Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 738. American stuff is just so good.

Portland Harbour, South Beach.

The steel bow plates of the first landing craft slammed heavily onto the beach, which was covered with sand and shells.

Mexican Marines wearing M1 helmets poured out of the boat and quickly dispersed into squads and platoons, advancing ashore in combat formation.

The salty sea breeze, carrying a pungent smell, hit me in the face.
"First platoon, move to the left and take control of the abandoned lighthouse ahead! Second platoon, move to the right and control the damaged warehouse area. Third platoon, follow me and establish the forward command post! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

Major Canino, the battalion commander of the 1st Battalion of the 1st Marine Regiment, crouched beside an AAV-7 amphibious armored vehicle that had just crashed ashore. His eyes scanned the port facilities ahead through binoculars. The expected beach fire did not appear. Only a few seabirds were startled and circled and cried in the air.

"Reporting to the battalion commander, the beachhead has been cleared, and no enemy troops have been found," the communications soldier's voice came through the headset.

"All platoons, advance into the city as planned, remain vigilant! Be aware of potential snipers inside buildings!" Canino ordered.

The advance troops began to advance cautiously along the road leading to the city.

Leading the charge were two LAV-25 wheeled armored vehicles painted with the insignia of the Mexican Marine Corps, their 25mm chain guns turning and pointing at every window that might conceal danger.

The infantrymen advanced in shifts, taking cover from the armored vehicles, their guns always pointed toward potential threats.

For the first few hundred meters, the sea was calm, with only the rumble of the Mexican fleet preparing for its second round of artillery fire in the distance.

However, as the advance company crossed a seaside shopping district destroyed by artillery fire and was about to enter the Victorian-style wooden neighborhood on the edge of Portland's old town, what was bound to happen still happened.

"boom!"

A crisp and distinctive gunshot pierced the relatively quiet air. Unlike the dullness of the AK series or the sharpness of the M16, it was the sound of a precisely calibrated sniper rifle!

Almost at the same time the gunshot rang out, the commander of the LAV-25 armored vehicle at the front, and a sergeant who had just leaned out halfway to check the road conditions, suddenly had a cloud of blood burst from his helmet and fell backward.

"Sniper, 10 o'clock! White three-story building, attic window!"

“Da da da da da—!”

"Puff! Puff puff! Puff puff puff!!"

A barrage of automatic weapon fire poured down from the windows of buildings on both sides of the street. Bullets rained down on the armored vehicles of the Mexican Marines and the cover that the infantry were seeking, sending up a series of blinding sparks and the whistling of ricochets.

The attackers' firepower was quite layered, with precision marksmen and machine guns providing suppressive fire from higher positions, a large number of automatic riflemen firing at mid-level windows, and even shotguns and pistols providing close-range ambushes from lower positions.

The US military is, after all, the US military.

"Find cover! Don't crowd!"

"Anti-tank team! RPG! One o'clock, second floor of the red brick building!"

Major Canino's voice remained remarkably calm as he issued orders over the radio amidst the cacophony of gunfire and explosions.

He witnessed a rocket-propelled grenade, trailing a long plume of flame, being launched from a second-floor window of a building. Although it missed the lead armored vehicle due to the shooter's haste, it slammed into the exterior wall of a nearby building, blasting a huge hole in it, with rubble and wood chips flying everywhere like shrapnel!
"Fire! Fire! Suppress them!" The commands from the platoon leaders echoed through their individual radios.

The once quiet street was instantly engulfed by deafening gunfire, explosions, and shouts of battle!
The Mexican Marines are of good quality.

Machine gunners quickly seized street corners and ruins, returning fire with dense barrages at enemy strongpoints. Riflemen, in groups of three, covered each other and advanced with difficulty using all available cover, while simultaneously firing precisely at exposed enemies.

"Boom! Boom!"

The LAV-25 armored vehicle's 25mm chain gun emitted a dull, deadly roar. High-explosive shells easily tore through the walls of wooden buildings, pulverizing the gunners hidden behind them along with the furniture. The vehicle's coaxial machine gun swept through the visible enemies on the street.

But the resistance fighters were exceptionally tenacious and clearly very familiar with the terrain. They used the complex alleyways of the old city to constantly move, fighting from one building to another, even using basements and wall openings for mobility, and occasionally firing sniper shots from unexpected angles.

"Platoon A reporting! Right flank under heavy fire, unable to advance! Requesting artillery support!"

"Platoon B needs a medic! Two of our men have been shot!"

The battle quickly reached a stalemate. The narrow streets restricted the movement of armored vehicles but provided excellent ambush sites for the defenders.

"Command! This is Beachhead One! We've encountered organized and fierce resistance from enemy forces at the entrance to the old town. We suspect they are remnants of the US military or militants with military training. We request close air support from armed helicopters. Repeat, requesting close air support!" Major Canino shouted into the microphone, with the continuous sound of gunfire in the background.

