Zambada's negative curses before death were broadcast through television across Mexico.
At least over 30 million people watched this "luxurious" program.
When the 120mm M1981 self-propelled howitzer exploded, Mexico's decibel level dropped by at least 50%. Everyone fell silent.
Execution by cannon!
This was unprecedented even in modern history.
One cannon shot directly eliminated the "courage" of many Mexicans.
In the future, when Sinaloa people came to pay respects, they could just stick two incense sticks anywhere in Mexico. After all, Zambada was everywhere.
Guzmán watched the giant crater on TV. The camera showed it several times. Under this ammunition load, you couldn't even see blood.
"Tell people to come back!"
He leaned back on the sofa. "Call our people to withdraw from Mexicali."
"Cousin, we fought with Gulf and Juárez for so long. Just leave like this?" Carlos, third of the four Beltrán Leyva brothers, said somewhat unwillingly.
Such a large territory with such good geographical environment - not using it to smuggle drugs would be a waste.
They could earn at least over a billion dollars more annually.
"If we don't leave, I'm afraid we'll never be able to walk away." Guzmán sighed deeply. He wasn't someone who habitually gave up. People who'd met him gave him this evaluation: few words, silent, fierce gaze.
How could a desperado among desperados easily let go?
Just really couldn't win.
If they could win, would they still be here talking nonsense?
Eldest brother Arturo pondered. "What about Zambada's brothers?"
"Sell them to the Mexican government. Victor and them will help us solve it."
Guzmán was just this kind of person. When he couldn't beat others, he relied on betrayal. Later Los Zetas was destroyed by this move.
"Victor this mad dog - isn't it good for everyone to make money together? Anti-drug? What the hell anti-drug? Mexico's such a big market, can he sweep it clean? I think he's definitely a product of inbreeding, brain damaged!" Hector, most incompetent second of the four brothers, cursed.
If Victor heard this.
Would he give him a chance to reincarnate?
Guzmán glanced at Hector. He never really respected him because he was truly too incompetent - alcoholic, womanizer, messed up several times. If not for his hard connections, Palma would have already drowned him in the river.
But it was precisely this incompetent person who ended up living longest among the four brothers.
Guzmán looked at his security chief, currently most trusted Arturo, staring deadly. "I want you to do something now!"
"Please say." Arturo lowered his head, having a natural trust in this cousin since childhood.
Guzmán grabbed his neck. "Go recruit some special forces from the Mexican government military. You'll be responsible for establishing a new gunman group. The name: Los Zetas!"
Boom!
A thunderclap.
Outside suddenly changed weather. Torrential rain instantly poured down.
Chaos, complete chaos!
Los Zetas came out?
And belonging under Sinaloa?
Victor this butterfly directly instigated a significant turning point.
What relationship did this Arturo have with the real founder of Los Zetas, Arturo Decena, except the name?
But El Mencho had already appeared - what else couldn't appear?
The world itself was a giant makeshift troupe.
Everyone was dancing on it.
But then what would the Gulf Cartel's gunman violence group be called?
"I want truly violent ones!"
"I'll give you any support - money, weapons aren't problems. What I want are gunmen who can change Mexico's landscape. Do you have confidence?"
Arturo looked at his cousin's eyes and nodded very hard. "Leave it to me."
Guzmán patted his face and stood up. "Alright brothers, let's go. Clean this place up and give it to Mr. Victor!"
Mexico's true landscape was coming!
A group quickly packed up and left. When Arturo left, he threw two grenades inside.
The mansion was blown into chaos.
This scene occurred in several other places. Bosses needed insight - understanding it was hopeless, they could only abandon this place.
Only leaving those bottom-level drug dealers fleeing everywhere on the streets.
Victor adhered to the principle of taking your life when you're weak.
Directly ordered an attack!
Split into groups to sweep the drug dealers.
"Rookie" Giancarlo followed Captain and 16 others entering a residential area to search. This place... was simply chaotic.
Urine smell everywhere.
"Mierda! (Damn!)" A teammate on the left against the wall suddenly shouted. Giancarlo was startled, quickly pointing his gun at him, then saw him using his shoe to vigorously rub against the wall.
"Someone actually defecated and urinated randomly here." His face looked constipated.
"Hey, Hound, are you hungry?" A teammate joked.
Captain "Tank" darkened his face. "Alright, stop fooling around..."
Giancarlo was just relaxing when his peripheral vision suddenly caught a gun barrel pointing out from the second floor above. He quickly pulled his teammate away. "Watch out!"
Rat-a-tat-tat...
Bullets hit his bulletproof vest.
The captain reacted quickly, raising his gun and sweeping the second floor, grabbing Giancarlo's clothes and dragging him to cover at the corner.
"You okay?"
Giancarlo panted heavily, face flushed red. This was being knocked breathless by the bullet's shockwave. He felt his body. "Fine, fine."
To avoid paying high compensation, Victor was very generous with his direct officers, equipping them with Level IV bulletproof vests that could protect against 7.62mm bullets. Of course, headshots were another matter.
