Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Who is this guy? Do we have such a badass in our battalion?" He urgently asked his teammate beside him.

"Definitely from the 'Anubis' tank crew." A Private First Class said with fiery eyes, and seeing the squad leader's puzzled face, he explained, "The tank commander is Kurt Knispel, and there are Otto Karius, Michel Wittmann."

"They're from the second company, sent over from the tank battalion. I've seen their show, it's way beyond cool, the battalion commander said that if they were on the battlefield, they would absolutely be the kings of armored vehicles!"

John Baslone watched the American M1A1 main battle tank firing at the infantry, and the heroic sight slightly stunned him, but he quickly snapped back to reality when he saw the Iraqi soldiers appeared to be completely collapsing!

His eyes suddenly lit up, and as he watched that lone tank dominating the battlefield, adrenaline surged, his scalp tingled, and his entire body shook with excitement. He grabbed the M60 machine gun beside him, "Brothers, charge~~~~~"

After his shout, John Baslone charged out.

His comrades also roared and followed, counter-attacking the disintegrating hundreds of Iraqi soldiers!

Just like the Japanese charged shouting "Banzai!" during World War II, the Soviets shouted Ura, the Northern Mexican Army's assault cry was simple, "Hi~~"

The closing gunfire from behind and the tanks' strafing shots drove the fleeing Iraqis to disregard everything else. They didn't dare to look back, and even those who wanted to retaliate were eventually swept up in the rout.

Why is it that since ancient times, routed soldiers have been unstoppable? Even Warden, who was such a badass, was killed by the South Koreans.
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You simply can't calm a runaway beast!

Rommel stood on a high point observing the battle with a pair of binoculars. As a commander, his job wasn't to charge into battle, but to direct the soldiers to where they need to charge.

He of course heard the huge commotion on the western flank. Thinking it was a breach in their defense line, he turned to look and was taken aback himself.

"Well done!" Rommel shouted excitedly. Fedor von Bock standing beside him also looked through the binoculars.

"Whose subordinates are these?"

"Mannstein of the second company."

"Note this down, I want to commend them after the battle."

Deputy Commander Bock hurriedly responded, and a thought flashed through his mind, "Commander, we can have the first and second companies launch a counter-attack now, to push back our enemies, while the third and fourth companies can infiltrate from the enemy's flank into the other friendly positions. This could catch the other Iraqis completely off guard."

Rommel promptly agreed with the plan and directed Bock to counter-attack, while he took the third and fourth companies to assist their allies.

"Commander, I'll take care of the mission to support our allies!"

Without waiting for a response, he ran to the third and fourth companies' positions, wrapped a white cloth around his arm, and called out, "The history of Mexico will start to change from us, gentlemen, charge with me!"

He carried an M16, hunched over, leading his men as they pierced through the enemy's flank!

Boom!

A huge flame exploded in front, bullets whizzing past, whoosh whoosh whoosh.

Charging without care required resolute courage!

Images flashed before Fedor von Bock's eyes. He had deployed, and in fact, his child had just been born, lying in the crib kicking and laughing, and when he reached out his calloused hands to touch the child's cheek, his little hands clutched his fingers and giggled.

At that moment, he wanted to leave the battlefield.

He no longer wanted to be a soldier, as bullets could deprive him of his duty as a father.

Just as he was hesitating, he remembered his wife saying, "Do you want our child to inherit this war?"

Fedor von Bock said farewell to his family, got on the jeep headed to the front line, and his wife stood outside the house waving at him, holding their child.

"We are the ones who will liberate Mexico, who will make our nation great, and in the next generation, no one will bully or humiliate us again!"

"Kill!!!"

Fedor von Bock roared, charging hard at an Iraqi sergeant, shouldering into him, sending him flying, and stabbing his bayonet into the man's neck.

Before he could regain his senses, another Iraqi soldier tackled him to the ground, and the two of them started wrestling.

Fedor von Bock bit the man's ear, elbowed his throat with his right hand, and grappled with him on the ground.

War was never about sitting at a table, enjoying fresh beefsteak.

It was about gentlemen who put aside honor and decency to engage in the most primal combat!

It was also... a mother's child, traveling miles to kill another mother's child.

"Viva Mexico!"

"Viva Victor!!!"

...

Dawn was just breaking.

And a light rain began to fall.

As if singing the last lament for the deceased.

John Baslone, with his face covered in blood, his right eye twitching, the blood on his face congealing, sat on a stone, holding a small notebook, his dark-stained fingers pointing at the names on it.

"Luis Gonzalez."

"Here!" A soldier raised his hand.

"Oteres Viktor."

No one responded. John Baslone raised his head, and the brothers seated below looked at each other, and then all lowered their heads.

He raised his head, took a deep sigh.

This was John Baslone's first time as a squad leader, and it was the other man who had welcomed him. He was always smiling, loved to eat sweets, was just 19 years old, and had a younger brother.

"Squad leader, this is Viktor's last letter, found on his body." A Private First Class stood up, holding the letter and handed it over.

John Baslone's hands trembled as he took it, opened the letter, and glanced at it. His tears instantly began to flow, for even someone as tough as him was shaking at that moment.