Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 724 The God of Steel, isn't he a god?!
December 31, 1995, Michoacán.

Lead-gray clouds hung low, shrouding the mountains in gloom.

At a military airfield located on the state border, the air was thick with the smells of aviation fuel and the dampness of an impending mountain rain.

Four pilots, dressed in heavy flight suits and with flight helmets tucked under their arms, marched in unison toward the tarmac. The squadron leader, who was at the head of the group, stopped in the shadows of the hangar and looked up at the gloomy sky.

Today is the last day of the year.

"He said softly, his voice almost swallowed by the distant roar of engines, 'Let's give a New Year's gift to those "guardians of tradition" in the mountains.'"

On the tarmac, four modified C-130 transport planes were neatly arranged, and ground crew were refueling them with Agent Orange.

The huge metal tanks gleamed coldly inside the cabin, and fuel lines were wrapped around the underside of the wings.

“Remember the flight altitude,” the squadron leader turned to his team, “We need to make sure every drop is evenly distributed on their ‘sacred ground.’”

The young pilot, Rodriguez, subconsciously touched the cross on his chest.

This was his first time participating in such a mission.

He had just graduated from Air Force Academy, and this was a rare opportunity.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" The company commander's gaze swept over.

“No, sir,” Rodriguez replied, standing at attention. “I was just wondering what those people in the mountains are doing right now.”

The squadron leader sneered, "Pray their gods will appear. Fasten your seatbelts, Lieutenant. Today we'll teach them a lesson: true gods never descend to earth."

The God of Steel, isn't he a god?

Long live the Emperor?!
They boarded the plane one by one, the cockpit filled with the hum of electronic devices and the cold light of the flashing instrument panels.

Rodriguez put on his helmet and skillfully operated the control panel with his fingers.

"This is Condor One, requesting clearance for takeoff."

"Permission granted, Vulture Squad. Happy hunting."

The roar of the engines suddenly increased, the plane accelerated on the runway, then abruptly pulled up and plunged into the cloud-covered sky.

Meanwhile, deep within the Santa Ana Mountains, the Kola tribe's sacrificial rites were reaching their climax. (The previous chapter was a side note).

There's no way around it, she's just too fertile.

The old priest Paloma stood before the colossal stone statue, his hands stained with blood. His eyes bulged with fanaticism, and a necklace made of finger bones hung around his neck.

Hundreds of tribesmen lay prostrate on the ground, their faces painted with red and white battle markings. They kowtowed forcefully, their foreheads already stained with blood.

Paloma raised his obsidian dagger high, "The mountain god will grant us strength, so that our bullets will never miss, our blades will always be sharp, and we will be made of steel, so that bullets and shells cannot harm us!"

These priests seem to have been trained; they're exactly like some African tribes. You should at least make some changes.

A deep rumble came from above the clouds.

The crowd began to stir, and uneasy whispers spread across the sacrificial site.

"Don't panic!" Paloma shouted sharply, though his own hands trembled slightly. "This is the chariot of the mountain god! He's coming for us!"

He turned to the statue and prayed in an even more fervent tone: "Great mountain god, display your power! Let those lowlanders who desecrate this sacred land taste your wrath!"

The first C-130 pierced through the clouds and flew over the sacrificial site.

From the tail of the plane, a plume of orange-yellow smoke began to billow out, like a vicious giant python stretching its body in the air.

"It's poisonous fog! The government's poisonous fog!" someone screamed.

Paloma knelt before the statue, kowtowing frantically: "Mountain God, protect your people! Use your power to dispel this evil fog!"

But the statue remained silent, only the undried bloodstains on the stone gleaming with a dark red luster in the gloomy light.

Agent Orange fell like a fine rain, the thick, pungent liquid covering the sacrificial site, the crowd, and the idols. People began to cough, their eyes burned, and their skin itched.

"Mountain God!"

Paloma's voice turned into a wail, his face blistering from the poison. "Why have you abandoned us? We offered our best sacrifices! We followed the ancient rituals!"

He scratched his face frantically, his fingernails tearing off chunks of skin: "Answer me! Why?!"

The only response he received was the roar of the departing plane and another C-130 approaching.

In the tribal villages, the tragedy was even more appalling.