"Rib broken." The captain reached into his clothes, feeling his bones, frowning. "Hound, Ant, you two take him out."
"Everyone else in three groups, continue searching!"
"Roger!"
Giancarlo also obeyed. With broken ribs, staying on the battlefield would just drag everyone down.
The captain led four EDM members in combat formation charging up the stairs. Standing at the door, he gestured three fingers. When counting to one, a teammate beside him kicked the door open.
"EDM!"
The captain shouted and rushed in, seeing the living room empty. In the kitchen beside, a man shot dead lay on the ground. He walked over, kicked away the weapon on the ground, then fired another shot at the man's head.
Only then did he feel at ease.
Clang clang~
Suddenly noise came from inside the room.
Several people raised guns and slowly approached. The captain took a deep breath, slowly turned the doorknob. The teammate behind held a shotgun ready to spray.
"Ahh!!"
But who knew, opening the door revealed a woman, still wearing a bikini?
Nice figure.
Yes, nice figure!
This woman naturally brought BUFF to people - lowering everyone's alertness.
"Ma'am, ma'am, relax, you're fine..." A teammate wanted to comfort and pat her, but the captain's eyes twitched. "Watch out!"
He kicked the teammate away, directly emptying a magazine at the bikini woman!
Shot her chest twice more because of the larger surface area.
The woman fell to the ground, coughing up blood, holding a remote control in her hand.
The kicked teammate was very angry, using the shotgun to fire another shot at the woman's head.
He swore he definitely wasn't retaliating.
The chief said: People should cultivate themselves!
"Next room."
...
All of Mexicali was in chaos.
Scattered drug dealers frantically fled, running into innocent people's homes and shooting randomly inside.
A city...
Actually more bloody than a battlefield.
To deal with this, Victor repeatedly had people shout through citywide loudspeakers: Lay down weapons and surrender. Guadalupe Island Police Department guarantees your safety!
With die-hards, naturally there were also those really beaten to tears.
They surrendered one after another.
From morning until 4 PM, over 600 people surrendered.
Most people really couldn't be caught. Mexicali had too many people. Drug dealers diving in here - with Victor's few people, not even enough to fill the slums' teeth gaps.
Outside Mexicali, about 2 kilometers from the city center.
This was made into a temporary prison where drug dealers were detained.
They squatted on the ground, holding their heads and looking at each other, eyes still radiating fear.
"When... when can we leave?" A young drug dealer squatted on tiptoes, asking his companion beside him, tearful. He was afraid.
He had only taken 300 dollars from drug dealers.
His companion said quietly, "Soon, right? We just helped drug dealers once. What problem could there be? There can't be any problem."
"Fuego!"
"Fuego!"
Fire!
This group hadn't reacted yet when they saw machine guns mounted on walls rat-a-tat-tat sweeping.
Drug dealers!
Did it matter if it was once or twice?
Caught meant killed.
"Murder! Murder!!" An old hand hiding in back - an old drug dealer - saw things going wrong, turned and wanted to run. Then saw an iron pipe extending from the side, then... spewing fire!
Directly spraying this drug dealer with flames. He immediately burned up, screaming and crashing into the crowd. Instantly many people burned like him.
"Woof woof! Woof!"
Military dogs smelling the air became agitated, baring teeth. You could see saliva on their teeth. Paws anxiously scratched the ground.
Victor never had a tradition of keeping drug dealers overnight.
Gunfire didn't slowly decrease until after 9 PM.
Mexicali City Hall.
Busy people everywhere.
Victor didn't touch bottom-level civil servants at all. Otherwise who would work?
Seeing their "energetic" appearance fully illustrated a principle: it wasn't that they were useless, but that people above were incompetent.
Fortunately Rafael Marx died in the toilet. Otherwise wouldn't know how to execute them.
"Boss, this is a rough casualty report. We'll need until tomorrow to finish counting seized supplies." Casare handed the compiled list to Victor, yawning.
"You've worked hard recently." Victor looked at him.
"Thank you, boss. Your recognition is my greatest motivation. I'll continue staying actively diligent."
He was born in the wrong country. Otherwise with this emotional intelligence, he'd definitely accomplish much.
Victor smiled, opening the report. His eyebrow raised.
It read: Violent Terrorism Mobile Team (EDTV) 41 killed, Guadalupe Island Police Department 17 killed (died in urban security warfare). Drug dealers killed: 2,174 (not including prisoners).
Adding drug dealers totaled nearly 2,800 people.
Victor closed the report, shaking his cigarette pack. No cigarettes left. Casare took out his own cigarettes to light one for him.
Not smoking yourself was fine, but you had to have them ready anytime. Had to be the same as the leader's cigarettes. Otherwise if the leader ran out, wouldn't it be awkward?
Victor exhaled smoke. Only the two of them remained in the office.
"Casare, Mexicali is ours!"
"Baja California is spreading her legs, welcoming us!"
(End of Chapter)
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