Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 737 Your Grandpa Mo is here again!
This video of extreme violence on the streets of Augusta spread rapidly through various channels due to its explicit and brutal content, generating explosive attention in many countries around the world within just three days.

At that time, the moral bottom line of Western society had not yet been completely eroded by some extreme ideologies, and mainstream values ​​still emphasized basic human rights and dignity.

In other words, SB (a derogatory term for idiots) hasn't come to power yet; it will take another ten years or so.

The video shows thugs not only raping women, but also publicly executing an American journalist and a Mexican-American girl in such a cruel manner, an act that far exceeds the psychological tolerance of most viewers.

"We have witnessed the darkest side of human nature; when order and legal constraints are lost, violence can occur so easily," according to a special report on France 2 television.

Several major international television stations repeatedly broadcast and discussed this event in their news programs, regarding it as a microcosm of the chaotic situation in Maine and a landmark turning point.

Countless viewers called the television station to express their shock, anger, and disgust.

In Canada, which borders Maine, the public's perception was even more direct and intense. The news broadcast repeatedly on major television stations and the disturbing video clips aroused a huge wave of sympathy and anger in Canadian society.

The atmosphere was particularly heated during the late-night debate program "Focus Time" on a mainstream Toronto television station.

The program's guest, Roderick McLeod, a senior member of parliament from the ruling party and a politician known for his pragmatism, was attempting to articulate the official position: "We must recognize that the events in Maine are essentially an internal affair of the United States. Any external military intervention, especially unilateral one, could trigger unpredictable chain reactions. Canada's top priority is to ensure the security and stability of our own borders and to urge the United States through diplomatic channels..."

"Bullshit! Utter bullshit!"

Before he could finish speaking, Patrick O'Malley, the opposition MP sitting opposite him, known for his fiery temper and outspokenness, slammed his fist on the table, making water glasses jump. His face flushed, he roared at McLeod, "Roderick, look at those images! Listen to those cries! That's not 'domestic affairs,' that's a massacre happening on our doorstep! When our neighbor's house is on fire, people are being tortured to death inside, and you're telling me to lock the doors and windows and write a carefully worded diplomatic letter?! Have you lost your conscience?!"

McLeod's face darkened after being publicly insulted: "Patrick, watch your words and your stance! This is irresponsible incitement. Do you want to drag Canada into a war with the United States?"

“If war is about stopping this atrocity, about sending those beasts to hell, then such a war is a thousand times more noble than hiding in an office playing with political rhetoric.” O’Malley completely lost control of his emotions. He stood up abruptly and grabbed McLeod’s tie across the table. “A cold-blooded bureaucrat like you doesn’t deserve to sit in this position and discuss human life!”

"What are you doing! Let go!" McLeod exclaimed in shock and anger.

Chaos erupted at the scene, with the host's attempts to calm things down, staff members' exclamations, and the two councilors exchanging curses all mixed together.

O'Malley, taking advantage of his size, tried to drag McLeod off his chair. McLeod, not to be outdone, retaliated by swinging his arms. The two then wrestled in front of the live cameras, in front of millions of stunned Canadian viewers. The studio was knocked over, and the program signal was forced to be cut off.

Within Mexico, the video and the subsequent international outcry were like pouring cold water into a boiling oil pan, instantly triggering a massive wave of public outrage.

The official media naturally seized the opportunity, repeatedly broadcasting news clips that highlighted the tragic plight of Mexican Americans, the brutality of American rioters, and the "strong condemnation" from the international community. On the streets, public anger was thoroughly ignited.

"Revenge! Flatten Maine!"

"Make the Americans pay for their blood debt!"

"Leader! Send out the troops!"

Similar roars echoed in the rally square. Spontaneous demonstrations broke out in major cities, with people holding up photos of the victims and Mexican flags, their emotions running high. In some cities, there were even multiple clashes against Americans living or doing business there, with shops being smashed and vehicles being burned. Although the police quickly intervened to suppress the protests, the anger and righteous indignation of the people, demanding blood for blood, had already spread like wildfire.

The time seems to have come.

On a special train speeding through Quintana Roo.

Victor leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, holding a copy of "The Prince" in his hand, but his gaze lingered on the pages for a long time.