"Received, Beachhead One. Flying Wolf has taken off and is expected to arrive in your airspace in three minutes. Fleet fire units are also on standby. Provide coordinates!"

Soon, the familiar roar of rotors echoed in the sky.

Two AH-1Z Viper attack helicopters, painted with Mexican Navy markings, swept low from the coast like bloodthirsty raptors, their three-barreled 20mm cannons already spinning in the nose.

This thing is also "originally" made in Mexico. Of course, the source of the technical blueprints is very complicated, but let's not worry about that. Anyway, whoever builds this thing first gets to keep it.

"Flying Wolf One in position, mark target on beachhead!"

"See that white smoke? Fifty meters to the right of the smoke, all windows facing the street, fire hard!" Canino yelled into the radio, while signaling the soldiers around him to throw smoke grenades.

"Understood! Target confirmed, launch rockets!"

The Viper helicopter slightly adjusted its attitude, and the rocket pods mounted under its stub wings suddenly spewed out dazzling flames!

"Boohoo, boomboo-!"

A swarm of dozens of 70mm rockets, whistling through the air, precisely covered the block marked by the Marines!

The continuous explosions blasted wooden buildings into pieces, and flames and thick smoke shot into the sky, instantly reducing the enemy's firepower by more than half.

"Well done, Flying Wolf!" The ground troops cheered.

"Infantry! Charge!" Canino seized the opportunity, drew his sidearm, and pointed it forward. "For Mexico! For the leader! Charge!"

"Come on!"

The pressure on the Mexican Marines was greatly reduced after the rocket barrage from the Viper attack helicopters.

"Platoon A, Platoon B, take turns providing cover and clear out the buildings on both sides. Platoon C, follow me and keep advancing, don't leave any blind spots!"

The Marines, in groups of three, began clearing the house by house, the battle shifting from the open streets to the narrow, dimly lit interiors.

"boom!"

A Marine had just kicked open a rickety wooden door when he was met with a shotgun blast. The massive impact ripped his chest open, leaving a bloody mess, and shards of bone and internal organs splattered all over his teammates behind him.

"Sanchez! Fuck him!"

Another team member, his eyes red, picked up his rifle and fired wildly into the shadows inside the door until he emptied the entire magazine. A short scream came from inside, followed by the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground.

He roared, panting heavily. The warm, sticky blood and brain matter on his face made him feel nauseous. He turned to look at his comrade's corpse, half-squatted down, grabbed the dog tag from his body, and held it in his hand.

On the second floor of another building, an even more brutal close-quarters battle is unfolding.

Corporal Ernesto Nate Rodriguez and his partner, 19-year-old recruit Calderon, are searching along the corridor.

The air was filled with dust, gunpowder smoke, and a faint smell of blood.

“The room on the left is safe.” Calderon’s voice trembled slightly.

"Stay calm, rookie, breathe," Nate whispered, his own nerves on edge, sweat soaking his forehead.

Just then, a figure suddenly flashed out of the kitchen at the end of the corridor. The person was wearing a tattered U.S. National Guard combat uniform, his face covered in soot and madness, and he was holding an M249 light machine gun!
"careful!"

Nate only had time to shout that one sentence before he shoved Calderon against the wall next to him.

“Da da da da—!”

A storm of scorching bullets instantly swept through the narrow corridor!
Plaster and sawdust splattered on the walls like snowflakes.

Nate felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder and ribs, as if he had been struck hard by a red-hot iron, and the huge impact threw him to the ground.

Damn it, I got shot…

“Corporal!” Calderon watched in horror as Nate fell, watching the pool of blood spread rapidly beneath him.

The National Guard soldier, having emptied part of his ammunition belt, let out a beastly howl, threw down his machine gun, drew a gleaming M9 multi-purpose bayonet, and lunged at the wounded Nate! His eyes were empty and crazed, and he mumbled indistinct curses in English: "Get out of our land! Mexican bastard!"

"Hold!"

Calderon watched his comrades fall, saw the enemy's狰狞 (zhengning - ferocious/hideous) faces, and the recruit's fear was instantly replaced by a more primal rage. Without even raising his rifle to aim, he charged forward like a raging bull, bayoneted rifle at the ready!
"Pfft!"

Two young bodies collided violently!
Calderon felt resistance from the tip of the rifle, followed by the sensation of it piercing leather and muscle; his bayonet had precisely plunged into the man's abdomen.

But the opponent's strength was astonishing. Despite being stabbed in the abdomen, the National Guard soldier did not fall down immediately. Instead, he grabbed Calderon's gun barrel with one hand and stabbed Calderon's neck with the other hand holding the M9 bayonet!

