Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 744 I, Bramo, am Victor's loyal "friend!"

On the morning of February 10, 1996, thick fog blanketed the area.

The Illinois-Indiana border, once a welcome sign for interstate highway travel, now looms in the thick fog like a tombstone.

West of the state border lies a hilly area covered by camouflage netting.

M1A1 Abrams main battle tanks, repainted with the Illinois Star insignia, and M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicles roared with deep rumbles, their exhaust pipes spewing white mist that mingled with the morning fog.

The soldiers, dressed in Illinois standard digital camouflage, checked their equipment repeatedly, their expressions a mixture of tension and excitement.

Beside an M2A3 command version of the Bradley armored vehicle equipped with an additional communication antenna, Ludwig Beck, on the front lines, glanced at his wristwatch; the hands on the dial pointed precisely to the moment the attack was launched.

He picked up the microphone, and his voice traveled through an encrypted channel to the ears of the commanders of each attacking unit.

"Code name Thunder begins. God be with Illinois."

The order is issued immediately!

"boom!!!"

In an instant, the M109A6 "Paladin" self-propelled howitzer group, which had been pre-deployed behind the attack line, roared deafeningly!

The massive flames from the muzzle brake instantly dispersed the surrounding fog, and the shell sliced ​​through the cold air with a piercing whistle as it flew toward Indiana on the other side of the state border.

On the Indiana side, about fifteen miles west of Gerry City.

National Guard Corporal Tom Harrington sat idly in the passenger seat of a Humvee, sipping his long-cold coffee. His unit had been urgently deployed here to deal with "potential unrest from the Illinois direction."

"I heard the Mexicans are fighting us in the east?" The driver yawned. "They're fucking insane..."

Before he could finish speaking, a muffled rumble of thunder from the horizon startled him.

Immediately afterwards, a piercing alarm sounded from behind their makeshift position!
"Bombardment!!!"

Harrington threw down his coffee cup, yelled at the top of his lungs, and shoved the car door open, trying to jump out.

too late.

A 155mm grenade landed precisely less than twenty meters in front of the Humvee.

"boom--!"

A massive explosion engulfed everything.

The scorching heatwave flipped and tore the Hummer apart like a toy. Then, it burst into flames like a fireball.

Harrington didn't even feel the pain before his vision was instantly swallowed by endless darkness.

Many people say the shelling was incredibly brutal…

But for the deceased, it's just a matter of a moment, which is "much better" than in the era of cold weapons. At least there was no torture. Of course, if you don't die on the first hit, then you'll be a bit annoyed.

The artillery fire plowed through the hastily constructed defenses of the Indiana National Guard like a plowshare.

Before the artillery preparations had completely ceased, the roar of engines suddenly intensified on the western side of the state border!

"Advance!" The company commander's voice, hoarse from static electricity, came through the tank's internal communication system.

An M1A1 Abrams main battle tank painted with a blue star suddenly smashed through the obstacles in its path, its massive 120mm smoothbore gun looking quite bulky.

You could fit a fist in it without any problem.

Of course, hehehehe…

The heavy tracks rolled over the frozen earth, leaving deep ruts, leading the steel torrent behind them across the state border with unstoppable force!
"We've crossed the state border, sir!" The gunner's voice carried a hint of excitement.

"Target spotted, ten o'clock, enemy infantry position!" the tank commander ordered. "Armor-piercing rounds! Load!"

"Armor-piercing rounds, good!"

"boom!"

The tank jolted violently, and a shell flew from its barrel, instantly turning a machine gun emplacement in the distance, which had just put up a weak resistance, into dust.

Following closely behind the tank, the hatches of the M2 Bradley armored vehicles opened, and Illinois infantrymen jumped out and advanced with skillful tactical maneuvers, raining bullets down on any possible hiding places of resistance with their M16 rifles and M249 squad automatic weapons.

The Indiana National Guard was caught off guard; their equipment, training, and morale were no match for the offensive spearhead that Baker had meticulously crafted. Many soldiers wore expressions of disbelief and shock on their faces as they faced their final moments.

The offensive spearhead relentlessly advanced eastward.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions grew increasingly intense in the direction of Gri and Hammond.

Meanwhile, the artillery fire in Illinois began to extend into deeper areas.

Several 152mm grenades, deviating from their intended trajectories, whistled across fields and woods, crashing into a quiet residential area called "Woodside" on the outskirts of Chicago.

It was early morning, and many residents were just getting up to start their day.

"Mommy, what's that sound?" a blonde little girl asked, pointing to the intermittent shrieking sound in the sky outside the window.

Her mother was preparing breakfast when she heard the noise, looked up, and her face turned deathly pale.