Women and children ran out of their thatched huts, watching in horror as an orange-yellow mist enveloped the entire village.

The children began to cry out, their skin quickly blistered and ulcerated. A baby in a young mother's arms let out a heart-wrenching cry, its tiny body covered in terrible blisters.

"Water! Quickly find water to wash!" the chieftain shouted, but his own arm began to swell and fester.

However, the water source had already been polluted.

Dead fish floated in the stream beside the village, their eyes bulging and dark blood seeping from their gills.

The animals in the forest ran and howled frantically. A jaguar rolled on the ground in agony, tearing at its own fur with its claws until it was a bloody mess. Monkeys in the trees fell one after another, their lungs corroded by chemicals.

Lieutenant Rodriguez looked down from the cockpit and saw a yellowish-orange cloud covering the mountains, as if draping the green hills in a venomous coat. He saw several black dots running through the cloud and then collapsing.

"Condor No. 2 reports: First round of spraying complete."

"Received. Prepare for the second round, making sure no areas are missed."

At the sacrificial site, Priest Paloma was unrecognizable; his face was completely ulcerated, and he had lost sight in one eye. He lay prostrate on the ground, using his last strength to crawl toward the idol.

“Why…” he whispered hoarsely, his rotting fingers leaving a trail of blood on the idol's base. “We worship you, we make offerings to you. Why…”

The statue remained silent, its stone eyes staring blankly into the distance. By the time the fourth C-130 completed its final spray, no one remained alive at the sacrificial site. Corpses lay scattered on the ground, many unrecognizable. Orange-yellow liquid pooled in the grooves of the altar, mixing with the still-wet blood to create an eerie orange-red hue.

Paloma's body lay at the foot of the statue, one hand still tightly gripping the base, as if seeking answers until her death.

The distant village was deathly silent; even the birdsong had vanished. Only the occasional sound of collapsing houses and the dying cries of some unknown animal could be heard.

Lieutenant Rodriguez watched all this silently, his fingers unconsciously stroking the control lever.

"Mission accomplished, requesting return to base."

"Return permitted. Happy New Year, Bald Eagle Squad."

Morelia, Michoacán Oblast, Frontline Joint Command.

Inside the temporarily requisitioned state government building's conference room, smoke filled the air, and the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like you could wring water out of it.

On the huge electronic sand table, the glaring orange-yellow color representing the areas where "regional purification" has been completed is spreading outwards like a festering sore, with the Santa Ana Mountains as its core.

Felix, Secretary of the Army Sigmar Lister, and District Commander Joseph Joffre sat around the sand table.

Xiafei held a laser pointer in his hand, reporting to the sand table and the constantly scrolling data screen next to him. His voice was calm and cold, without a trace of emotion.

"Over the past seven days, our air strike group has deployed a total of 36 C-130 modified aircraft and 105 UH-1 helicopters with specially modified spraying platforms."

Xiafei's laser pointer beam locked onto the most intense orange-yellow area on the sand table, "pouring a total of 45 gallons of Agent Orange and its enhanced variants into the predetermined target area, which is mainly the core area of ​​the 'Kora' tribe in the Santa Ana Mountains and the eastern ridge of the Golden Triangle."

He paused, then brought up another set of data, with text and numbers projected onto the screen:
"The area of ​​direct destruction of primary forests and illegal crop cultivation exceeds 8,500 square kilometers. Preliminary estimates indicate that more than 70% of the water sources in the area have been irreversibly polluted, and the ecosystem has been basically disintegrated. According to continuous monitoring by drones and thermal signal attenuation analysis, signs of life in the area, including humans and large animals, have decreased by about 92%."

Xiafei turned off the laser pointer and glanced at Lister and Felix.

"The effect is remarkable. The continuous chemical coverage has completely destroyed their means of survival and hiding places. Since the day before yesterday, small groups of people, mainly the elderly, women and children, have been detected trying to descend the mountain from the Sanchez Valley area on the northeast side of the mountain. They... seem to be unable to hold on."

"Down the mountain?" Minister Lister leaned forward slightly. "Xiafei, what do you think we should do with these people who are coming down the mountain?"

The question was raised, and the air in the room seemed to freeze even more. Lister's gaze finally landed on Felix, who had been silent since the beginning of the meeting, only quietly smoking.

