Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1679 - 762: Our Swords Are No Less Sharp!

"Find the artillery position!" Durand shouted.

But the M40 recoilless rifle fired with almost no flash or smoke, making it extremely difficult to locate in the night. Two minutes later, another VAB armored vehicle was destroyed in the same way.

"Retreat! All armored vehicles retreat to a safe distance!" Durand had to give the order. Without the direct fire support from the armored vehicles, the infantry's advance slowed noticeably.

The church bell tower, in reality, no longer existed—the upper part had been blasted by helicopter machine guns. But within the remaining two-story structure, Captain Salsedo and his three soldiers were still holding on.

Their ammunition was running low.

"Officer, we've lost contact with the barn direction, it may have been overrun." A soldier reported, his arm simply bandaged, blood seeping through the bandage.

Salsedo glanced at his M4 carbine, with only one magazine left.

He touched the pistol on his chest, then looked around him — besides the four of them, there were eight wounded in the church, three of them critically injured.

The radio transmitted intermittent calls: "This is the third squad… we're surrounded at the post office… need support… repeat, need su—"

The voice abruptly stopped, leaving only the sound of static.

"Captain, we can't hold on," another soldier softly said, a young man not even twenty, with a youthful face.

Salsedo was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "How long have we held?"

"About… four hours."

"Four hours." Salsedo repeated, suddenly smiling, "We've earned it, our mission was to delay them for at least three hours, and we've exceeded our task."

He pressed his throat mic, switching to the company-wide frequency.

"Attention, this is Captain Salsedo. I order all units able to move to begin a scattered breakout, retreating toward the southeastern rendezvous point. Repeat, scatter and break out, do not engage. Take the wounded with you if you can, leave ammunition with those you can't."

He paused, his voice low but firm: "The authority to perish with the enemy, I leave to your discretion. May God bless Mexico."

"The Leader is with us!"

"Ah Men!"

Turning off the communication, he looked at the three soldiers beside him: "You go as well, take any wounded who can walk."

"Officer, what about you—"

"I'll stay to cover the retreat. Someone has to give the French a memorable goodbye." Salsedo patted the young man's shoulder, "Go, that's an order."

Three minutes later, only Salsedo and three voluntarily remaining critically wounded were left in the church. They gathered the remaining hand grenades and explosives, arranging them at the stairs and windows.

The footsteps of the French Army were clearly audible.

"They're here," a severely wounded soldier wheezed, holding a hand grenade with the pin looped around his little finger.

Salsedo checked his rifle, fixed the bayonet, and leaned against the wall. He heard French being whispered downstairs, boots crunching on rubble, and the sound of breaching explosives being placed on the church door.

"Boom!"

The door was blasted open.

"Flashbang!"

A brilliant light instantly filled the entire first-floor hall.

Now.

Salsedo and the critically wounded pulled the pins on their hand grenades but did not immediately throw them—they counted silently in their hearts.

One, two—

The French soldiers rushed in.

Three—

"For Mexico!!!"

"For freedom!!!"

"For the world!!!!"

Grenades were thrown from the second floor, simultaneously, preset explosives were detonated.

"Boom——!!!"

Saint Louis Louisiana Church collapsed completely with a loud explosion, flames and thick smoke rose into the sky, dyeing the sky over half the village dark red.

At one in the morning, Colonel Durand stood before the ruins of the church, his face ashen.

The French Army finally fully controlled the village but paid an enormous price: four armored vehicles destroyed, sixteen more damaged, 37 soldiers killed, 52 severely wounded, and over 80 lightly injured. Meanwhile, the Mexican defenders they exterminated amounted to approximately 60 bodies, 11 captured, and an estimated 10 to 20 successfully broke through.

A one-to-one casualty ratio, when the attacker had absolute firepower superiority, this was nearly a tactical failure.

"Colonel, we found this in the ruins." The adjutant handed over a charred metal tag—a Mexican officer's identification tag.

In the firelight, Durand saw the name on it: Captain Ernesto Salsedo, ID number 734-85-2191.

"Salsedo…" Durand murmured the name, gripping the tag in his palm, the metal edges painfully pressing into his skin.

If every Mexican company was this tough to crack.

Why bother!

Further afield, along the more than 200-kilometer frontline in Indiana, similar battles were simultaneously unfolding in more than a dozen places.

The British troops encountered minefields and anti-tank missile ambushes in the north, the Polish Army's advance on the East Coast was halted by a seemingly ordinary yet smartly mined road, and the German armored column found itself trapped by numerous anti-tank teams using "wolf pack" tactics.

NATO's "divided attack" strategy indeed caught the Mexican defenders off balance, but every step forward cost blood.

The Mexican Army, like a poison snake covered in spikes, consumed the invaders' lives and wills with every village, every grove, and every ridge.

This war was far from as easy as the European generals had simulated on the map in their conference rooms.

Durand looked at the brightening sky to the east, knowing that the daytime battle would be even more brutal. He turned and spoke into the radio: "Report to the Allied Command Headquarters, Saint Louis Louisiana Village has been occupied. But we need reinforcements, more ammunition, and medical supplies. Additionally…"

He paused, his voice carrying unprecedented gravity:

"Tell Paris, tell London, tell Brussels, the enemy here is unlike any we've encountered in the past thirty years in Africa or the Middle East. They are professional, resilient, and seemingly eternally prepared."

"I hope…"

"For more domestic support!"

...