Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 864 - 462: Robert: Why Didn't Anyone Tell Me!!!_2

Bernhard's gaze was venomous. "Like Patton!"

He was referring to Little George Smith Patton, the "fierce general" who died in a car accident.

From his tone, Patton's death seemed rather suspicious?

"It hasn't come to that yet..." an officer murmured in a low voice.

"Nonsense!"

"Do we have to wait until Robert's blade is hanging over our heads before we strike back? He can arrest Gottfried today, next it'll be me, and then it'll be all of you."

Bernhard swept his gaze over them. "Politics and power struggles are never as idealistic as you think."

"As long as he's dead, I can maneuver the situation. The next Defense Minister will definitely be me!"

Ambition gleamed in his eyes.

Meanwhile, inside the room, Robert Gates wanted his backers to help him. He made a call to Reagan.

But it was answered by his secretary.

"Mr. Brady, why is it so noisy over there?"

Reagan's personal secretary glanced at their boss shaking hands with generals and said into the phone, "We're visiting the front lines in San Diego."

"What!!!!"

Robert screamed, his mind spinning. Why didn't they tell him!

"Hurry back, sir, it's too dangerous out there." He suppressed his dissatisfaction and spoke as if placating a child.

"Don't worry..."

Secretary Brady laughed. "Mr. Reagan is perfectly safe right now. Besides, this is far from the front line, there's no problem."

Robert half-opened his mouth, momentarily lost for words.

God help us!

...

San Diego, near the Tecate River.

A school in an African-American community had been captured and turned into a supply transfer station.

As for the command post?

No one knew where the commanders of the 336th and 337th Divisions were hiding.

"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Move everything quickly."

The Reserve Seventh Division's Deputy Commander Alvin York jumped out of a truck, signaling soldiers in the truck bed to unload the supplies.

"I'll find someone to coordinate. You command things here." He spoke to his adjutant, frowning, urgency etched into his face as he rushed into an apartment building.

Just as he entered, a Lieutenant Colonel jogged toward him.

"Colonel Miles, I've been looking for you. The rear has sent over 400 single-soldier rocket launchers, 600,000 rounds of ammunition, as well as gauze, alcohol, and body bags. Please sign to confirm receipt."

Alvin York spoke hurriedly.

The other man, sporting dark circles under his eyes, replied, "I'm too busy right now. Andrew, you handle the supplies. Also, this..."

He tapped his forehead, momentarily forgetting York's rank and name as he looked at the lieutenant colonel insignia.

"Alvin York, Deputy Commander of the Reserve Seventh Division."

"Oh, oh, oh, Commander York, I really appreciate it. Do us a favor and send back our casualties and wounded as well."

"No problem. It's my duty."

"Thank you!" Colonel Miles said before hurriedly rushing off.

The called-up Andrew, a captain, quickly approached and saluted. "Officer, I'll take over from here. Please follow me."

Alvin York nodded, and the two rushed toward the rear of the "African-American school" to reach the playground.

Upon entering...

The air was thick with a mixture of odors.

Gunpowder, the stench of rotting corpses, and the scent of grilled meat all assaulted their senses, directly reaching their brains.

Alvin York was a seasoned veteran. He once served on the frontlines before transitioning to the Reserve as a deputy commander. His expression remained stoic, but upon seeing the field littered with corpses, his pupils still contracted.

"The casualties... are this severe?"

The playground was strewn with nearly three to four hundred bodies, with over a dozen personnel from the logistics department verifying identities and recording names.

Alvin York approached the closest corpse, which was burned entirely black, face unrecognizable, its left arm severed. He squatted down and inspected the dog tag resting on the body.

"Zachary McIntyre, Corporal, 336th Division, Regiment A, Battalion C, Company A, Assistant Squad Leader. Blood Type: A. Born in 1972."

"Only 20 years old." Alvin York couldn't suppress a sigh. "Is the battle so tense?"

Andrew let out a sigh, "The military command ordered urban combat. The Yanks retreated, so we pushed forward, almost head-to-head. Especially at San Diego's subway station, with its interconnected tunnels. Just yesterday, we lost nearly an entire company there!"

"Did we capture it?"

Andrew shook his head. "No."

Alvin York nodded.

Just as he was about to speak, a whistle cut through the air...

"Get down!!"

York slammed Andrew's head to the ground.

Several shells landed directly on the playground, exploding violently.

The enormous shockwaves scattered the arranged corpses...

Some bodies were obliterated entirely!

Four or five logistical staff lay weakly on the ground, moaning in pain.

"Help them! Help them!"

Alvin York shouted toward the rushing soldiers, his eyes burning red. "Screw you, Yanks!"

Buzz buzz buzz~

Rotors hummed in the air.

He looked up sharply to see two UH-60 utility helicopters approaching from the distance...

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The machine guns mounted underneath sprayed gunfire across the playground.

One helicopter veered to the side, releasing two AGM-114 "Hellfire" air-to-ground missiles, their tails flaming as they hurtled toward the crowd.

"Move!!"

Deputy Commander Alvin York roared, his eyes bloodshot. He grabbed two unidentified soldiers nearby and dove to the side with them.

BOOM!

The AGM-114 Hellfire missile demolished an apartment building entirely...

SWOOSH!

A surface-to-air missile streaked toward the UH-60 utility helicopter.

The Mexican Army was using "Stinger" missiles, elite mid-to-low altitude weapons that locked onto the target.

The pilot couldn't evade in time and could only watch as the tail section was hit, sending the helicopter spinning downward until it crashed outside the school grounds.