Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1703 - 768: Hymn of Courage

Marino's command vehicle was positioned in the middle of the convoy. The air was humid, filled with the smell of soil and decaying leaves, masking the scent of oil and sweat.

The soldiers tightly gripped their AR70 rifles or Beretta M12 submachine guns, warily scanning the dim forest on both sides.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the branches, casting dappled patches of light, with each flickering shadow causing a shock to the heart.

"Major, there's a shallow stream ahead. The tanks can cross, but the infantry fighting vehicles might need to find a firmer spot by slightly detouring," came the voice of the lead tank commander through the headset.

"Copy. Tanks first, establish security across the bank. Engineers, check underwater and the shore," Marino responded. The convoy stopped in front of the stream. The water was not deep, crystal clear, approximately reaching only up to the knees. Tanks rumbled slowly into the water, stirring up murky waves. Infantry jumped out, spreading out on the shore to maintain security.

Just then, Marino caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of what seemed to be a flash from a lens at the treetop of the woods on the eastern hillside.

"Sniper?!" His heart tightened, barely having time to shout—

"Whistle—Boom!!!"

The scream of the first shell and its explosion arrived almost simultaneously!

105mm howitzer! Direct hit on the rear-most VCC vehicle tasked with covering the convoy!

A giant fireball rose into the air, with the vehicle's fragments and the soldiers' mangled bodies inside mixed with dirt and shrubs splattering everywhere!

"Enemy attack! Rear! Find cover!" Marino's shout was drowned out by consecutive explosions!

"Boom Boom Boom!!!"

The dense barrage seemed meticulously measured, beginning precise and ruthless "slow advance barrage" along the forest path the Italian convoy was stationed, from back to front! The shell impacts were extremely regular, spaced approximately fifty meters apart, perfectly covering the entire length of the convoy!

The second shell exploded near the second-from-last VCC, sweeping shrapnel, with several infantrymen being shot down with screams while disembarking.

The third shell landed twenty meters in front of Marino's command vehicle, the blast wave violently tipping the vehicle, slamming Marino hard against the cabin wall, deafening him instantly, with only a warm liquid felt flowing down his brow.

"Reverse! Leave the shelling zone! Head east, rush into the lowlands!" He shouted into the throat microphone, tasting blood in his mouth.

To the east was lowland, wide but at least temporarily away from this lethal forest artillery corridor.

The surviving vehicles started frantically reversing and turning, desperately charging towards the open band in the dozens of meters away lowland.

The M60 tank that had crossed the river also hurriedly turned, with its turret futilely aimed at the approximate direction of incoming shells.

However, as they scrambled into the relatively open lowland, they discovered this was the true slaughterhouse.

"Ratatatatatata——!!!"

From the eastern, northern, and western hillsides, at least a dozen heavy machine guns and dozens of light machine guns opened fire simultaneously! A crossfire network quickly enveloped the lowland! Bullets, like a steel rainstorm, clanging against armor or thudding into the dirt, and when hitting humans, were a dull tearing sound.

"Anti-tank missiles! Ten o'clock on the hillside!" A commander screamed.

On the eastern hillside, several white trails rose halfway up, "Milan" missiles streaking straight towards them!

"Smoke grenades! Maneuver and evade!"

The surviving M60 tanks and VCCs frantically released smoke, zigzagging in the lowland.

A VCC was hit on the side by a missile, exploding into a fireball. The M60 tank that crossed the river took two hits from RPG-7 rockets on the turret, although not penetrated, its sight equipment was severely damaged, and the machine gun turret silenced.

"We're surrounded! Fire on all sides!"

"Get out of the vehicles! Find cover! Establish circular defense!"

The soldiers rolled out of burning or disabled vehicles, diving behind any potential earthen mounds in the lowland, or simply lying in the shallow stream.

But the covers in the lowland were just too few and too shallow. Machine gun bullets kicked up dirt, mortar shells began to fall, and amidst the dull explosions, soldiers continuously screamed as they were hit by shrapnel.

Major Marino, in a shallow pit created by a shell, peered eastward through binoculars. The sunlight was blinding, but he vaguely saw the figures of Mexican soldiers at the forest edge, along with the machine gun positions incessantly spewing fire. They had the high ground, with perfectly configured firepower, evidently arranged in advance for an ambush.

Trapped.

Such a weak point on the flank, such H-7 hill southern slope, from beginning to end it was a setup.

"Radio! Call for artillery support! Coordinates... coordinates..." he shouted to the radio operator beside him, but the radio operator had been shot in the head, slumped over to one side.

"Major! We can't break out! The casualties are too high!" A sergeant, face covered in blood, crawled over, his arm twisted at an odd angle.

Marino glanced around.

His troops had lost over a third of their vehicles and at least a quarter of their personnel in just a few minutes.

The rest were completely pinned down in this deathly lowland, unable to move. The firepower from the three hillsides was unwavering, even more precise, focusing on removing the stubborn armored targets and exposed infantry squads.

But he took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the panic.

He was an officer, the linchpin for these soldiers.

"Collect ammunition! Gather the severely wounded in that low spot! Those still able to move, group by squad, converge on me! We're moving towards the northeast corner, where there is a small knoll, higher terrain and more trees! Establish a final defense line! Wait for the brigade's rescue!" he ordered hoarsely, grabbing a rifle dropped on the ground, checking the magazine.