Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 862 - 461: After blowing up Victor, I'm going back to watch a movie with my daughter!_3

"Still, I think I have enough time to drop the bombs and head back."

The co-pilot said, smiling.

Colonel Alexander Jokic didn't know why, but this comment stirred discomfort deep in his heart...

There was an instinctive aversion to it.

But he said nothing, because he knew that for a bomber, the mission was simple—find the target, drop the payload, and turn around. Besides, Mexico only had a few dozen fighter jets that they had somehow "stolen" from somewhere… most of which were World War II relics.

"Sir, your coffee." A crew member walked into the cockpit holding a cup, his eyes filled with envy as he gazed at the room's fully-equipped control systems.

"Thanks."

Colonel Alexander Jokic took the cup, aiming to take a sip, but the plane hit turbulence, spilling the coffee all over him.

It burned him enough to make him yelp in pain.

He quickly started wiping his uniform.

"Beep! Beep! Beep!"

"Warning! Warning!"

The red alert light above suddenly flickered on. He frowned and glanced around, finally locking eyes with the co-pilot.

"Superman, Superman, this is Rooster…" The co-pilot was about to ask what was happening.

But the public channel cut in with a high-pitched voice screaming, "Missile!"

"Mach 6!"

"Approaching fast!"

Colonel Alexander Jokic stiffened and grabbed the comm, shouting, "You must be joking! 29,000 feet (9,000 meters)! Mexico actually has missiles that can fly this high?!"

"Try to evade!"

Just as he gave the command, he saw an F-16 on the edge of their formation attempting to break away—it turned sharply, but within seconds…

Boom!

The explosion's shrapnel sprayed out like deadly weapons.

A roughly 1-meter-long piece of debris, sharp like a blade, shot toward a B-52 bomber nearby.

It punctured the bomber's wing, embedding itself…

The wing trembled violently, and seconds later…

Crack!

It snapped clean off. The bomber, nicknamed "Kangaroo," nosed downward and plunged toward the earth below.

"Patriot! Patriot missiles!"

Colonel Alexander Jokic panicked and frantically tried to contact the base.

But in that very moment…

Dozens of Patriot missiles appeared from all directions.

The canyon was just one launch site, but it turned out there were around a dozen similar locations scattered throughout the region…

Lean, mobile, and strategically elusive to avoid being wiped out in one go.

The F-16s relied on clever maneuvers to temporarily dodge incoming fire…

But the "airborne giants" like the B-52s didn't have such options. Fully loaded at 220 tons, they were already lucky to stay airborne—expecting evasive maneuvers was laughable.

They're little more than "flying targets!"

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

The Patriot missiles streaked into their formation, wreaking havoc—like wolves charging into a flock of sheep.

The sky erupted into chaos, filled with deafening crashes and explosions.

On a mountaintop in the East Madre Mountains, a young boy tending sheep was engrossed in a comic book.

Suddenly, he heard the panicked bleating of his sheep. Before he could shout at them, thunderous explosions echoed overhead.

He shrank his neck, terrified.

His frightened gaze darted upward, where he saw fiery balls streaking from the sky…

"Mom!"

"Mom!!"

Sobbing in fear, he sprinted down the mountainside, screaming, "The sun is falling!!"

The sheep scattered in panic, fleeing wherever they could.

Meanwhile, in the city down below…

Residents all heard the rumbling explosions in the skies above.

Some stood on streets, staring upward.

Others gathered on balconies, peering through binoculars.

"Oh my God!"

A chubby man licked his dry lips, disbelief filling his eyes as he watched the scene unfold.

How many planes are crashing?

"Quick! Quick, go check out the crash site near the outskirts! And remember, capturing an enemy pilot means rewards!"

Someone shouted amidst the gawking crowd, making a group of young men's eyes light up.

You know how it is...

Many young guys—single and full of courage—immediately hopped on their motorbikes and raced out of town.

In the fields outside Idagor City…

A pilot from a downed F-16 had just cut off his parachute, taking a brief moment to catch his breath.

But then, he saw a narrow path dotted with motorbikes speeding toward him—carrying riders and passengers.

Their hands held…

Kitchen knives?

Shovels?

And… bricks?

As soon as their eyes landed on the American pilot, their faces lit up.

According to the "wartime regulations," civilians who demonstrated exceptional merit during combat could earn a minimum reward of 200,000 US dollars, with a maximum of 1 million US dollars. Additionally, honors, medals, and national recognition would be bestowed based on merit!

These four words—national recognition—were what truly excited them.

What young man doesn't dream of fame?

Seeing the advancing group of Mexicans, the pilot panicked and pulled out his pistol, shouting, "Stay back!"

He fired at the person in the lead.

Bam!

The shot landed in the man's abdomen, causing him to collapse, clutching his belly and writhing in pain.

The crowd froze.

The pilot barely had time to feel relieved before someone hurled a brick at him.

The rest quickly followed suit.

The pilot staggered, his vision growing fuzzy from the repeated hits…

Fear made him lose his grip on the gun, which fell to the ground.

Panicking, he lunged to retrieve it, but there was no way the Mexican youths would let him.

They rushed at him, pinning him down, one straddling his body while delivering punch after punch.

Others joined in, kicking furiously—one strike landed directly on his face.

"Not the face! Not the face! I surrender!" The pilot begged through sobs.

Unfortunately...

The Mexicans spoke Spanish, and many couldn't understand his English. Seeing him still shouting, they assumed he was resisting and began hitting him even harder.

By the time the Idagor police force arrived, the pilot's face looked swollen as if he'd gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.

Bruises covered his face, and chunks of his hair were missing.

"Tie him to the car and parade him through town!" The lead officer ordered with a wave.

"Officer, Anderson's in bad shape!" Someone said while supporting their wounded companion.

The officer rushed over, seeing Anderson pale as a sheet, and urgently instructed nearby medics to carry him to the car and head to the hospital.

"Anderson, don't worry, I'll make sure your girlfriend is taken care of!" Someone shouted.

The injured Mexican youth's eyes widened in shock, pointing at the speaker before fainting on the spot.

He was likely planning to thank this meddler's mom.

...