"In the next life, remember to be grateful to the General!" a man standing beside him said as he aimed his gun at his head and fired rapidly.
Directly sweeping him to death!
The General's grace, unforgettable indeed!
Two men in a pair lifted the body and walked out of the prison. Outside, more than twenty troop carriers were parked with "Post-execution Company!" written on them.
One could see people continuously entering and exiting four or five prisons, tossing bodies onto the trucks. Once the trucks were full, they drove up the mountain where a small hill had already been hollowed out for burying the bodies of drug traffickers from Durango.
Armed military police stood guard around to prevent anyone from mistakenly venturing into the area.
This was just a summary…
The same was happening in other large prisons in the north.
110,000 drug traffickers had been thoroughly eradicated, the prisons had been scrubbed inside and out, disinfected, and even thoughtfully had the bedding changed.
Just waiting for the next batch of unlucky ones.
As a person, Victor acted cleanly, unknown to all. Even if rumors leaked, they caused no real harm, everyone's attention was drawn by the "great war". It was a matter of days whether Victor's government would collapse or dominate by going south.
Meanwhile, in Monterrey,
Jose Andres Guardado was hosting Alex Phillips and others from the 61st Brigade.
He had also invited some high-class ladies to accompany them, but their looks… were rather plain, the tough guys clearly unhappy with it.
Guardado sighed; the good-looking ones had already fled, half of Monterrey was blasted to ruins, nothing left but a wasteland.
He had only a few hundred men left. Without reinforcements, they really would have had to retreat; he forced a strained smile, stood up, and raised his glass, "Mr. Alex, I deeply appreciate your coming to support Monterrey. On behalf of the city's remaining population of three million, I thank you."
"Monterrey still has three million people? Seems like not many are left." a brigade deputy joked.
The comment was too direct, embarrassing Guardado.
"What a waste." someone muttered, infuriating his subordinates who stood up angrily, "What did you say!"
"What's wrong? Can't one speak now? If you didn't want our help, then piss off!"
"I think you damn well want a fight, you bastard!"
As it looked like a fight was going to break out, Guardado scolded, "Enough! Shut up!"
He looked at Alex, who was composed, took a deep breath, "Sir, we are outmatched, but you must also be cautious. The Northern Army isn't so easily defeated; they're surely holding back bad intentions."
"Don't worry about us; we're facing the Marine Fourth Division whose division commander we've already blown up. What strength could they possibly have left? Give us two more days to regroup, and we'll push into Coahuila State in one go," Alex Phillips said as he stood up, brushing off his pants, "If there's nothing else, we'll take our leave; this place is a mess."
"Let's go, let's get back and drink!"
After which, the senior officers of the 61st Brigade left, many sneering at Guardado and his people as they went.
Furious, he upturned a table and sat grimacing with furrowed brows.
The 61st Brigade's four battalions were stationed separately, the Artillery Group and the 157th battalion outside the city, while the remaining two infantry battalions were on both sides of Monterrey, with no space in the city to accommodate so many soldiers.
As a person, one might also grab the Safe Zone.
But Alex Phillips disdained to go after the civilians. What was there to fear?
Presently, there was no armed resistance nearby.
Arrogance, haughtiness, and supremacy began to spread among the 61st Brigade.
Even sentries sometimes were distracted while on duty.
In the 157th battalion in the outskirts, some officers were buying women, bringing dozens into their ranks. Monterrey had no water or electricity, not even food, and a bite to eat was enough to make these women throw themselves at the men.
Meanwhile, about 20 kilometers away in the night, figures could be spotted in the darkness.
Mexico had a significant difference between night and day temperatures.
Clad in overcoats, Rommel and Fedor von Bock were standing with a few division high commanders on a hill.
"Division commander, a total of 168 artillery pieces assembled, including 62 M198 type 155mm howitzers, 32 M109 Self-propelled howitzers, and 74 BM-13C type rocket launchers, enough to give them a good beating," the adjacent independent artillery battalion commander Otto Ludwig Wedelin said with slight excitement.
"Give the order," Rommel nodded.
Wedelin relayed the command to a staff member who ran towards the troops, and soon after, commands echoed one after the other.
"Target 102, gauge 336, turn left XXX..."
Hundreds of artillery pieces roared together, the ground shook, and smoke enveloped everything.
July 2, 1991, at 4:21 AM!
The Marine Fourth Division opened fire first!
The 61st Brigade's 157th battalion and the Artillery Group immediately suffered a catastrophic disaster.
Fine wines in glowing cups, you and the bunker flew together.
Drunk on the battlefield, no one can laugh, all remained to fertilize the soil.
"Quick, connect to division headquarters! Quick, connect to division headquarters!" the shabbily dressed and slightly drunk commander of the 157th battalion colonel shouted.
"The telephone line is blown."
"Use a mobile! Use a satellite phone, idiot!"
The communications soldier scrambled to grab the spare, barely taking two steps before two 155mm howitzers shells fell from the sky, swoosh—
Blowing the battalion headquarters clear off the map.
Alex Phillips, having drunk a bit too much, had a dream where he saw his men being relentlessly bombed by the Northern Army. What a joke, haha…