Chapter 2025 - 839: I’m the Chief Now! (Part 2)

Chapter 2025: Chapter 839: I’m the Chief Now! (Part 2)

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t joy. It was the kind of laugh one gives after being outmaneuvered, forced to admit the opponent has some skill.

"Tell The Pentagon, stop analyzing it," he said, "those people won’t attack our base. They just want to tell the United States — things are under my control here now."

Côte d’Ivoire, Abidjan, Port.

Hendrick stood on the dock, watching the approaching cargo ship.

The ship was large, its deck stacked with containers. It was registered in Panama, flagged in Liberia, en route from Brazil to Morocco.

But the cargo hold wasn’t filled with coffee beans; it was packed with semi-processed cocaine. Brazil’s drug cartel shipped coca paste here to be refined and packaged in Abidjan’s factory, then sent to Europe.

"The Boss said," Hendrick told the newly appointed Director of Port Authority beside him, "all ships coming from Brazil will go through the green channel from now on. No customs clearance, no scanning, directly into the factory area."

The bald Director of Port Authority nodded, wiping his sweat.

"Also," Hendrick pointed to the expanding warehouse district in the distance, "build twenty more over there. Before the end of the year, Abidjan’s throughput should double."

Mexico, Guadalajara.

The explosion occurred at 3 PM local time.

A truck carrying five hundred kilograms of explosives crashed into the gate of the Federales’ headquarters.

The shockwave shattered glass windows across three blocks, flames soared fifty meters high, thick smoke covered half the sky.

Fifteen minutes later, a second truck crashed into the National Guard’s barracks.

Another fifteen minutes later, a third truck crashed into the broadcasting building of the TV station.

Guadalajara’s communications were cut off.

Then there was Zacatecas, Michoacan, Colima, Guanajuato—six states, simultaneously, with forty-seven incidents of attacks.

Police stations, barracks, government buildings, TV stations, gas stations, supermarkets—all aflame.

On social media, a video circulated. A masked person stood before the camera, with burning buildings behind.

"This is a gift for the Mexican Government and their American masters. ’Jalisco New Generation’ is not dead. We are everywhere."

Mexico City, National Palace.

Victor stared at the enormous screen.

On the screen, Guadalajara’s satellite imagery was updating in real-time. Red fire spots dotted extensively, like a wildfire with no end in sight.

Bramo stood beside him.

"Six states, forty-seven attacks. At least two hundred dead. The Federales’ headquarters was razed, thirty-plus National Guards are dead. TV signal hasn’t been restored."

Victor didn’t speak.

"Did you see that video? They said—"

"I saw it." Victor interrupted him.

He was silent for a few seconds.

"Tell Garcia, over in San Miguel, keep the personnel there. ’Scorpion’ is still useful."

Bramo nodded.

"And," Victor turned around, "get Sanchez to monitor the Mediterranean. Those people have lost their leader and will go mad. Mad dogs bite indiscriminately."

United States, Texas, El Paso.

The floodlights on the border wall illuminated the Rio Grande as if it were daytime.

A sentry from the border patrol stood atop the watchtower, gazing across the river at Juarez City. The town was unusually quiet tonight; not even dogs were barking.

A voice came through the walkie-talkie:

"Post three, detect anomaly. Movement on the river."

The sentry raised the night-vision binoculars.

On the river’s surface, a dozen inflatable boats rapidly approached. Each boat carried five or six people dressed in black, armed with guns.

He grabbed the walkie-talkie:

"Invasion! Armed invasion! Requesting backup!"

Just as he finished speaking, dozens of fiery tongues erupted from the darkness across the river. Bullets poured onto the watchtower like a torrential rain, the sentry fell from the tower several meters high, hitting the ground motionless.

The inflatable boats landed. The men in black jumped onto U.S. soil, spread out, taking advantageous positions.

One of them pulled out a satellite phone.

"Delta One, landed. Awaiting further instructions."

A raspy voice came from the other end of the phone:

"Wait till dawn. Once it’s dawn, let all of America see you."

Dawn, El Paso City center.

As the sun rose, residents saw something they had never seen before.

In the city center square, twenty enormous flags were flying. Not the Mexican flag, not the American flag, but a never-before-seen one—a black background with a white skull in the middle, under which two crossed AKs.

Beneath the flags stood over two hundred fully armed men. Camouflage suits, tactical vests, night vision equipment, assault rifles—the gear was ten times better than El Paso’s police.

Someone held a loudspeaker, speaking in Spanish:

"Residents of El Paso! From today onward, this city is under the control of ’Jalisco New Generation’! The U.S. Government and the Mexican Government colluded to kill our leader! Blood debts must be repaid with blood!"

The speech was not over when the distant sound of helicopters roared through.

Two Black Hawks, painted with the American flag, were rapidly approaching.

The voice from the loudspeaker continued:

"Good! Let them see what war looks like!"

The men in black spread out, shouldered rocket launchers.

The first Black Hawk hadn’t had time to react before it was hit by two RPGs. A fireball exploded in the air, debris smashed into a nearby supermarket, the explosion shattered glass across three blocks.

The second Black Hawk turned tail and fled.

Cheers erupted from the square.

The loudspeaker voice continued:

"Tell all of America! This is not a demonstration! This is a declaration of war!"

Social media erupted.

#ElPasoFalls, #MexicoInvasion, #ThirdWorldWar—three topics shot to the top of global trends within twenty minutes.