command center on the other end.

The fighter jets rapidly hurtled towards the interior of Texas!

Texas's air defense...

It's like a prostitute meeting an 18-year-old; she gets torn apart before she even sits down.

On the main road leading to Laredo, the vanguard of Mexico's 2nd Mechanized Infantry Division was advancing rapidly. The turret hatch of an M1A1 main battle tank was open, revealing half of the commander's body as he observed the area ahead through binoculars.

Tanks roared as they rolled over a road sign that read "Welcome to Texas".

There were also weeds nearby.

It's obvious that no one has cleaned it for a long time.

They encountered almost no significant resistance along the way.

Only sporadic, temporary roadblocks set up by local police or National Guard reservists are often enough to cause these poorly armed defenders to quickly collapse, surrender, or retreat, with just a few warning shots from machine guns or a slight lowering of tank cannons.

A TPz-1 armored vehicle followed behind the tank, its compartment crammed with Mexican infantry. The young soldiers' faces showed a mixture of tension, excitement, and a hint of bewilderment, while reports from various units continuously came through the radio.

"Company A has captured the border checkpoint without encountering resistance."

"B Company reports: The garrison in the town ahead has withdrawn..."

"The division's artillery is setting up positions and will provide fire support at any time..."

The battalion commander gave a brief mobilization speech over the radio:

"Guys, speed things up! Take the Laredo bridgehead before they can react!"

The convoy, a long, imposing procession, kicked up miles of dust, resembling a giant, tan python that relentlessly devoured the land of southern Texas.

In southern Texas, panic spread as quickly as a plague.

The highways leading north were packed with fleeing people. Car horns, cries, and curses filled the air.

Gasoline shortages, traffic jams, and rumors are rampant. Some say Mexican paratroopers have captured the airport, others say their tanks are only ten miles away.

The local National Guard mobilization center was in complete chaos.

The reservists hurriedly received their weapons and ammunition, but lacked unified command and reliable intelligence.

Communication was intermittent, and orders from superiors were chaotic and contradictory: one moment they ordered the position to be held to the death, and the next they ordered a retreat to the second line of defense.

In Corpus Christi.

The sea breeze, carrying a salty smell, caressed the few scattered gunboats and auxiliary vessels belonging to the Texas Maritime Patrol moored in the harbor.

The city was just beginning to awaken, and for most citizens, Governor Paul's inflammatory remarks and border tensions were still just noise on the radio and headlines in the newspapers—a distant memory.

Suddenly, a deep and unfamiliar roar came from the southern sea. Unlike any familiar civilian aircraft or the occasional National Guard F-16 flying by, this sound grew louder and louder, quickly evolving into a tearing, sharp whistle.

"What the hell is that sound?" A dockworker, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, squinted at the sky.

His question was soon answered.

On the southern horizon, countless black dots appeared like a swarm of bees, rapidly growing larger to reveal the menacing silhouettes of Mexican Air Force fighter jets. Not just one or two, but dozens!
F-14 and F-15E Strike Eagle fighter jets, painted in desert camouflage and dark green, protected several bombers in the middle.

B-1B bomber!
It's a flagship product of the United States, but now Mexico can also manufacture it.

"Air raid! It's a fucking air raid!" A piercing scream shattered the relative tranquility of the port.

Woo-woo-woo-!
The port's air raid sirens then began to wail hysterically, like a woman being choked, but it was too late.

The first wave of bombs was already falling, accompanied by the whistle of death. Boom!

The earth shook violently! The massive explosion instantly swallowed all other sounds. A heavy oil storage tank in the dock area was directly hit, sending up a huge mushroom cloud of black and red flames, with scorching heat waves carrying debris and a stench that assaulted the senses.

"God!" "Get cover!" "Run!"

The chaos reached its peak in an instant. Screams, explosions, alarms, and the sounds of collapsing buildings intertwined into a symphony of death.

Ships in the harbor became easy targets.

A patrol boat attempting to weigh anchor was accurately struck by a rocket from an A-37, instantly riddled with holes, bursting into flames, and slowly listing.

The sailors jumped into the oil-slicked and flaming seawater like dumplings being dropped into a pot.

Thick smoke billowed from the direction of the airport.

Several Texas National Guard F-16s attempting emergency takeoffs were still taxiing on the runway when they were torn to shreds by the swooping Mexican military aircraft with machine guns and bombs. The fireballs from the explosions illuminated half the sky, and debris was scattered everywhere.

Anti-aircraft fire finally broke out sporadically, a few pale bullet holes clumsily shooting into the sky, but to the high-speed attack aircraft, this threat was negligible, instead provoking a more ferocious retaliation. An F-14 gracefully circled and fired a burst of rockets at the anti-aircraft gun position, turning that area into ruins.

