Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 911 - 479: You know, the forest is vast, there's everything to pick up!

"Take everything you can carry, and smash everything you can't!"

Commander of the 336th Division's 477th Regiment, Louis Francais Despeyre stood on a Humvee, shouting orders at his troops.

Suddenly his eyes narrowed as he raised his hand, "That soldier, yes, you! Come here."

The one he pointed to was a Private with a bulging backpack. Looking around nervously, the soldier steeled himself and jogged over to stand at attention, "Commander!"

Louis Francais Despeyre jumped down from the Humvee, tugging on his uniform, "What's in your backpack?"

As he spoke, he opened the backpack, revealing a copy of *Playboy* and *Attic* right at the top.

"Commander... let me explain..."

Louis Francais Despeyre frowned and slapped the back of the soldier's head, "Good-for-nothing! What's so interesting about this garbage? It's pure moral decay! Raid this military base for something useful—stop thinking about women all day!"

"Confiscated!"

The Private, though a bit reluctant, had no choice but to comply.

What could he do?

As the saying goes, "After two or three years as a soldier, even a sow looks like a goddess." Three months of war had stretched their nerves to the breaking point; even military psychologists couldn't do much.

Military doctors and veterinarians were basically the same.

The 336th and 337th Divisions pushed into San Diego. To their credit, they hadn't caused chaos yet—already quite remarkable discipline compared to when the United States invaded Japan during World War II. Japanese women had been completely ravaged back then!

When the Soviet Army pushed into Germany, 1944's "Niemelsdorf Incident" was just the tip of the iceberg. Rumors claimed two million people had been assaulted, though that number was always questionable.

Beyond that, post-war syndrome required precaution. The Mexico War Post-War Temporary Management Bureau allocated 2 million US dollars specifically for soldiers to "seek entertainment."

In other words…

Local brothels!

Ahem… this sort of thing happens in nearly every army. Ever heard of "strong troops and shell cars"?

"Commander, the Colonel is looking for you!"

Just as Louis Francais Despeyre was preparing to continue his inspection, a courier jogged up to deliver the message.

"The Colonel wants me? Alright, I'll head over now."

Despeyre nodded, slapping the driver's shoulder, "To headquarters."

The 336th Division Headquarters was set up in a church in San Diego. The walls were riddled with bullet holes, and even the three-meter-tall Jesus statue had been blasted to resemble Kangxi the Great. Who would've thought that after thousands of years, such a fate awaited it?

Damn Jews!

Despeyre disembarked and ran to the gate, where the soldiers on guard snapped their rifles to attention. He nodded at them as he passed.

The church had been reconfigured into a military facility, equipped with mounted machine guns, low-altitude anti-aircraft artillery, and even two Fire Lizard tanks stationed nearby.

As he entered, he saw a lean man bent over a table, marking a map.

"Colonel, you called for me."

Major General Walter von Brauchitsch looked up. His appearance was ordinary, but his gaze was sharp. "I thought you were over at the POW camp again."

Despeyre chuckled awkwardly. He was courageous in battle but had a peculiar quirk—a slight compulsive tendency. Whenever he saw the U.S. Military looking disheveled, he couldn't help reorganizing them.

He'd have them tidy up their quarters daily, line up in formation, and even sing the Mexican National Anthem at mealtime…

After eating, he'd organize drills…

This little peculiarity truly was odd…

"The Department of Defense has a new assignment for you."

Brauchitsch passed a file from his right hand to Despeyre, who accepted it with both hands and opened it in curiosity.

"Based on your performance on the San Diego battlefield, you are hereby promoted to Major General and assigned as the Commander of the 'US-Mexico Mediation Zone'!"

Brauchitsch forced a smile, "Congratulations, friend."

Louis Francais Despeyre felt the happiness strike him like a hammer to the head; he was almost dizzy with joy.

This marked Mexico's first stationing on U.S. soil in history. Though the posting only had a 600-man quota—less than a full regiment—it was a coveted role for anyone.

Not to mention the distinction of being recorded in history; the resumé alone guaranteed further promotion in two or three years.

Provided he didn't screw up!

"This position is highly significant, both prestigious and challenging. U.S. capitalists and politicians will surely try to draw you over to their side. Remember, you're a soldier!"

Despeyre straightened his posture, invigorated by the remarks. "Colonel, rest assured. When I swore allegiance under the military flag, I committed myself as a loyal Mexican. I'm devoted to the General, to the people, and to the career I love!"

Colonel Brauchitsch nodded in satisfaction, adjusted Despeyre's uniform, and whispered, "Your mission is to irritate the Americans. Its political impact should outweigh its military significance. When in doubt, call the Defense Minister. Your superiors won't mind being disturbed. In fact, if you don't reach out, they might think you're overthinking things. Got it?"

Seeing his colleague's urgent demeanor, Despeyre smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "Military service is inseparable from politics. Once you're promoted to General, your value changes entirely. While we all remain loyal to the General, each person's philosophies differ. That's why finding like-minded allies is crucial. You get what I'm saying?"

What he said wasn't wrong. Looking at the global political landscape—has there ever been a united front?

North Country even has the story of "machine guns mowing down uncles," let alone the Soviet Union… Ahem, let's not go there.

In Mexican politics, who holds the steadiest position?

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