Working as a police officer in Mexico

Sinaloa was not completely liberated!

The fall of Culiacán only meant that drug traffickers had lost the power to speak in this state, but many southern towns were still in the hands of drug traffickers.

The port city of Mazatlán.

In the courtyard of the city hall.

There sat numerous defeated soldiers, their morale seemed low, and many had a look of confusion in their eyes.

How could such a big city as Culiacán be breached?

Releasing a few hundred wild dogs would give the Northern Army a hard time, wouldn't it?

Having barely "broken out" successfully, we found refuge here, but where to go next?

Thousands from two battalions have now been reduced to just a few hundred...

"Ah, if only Boss Guzman were here, we wouldn't have fallen to this state," a masked drug trafficker suddenly sighed.

The companion beside him looked up and said, "What's the point of saying that now?"

He glanced toward a window on the second floor, "If the new boss had even half of Guzman's ability, we wouldn't have been chased out like wild dogs."

Every power missed the great Qing.

Nick, your cousins are too incompetent!

"Who are you to talk! My grandfather and Guzman's grandfather were brothers; I am the rightful heir to Sinaloa, the leadership is mine!" Just then, an angry roar emanated from a room upstairs.

The voice was loud, and the drug traffickers below all heard it.

"Guzman is my cousin, I have a stake too!" another voice retorted fiercely.

"What does that count for? I'm Guzman's real uncle, I'm eligible as well!"

The voices of the bosses upstairs became increasingly chaotic, followed by arguments with each other.

Are they... fighting for power?

"Then let's split! Take your people and go, with the way you are now, sooner or later Victor will catch and kill you!"

The drug traffickers heard a "curse" and within a minute, saw a fat-bellied middle-aged man come out, "Follow me, I call the shots in Sinaloa!"

"Mendez! Are you looking for death?" A young man followed out, cursing, and then went straight up and started beating him.

The fat man, also angry, fought back and the two actually started brawling in the street in front of hundreds of underlings!

This...

Was simply absurd.

In the end, the farce was broken up by members of the Guzman family.

Fatty Mendez wiped the blood from his nose, his eyes darkened, "You mongrel, remember this!"

"Pah! You're not even fit to bark like a dog!" the young man shouted loudly, as if he would continue the fight if not for being restrained by others behind him.

Mendez looked at the drug traffickers, "Follow me!"

After speaking, he led a few confidants with sullen faces out of city hall. The drug traffickers looked at one another and more than a dozen followed him out of the crowd.

Mendez, who claimed his grandfather was brothers with Guzman's grandfather, nearly spat blood at the number of followers behind him.

"Let's go to Chihuahua State! To Juarez, from now on, we'll be called the New Sinaloa Group!"

"Yes! Boss!" the underlings lacked energy, responding as if they were merely going through the motions.

"Don't worry, I know where Guzman hid his money, follow me and you'll eat and drink well, I won't let you down. Once the New Sinaloa Group grows strong, you'll be the heroes."

Such big promises, almost too hard to swallow.

And Mendez wasn't the only one.

Without a dominant figure to take charge, the drug cartel, like many criminal organizations, instantly fell apart. Everyone wanted to be the boss, so why not split up? Your adventure continues at My Virtual Library Empire

The Sinaloa Drug Cartel, which had dominated Mexico's drug scene for decades, began its decline.

They split into nine groups, all under Guzman's name. Likewise, many "outsiders" from God's Battalion started to get restless, "We have the soldiers, that's the main point."

Since ancient times, hasn't power always been in the hands of the strong?

Here, the event is known as: "The Mazatlán Split"!

In fact, the most bewildered was the CIA.

Holding assistance funds, they looked around blankly... Oh? The group I'm supposed to support has collapsed internally?

The Mexico division of the CIA had no choice but to report back.

In the end, they could only say that the aid would be given to Juarez and the Gulf Group.

Alas~

Indeed, not everyone is cut out to be a boss!

...

"Ding~ Dear passengers, we have safely arrived at Tijuana Duke Victor Airport. The plane will taxi to the designated gate... Please remain seated and do not open the overhead bins..."

This name...

Clearly has been changed.

It used to be called Avelardo Rodríguez.

That's a figure from the last century.

The times have changed!

The former U.S. Military Major and now officer in the "Mexican Foreign Legion," Damien Jarvis, carefully tilted the window shade to see several airlines' planes at the airport and the terminal under construction.

"Let's hope the air here isn't as unpleasant as Louisiana's!" said a young man about twenty-four or twenty-five, glancing outside.

Damien Jarvis turned to look at him.

The young man smiled and extended his hand, "Paul Boymer, formerly served with the Green Berets.

"Damien Jarvis, are you from Baton Rouge?" He also reached out, and the two of them shook hands.

"No, no, I'm from Washington. I followed my mother to Baton Rouge where she started a new family, and by the time I came back from the military, they'd had a baby, bless them."

Damien Jarvis watched him, the young man spoke openly, but as a military medic and someone versed in psychology, he could clearly sense an undertone of loss in his voice.