When they arrived at the front line, the guerilla squad was being entangled by the outer troops. The moment Guard Company joined the fray, the drug traffickers, already harboring thoughts of retreat, were ready to run.
They bolted towards the assault boats.
A drug trafficker was sprawled on one, manning a machine gun and firing methodically on the outside, displaying organized action that clearly indicated strict professional training.
"Run? Get me the armed helicopter," Joseph Xiafei ordered with bloodshot eyes.
An accompanying team member took out a communication device and directly called the Mi-8 within the Guard Battalion.
Around 20 drug traffickers clambered effortlessly to pull the engine. It roared to life, swiftly evacuating them from the battlefield.
Their coordination was impeccable; they were nothing like ordinary drug traffickers.
And ordinary drug traffickers couldn't possibly be that professional.
"Damn it, where's the helicopter?" Joseph Xiafei cursed, standing on the shore with a toothache. He surely couldn't just jump in.
Rivers in many countries of Latin America have piranhas.
While he cursed, a low-flying Mi-8 came from a distance, passing over the heads of Guard Company, stirring ripples on the water surface.
The drug trafficker squad looked up upon hearing the noise.
"F**k a duck!!!" The squad leader's pupils dilated, and he cursed in English, his apprehension visible as the enemy approached. He pinched his nose and tilted backward, rolling right into the water.
12.7 mm machine gun ready... Fire!!!
Ratatatatatatatatat...
A low-flying strafing run on the assault boat, isn't this just like chiding a lady – effortlessly under control?
Several, sensing bad luck, leaped into the river.
Those who didn't make it in time were unlucky; bullets pierced through them, turning them into sieves.
A hit on the fuel tank, and with a loud explosion, the assault boat turned into a fiery ball!
Upon seeing this, the drug trafficker on the other boat kept shouting gibberish and fired upwards into the sky.
Bullets pinged on the chopper, producing a cracking sound.
"Let's give them a taste of the big toy," the pilot's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
He loved this kind of overwhelming situation.
(AT-3) anti-tank missiles on an assault boat is overkill, right?
Pressing the button, he fired straight away!
The sound of the missile's tail was like catching a cheater on the NMD event, pursuing that adulterer with a speed of 120 m/s; you're f***ed even if you run with the assault boat.
"Jump in the water! Dive!!!" a drug trafficker screamed at the top of his lungs. AT-3 impacted!
Bodies were blasted into the air; limbs scattered into the water, with fresh blood instantly dyeing the entire area red.
In the river, the remaining traffickers struggled to reach the shore, flailing...
"Piranhas, piranhas, help, save me..." one drug trafficker spotted the school of fish; upon closer look, red-bellied piranhas!
Petrified to the core, a grown man was frightened into tears, shrieking at his teammates.
Ignored by the others, he swam desperately, but soon the school caught up to him, clamping down first on his calf. The intense pain drove him into agonizing thrashing and screaming.
But dozens of red-bellied piranhas, drawn to the blood, joined the frenzy!
Disturbing screams were enough to unsettle even the birds soaring in the sky. The trafficker who had reached the shore knelt, retching, turned his head, and witnessed a horrifying scene.
Floated up and drifted down the river...
Even the experienced drug traffickers couldn't help but feel nauseated.
These fish are notoriously known for attacking people. In Argentina, there were hundreds of attacks on humans, and they swarm in groups.
On March 12, 2015, an 11-year-old boy in Peru accidentally fell into a pond full of piranhas and was eaten clean in just a few minutes. When he was pulled out, only his skeleton remained.
They consume flesh faster than a man takes to shower.
"Chase them, don't let them get away," said the Mi-8's co-pilot and observer, pointing excitedly at the traffickers on the shore.
"Run... Run!! To the trees!!"
"Guard Commander, what... What do we do now?" a lieutenant from Guard Company asked.
"Fishing out that skeleton – lest we offend the General. Do you want to die? Grind his ashes and feed it to the dogs!"
Joseph Xiafei said this through clenched teeth.
The lieutenant shuddered.
Truly f***ing ruthless!
Offending the General, Victor might let it slide with a smile, but his band of "scoundrels" and "lapdogs" couldn't be so easily fooled.
Death was the only atonement!
In Jalisco, Guadalajara's Almshouse.
El Mencho was handing out candy to a simple-minded child, patting the boy's head, trying to teach him to speak.
If not for the shivering nun by his side and the armed drug traffickers on guard, it all seemed like a touching "charity play."
"Boss..." nicknamed "The Cow," Jose Armando rushed in from the outside, his voice low, "The mission failed."
This "Cow" wasn't because he was female but because of his obesity, sagging... below the chest.
El Mencho paused upon hearing this, but then he laughed, "Doesn't this just prove my conjecture to be correct?"
"There's definitely a big shot in Tepic, their command center might even be right there!"
Jose Armando stood by, listening quietly. If anyone else had said this, he would undoubtedly have retorted: Talking nonsense, a bunch of dribble.
"What does the intelligence from the Cali Cartel say?" El Mencho asked, arching an eyebrow.
He had found a powerful backer!
Initially, the Sinaloa Drug Cartel was the Colombians' first choice, after all, one of the "six bosses" of the North American Drug Trafficking Group.
But who would have thought that such a prime stockholder would get chopped off, and the Sinaloa Group would be utterly defeated.