Felix was not originally a smoker.

But at this moment, a thick cigar was held between his fingers, its scarlet flame flickering in the dim light, and the bluish-gray smoke swirling upwards, blurring his somewhat gloomy face.

The pressure was like an invisible mountain pressing down on his shoulders, not only from the bloodshed on this land, but also from the decision he was about to make that would affect the fate of tens of thousands of people.

Upon hearing Liszt's question, he took a deep drag of his cigarette and then slowly exhaled.

In the smoke, he squinted, and the last trace of hesitation in his eyes was replaced by an almost cruel determination.

"deal with?"

Felix's voice was slightly hoarse from the smoke, but unusually clear: "They chose to dance with the mountains and savagery, rejecting the civilization and order we offered, and now they want to come down the mountain because they can't survive? Ha..."

"There's no such thing as a free lunch. If they've done something wrong, they should stand up straight and take the punishment. What we need to do is make them understand that we're not a convenience store, and we can't haggle over prices!"

He stubbed out his cigar heavily in the ashtray, as if he were extinguishing the last breath of a certain ethnic group.

“Then let this nation disappear completely from the stage of history.” He said each word slowly and deliberately, with an undeniable and resolute tone. “Since they don’t love Mexico and don’t want to be citizens of this country, then they don’t have to be. Let Jesus love them and embrace their generations of ‘tradition’ and ‘unyielding’.”

I love their tough and resilient nature.

Just don't cry in the end.

Minister Lister nodded expressionlessly and continued, his tone as if stating a long-established fact: "Felick is right. According to our intelligence, these Kora people are not clean to begin with. In the days when drug traffickers were rampant, they were the most loyal transport teams and mountain guides for major corporations, smuggling drugs and weapons using their ancient routes. After we came to power, we repeatedly gave them land and compensation, hoping they would return to the right path. But what did they do?"

The minister waved his hand forcefully in the air, “They still do as they please! They continue to plant poppies and keep secret passages open! To those local officials who genuinely try to help and persuade them, they repay with threats, kidnappings, and even brutal murders. The young policeman whose heart they sacrificed is still not cold. Since they have collectively chosen this dead end, since they don’t want to live a peaceful life…”

Minister List paused here, then slowly and firmly raised his right hand, his gaze sweeping over Felix and Joffre:

“I agree, extermination! Only by eradicating this deep-seated cancer can we prevent future troubles. This is not cruelty, but a price that must be paid for the sake of Michoacán, and for the peace and stability of Mexico for decades and centuries to come.”

Without any hesitation, Felix raised his right hand almost as soon as Lister finished speaking.

Exterminate the entire race!

This is cruel to dogs.

Commander Joffre looked at the two top decision-makers, his face still bearing that calm, unchanging military expression.

He silently raised his right hand as well.

The three hands, representing the highest will of Michoacán at that moment, were frozen into a cruel verdict in the air filled with the smell of gunpowder and cigars.

Felix withdrew his hand, picked up another cigar, but did not light it; he simply fiddled with it between his fingers.

“Commander Joffre.” His voice was deep, yet carried an undeniable authority.

"Yes." Xia Fei stood ramrod straight.

"Immediately issue the highest order to all forward combat units, air patrol squadrons, and border blockade forces."

Felix's gaze was sharp as a knife as he pointed at the exit on the electronic sand table called Sanchez Canyon. "Coordinates B-7 to E-15, starting from Sanchez Canyon, kill on the spot any Kola people attempting to descend the mountain, regardless of gender or age, without warning or screening, ensuring that none escape and no one is spared!"

He paused for a moment, the cigar between his fingers almost deformed, before finally uttering his concluding remarks:
“Make this filthy, stubborn ethnic group, who are hostile to the country and the people, disappear completely from the land of Michoacán. Do it quickly and cleanly.”

"Yes, sir! Mission accomplished!" Xia Fei snapped to attention, the heels of his leather shoes clicking crisply as he gave a perfect military salute. He then turned and strode out the door.

“I hope we haven’t made a mistake!” the Secretary of the Army said softly.

"We are not wrong, and history is not wrong!"

(…(This is purely fictional!)…This is purely fictional, don't scare me!)

(End of this chapter)