Would the richest man trade lives with a poor man?
Because he doesn't think it's worth it.
But the poor man thinks it's worth it because you are unkind with your wealth.
"When we're fully in control of the skies, hahaha, then the United States will have to hold its nose and acknowledge our strength."
Victor took a deep breath, "Of course, all this depends on our own strength, taking down Popovich, and then the Southern Government is next. Don't rush, eat your meals one bite at a time!!"
The economy of the North still isn't as strong as the Southern...
"Also, land reform must continue, it's an important means to closely tie ourselves to the civilian class."
"I'll personally ensure it, and anyone who messes around here I'll kill," Cuauhtémoc nodded solemnly.
"They want us dead, let's see whose life is tougher!"
Victor tilted his head and drained the cup of alcohol, his sharpness fully revealed.
Jalisco—battlefield to the northwest of Guanajuato State.
On a mountaintop 600 meters high on the border between the two sides, over 2000 elite troops of the "1st Brigade," nicknamed "Barbarian Lion," were stationed.
All the junior officers were from the U.S. Military.
Bunkers, trenches, and foxholes could be seen everywhere...
Even a sloped buffer zone had been built to prevent shrapnel from artillery shells.
A plump Private, gasping for breath and dressed in BDU six-color desert camouflage, was squatting on the ground, digging out chocolate from his chest pocket, eyes shining with delight.
"Idiot! Put your helmet on!" Suddenly a voice cursed and as he looked up, he saw a White officer coming over angrily, grabbing him by the neck, "Who allowed you to take off your helmet in battle!"
The plump soldier hurriedly donned it, fumbling.
"If I see it again, I'll send you out to be a live target!"
The American officer huffed coldly and left with a dark face.
The plump soldier hung his head, the chocolate having fallen to the ground. As he stooped to pick it up.
A massive shockwave knocked him to the ground in an instant, curling up with his head in his hands, yelping as sand poured over him.
An arm fell on his face; it still had movement, its blood smearing all over his face. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the officer who had just scolded him now blown to pieces!
Lumps of bloody flesh fell near him, and the sight of twitching muscles made his brain reel and he passed out!
The artillery battalion of the Third Marine Division bombarded the hillside relentlessly, if firepower was available, then use "Van Fleet ammunition!"
A massive volume of shells rained down in a dense bombardment, aiming for a devastating blow to the enemy!
Rich family, with money, no choice.
Logistics brought over a lot of shells, without any qualms.
62 M198-type 155mm howitzers, 32 M109 self-propelled howitzers, and 74 BM-13C rocket launchers—168 cannons. This was the artillery of a "main division."
All four divisions had it.
Just bomb fiercely anyway.
Thousands of shells fell on the 2.2 square kilometer slope, blasting craters and holes everywhere.
Those fortifications were like paper mache in front of the artillery.
Blood pooled into puddles as those not yet dead moaned in agony.
A pair of dark hands clutched desperately at rocks, straining to move forward with no hint of their owner's age... Both legs were gone, blood drenched the body, but the desire to live kept him crawling.
His lips were parched and even cracked.
He lifted his head, and in those murky eyes, he thought he saw a woman looking at him with sorrow...
"Mom, I'm tired, I don't want to fight anymore…"
He remembered when he was young, his father had made a wooden airplane for him, running wildly in the fields with it, laughing while his mother called after him.
The little yellow dog they'd had for a long time, panting happily by his side.
The light in his eyes faded, he fell to the ground, but the next second, a bomb landed next to him, and his body, like tattered cloth, was lifted and torn apart.
Those who like war are either fools or idiots.
Do you really enjoy war so much?
Crows perched on tree branches, croaking strangely, eyeing the bloody battlefield below with longing.
The politicians sending people off to war.