"600 drug traffickers from the town of Los Mochis heard that Kandahar was attacked and immediately set out to support after receiving the message; they even arranged for about 100 people to travel upstream by assault boats from the tributaries of the Haiki River in the Gulf of California."
They could save 10 to 15 minutes.
In the pitch-black night, with rain and mist obscuring vision, visibility was already limited.
A drug trafficker who had just boarded a boat shone his flashlight, only to see something stirring in the underbrush not far away in the river?
He directed the light toward it.
The scene before him was shockingly astounding.
A MIG-G-0800 American speedboat suddenly emerged from the underbrush on the river, drifting effortlessly, and the water sprayed up two meters high.
This beast was nearly 10 meters long, 3 meters wide, with a full load displacement of 3.5 tons.
It had been modified by the logistics department: there were two 7.62 mm Gatling six-barreled rapid-fire machine guns mounted on either side of the vessel, which could fire 12,000 rounds per minute, with two general-purpose machine guns mounted amidships.
A 12.7 mm heavy machine gun hung at the stern.
If you thought the firepower wasn't fierce enough, you could even carry RPG-7 grenades.
In other words, it could rain tens of thousands of bullets in a full 360-degree range in a minute.
The MIG-G-0800 American speedboat had ten fully armed personnel on board. They were part of the Anti-Drug Force's Coast Guard "Boat Assault Team", acronym: SWWE, with about 30 people in total.
They made up a quarter of the Coast Guard.
Their main role was to conduct special maritime operations using assault boats and, if necessary, to pave the way for Special Forces.
Something like the U.S. Military boat rapid response team.
The Gatling gun's muzzle flashed flames in the night, clearly visible.
It was like slicing through vegetables, mowing down drug traffickers preparing to go ashore and those already aboard assault boats!
There were no covers or hiding places whatsoever.
They were like sitting ducks.
"Jump ship! Jump ship!" A capo shouted twice from the deck of an assault boat, just as he thought to jump into the water himself, his body barely upright before a bullet pierced right through his head.
His lifeless body slumped into the river.
Blood instantaneously stained the surface of the water.
There are piranhas in this Haiki River tributary, and they flock to the scent of blood.
Indeed, where there was an Anti-Drug Force, the local fish were never short of food.
The drug traffickers ashore could only run for their lives in panic.
But they could only run a dozen steps at most before bullets shattered half their bodies from behind.
Some drug traffickers, having lost their minds, turned to fire back with their weapons.
They wanted to take one with them in death.
With this level of gunfire…
If you can so much as lift your head, that's a disrespect to the Gatling!
Your best bet would be to stop a 7.62 millimeter bullet with your "face" and "body"; generally speaking, if you had nine lives, you might survive.
These guys were also cunning; I'll catch you off guard and kill you, but I definitely won't land on the island, I'll just hit and run.
Before leaving, they even purposefully revved the engine a few times.
It infuriated the drug traffickers on the shore, shouting curses!
"Apart from God! We suppress everything!"
"Move it! Move it! Move it!"
Inside the North American Drug Syndicate building, the lights were ablaze with panic.
The Anti-Drug Force launched sudden attacks on two states, and at least 20 support calls came in, leaving everyone exhausted throughout the night.
Right now, he was sitting in his executive chair, face flushed, eyes bulging as if they were about to pop out.
The previous joy from concluding a deal with Victor Bout had vanished!
Several underlings stood in front of him, shivering, casting glances at each other, too afraid to even breathe loudly.
Because Guzman's entire birth village was annihilated, the Mexican Warriors who went to support him—212 men—were all killed in action, and his mother had been captured!
Guzman stood up and angrily swept all the papers and other mess off the desk onto the floor, muttering, "Victor!"
"Victor!" his expression twisted with rage.
"Arturo!" He turned to his cousin, whose face was equally somber; Kandahar was his hometown as well.
His parents had the good fortune of dying early, but there were still many relatives in the village, blood or not.
They were all slaughtered!
He felt as if there was a heavy stone pressing on his chest, the suffocation intense. Hearing Guzman calling him, he lifted his head, their gazes locking.
She, of course, referred to Guzman's mother.
"Perhaps we can negotiate," Arturo spoke softly.
Guzman was silent; his pride wouldn't let him bow down, but…
Memories flashed through his mind.
His father died young from alcoholism, and his brothers were all raised by his mother alone; she was so frugal with the cheap corn porridge that she would hardly eat any, always leaving it for him.
Having been accustomed to killing and the ugliness of human nature, he found rare moments of relaxation with his mother.
Sometimes, he was truly exhausted.
His lips trembled, but his eyes suddenly showed ferocity!
"We can't just negotiate. Take 100 civilians and chop them up, send the video tape to the TV stations, tell them, if they don't release my mother, I'll keep killing!"
To use this to force Victor.
Are you not the police?
Would you willingly watch innocent civilians die?
Use the overwhelming voice of the people to crush you.
Guzman obviously still didn't understand Victor well enough.
If he knew you were doing this, your old lady's late years might not be preserved; perhaps, he'd find a few dozens of dogs in heat and give you a mutt of a brother?
"This vengeance must be avenged!"
Just then, someone from the operations center rushed in, looking grave, "The Anti-Drug Force has taken Madella and cut off our passage to Juarez."