Mexican warplanes flew over the city with impunity, as if playing a hunting game, strafing streets, port facilities, and any targets that looked valuable.

What a mess!
……

Inside the underground command center of the Austin governor's mansion.

The ventilation system hummed, but it couldn't dispel the anxiety and despair that permeated every corner.

The Texas map hanging on the wall, once filled with strategic points circled in red by Paul Stuart, is now covered with dense blue thumbtacks by the staff. It represents the front line of the Mexican army's advance, like a swarm of greedy termites gnawing at the Texas land from the southern border.

"Port Corpus Christi...is completely destroyed."

The communications officer's voice trembled as he clutched a battle report pieced together from fragmented radio signals; the edges of the paper were wrinkled and soaked with sweat.

"Dock facilities, oil storage areas, maritime patrol boats... and the three F-16s at the airport were bombed into scrap metal before they could even take off. The Mexicans' B-1Bs are still bombing. Their fighter jets... are like they're in their own backyard."

Paul suddenly looked up and staggered to the map, pressing his finger heavily on the Corpus Christi spot. The blue pin on the map had crossed the port and was spreading inland.

"Where's Laredo? Where's Brownsville?"

He pressed on, a last glimmer of hope still lingering in his voice.

The operations staff officer next to him was pale and handed him another battle report: "The border checkpoint in Laredo was lost at six o'clock this morning. The vanguard of the Mexican 2nd Mechanized Division has entered the city. The National Guard reservists can't hold them off. They don't have heavy weapons, and their tanks scattered as soon as they charged. It's even worse in Brownsville. We can't get in touch with them by radio. The last news we got was that their Warthog fighter jets were strafing the highway."

Paul stood in front of the Austin Capitol and shouted "Defend our land" to thousands of Texans, but now, those grand words have become a joke.

"Victor...that bastard!"

Paul suddenly roared, slamming his fist on the table. "He has no sportsmanship! He doesn't even dare to declare war! He just sneaks across the border like a thief!"

He cursed the name of Mexican Victor over and over again, his initial roar turning into mutterings, his voice growing softer and softer until finally only weak, labored breathing remained!

When he got tired of yelling, he slumped into a chair and rested his forehead on his hands.

After an unknown amount of time, Paul suddenly raised his head, and a flash of madness appeared in his dark eyes, like a dying beast seeing the last trace of its prey in a desperate situation.

He suddenly looked at the Minister of the Interior, Yud Wallace, who was standing in the corner, and said in a hurried and firm voice: "Yud, contact those powerful families and the owners of those cattle ranches in the west immediately, and have their troops assemble!"

Interior Minister Euder Wallace was stunned, and hesitated before speaking, "Governor, they...they're just businessmen. Although they have private armed forces, they're just security guards and ranchers, nothing like a regular army..."

"Even if we can't compare, we have to keep up!"

Paul interrupted him, his voice rising abruptly, growing increasingly frantic, "Texas is going to be gone! Austin is going to be gone! They think they can protect their ranches, factories, and bank accounts by hiding in the back? The Mexicans have taken over here, and they'll be the first ones they'll deal with!"

"They're promoting XX ideology!!"

Cough cough cough, this phrase has really been fucking all over Europe for the past few decades.

Why was the Soviet Union so feared?
Does the United States not have ships and missiles?

It is because his ideas and beliefs horrify Europeans and Americans, while Mexico, which inherited his will, is more decisive in some aspects.

He stood up, walked over to Yud, and grabbed the man's shoulders with both hands. "Go tell them that either they should come to Austin now with their men, their guns, and their trucks to join the fight and defend our land, or they can expect to be charged with treason!"

"Crime of treason?"

Paul's voice was resolute and unwavering: "Texas has supported them for so many years. They occupy the best land and make the most money. Now that they're losing their land, they think they can just walk away? No way!"

He released Yud's shoulder, turned and walked to the map, tracing the area around Austin with his finger:
“Tell them that the Mexicans can get here in three days at most. Their private army may not be a regular army, but at least they have guns, pickup trucks, can fight guerrilla warfare, and can guard key routes! I promise them that as long as they hold Texas, I will give them the land and resources they want after the war! But if they don’t come, once Austin falls, I will be the first to take them down, confiscate all their property, and nail their names to the pillar of shame in Texas!”

Looking at Paul's crazed eyes, Yud knew that the governor had no way out at this moment, and would not allow those powerful figures to have any way out either.

He nodded vigorously: "I understand, Governor. I'll contact them right now, and I won't miss a single one!"

After Yud left, Paul looked at the map again, and a hint of doubt finally appeared in his crazed eyes.

Now... can I run away?
The door to the command center swayed slightly in the wind, and a faint alarm could be heard outside.