Calderon desperately twisted his head to dodge, but the bayonet grazed his carotid artery, leaving a deep, bone-revealing gash. Warm blood gushed out instantly, splattering all over the other man's face.

"Ugh—!" Calderon screamed in pain, but his survival instinct kept him from letting go. Instead, he used all his strength to twist the rifle in his hand!
"Ugh..." The National Guard soldier finally let out a muffled groan as the wound in his abdomen was aggravated, and the intense pain made him pause.

It's now!

Calderon swiftly pulled out his bayonet, ignoring the blood gushing from his neck, and plunged it in again!
This time, he aimed for the chest!
"puff!"

The bayonet pierced through the ribs and reached the heart.

The National Guard soldier's body convulsed violently, the madness in his eyes fading quickly, replaced by an incredulous blankness. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but only bloody foam escaped. His grip on the gun barrel loosened limply, and he collapsed limply onto the wounded Nate. Nate, pressed against the still-warm body, gasped for breath. He looked at Calderon, kneeling beside him, clutching his neck tightly, blood still gushing from between his fingers, and tried to say something, but could only cough up more blood.

"Medic... medic..." Nate called out hoarsely through the last of his strength toward the open door, his voice barely audible.

Only the heavy breathing of two dying people and a corpse remained in the corridor; the stench of blood was so thick it was almost unbearable, and the aura of death enveloped the ruined building.

Meanwhile, at a high point in the port area.
A silent duel between snipers is unfolding atop an abandoned lighthouse.

Mexican Marine Corps sniper Hector Macias, codenamed "Old Man," and his spotter calmly scanned the chaotic battlefield below through a high-powered scope.

"Eleven o'clock position, blue roof, second-floor window. Machine gunner, changing ammunition belt," the spotter whispered the parameters.

Macias adjusted his breathing, the crosshair steadily locking onto the figure, just as his index finger was about to pull the trigger—

"boom!"

A bullet grazed the edge of the lighthouse observation window, shattering a nearby brick and splattering debris all over Macias's face.

"Sniper, one o'clock! Clock tower!" The spotter reacted quickly, immediately pulling his head back and shouting a warning.

Masias' pupils contracted, and he quickly lowered his body.

The other side spotted him first, and their marksmanship was extremely accurate.

"Damn it, we've run into a tough nut to crack."

Masias spat, licked his chapped lips, and instantly switched roles from hunter to prey.

He moved cautiously, using the lighthouse structure for cover, searching for the next firing position. He knew the enemy was doing the same. Only one sniper could leave this area alive.

As time ticked by, the gunshots below seemed to grow distant.

Two top assassins are silently hunting each other in the ruins, waiting for the other to make a mistake.

Finally, Masias caught a faint reflection in the direction of the clock tower at the edge of the scope; it could be the scope lens or something else.

Without hesitation, almost instinctively, he leaned forward and pulled the trigger!
"boom!"

Almost at the same time, a gunshot rang out from the direction of the clock tower!
Masias felt a loud bang coming from his helmet, as if he had been hit hard by a sledgehammer, which made him dizzy and knocked him backward.

"Dad!" The observer rushed over in alarm.

Macias shook his head, touched his helmet where there was a deep dent, almost pierced by a bullet. He spat out the dust in his mouth, grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth: "Damn... lucky me."

He looked at the observer, "How's that guy?"

The spotter cautiously peeked towards the clock tower, then withdrew. "Target confirmed dead. You hit him in the neck."

Across the street, by the window, lay a corpse on the ground, a gruesome sight.

Macias paused for a moment, leaned against the wall, lit a crumpled cigarette, and took a deep drag.

Amidst the swirling smoke, he muttered to himself, "Another one...may he go to hell."

The bloody street battle that took place in Portland's old town lasted for an entire afternoon.

As the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the billowing black smoke rising from the city below, Major Canino finally stood in the center of Portland's Old Town Square. The square was littered with the bodies of soldiers and armed personnel from both sides, mutilated and in various poses.

A huge Mexican flag was raised by a Marine on a broken flagpole in the center of the square, fluttering slowly in the evening breeze that smelled of gunpowder.

Major Canino picked up the radio and reported to the fleet:

"Command post, this is Beachhead One. The old town of Portland Harbor has been largely cleared. Our troops are consolidating their positions."

After a few seconds of silence on the other end of the communication line, General Dönitz's voice came through: "Received, thank you for your hard work, Major. Establish a safe zone, treat the wounded, and prevent a US counterattack in the new city area."

"understand!"

……

Admiral Karl Dönitz had just finished a call with the beachhead and was about to discuss the next steps for shore support and defense with Major General Lütjens beside him.

A piercing air raid siren suddenly blared in the command center of the "Tenochtitland" and red alarm lights began to rotate and flash.

