Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 866 - 463: "Good night, Mexico!

Reagan is here!

He came to San Diego to rally the troops!

Wearing a black suit, his hair meticulously styled with no shortage of hairspray.

Like a groom walking down the aisle.

Under the protection of the Special Service, he shook hands and greeted all the generals at the San Diego Naval Base, with a faint, elusive smile on his face.

This guy…

Really can't stand staying out of the spotlight!

Who would bother coming to the frontlines to boost morale as a retired president?

Don't kid yourself – isn't he trying to stage a comeback?

Old Bush got shot by his own people and landed in the hospital, and Clinton? What kind of man is he? A reckless playboy who can't keep his little brother in check, and he still managed to become president?

He doesn't have the chops, you get it, right?

Amongst all the world's heroes, only I, Ronald Wilson Reagan, stand above!

He came and even brought more than a dozen journalist friends, though his team suspected it was dangerous, they also believed it might bring greater hope.

If…

Mr. Reagan could be filmed wielding a gun and fighting Mexicans on the frontlines, even a single clip would propel public opinion to rank him among the greatest presidents!

But Reagan gave it some thought…

Forget it, bullets don't care who they hit.

A typical attempt to rack up votes without daring to risk life and limb.

A podium was set up at the gate of the Naval Base. He gripped both sides with his hands, looked up, and faced the seated officers below, tore up his speech in front of everyone.

The crowd below was dumbfounded.

Then Reagan passionately declared, "When my advisors handed me this stack of speeches, I knew I wouldn't say anything wrong because every word had been meticulously selected."

"But!"

"Gentlemen, this isn't what I want. My fellow countrymen are resisting invasion, and I must express my feelings. This cold and lifeless speech cannot convey my respect and love for you."

Look…

That's what it means to be a politician, lying with a straight face.

His team of advisors exchanged glances and smiled helplessly. They were used to this, knowing they'd inevitably be scapegoats when needed.

And wouldn't you know it…

The crowd spontaneously ate it up, breaking into cheers.

"We will definitely eliminate Victor's tyranny, and we will protect our nation! Gentlemen, if you face any difficulties, come to me, and I'll solve them for you."

"Our goal is to make the United States forever great!"

With his words stirring the mood, the atmosphere turned electric.

The crowd below collectively chanted Reagan's name.

This brought an involuntary smile to his lips.

When Clinton's term ends, I'll surely stage my comeback.

People say I'm old?

No!

I can lead the United States for decades more.

And no one noticed.

At 1,000 meters altitude from the southwest, northeast, southeast, and northwest corners, seven Pchela-T2 bomber drones infiltrated San Diego.

Low-altitude flying like this entirely bypasses radar detection.

"1, 4, and 7, target locked."

Inside the Information Warfare Command room.

An operator wearing a headset shouted as his fingers moved the control stick, adjusting the camera lens slightly.

Helmut Mauqi crouched behind him, "Lower the altitude."

"Copy that!"

Three drones began emerging from the clouds, the screen showing a large red frame enclosing the entire Naval Base as if seen through a sniper scope.

Finally…

The scene below was crystal clear.

Helmut Mauqi watched the crowd gathered at the base entrance and fell silent…

Brother, are you looking down on us or something?

Isn't this basically stretching your neck out for someone to chop?

The officers standing behind him scratched their heads uncomfortably.

"General, could this be a trap?" someone asked in a low voice.

"For what? Could they be baiting us… with drones?" Helmut Mauqi glanced at him dismissively.

"If that's it, they must be crazy."

"Those Yanks must've been using too many drugs."

The officers muttered softly behind him.

"Silence!"

Helmut Mauqi barked, and they instantly shut up. Leaning forward, he pointed at the screen, "Fire!"

"Since they're courting death, we'll send them straight to hell."

The operator nodded vigorously, quickly activating the weapon systems, unlocking the cluster bombs inside the drones, and firmly pressing the red button labeled: RELEASE!

The bomber drones in the air opened their stomachs, dropping a spiraling cluster bomb toward the ground below!

Mid-air, the bomb split apart, scattering into hundreds of smaller bombs.

Whistling as they plummeted toward the ground!

Down below, Reagan was still giving his speech when he suddenly felt a shudder in his chest. Ever since the assassination attempt, he'd developed an instinctual sense for death.

"Watch out!!"

Someone in the crowd shouted, startling Reagan, who then heard a strange whistling sound overhead.

And before he could even react…

Agonizing pain shot through his body!

He was violently blown away, his body riddled with holes from the bomblets exploding everywhere.

What's that off in the distance?

Look, Reagan, doesn't it look like your intestines?

The welcome event descended into chaos, with people running around like headless flies, but… who can outrun bombs?

A deafening explosion swept the area, knocking people down en masse.

A small mushroom cloud rose into the sky.

And this was just the beginning…

The other four Pchela-T2 bombers arrived and launched a second wave of attacks on the site.

Boom, boom, boom!

Reagan, the air was saturated with it (him?).

…

The Pentagon.

Robert Gates held a cigarette between his lips, fumbling with his lighter, pressing it hard.

Click~

No flame.

He pressed it again – still nothing. He frowned slightly, stubbornly clicking it multiple times, but it refused to respond.

"F*** squid!"

Robert angrily smashed the damn lighter that had cost a million US dollars onto the ground.