Paul walked to the window, pulled back a corner of the curtain, and looked at the crowds running frantically through the streets of Austin. A bitter smile appeared on his lips.

“Victor, you think you can just swallow up Texas? Not so easy.”

He murmured, his eyes filled with a mixture of madness and determination, "Even if I have to fight to the last man, I will make you pay with your blood!"

That's hard to believe.

……

Inside the brightly lit studio of Mexico City's national television station, anchor Maria Hernandez, dressed in a dark business suit, sat before the camera, while live footage from the front lines played on a loop on the background screen.

Soldiers helped frightened civilian children up on the streets of Laredo, with a striking white caption scrolling below the image: "Liberate Texas, Justice on the Way."

"Dear viewers, this is the latest news from the front lines."

Maria's voice was steady and powerful, carrying across the radio waves to all Mexican states and even to areas north of the border where signals could still be received: "As of 10 a.m., the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division of our Eastern Army Group has completely taken control of Brownsville, cleared 12 remaining resistance positions, and rescued 137 Mexican immigrants illegally detained by the Texas Department of Public Safety; the 2nd Mechanized Infantry Division has established a solid defensive line in Laredo, and engineering units are repairing border bridges to ensure the smooth flow of subsequent supply lines."

The camera suddenly cut to an aerial shot, showing heavy oil storage tanks in Port Corpus Christi still emitting black smoke, but the port channel has been blocked by Mexican Navy patrol boats, and several sailors wearing life jackets are pulling Texas civilians who have fallen into the water onto the ship.

"It is worth noting that our army has always adhered to the Geneva Conventions during the advance, prioritizing the protection of civilian safety." Maria pointed to a scene in the corner of the screen where a Mexican soldier was handing drinking water to a crying Texas child.

"To date, we have set up six temporary shelters to provide food, medicine and shelter to displaced Texas residents, which stands in stark contrast to the aggression lies propagated by the Paul Stewart government."

Maria picked up a folder on the table, pulled out a few scanned documents, and projected them onto the screen. The first document on display was the financial transaction records between the Garrett family of Texas and drug traffickers. The bank statements clearly showed that the family transferred more than $2 million to the Sinaloa Cartel in Mexico through shell companies. In the attached photos, family heirs and drug lords were seen raising their glasses and posing for a photo at a private estate.

Following closely behind was evidence of the Taft family's involvement in human trafficking. A secret agreement from 1980 revealed that the family sold hundreds of Central American refugees to farms in southern Texas under the guise of "introducing agricultural laborers." Identification documents and injury reports of some of the refugees were displayed one by one.

Maria's voice suddenly turned serious, "For a long time, the Texas elite, represented by Paul Stuart, has colluded with drug cartels and human trafficking networks, turning Texas into their independent kingdom for exorbitant profits."

A video of a witness interview began playing on the screen. A former Taft family bodyguard with a blurred face spoke tremblingly to the camera: "They stuffed refugees into metal trucks, gave them no water or food, and if anyone resisted, they threw them into the desert to be eaten by wolves... I saw a girl who was only 12 years old. She tried to escape, and they broke her leg. In the end, she didn't survive more than three days."

Another Mexican immigrant who had worked at the Garrett family's oil fields showed burn scars on his arm: "They said we were illegal intruders, but we worked 16 hours a day and the wages we received were not even enough to support ourselves. If we resisted, the security guards would burn us with hot irons, and we would be falsely accused of drug trafficking and sent to jail."

The evidence presentation lasted for 20 minutes, covering everything from land consolidation documents to lists of illegal arms deals, from records of abuse in private prisons to reports of environmental pollution. Each document was clearly marked with its source and the institution that conducted the investigation, leaving no room for doubt.

When the camera cut back to Maria, her eyes held a hint of heaviness, but even more so, a resolute determination: "The Paul Stewart administration keeps talking about 'defending the land,' but what they've never defended is the land of the Texans, but rather the interests of a few powerful individuals. Their proclaimed 'independence' is nothing more than a fig leaf to cover up their crimes. Just before our operation, Governor Paul was giving a speech in Austin, inciting the people to resist, yet he remained completely silent about the Garrett family's oil smuggling case and the Taft family's human trafficking case. How can such a government represent the will of the Texans?"

"Mexico comes for justice, for liberation, for ending evil, and for upholding the dignity of every life. We firmly believe that under the banner of justice, Texas will ultimately achieve true peace and fairness, and Mexico will stand with all those who pursue justice until final victory!"

In his office, Victor watched the news broadcast.

He couldn't help but praise her, saying, "She's a very nice girl."

Casare understood.

Promote her! Give her a raise!
“Boss, Lawrence Constantine Stuart has been clamoring to see you, especially after the war broke out.”

Victor took a drag of his cigarette.

"Let's invite him to have dinner together."

……

(End of this chapter)