The ashtray in front of him was already piled with cigarette butts. He irritably threw the book on the small table next to him with a "thud," lit a "special supply" cigar, took two deep drags, and tried to suppress the growing restlessness in his heart.

Just then, the carriage door was gently pushed open, and Casare walked in. He glanced at the books tossed aside and the fierce look in Victor's eyes, and softly called out, "Boss."

Viktor hummed in agreement. "How's it going outside?"

Casare sat down opposite him. “The public is furious and resentment is boiling over! The anger of the people has been completely ignited, and there have even been several spontaneous clashes against American expatriates and facilities, but all are within control. Public opinion is ready.”

He paused, looked into Viktor's eyes, and lowered his voice, "Boss, I think the timing is about right."

Judging from his words, the recent domestic public opinion frenzy and the precise incitement of public sentiment are clearly fueled by their efforts behind the scenes!
Populism is actually a terrible thing.

This can be seen throughout history. Take the University of Tokyo on the other side, for example. It was strong for so long, so why didn't it launch a war?

Part of the reason is that land has become less meaningful now. Secondly, we cannot unleash the beast of "populism," otherwise, do you think we can still control it?
An ideology that cannot be controlled at all will ultimately backfire.

The same applies to Mexico.

We just need it now, so we've pulled it out and started pushing it forward.

Viktor didn't say anything, he just silently smoked his cigar.

After a long while, Victor stubbed out the half-burnt cigar in the ashtray, looked up, and the last trace of hesitation in his eyes had disappeared.

"Inform Dönitz."

"The fleet will move forward and conduct 'limited' precision strikes against all confirmed riot strongholds and areas out of control by the military and police around Portland Harbor."

"Yes!" Casare's eyes flashed, and he immediately replied.

Victor continued, “Get Kennedy ready with the landing plan, under the pretext of ‘protecting nationals and establishing a humanitarian safety zone.’ The 1st Marine Division is ready to land on Portland after artillery barrage.”

“Tell Lunacharski that we can now formally submit our declaration on peacekeeping and protecting our citizens to the US government and the UN Security Council. In short, we must stand on the moral high ground.”

Casare quickly jotted down the order and stood up: "Understood, I'll take care of it immediately!"

He turned and walked away quickly, the carriage door closing again.

Viktor sat alone on the sofa, picked up "The Prince" again, but this time he didn't open it, his gaze fixed on the gloomy sky outside the window:

"Violence is the ultimate means, the ultimate process, and the ultimate result."

……

The order was relayed to the task force flagship, the USS Tenochtitlan, which was cruising off the coast of the Gulf of Maine.

Inside the fleet command center, after Admiral Karl Dönitz finished reading the telegram from Mexico City, he slowly handed it to Vice Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, who was already unable to contain himself.

"Look, Alfred, the moment you've been waiting for has arrived."

Tirpitz quickly scanned the telegram, his excitement almost overflowing. He slapped his thigh: "Minister, please hand over command of the first wave of firepower to me! I guarantee I'll send those bastards and hesitant Americans ashore to meet their maker." Dönitz didn't answer immediately, but instead turned his gaze to Rear Admiral Lütjens, the commander of the mixed fleet, whose expression was grave. "Ganser, what's your opinion?"

Lütjens hesitated for a moment, then cautiously said, "Should we wait a little longer for diplomatic channels?"

“Waiting?!” Tirpitz interrupted him rudely, pointing at the telegram. “Ganser, look carefully, this is a direct order from Mexico City! The leader and the Ministry of Defense have made the decision. What we need is to execute it, not to stand here like women, hesitating. War is never a dinner party.”

Dönitz raised his hand to stop Tirpitz from further ranting, and looked at Lütjens: "Ganser, I understand your concerns, but an order is an order."

"Follow the order."

Lütjens took a deep breath, knowing there was no room for negotiation, and stood at attention, saluting: "Yes, Your Excellency Minister!"

Orders were issued quickly.

The entire Mexican task force instantly went on high alert, and piercing battle alarms once again blared across the sea and sky.

Inside the fire control centers of each ship, the atmosphere was tense yet orderly.

"Target data loading complete!"

"Guided artillery shells are ready!"

"Main gun firing arc is clear!"

