Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 902 - 475: He Who Understands the Times is a True Hero!_2

Leaving Mexico, will Los Zetas still be Los Zetas? Will he, Arturo, still be Arturo?!

Just thinking about how Arturo's gaze had scared him into silence earlier made his face turn grim. He turned around, spat lightly at the office door, and left.

That same day, a notice titled "Regarding the Southern Mexican Government's Conscription Order" was sent to recruitment offices everywhere.

Many people were driven to headaches over it, but the orders from above couldn't be refused. As they say, when the higher-ups fart, the lower-downs scramble themselves to death!

In Campeche State's Qianbotong.

The conscription office workers turned out in full force, wielding rubber batons, and began rounding people up.

When a young couple was sweet-talking on a park bench, two conscription officers walked up and grabbed the boy's arm.

"What's your name?"

"San… Sanchez." The young boy was completely dumbfounded, staring at them, with their dragon tattoos and tiger ink. He thought he'd offended some drug traffickers, and his legs went weak from fear.

His girlfriend trembled beside him, her face pale.

"From now on, you're drafted. Someone will notify your family."

"Wha… What? Drafted? No, no, no, I don't want to join the army! I don't want to—"

A slightly overweight conscription officer, furious at his resistance, took the rubber baton and struck his leg hard.

The boy screamed in pain.

In no time, they had forced him onto a bus idling along the roadside.

Inside were armed personnel. Seeing another "piglet" delivered aboard, who was sobbing as he came, one of them slapped him across the face and shoved the barrel of an assault rifle into his mouth. "Cry again? I'll blow your brains out!"

The terrified young man froze, drenched in cold sweat…

"Let me make this clear: the Southern Government has protected you for a long time. If it weren't for them, Victor would've slaughtered you all already. Now it's your turn to serve the nation, yet you want to hide out and slack off? Fuck! You think life is that easy? You don't cooperate, I'll send you straight to see Jesus."

The burly man with a full beard snarled viciously inside the bus. There were over 30 young men seated, all hanging their heads, quietly sobbing.

But that's not even the craziest part…

The crazier stuff was happening in Cancun on Yucatan Island, which was essentially Los Zetas' home turf. Naturally, more outrageous tactics were being deployed.

For example…

Conscription officers ordered takeout delivery, and as a Tang's Syndrome boy carried food to the recruitment post, the moment he stepped inside, they grabbed him!

They forced his hand onto a "voluntary enlistment" contract, leaving a red fingerprint as a signature…

The boy kept struggling, mumbling "No, no, no," incoherently, but the bastards pushed him onto the battlefield nonetheless.

The major at the recruitment station lowered his head, glanced at the boy pinned down on the ground, then looked at the name on the contract. With a chillingly fake smile, he said, "Congratulations, Jose Andreiev. From now on, you're a proud warrior!"

"I… I want my mom. My mom's waiting for me at home," the boy cried uncontrollably, spasming from his sobs.

"Send him to the frontlines. Give him a weapon. If he's no use, strap a bomb to him. Even in death, he must take out two Northern Soldiers with him!"

The major commanded his subordinate.

The lieutenant looked at the boy's tears, hesitating with a trace of pity, yet knowing he had no power to say no. He merely nodded and complied.

Across several states, over 9,000 people were rounded up into cannon fodder for the frontlines within a single afternoon…

This…

Life is nothing but fate, never in your control!

Meanwhile, somewhere else.

In Havana, Cuba!

Field hosted a grand welcoming ceremony for the Mexican delegation.

National treasure-level singers performed.

The atmosphere was lively, whether genuine or fake, sincere or hypocritical; at the very least, Casare represented Victor, so they afforded him some face.

March 12.

Clear skies.

Perfect for negotiations!

The Yanks, knowing the Cubans didn't particularly care for them, bypassed arriving a day early and instead flew in that very morning.

They came aboard the presidential aircraft, Air Force One.

Vice President Albert Gore led the team, accompanied by Chief of Staff Angel Urenia as the President's special envoy, alongside senior officials from various departments—though most of them were deputies…

The top officials had been blown up in a national park.

It was almost comical.