"Oh, God……"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

A series of explosions were heard in the residential area!

A two-story residential building was directly hit and collapsed in the flames, with broken bricks and wood chips flying everywhere. Cars parked on the roadside were overturned and burst into flames. The street, which was just moments before full of life, was now shattered.

The piercing sirens of fire trucks and ambulances replaced the birdsong of dawn. Survivors ran out of their homes crying, wearing pajamas, their faces covered in soot and blood, their eyes filled with terror.

...

Before the smoke and dust from the artillery fire had dissipated, the infantry of the 1st Platoon of Company A, relying on the cover of three remaining M2A3 Bradley armored vehicles, struggled to advance through a muddy field and scattered warehouse area on the western outskirts of Gerry. The air was filled with the strange smell of gunpowder and burning rubber explosives.

"Hound 1-1, Hound 1-3, 10 o'clock ahead, suspected enemy defensive position, the earthen slope behind the bushes! Do you see those sandbags?" Lieutenant Kyle Jenkins' voice came through the individual radio, accompanied by hissing static.

"Hounds 1-3 received, identified."

The commanders of vehicles 1-3 responded, and then slightly adjusted the direction of their 25mm chain guns, aiming them at that area.

Corporal Marcus Coleman, belonging to Squad 1, gave a signal, and the eight soldiers behind him immediately lay down in skirmish line, either leaning against the collapsed fence or huddled at the edge of a shell crater. Recruit Adam Rice gripped his M4 carbine tightly, his knuckles white from the force, his breathing rapid. He could clearly hear his heart pounding in his chest, almost drowning out the continuous firefight and explosions in the distance.

"Hold on, rookie," Marcus growled, his face contorted with camouflage from a mixture of camouflage paint, sweat, and dirt. "Fire only when I give the order, don't waste bullets, and don't fucking hit your own men!"

Suddenly, machine gun fire roared from the direction of the earthen slope!

"Tap tap tap—tap tap tap—"

It is the M240B general purpose machine gun.

Bullets swept through like a deluge, making the dirt in front of them splatter and sending splinters of wood and grass flying everywhere. One bullet struck a clod of earth less than half a meter from Rice's head, startling him so much that he jerked his head back, and a warm liquid uncontrollably soaked his crotch. Seriously, once you've been on the battlefield, it's hard to control your genitals.

It is easy to have incomplete urination.

"Damn! Suppressive fire! 1-3, take out that machine gun position!" Lieutenant Jenkins yelled over the radio.

"Roger that!"

The Bradley tank's 25mm chain gun roared even more furiously, "Boom—Boom—Boom—Boom—!" The shells, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, instantly tore apart and blew away the sandbag fortifications and bushes at the edge of the earthen slope.

The firing of the M240B came to an abrupt halt, but immediately several more M16/M4 rifles began spitting fire from other firing ports in the fortifications.

"There aren't many of them, but they're very stubborn!"

Sergeant First Class Derek Hawke, squad leader of Squad 1, shouted, "Squad B, flank from the left! Squad A, follow me and suppress them head-on! Grenadiers, take out those firing ports with your M203s!"

The battle instantly became intense.

Hawke led the members of Group A to quickly advance, taking advantage of the terrain's undulations.

"Huhuhu..."

He could hear his own rapid breathing, and the helmet on his head felt increasingly heavy.

He fired precise bursts with his rifle, suppressing the enemy soldiers who showed their heads.

"Bang! Bang!" Gunshots echoed around him, and Rice felt like his eardrums were about to burst. He mechanically pulled the trigger, mimicking the old soldier. The recoil pounded against his shoulder, but he had no idea what he had hit.

Group B successfully outflanked the left side of the earthen slope, where a dry ditch provided excellent cover. They poured fire on the position from the flank, forming a crossfire network.

The resistance fighters in the position were so suppressed that they could barely lift their heads.

Hawke hid behind an abandoned oil drum, changed to a new magazine, took a deep breath, and shouted with all his might towards the earthen mound:

“Brothers in Indiana, listen up, this war isn’t worth it! We’re not the enemy. Look around you, the federal government is finished! That madman George W. Bush has dragged us all into hell!”

His voice was exceptionally clear during the intervals between gunshots.

"Put down your weapons and come out! Hands above your heads! I guarantee you with the honor of a soldier that you will be treated well. We are all Americans, stop working for that damn government!"

His response was a more intense, almost hysterical burst of rifle fire! Bullets clanged against the oil drums, sending sparks flying.

"Fuck you Illinois traitor!" A muffled but hateful roar came from the position, followed by another M67 grenade being thrown out and rolling not far in front of Hawke.

"Grenade!" Hawke's pupils contracted, and he suddenly lunged to the side.

