Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 689 Vanguard!
Dr. Hopkins' farce about "the water being too cold" quickly shattered Texas's last shred of illusory will to resist.

It is not merely a joke, but a cruel mirror reflecting the inherent corruption, cowardice, and hypocrisy of the Anglo-Saxon elite class that has long occupied this land.

When the soldiers on the front lines heard the mockery on the radio, and looked at their dwindling ammunition and the already collapsed supply lines behind them, their last thought of dying for the "Lone Star Republic" vanished.

Still playing with chicken feathers.

Even the elite class is this corrupt.

Meanwhile, Victor's war machine, having gained tremendous intelligence and logistical advantages from the "surrender" of Texas's local powerhouses, began a truly rapid advance.

The Mexican army's advance pattern has changed significantly.

Previously, it was a cautious probing and a strong attack; now it has turned into a precise assault guided by a wide-open map.

Led by Cole Brelock and others, the Texas tycoons were almost always willing to do anything to prove their worth to their new masters.

You can't imagine how proactive a simp can be.

They not only provided detailed military deployment maps, logistical checkpoint lists, and communication codebooks, but also directly dispatched their family-run private armed forces as guides and advance troops.

These private armed groups, dressed in mixed uniforms and equipped with weapons superior to those of the Texas National Guard, have now transformed into "auxiliary forces" of the Mexican army.

Commonly known as: puppet troops!
They knew every inch of the land, knew every prominent figure in the area, and were well aware of where to bypass the enemy lines, where to launch a full-scale attack, which manor to persuade to surrender, and which town mayor to eliminate.

The Mexican Army's main armored divisions no longer need to wander aimlessly across the vast Texas plains like headless flies.

Their tank column marched in a mighty procession along the best route indicated by the powerful figures.

President Paul's last remaining elite troops suffered a complete collapse in morale after learning that their logistics base had been precisely destroyed and their escape route had been cut off by "their own people."

Organized surrenders began to occur.

Seeing this, the Louisiana Federal Army finally stopped being content to just stand by and watch.

Although President Floyd Ross was furious at Victor's humiliation and the envoy's tragic end, he would never let go of the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

Seeing the Mexicans' overwhelming advance, he immediately ordered the Louisiana National Guard to quickly "cross the border" under the pretext of "restoring order and protecting civilians" to seize towns and transportation hubs on the east bank of the Red River.

The real battle took place outside Austin.

Paul Constantine Stuart deployed his last remaining loyal troops, about a brigade, on the high ground outside the city and along the main roads leading into the city, in an attempt to make a last stand.

They dug anti-tank ditches, laid minefields, and used the few remaining howitzers and mortars to form fire support points.

However, the details of their deployment had already been secretly transmitted to the Mexican front command by a surrender-oriented general eager to claim credit.

The attack was launched before dawn.

Suddenly, a blinding light tore through the horizon, followed by countless identical trails of flame that streaked across the night sky.

It's a rocket launcher!

The dense whistling sound instantly drowned out all other sounds!
The first wave of explosions did not hit their targets precisely, and most of them landed on the open ground in front of the defending troops' positions.

The deafening roar wasn't a series of intermittent bursts, but a continuous, overwhelming sonic wave that violently assaulted everyone's eardrums and heart, as if the earth itself were roaring.

The billowing dust completely swallowed the faint light of dawn, plunging the position back into utter darkness, with only the continuous flashes of explosions like the strobe lights of hell.

A young soldier lying prone in the trench had just raised his head when he saw a huge fireball rise up less than fifty meters in front of him.

A scorching wave of air, mixed with gravel and shrapnel, rushed towards him in a fan shape, slamming hard against the breastwork and his helmet with a clanging sound.

He felt as if his internal organs had been displaced by the violent shockwave, and the tinnitus was so sharp that he almost vomited.

He opened his mouth wide and shouted frantically, but he couldn't even hear his own voice.

"Hold on! Hold on!" a bearded veteran roared, but his command was barely audible amidst the earth-shattering roar.

The second and third salvos followed one after another, and the impact points began to extend backward, actually hitting the defensive positions.

A rocket hit a machine gun emplacement.

In an instant, sandbags, weapon parts, and human remains were thrown upwards in the blinding flash of fire. Soldiers at the epicenter of the explosion were instantly vaporized, while those further away were torn to shreds.