"Time to drop the curtain on this farce," Albert Gore muttered to himself onboard the plane, sighing heavily.

He was lucky to be alive. That day…

He had diarrhea!

One pile of shit saved an American vice president's life. Naturally, he couldn't broadcast this to the world—it left him conflicted, but also relieved. He'd nearly been widowed.

Chief of Staff Angel Urenia, hearing his muttering, furrowed his brows faintly. "It won't be so easy to draw the curtain, I'm afraid. We're facing Casare. He's the second-in-command within the Mexican Government—a notoriously tough negotiator. He once punched and kicked a Spaniard at an American veterans' recruitment fair—a proper brute!"

"People like him don't settle for trifles."

In truth, he wasn't feeling particularly confident either…

"God help us."

Albert Gore prayed briefly; he was a devout believer…

Perhaps, if Jesus himself descended, Victor might show a hint of leniency.

Air Force One entered Cuban airspace, accompanied by fighter jet escorts—a gesture of international protocol. Upon landing at Havana Airport, Albert Gore adjusted his suit and stepped off, only for his smile to freeze when he saw the welcoming crowd.

Field hadn't shown up. Instead, his brother Raul Moders had!

Though a figure of authority, Albert Gore still felt slighted. Their intelligence reports had indicated Field would personally greet Casare!

Fuck!

Not a shred of respect from the Cubans.

"Sir, the battle has begun." Walking half a step behind him, Angel Urenia quietly murmured, observing the events unfold and sensing the vice president's hesitance.

The negotiations were already heating up.

If Albert Gore turned away now, the Wall Street tycoons would tear him and his chief of staff to shreds.

Taking a deep breath, Albert Gore forced a smile back onto his face, descended the stairs, shook Raul Moders' hand, and exchanged polite, fabricated pleasantries. Neither of them dared to ask why Field hadn't come.

Exposing the matter outright would be disastrous.

"Mr. Albert, the Mexican delegation is already at the Capitol Hill. Let's get in the car." Raul Moders, donning glasses, said with a smile. His tone seemed polite, yet carried a note of coercion...

The car door was already ajar.

Albert Gore glanced at Angel, who nodded faintly. He then thanked Raul Moders and climbed into the car.

The convoy departed Havana Airport, heading towards the Capitol Hill.

It was Albert Gore's first time in Cuba. Since diplomatic ties were severed in 1961, the two countries had remained bitter enemies. Americans rarely visited Cuba, yet plenty of Cuban prostitutes, drug traffickers, junkies, and rapists migrated to Florida in the 1980s.

This directly boosted the local… law enforcement.

Though the crime rate dropped slightly, you tell me if it wasn't an impact.

As the convoy entered the city, more pedestrians gathered along the roadside, pausing to watch. Just as they were nearing Capitol Hill, a sudden screech of brakes sent the Yanks inside nearly flying forward.

Angel slammed into the seat in front of him, the pain making him momentarily fear his neck had snapped!

"Yankees get out! Get out of Cuba! You're not welcome here!"

A man waving a protest banner rushed up to the vehicle, pounding loudly on it. From inside, Albert Gore looked up in horror, locking eyes with the stranger...

Holy shit!

That close?

Did this guy just rush straight at them?!

Is Cuban security really this shitty?!

But within moments, two police officers dragged the protester away, allowing the convoy to proceed.

Clutching his head, Albert was infuriated. "This was definitely deliberate!"

"Cuba's siding with Mexico!"

Angel's expression darkened as he considered, "Cuba has pulled every string to help Mexico. Clearly, they've already negotiated some terms—or even… formed an alliance!"

"If they establish a military alliance, then…"

"With Mexican military support, Cuba will lock down the Gulf of Mexico's entryway. This… could choke our First Island Chain!"

Albert Gore: "Shit…"

Angel's eyelid twitched.

"America's development will be completely crushed within North America!"

His words carried a mix of grim resignation and bitter helplessness.

But…

What can be done?

Nothing really. Victor had directly threatened Wall Street, and Wall Street, in turn, threatened the government.

In the end, the nation's interests were the ones sacrificed!

You expect capitalists to be patriotic?

Might as well hope Indians "armchair Y" at home.

...