"It means that his running away on the battlefield was quite stylish, just like a Korean, but there was no chance otherwise he would have shown those Assiba at the 'POW Olympics' what a real man is."
Deputy Defense Minister Endric Vinicius looked slightly embarrassed.
"Car accident, he... he died from the crash."
Right after he finished speaking, an ashtray smashed near his feet, startling him; he quickly raised his head and saw Arturo Desena's face darkened.
"Trash! A major general brigade commander dies in a car accident, haha, I've never heard such a joke before!"
Standing next to him, Endric Vinicius opened his mouth wanting to say that in the United States, several generals had died in car accidents, but thinking about the other's education level, a junior high school graduate, he felt it unnecessary to provoke dissatisfaction.
He picked up the ashtray from the ground and put it on the table, "Defense Minister, now is not the time to blame him, the 61st Brigade is being closely pursued by the Northern Army, if they collapse, it will be a huge blow to us, we must rescue them no matter what."
"61st Brigade is loyal to us!"
That sentence was loaded with meaning, but Arturo Desena took a deep breath, "Let Popovich pull my men back, damn it, if they all die, I'm cutting ties with them!!"
The remnants of the 61st Brigade had been running since morning until evening, their ankles were "on fire," and over four thousand men had scattered...
"I can't run anymore, really can't run anymore!" A skinny soldier gasped twice and said to his comrade; he had just finished speaking when he collapsed onto the ground.
"Get up, get up fast!" His comrade's eyes whitened as he shouted, tugging at his clothes, but the other showed no movement, he hesitated, then felt for a breath.
He had literally run himself to death.
His comrade's pupils contracted and with a strange yell, he ran like mad for several hundred meters, soldiers that he passed looked at him fearfully.
Who is this person that he can still run that fast?
But not long after, he stumbled and fell face down, motionless.
"Come on, push through! China is just ahead, once we cross the bridge, we'll have reinforcements!" The chief of staff's voice was hoarse and full of smoke, as he stood on a new jeep, continuously boosting the morale of the soldiers on the road.
"Officer, want a hit?" A personal soldier beside him pulled out a bag from his bosom with a little "flour" visible.
The officer's eyes brightened at the sight; he stretched out his hand, shaking as he poured some onto his finger, sniffing it under his nose; his face then turned a sickly flush of red.
He frenziedly tore open his shirt, "Brothers…"
Just as he was about to speak, a bombardment erupted from behind, making him shudder and scaredly sit back down, "Run!"
And ten kilometers away, a battalion from the Marine 4th Division Cavalry Regiment led by Michel Wittmann himself was in pursuit.
30 M1A1 main battle tanks.
Actually, if the people of the 61st Brigade were bold enough to countercharge, sacrificing some lives, they could take down these 30 tanks easily.
Tanks without infantry are like beauties without underpants; when encountering the Japanese, they're just out of luck, a complete Yamei Butterfly.
At the moment, a few of the 61st Brigade soldiers were tied in front of the leading tanks, their mouths stuffed with socks...
Tank soldier's socks...
Dammit, 99.99% bacteria, the rest is just the fatality rate.
A sound of a rope snapping, the tied soldier's body half fell down, dragging on the ground, one hand up, body down...
The pain emanating from his genitals made him involuntarily scream.
The tank soldiers inside acted as if they didn't hear, perhaps they really didn't.
After a while, the soldier's leg was crushed by the track but his hand was still tightly bound; the track moved backward while the tank body moved forward, tearing pain instantly knocked out the drug trafficker armed soldier.
A crisp tearing sound.
His arm was snapped in seven places, his body was rolled into the tracks and crushed to bits.
"Everyone, rest on the spot, alert on!" Deputy Battalion Commander Michel Wittmann's order came over the walkie-talkie.
The sound of the engine pausing was heard, the 30 M1A1 main battle tanks were arranged in a "品" shape, soldiers with weapons emerged and stood on high alert.
Michel Wittmann, covered in dust and looking tired, climbed out of the tank, cursing, "Those damn mixtures can really run!"
A company commander handed over a bottle of mineral water, "Deputy Battalion Commander, do we continue the pursuit? The reinforcements are 40 kilometers away."
"Pursue! What are we afraid of, if the division hasn't ordered a retreat, we press on; machines don't get tired, I want to see if their two legs do."
Michel Wittmann spit out a mouthful of water, all dirt.
"61st Brigade likes Nuevo Leon so much, we'll just leave them here!"
Just then, an "empty" echo came from overhead, some people looked up, barely making out the silhouettes of six airplanes, the specifics unclear...
"Who else dares to fly over our heads now?" Michel Wittmann lit a cigarette for himself and stylishly blew a stream of smoke.
Tijuana had already issued a ban on commercial flights over its airspace on June 30, implementing airspace control, they had said listen, otherwise we'll shoot you down.
Just like bombing the Mossad Director, shot down with one hit.
To this day, Mossad and CIA are still investigating in Afghanistan.
"Ten minutes later, we move forward, we can't just watch others receive medals."