A severed leg, wrapped in tattered military trousers, fell to the ground in the trench with a thud, scalding blood splattering onto the pale faces of the surrounding soldiers.

A soldier was unfortunately hit directly by the shockwave of a near miss.

He was flung out of the trench like a leaf, his body contorted unnaturally in the air before crashing heavily onto the scorched earth, motionless, blood streaming from his seven orifices.

The explosions temporarily ceased, but the silence that echoed across the position was no longer deafening; instead, it was filled with the piercing screams of the wounded.

Before the shelling had even subsided, countless loudspeakers simultaneously blared, broadcasting messages in English and Spanish in a loop:

"Texas soldiers! Your president, Paul Constantine Stuart, has abandoned you. He is preparing to flee in his private jet!"

"The Brelock, Garrett, and Johnson families have already chosen peace! Why should they sacrifice their lives for the Stuart family?"

"Put down your weapons! The Mexican army guarantees your safety! Resistance will only lead to your death!"

"Look around you! Is there still hope?"

Meanwhile, several companies composed of surrendered Texas puppet troops, with the cooperation of Mexican special forces, launched infiltration attacks along the weak points of the defenders' defenses.

Dressed in Texas National Guard uniforms or plainclothes, they silently took out sentries, seized key firing positions, and even guided Mexican precision strike teams to destroy the few remaining heavy machine gun nests with anti-tank missiles.

The defending forces' command structure instantly fell into chaos.

They couldn't tell whether the people approaching were friend or foe, and the radio was filled with contradictory orders and desperate cries.

Morale crumbled like an avalanche.

As dawn broke and the Mexican army's main tanks and infantry fighting vehicles began to rumble along the passage opened by the puppet troops, most of the Texas garrison had already lost the ability to mount an organized resistance.

Many soldiers chose to walk out of the trenches in rows with their hands raised, leaving their weapons in a pile.

The sporadic counterattacks launched by a few die-hards were quickly overwhelmed by overwhelming firepower.

Paul Constantine Stuart, his face ashen, listened to the approaching gunfire and the roar of tank engines outside in the underground command center of the state capitol building.

He tried to contact his air force adjutant to prepare to go to the airport, but communications had already been lost.

Mexican soldiers violently kicked open the reinforced oak door, and the smell of gunpowder and dust instantly flooded into the last underground bunker of the Texas interim government.

Paul Stuart, the president who just hours earlier had been calling for a “fight to the last drop of blood” on the radio, shuddered at the loud crash that broke down the door.

He turned around abruptly, forcing a calm expression on his face, even trying to squeeze out a hint of the arrogant and magnanimous expression that belonged to a person in a superior position.

He straightened his dust-covered suit and tie, cleared his throat, and began in his characteristic oratory style: "Gentlemen, I think we can..."

The word "sex" hasn't been uttered yet.

A Mexican sergeant, his face showing impatience, didn't bother to listen to him finish. He reversed his M16 rifle and, with the sturdy butt and all his strength, slammed it hard into Paul Stuart's mouth!
"Crack!"

A sharp, teeth-grinding crack.

Paul's teeth shattered instantly, spraying out a mixture of blood and saliva.

He let out a muffled, painful groan, fell backward, crashed heavily against the cold stone wall, and then slid softly to the ground, curling up into a ball.

The excruciating pain made his vision go black, and he could only cover his bloodied and mangled mouth, letting out painful whimpers and hissing sounds.

Mexican soldiers approached expressionlessly, roughly dragged him up, and handcuffed him.

Paul no longer tried to maintain any semblance of composure; driven by extreme fear and pain, he began to plead in a lisping, indistinct voice:
"No...don't kill me, I surrender...I can cooperate, I know a lot of things...a lot of money."

The soldiers ignored him and dragged him out of the basement like a dead dog.

……

Texas fell faster than anyone expected, especially the Louisiana Commonwealth, which had been watching from the sidelines, ready to reap the benefits.

President Floyd Ross did not believe that the Mexican army could maintain its fighting capacity after such a rapid advance.

He believed that Viktor's troops must be scattered, exhausted, and on their last legs.