On the bridge of the destroyer "Quautemoc", Vice Admiral Tirpitz personally took command. He issued the order to fire through the fleet's internal communication network: "Attention all ships, this is Tirpitz. Authorized by Mexico City, fire!!"

In an instant, the tranquility of the Gulf of Maine was shattered.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The 127mm main guns of the destroyer USS Quautmoke roared first, followed by the 76mm rapid-fire guns of the other frigates. But unlike the previous aimless warning shots, this time, expensive guided shells were fired. They flew precisely to their predetermined targets inside and outside Portland Harbor, following their pre-set trajectories and trailing deadly flames.

In Augusta, near the neighborhood where a street rape and murder had occurred the day before, an abandoned warehouse occupied by members of the "White Brotherhood" as a temporary stronghold was the first to be affected.

Inside the warehouse, dozens of thugs were making a ruckus, drinking, and counting their loot. Incendiary racist slogans were plastered on the walls. The tattooed, burly man who had murdered a female journalist and a Mexican girl with a hammer was boasting to the new recruits about his "bravery."

Sudden--

"Boom-boom!!!"

A sharp whistling sound approached from afar, moving so fast that it was impossible to react. A 127mm guided shell pierced the thin roof of the warehouse and exploded inside.

The massive fireball and shockwave instantly engulfed everything.

The mob's laughter and boasting came to an abrupt halt as the entire warehouse collapsed amidst smoke and flames, turning into ruins.

They didn't even let out a scream.

In another part of the port area, a police precinct building that was being used as a command center by rioters was also hit by multiple shells. The violent explosion destroyed most of its structure, and the rioters who were planning their next robbery inside were all caught in the crossfire.

The precision strike lasted approximately fifteen minutes.

Inside and outside Portland Harbor, more than a dozen riot strongholds and locations where the military and police had lost control, which had been heavily marked, were reduced to nothing by the fierce artillery fire.

Thick smoke billowed, flames soared into the sky, and violent explosions continued incessantly, causing the entire port city to tremble under the bombardment.

The surviving rioters and stragglers on shore were stunned by the sudden, precise, and deadly artillery fire. They had assumed the Mexicans only dared to flex their muscles on the open sea, but they hadn't expected them to actually open fire.

Didn't they sign a ceasefire agreement?

"The Mexicans have attacked!"

"Run!"

"It's a fight, it's a fight!"

On the sea, at the command center of the "Tenochtitland".

General Dönitz looked through the huge observation window at the rising smoke and flames on the shore, while his staff continuously reported the results of the shelling: "Target No. 3 confirmed destroyed; Target No. 7 triggered a secondary explosion and was determined to be an ammunition storage site; all predetermined targets have been covered; assessment of the impact is underway..."

Tirpitz, still eager for more, said, "Your Excellency, the first round of attacks has been remarkably effective! Should we conduct a second round of extended shelling to cover their escape routes and possible regrouping areas?"

Dönitz shook his head: "No, that's enough. The rest is for the Marines."

He turned to the communications officer and said, "Notify the Marines to begin the landing! Objective: Control Portland Harbor and key surrounding areas, establish a safe zone, eliminate all resistance forces, and protect the safety of our citizens!"

Once the order was given, the amphibious assault ships and landing craft formations waiting behind the task force began to approach the coastline.

One after another, mechanized landing craft (LCU) and hovercraft (LCAC) emerged from the dock, fully loaded with fully armed Marines, amphibious tanks and armored vehicles, leaving white trails on the sea as they sped towards the smoke-filled beaches of Portland Harbor like arrows released from a bow.

In the sky, armed helicopters taking off from the deck of the "Tenoch-Titlan" also began to provide air cover, whizzing low and clearing any possible firing positions on the beach with machine guns and rockets.

The landing craft's hatch swung open with a roar, and Mexican marines, amidst shouts from their officers, braved what could be sporadic, albeit possibly, resistance fire—or so they thought…

So far, no counterattack has occurred.

They leap into knee-deep water or drive amphibious armored vehicles, roaring as they rush onto the beach and quickly deploy into combat formation.

Mexican flags, red, white, and green, were unfurled in the hands of the Marines and planted on the land of Portland Harbor.

Run!

Grandpa Mo is here again.

Why say it again?
...

(End of this chapter)