"boom!"

The blast wave, carrying debris and dirt, swept past. Hawke felt a sharp pain in his calf. Looking down, he saw that his camouflage pants had been ripped open, and blood was gushing out.

"Damn it! They're asking for it!" Hawke's anger was completely ignited. His facial muscles contorted as he roared into the radio, "If they don't want to live, then send them to hell! 1-3! Smoke cover! Team A, Team B, prepare grenades, follow me!"

"Bang! Bang!" Several smoke grenades were fired in front of the position, and thick white smoke quickly spread, obscuring the vision of both sides.

"on!"

Despite the pain in his leg, Hawke was the first to leap out of the cover.

Soldiers from Groups A and B charged out from the left and right flanks like cheetahs, using the smoke as cover to quickly approach the earthen mound position.

Rice was infected by the bloody and violent atmosphere. Fear seemed to be replaced by a strange excitement. He rushed out as well, blindly firing at the smoke as he ran.

As we approached the edge of the position, we could already hear the enemy pulling the bolts of their guns and whispering nervously inside.

"Grenade!"

Hawke roared, pulled the safety pin on the last M67 he was carrying, and after a one-second delay, threw it through the gap in the sandbag. Almost simultaneously, two or three other grenades flew into the not-so-large circular defensive fortification from different angles.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!!!"

The continuous explosions overlapped in the confined space, and the resulting shockwaves made one's heart clench.

The screams stopped abruptly.

As the smoke cleared slightly, Hawke was the first to rush up the embankment with his rifle, aiming the muzzle at the inside of the position, followed closely by Rice and the others.

The scene before my eyes was horrific.

Four or five bodies, dressed in Indiana National Guard camouflage, lay scattered in the narrow trench, their limbs mutilated and blood staining the soil and sandbags.

The pungent smell of blood and gunpowder mingled together, making one want to vomit. A soldier leaning against the trench wall was not yet completely dead; his chest heaved violently, and bubbly blood foam kept gushing from his mouth. His eyes stared blankly at the sky, which was stained gray by gunpowder smoke.

Hawke coldly surveyed the area, confirming there were no living resistance fighters, then reported over the radio: "Hound 1-1, the front line has been cleared, at least five enemy soldiers killed, one of our soldiers slightly wounded. Requesting permission to continue the advance."

"Roger, Hound 1-1, well done. Continue the assault towards the center of Gerry City as planned."

Hawke walked over to Rice, who was still retching, and patted him hard on the back. His voice carried a hint of weariness, but more so the coldness of battle: "Finished throwing up, rookie? Get up if you're done. The war isn't over yet. Remember this: either you kill them, or this is your fate. Here, there are no 'our own people,' only the living and the dead."

Rice wiped his mouth with his sleeve, straightened up with difficulty, and looked at the indifferent faces of Hawke and the other veterans, then at the corpses in the trenches. For the first time, he clearly realized that the cruelty of this "civil war" was far more bloody and desperate than he had imagined.

In the distance, the steel torrent of Illinois continues its roaring advance.

……

At the White House, George W. Bush felt a headache coming on after hearing his chief of staff's words.

"When did this happen?!"

"The attack was launched early this morning, between about six and seven o'clock! It's already afternoon now, and the battle has been going on for several hours!"

“We just received a complete emergency report from the Indiana state government and the state National Guard command. Their frontline command system was immediately paralyzed, communications were intermittent, and it took too long to gather the information!”

“Several hours? And you’re only telling me now?” Bush Jr. walked around the desk and rushed to Rove. “Where are our intelligence agencies? The FBI? The DIA? What the hell are they doing? Sleeping? Hours of war on our own soil! And we didn’t even get the exact details until this afternoon?! This is dereliction of duty.”

The lack of wages has driven intelligence agencies to the point where they have no motivation to work.

If you hire a spy but don't pay them, what's the point of them doing it?

Bring your own food?
Rove was sprayed with spittle, but he could only grit his teeth and explain: "The intelligence system's main focus was previously on the Mexican threat on the East Coast and the situation in Canada to the north. Moreover, the operation was launched very suddenly, completely exceeding our usual warning time. The Indiana side was also stunned, with initial chaos and communication disruptions..."

"They're all crazy...they're all fucking crazy..." Bush muttered under his breath, trying to calm himself down, but the veins in his temples were throbbing.

"Immediately notify Secretary of Defense Jonathan W. Green, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the CIA Director, the National Security Advisor... and all relevant personnel to convene in the Situation Room. I need to see them within five minutes!"

"Yes, Mr. President!" Rove dared not delay in the slightest and immediately turned around and rushed out to convey the order.

……

(End of this chapter)