“They’ve taken Austin, they’ve taken Houston, but it’ll take time to digest them!” Ross growled at his military advisors. “East of the Red River, from Taylor to Waco, that whole area is now a power vacuum! We have to seize it!”

Under his strict orders, the 1st Armored Cavalry Regiment of the Louisiana National Guard was ordered to advance rapidly toward Waco, create a fait accompli, and seize the transportation hub.

Ross's plan was shrewd: once his tanks were marked with road signs, Victor would likely be forced to acquiesce to the status quo and sit down for negotiations in order to avoid a full-blown conflict with Louisiana.

He underestimated Viktor's determination and overestimated the fighting capacity of his own troops.

A column of tanks from Louisiana rumbled along the interstate highway, raising clouds of dust that blotted out the sun.

The soldiers were initially nervous, but they encountered no significant resistance along the way, only scattered Texas stragglers, which gradually made them relax and even develop an arrogant air of armed parade.

Unbeknownst to them, their every move was being relayed in real time to the Mexican frontline command by precise intelligence provided by Mexican Air Force SR-71 reconnaissance aircraft flying overhead and by local warlords and collaborators.

Guderian's order was simple and direct: "Let them in, pick a good spot, beat them badly, break their spines."

The location was chosen in an open area fifteen miles east of Waco, where the terrain was slightly undulating, a highway ran through it, and dense low oak forests and abandoned farm buildings lined both sides, making it the perfect ambush site.

The elite Guards Division of the Mexican Eastern Army had been waiting there for some time.

The sky suddenly changed color when the vanguard tank battalion from Louisiana drove into the ambush zone without any warning.

Major General Harold Alexander, the division commander, simply gave the order, "Fire!"

The Mexican artillerymen spoke first.

A barrage of 155mm howitzer shells rained down like hail, precisely covering the middle and rear sections of the road column.

Huge fireballs rose one after another, and the shockwaves from the explosions flipped and tore the M113 armored vehicles over like toys.

"Enemy attack! Take cover!!"

The commander in Louisiana was yelling at the top of his lungs over the radio, but his voice was instantly drowned out by a much louder explosion.

Mexican infantry calmly targeted armored vehicles attempting to flee the road using anti-tank missiles and rocket launchers.

Thick smoke and flames enveloped the entire canyon.

The Louisiana army's columns were completely stunned, unable to advance or retreat, and became perfect sitting ducks.

The battle lasted less than forty minutes.

The vanguard battalion of the 1st Armored Cavalry Regiment of the Louisiana National Guard was almost completely annihilated.

The highway was littered with the wreckage of burning tanks and armored vehicles, charred corpses hung from hatches, and surviving soldiers surrendered in terror, their faces covered in soot and blood.

The Mexican army didn't even take many prisoners. After confiscating their weapons, they simply watched the terrified Louisiana soldiers and pointed their guns at them, indicating that they should walk back the way they came.

“Go back to Baton Rouge and tell Floyd Ross,” Division Commander Harold Alexander said to the enemy commander in accented English, “if he crosses the line again, we’ll have him at his bedside next time.”

News of the defeat reached Baton Rouge at top speed.

President Floyd Ross looked at the photos and reports coming back from the front lines, his face turning ashen before he slumped into his high-backed leather chair.

He lost, he lost miserably.

Not only did they not gain any advantage, they also lost a valuable armored unit.

...

June 21, 1995, Mexico City Ministry of National Defense auditorium. Flashbulbs blazed, illuminating the stage.

Mexican Defense Minister Kennedy, dressed in a crisp military uniform, read a statement into a multitude of microphones and cameras:
"The main strategic objectives of the special military operation aimed at disarming the Paul Stuart criminal group and restoring peace and order to the Texas region have thus been achieved. The Mexican Armed Forces will continue to carry out stability maintenance and humanitarian assistance missions in the region in accordance with international law and relevant agreements until a legitimate and broadly representative democratically elected government is established..."

The news instantly dominated the headlines of major media outlets around the world.

Blitzkrieg! In 11 days, the Lone Star Republic fell!

Mexico's military power shocks the world; is it rewriting the paradigm of modern warfare?

A New Hegemony Emerges? The American Landscape Overturned Overnight!

The international community was in an uproar.

European countries expressed “serious concern” and “deep anxiety”, calling for “restraint” and a “peaceful resolution.”

……

The White House, Washington, DC.

