Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Go fuck your MD!" The National Guard soldier wearing the rank of a captain kicked out, sending the other person flying 5 meters away.

"You think I won't hit a woman? What kind of bullshit journalists are you? This is Northern Mexico, the general's word is law; if he tells you to shut up, you shut up. Take them away; I suspect they're trouble."

Several soldiers rushed over and tied up the few American journalists, then shoved them into a vehicle.

The captain looked around at the journalists triumphantly; everyone he stared at felt their scalp tingle and hairs stand on end. "I'm telling you, obey and you'll get to eat!"

September 17, 1990, 19:00 in the evening.

The sky was growing dim.

"10!"

Major General Otto Skorzenny looked at his watch, narrowed his eyes, picked up the walkie-talkie, and ordered, "Whip Squad, move out!"

John McTavish gestured with his hand and, with a wave, charged towards the closed gate.

Below, a tactical vehicle parked and initiated jamming, blocking out all signals in the vicinity!

No communication signals available!

Twenty soldiers from Task Force 141 climbed the gate, nimbly flipping over it, while at the same time, the Mi-8 helicopter that had been readied on top of another building circled low, flying over the school at low altitude.

By the time it reached above the school, the commander, Swat, who was prepared earlier, slid down first, followed by his men, dropping like dumplings.

According to the "training manual," no more than one person was allowed on a rope at a time, but in actual combat, that was of course not adhered to, as time was life.

The sudden noise of the helicopter was not soft, and a lookout gunman below raised his head, pupils constricting. He picked up the walkie-talkie and yelled, "Hello! Hello! Hello!" Discover exclusive tales on My Virtual Library Empire

But no one responded; he cursed, "تباً (Fuck)!"

The accent was clearly Iraqi!

He picked up his gun intending to fire, but before he could act, his neck was pierced by a bullet, blood splattered, and his head slumped down as he lay twitching on the ground.

"Move out!"

John McTavish motioned to his left and right, signaling his troops to split into two and assault.

After completing the transport, the Mi-8 immediately made its escape.

After Swat landed, they hung the hooks prepared earlier on the rooftop pillars. The commander glanced at his men and made a descent gesture; letting go, he descended rapidly and, reaching a third-floor bay window, he swung into it, gun at the ready, unleashing a burst of gunfire at two standing gunmen.

Blown apart by bullets, they died a gruesome death on the spot.

Swat unfastened the harness, looking at the students crouching in the room, "Don't move, stay put! You're safe now."

"Dixon, stay here to protect them, the rest search from the top down."

A corporal responded, watching his squad leader and others leave the room. He stiffened, cautiously watching the students sitting on the floor below.

Finally, the gunmen inside sensed something was wrong.

In the lecture hall, the main culprit Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, getting no response on the walkie-talkie, knew that Mexican police were making a move and ordered someone to check it out.

The subordinate was just about to open the door when suddenly,

Bang!!!

The door was blown apart, and the tremendous blast wave, carrying fragments of wood, stabbed into the gunman's eyes, causing him unbearable pain. He writhed in agony for a few seconds before being put down for good.

The explosion also damaged the lighting, causing it to flicker ominously.

"Get down!" John McTavish bellowed, calmly pulling the trigger against the gunmen.

The tasks were clear, and the other soldiers fired pinpoint shots at their targets.

What makes soldiers elite?

Constant training!

Muscle memory!

It's like you can't help but itch to move bricks when you see one – they see a head and think, how to shoot it quickly.

That's called instinct.

"Don't move! Stop!" bellowed the main culprit, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, dragging a female student with a gun to her head. She was completely terrified, tears streaming, and legs trembling.

The enraged Iraqi man shouted, mixing languages.

Bang!

A shot rang out, and the lead terrorist Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi's eyes bulged as a bullet hole formed on his forehead. Blood and brain matter flowed down the wound, his hand loosened, and he collapsed, pinning the girl underneath him.

John McTavish charged over, grabbed the man's head, forcefully turned it over, "Dead and still taking advantage, drag him out and execute him with a gun!"

...

Outside, Major General Otto Skorzenny stared at his watch, a hint of struggle flashing in his eyes.

Two to three minutes had passed.

But just then, the school erupted into commotion, and soon a group of students, hundreds of them, rushed outside.

"Mommy!!"

"Mommy!"

The students cried out as they ran into the arms of their anxiously waiting parents, embracing them and weeping, the parents equally distraught.

The National Guard captain said to the trembling journalists in front of him, "Gentlemen, you can shoot now. This touching scene is exactly what General Victor wanted!"

"You understand what I mean, right?" the captain squinted.

"Understood!" The journalists glanced at each other, murmuring their acknowledgment.

"Louder."

"Understood!"

Satisfied, the captain nodded, turning to his subordinate, "Give them back their equipment; it's time for them to work."

Major General Otto Skorzenny let out a long sigh of relief, his own stress significant as he watched Task Force 141's squad leader John McTavish come out. He called out, "John."

"How did it go? Any casualties?"

"We took down 13 gunmen, no casualties on our side, and none among the students either."