"Report! The long-range air search radar has detected two low-altitude, fast-moving targets at bearing 285, altitude 150 meters, speed approximately 500 knots, and a distance of 80 nautical miles. They are approaching our fleet!"

All eyes instantly focused on the central air situation display screen, where two flashing red dots were attempting to evade radar detection by using the curvature of the earth and complex terrain to conduct ultra-low-altitude penetration from the inland direction of Maine, heading straight for the core of the fleet.

Rear Admiral Günther Lütjens was on high alert almost the instant the alarm sounded. He strode to the tactical control console, where air defense and missile defense were his core responsibilities as the commander of the mixed fleet.

"Identify signal characteristics!"

"During the signal database comparison, the feature matching degree is low, and no IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) response has been received from our side or allies. Based on the flight path, it is suspected to be an F-16C Block 50 fighter jet that took off from Linton B. Johnson Air Force Base near Brunswick!"

"Threat level assessed as high! Very likely carrying anti-ship weapons!" Lütjens made the judgment instantly. "Order: 'Quautmok' and 'Sifevatl' (formerly 'Chandler' DDG-996) forward to establish the first line of air defense! All 'Chimalpopoka' class ships, tighten the inner defense perimeter and prepare for coordinated counterattack!"

The order was instantly transmitted to each ship via data link. The massive hulls of the two Kwautmok-class guided-missile destroyers accelerated rapidly, cutting through the waves and maneuvering towards the direction of the approaching threat to seize advantageous positions. On the bridge, officers and sailors took their positions, the atmosphere tense.

"Combat system activated! 'Aegis' Baseline 7.1R system online!"

"The AN/SPY-1D(V) phased array radar has switched from search mode to multi-target tracking mode! The scanning sector has been concentrated at the 285 azimuth!"

"Activate the Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC) data link to share fire control-level target information with the flagship and friendly ships!"

The massive AN/SPY-1D(V) passive phased array radar performs electronic scanning at extremely high frequencies, firmly locking onto the two targets that are faintly visible in the low-altitude clutter. The powerful computer system processes the radar echoes at high speed, accurately calculates the target's azimuth, range, altitude, and speed, and predicts its future trajectory.

Ok…

They're all American military equipment.

However, now they all belong to Mexico, of course.

The US military needs to know that its territory, bordering Mexico, is also a source of its calamity.

"The target has entered the effective range of the Standard Missile-2 Block IIIA!" the weapons control officer reported.

Lütjens stared intently at the screen, watching the glowing dots representing enemy aircraft approach. He took a deep breath and decisively ordered: "'Quautmok' and 'Sifevatl', execute the 'emergency air defense interception' plan. All ships, launch Standard Missile-2 in salvo mode! Targets: the two incoming aerial targets, ensure their destruction!"

"Understood! Missile salvo mode activated!"

"MK-41 Vertical Launching System, Units 1 through 8, input target parameters!"

Launch authorization confirmed!

"emission!"

With a series of commands, the MK-41 vertical launch system covers on the foredeck and midships of the two destroyers roared open. Accompanied by deafening roars and blazing exhaust plumes, Standard Missile-2 Block IIIA medium-range air defense missiles soared into the air, trailing long white plumes of smoke. (See image)

"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—!"

Within a few seconds, more than ten Standard Missile-2 missiles were launched in quick succession at intervals of less than two seconds, rapidly adjusting their attitude in the air and speeding toward the designated interception point.

After the missiles are launched, the shipborne fire control system continuously provides mid-course guidance corrections via data link to ensure that they can accurately fly toward constantly maneuvering targets.

"Missile has entered the terminal homing phase! AN/SPG-62 target illumination radar activated!"

On the distant horizon, several black dots approaching at high speed could be vaguely seen; they were the two US F-16s. They seemed to have also detected the approaching missile threat and began to perform violent maneuvers to evade it, releasing dense flares. Suddenly, clusters of decoy fire burst in the sky.

However, the advanced radar seeker equipped with the Standard Missile-2, combined with pre-set countermeasures algorithms, effectively filters out most of the interference.

But bro, a dozen missiles are just the first round. Damn it... are you trying to fly like a moth to a flame?
Quantity makes up for it.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

A series of muffled explosions came from the low sky in the distance. Even from dozens of nautical miles away, the huge fireballs and scattered debris that exploded in the air could be seen through optical equipment.

On the radar screen, the red dots representing the two incoming targets disappeared instantly.

"Both aerial targets have been shot down. Repeat. Targets destroyed!"

The tense atmosphere in the command center eased slightly.

But I'm not completely relaxed yet...

Then the alarm suddenly sounded again, and this time the number of alarms was significantly larger.

"missile!!!"

"Activate melee defense!"

……

(End of this chapter)