President George W. Bush sat in the Oval Office, watching the Mexican Defense Minister's speech on television with a somber expression.

Despite Texas's independence, its rapid fall, especially its annexation by Mexico in such a humiliating manner, was a fatal blow to the United States' remaining prestige and a severe trampling of the "free world" label.

He had to say something.

A few minutes later, President George W. Bush appeared behind the podium in the White House press briefing room.

His expression was somber, and his tone tried to sound firm, but a hint of helplessness was hidden deep in his eyes.

"ladies and gentlemen."

He began, “What has happened in Texas over the past eleven days is blatant aggression and a serious challenge to the rules-based international order.”

He condemned Mexico's "military adventurism," expressed "firm support" for the people of Texas, and announced some lukewarm sanctions, mainly travel bans and asset freezes targeting individual Mexican military officers and officials.

Finally, he attempted to elevate the tone, calling for unity:

"This is a dark moment, but it is precisely in such moments that we must not be consumed by hatred and division. We must unite, and all those who love freedom and cherish sovereignty must stand together to resist tyranny. Otherwise, the beacon of freedom will dim or even be extinguished in this world!"

However, this speech appeared weak and powerless in the face of Mexico's overwhelming military victory.

Few people responded.

Statements from European allies were mostly vague, avoiding direct provocation of Viktor.

Latin American countries have remained collectively silent.

After the speech, George W. Bush returned to his office and wearily loosened his tie.

The chief of staff whispered to him, "Mr. President, the response from all sides is lukewarm. London, Paris, and Bonn are all asking us about our next steps, but they seem... unwilling to take any real risks."

George W. Bush gave a wry smile.

Of course he knew.

What leverage does the United States have now to demand that others "take risks"?
He paused for a moment, then said to his chief of staff, "Get me to Mexico City. I need to speak with Victor."

The chief of staff hesitated for a moment: "Sir? Shouldn't we go through diplomatic channels first...?"

"I'll answer it now."

George W. Bush's tone left no room for argument: "Take it directly. We need to talk."

Mexico City, National Palace.

Victor sat behind his desk, toying with a Texas Lone Star badge in his hand.

The phone rang; it was an internal line.

Rohus's voice came through: "Boss, it's the White House line, George Walker Bush Jr., he wants to speak with you."

Victor raised an eyebrow.

"Get in."

He waited for the phone to ring a few times before slowly picking up the receiver. Neither of them spoke, and they remained in this standoff for about two minutes.

Finally, the other side lost patience.

“Mr. Victor, I’m calling to discuss the catastrophic situation in Texas in the most serious terms. Your military actions have caused numerous civilian casualties and a humanitarian crisis, severely undermining regional stability…”

"Stop, stop, stop."

Viktor impatiently interrupted him, "Little Bush, save your speech and just say what you want. If it's about me withdrawing my troops, then forget it. The land my soldiers won with their blood is not for trading."

George W. Bush's breathing became noticeably heavier, as if he were suppressing his anger.

“Mr. Viktor, you are playing with fire! You have underestimated the resolve of the international community…”

"The international community?"

"Are you referring to those old men who hold meetings for three months to discuss even sending an observer? Or are you referring to your Coast Guard that can barely maintain order in its own port? Let's be realistic, Texas is mine now. Once we realize that, maybe we can have something to talk about."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

Viktor could almost picture the other person's face turning blue with anger and utter helplessness.

Finally, George W. Bush's voice rang out again, his tone much lower:
“Victor, the situation cannot be escalated any further. In order to avoid a wider conflict and human catastrophe, I propose that we may need a face-to-face meeting, at the highest level, to resolve the issue like adults.”

Viktor's smile widened.

"A meeting? You want to meet me? Where? In Washington? Are you sending me to walk right into a trap? Or are we going to duel like two Western gunslingers on the border?"

"The location is negotiable; a neutral location is possible."

George W. Bush quickly said, "We can guarantee absolute safety..."

“No need,” Viktor refused decisively. “I have no interest in playing your diplomatic game.”

He paused, his tone becoming extremely authoritative:

“Come to Mexico City, come to my National Palace, I’ll be waiting for you here, so you can see for yourself what the tyranny you speak of looks like.”

The other party fell silent.

"What? You don't dare?" Viktor's sarcasm deepened. "You don't even have this much guts, yet you talk about protecting the beacon of freedom? What a joke."

After saying that, Victor hung up the phone without giving Bush any further chance to bargain.

He casually tossed the Lone Star badge into a drawer in the corner of the table, where many similar trophies had already been piled up.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the Plaza de Mexico City.

In the distance, on the horizon, the lingering smell of gunpowder seems to drift on the wind.

“A beacon of freedom?” he murmured to himself. “Soon, there will only be one sun over all of America.”

"that's me!"

……

The "fall" of Texas took only 11 days militarily, but bringing this unruly land under control was a far more complex war.

The top priority of postwar stability maintenance was to eradicate the malignant tumors that breed chaos and resist the new order, including the remaining white supremacist militias, corrupt forces colluding with the old regime, and the most rampant and deeply rooted drug crime groups.

Bessal County, where San Antonio is located, has become a stronghold for these powerful forces due to its unique geographical location and historical background.

This area is not only one of the regions with the strongest "Lone Star" sentiment, but also the intersection of multiple transnational drug corridors. Drug lords have been operating here for decades and have their own armed forces.

The commander in charge of the special operations in Bessar County was Colonel Garza.

He came from Tamaulipas, where he learned one thing: the only language to deal with hyenas is fire and steel.

The operation began on a moonless night.

The first to suffer was the West Side of San Antonio, a slum nicknamed "The Vulture's Nest," the stronghold of the city's biggest drug lord, "Crazy Madman" Baker Iverson.

Iverson believed that his labyrinthine alleyways, heavily armed guards, and countless bribed informants would protect him.

He was wrong.

At three in the morning, a tremendous roar tore through the night sky.

It wasn't helicopters, but four Salamander main battle tanks equipped with heavy bulldozer blades and explosive reactive armor. They brutally smashed through the fragile brick wall and ran over abandoned vehicles, clearing a path for the following troops.

Deep in the slums, several informants scrambled into a dilapidated brick building, yelling at a heavily tattooed, panicked leader: "Mexicans! Tanks! They're running us over!"

The leader's face turned ugly. He suddenly grabbed an AK, but then slumped down and put it down.

He staggered to the window and saw the steel behemoth advancing with overwhelming force, roaring, "Quick! Find white sheets! We surrender! We surrender!"

A few minutes later, a white flag, hastily made from a tattered T-shirt, trembled and shook desperately as it was stretched out of a window.

"Colonel! White flag at three o'clock!" came the report over the tank's communication channel.

Colonel Garza picked up the communicator. "Which direction? The signal is bad, I can't see it. All units, proceed as planned and clear all resistance strongholds. Repeat, clear all resistance strongholds."

There was a moment of silence in the channel, followed by a response: "Received, proceed with the cleanup as planned."

The white flag waved even more rapidly, and you could even see the face behind the window, contorted with extreme fear.

His answer was the scorching flames spewing from the tank's cannon.

boom--!
The window, along with the wall behind it and the man waving the flag, was instantly blown to pieces by high-explosive bombs, turning into a shower of flying bricks and blood.

"Want to surrender now?" Garza spat. "Where the hell were you before? I don't want prisoners, I want graveyards!"

The time was 3:30 a.m.

Garza picked up another communicator, which was a dedicated line connecting to the artillery positions behind the lines.

"Time's up! Fire!"

In an instant, a shrill whistle came from the sky.

Dozens of 155mm self-propelled howitzers and multiple rocket launchers deployed around the slums roared at the same time!

Tons of high-explosive munitions rained down like scorching rain, precisely covering every corner of the "vulture's nest"!
Rumble, rumble—! ! !
The massive, continuous explosions instantly engulfed the entire slum!
Huge fireballs rose one after another into the sky, engulfing the simple houses, the dirty streets, and all life within them.

The screams, cries, and sounds of collapsing buildings were all drowned out by the deafening roar of artillery fire.

Colonel Garza opened the car door and got out.

The scorching wind, carrying the smell of gunpowder and blood, rushed towards him. He took off his military cap and stared expressionlessly at the sea of ​​fire he had personally set ablaze.

He slowly raised his hand and made the sign of the cross on his chest.

"May Victor bless... and send all these scum to hell."

……

(End of this chapter)