Chapter 1105: Chapter 552: Haiti, Your Savior Is Here! _2

Most of it is still at the stage where basic output relies on shouting.

Beyond individual communication technology, there’s also thermal imaging technology, M16 weapons, ammunition, bulletproof vests, and satellite positioning systems GPS, named by the Mexican Military Department as: “Valkyrie Combat Overlay”.

Of course, this is the first version, with plans from the Mexican Strategic Research Institute to provide them next with individual tablets and data-capable glasses, ideally to detect the specific location of enemies.

But all of this is still far away and unaffordable.

Currently, even though this looks very basic.

One set still costs about 1200~2200 US dollars.

Rabbit: Hey, hey, hey, isn’t it enough to just give us a gun? The armed police get a stick.

The soldiers of the direct regiment quickly occupied the high ground…

At an iron-sheet house on the eastern coast of Port-au-Prince, a machine gun was placed on top.

The AAVP-7A1 amphibious assault vehicle just landed from one side.

The boss of 400Mawozo, nicknamed “Rat” Gregory Stephens, rushed over aggressively with his men.

Hearing this gang’s name, translated as “400 Idiots”.

Smuggling is the most important source of income for this gang, so of course, they have to fight back.

“Brothers, kill those French—”

“Rat” Gregory Stephens raised his weapon and shouted.

They haven’t even figured out who the enemy is.

The lackeys behind him shouted loudly, an apparent… The Mob.

Just approaching the east coast dock.

The M85 12.7mm machine gun on the AAVP-7A1 amphibious assault vehicle opened fire.

Good lord…

Since when have they faced such firepower?

Even gang fights are actually just exchanging fire, with hit-or-miss shooting, and clocking out after the ammo’s spent.

Black people, well…

Being able to shoot is already something.

With the first wave of fire, dozens of gang members, including Gregory Stephens, were immediately caught up in it.

“Ahhhh!”

Lying in a pool of blood, Gregory Stephens, looking at his arm now missing, gasped heavily, his wide eyes filled with terror, screaming at the top of his lungs, but in the next moment, a stray bullet from who knows where swept him dead.

“400 Idiots” fled in a panic, some hiding behind containers, but these are fragile, what bullets can they withstand,

The M85 12.7mm machine gun ripped through the containers, and the dozen drug traffickers hiding behind them fell to the ground dead.

Hundreds came rushing, only for a few dozen to run back in terror.

How long did they hold?

A minute, maybe?

Major Fritz Klingenberg said to the adjutant beside him, “These are the ones who made the French run away like scared rabbits?”

The adjutant opened his mouth, wanting to defend the French, but couldn’t find a point, and could only say awkwardly, “Maybe the French don’t like victory.”

A military force captured by a gang, unheard of.

Hahaha, might as well say a US aircraft carrier was retired by Yemeni pirates.

Too funny.

Major Fritz Klingenberg also became bolder, “When is the follow-up force expected to arrive?”

“Around 9 o’clock.”

“So, five hours to go.” He looked at his watch, “Extend the strategic defense line, occupy the entire Port-au-Prince dock.”

“Control each area with company-sized units.”

“Request Whidbey Island-class landing ship fire support.”

“Target—”

Major Fritz Klingenberg said, raising his thumb, closing his eyes, “The dock, shift 1 kilometer outward.”

“Yes!”

The 11-cell rocket launcher on the Whidbey Island-class landing ship receiving the order began to rotate.

This is a modification.

The original Whidbey Island-class landing ships don’t have this weapon.

The 11-cell rocket launcher primarily fires AGM-114 missiles.

With an order from the captain.

Dozens of missiles whoosh—

Tearing through the sky—

Flying towards the belly of Port-au-Prince.

It’s sad to say, but the capital of a country has fallen to such a state, just like a prostitute, who doesn’t even require a greeting to get in.

Oh, even a prostitute gets paid.

The indiscriminate missile coverage instantly blew the San Pedro Sula District, the most gang-concentrated area of Port-au-Prince, sky high!!!

At the Haiti Presidential Palace.

Acting president Mark Louis Bazan was startled awake by the sound of the explosion, jumping out of bed.

His wife clung to him tightly.

The gang’s broken in!?!

“Don’t worry, don’t worry.” He patted his wife’s hand, took his glasses from the bedside table, put them on, and walked to the window to look far into the distance.

The San Pedro Sula District was ablaze…

The sky was bright.

The screams inside could be heard clearly.

While he was still a bit confused, the bedroom door was forcibly slammed open, scaring Mark Louis Bazan into grabbing the pistol from under his pillow, his expression tense and twitching.

Jimmy Cherizier, the leader of Haiti’s largest gang, the G9 Gang Alliance, nicknamed “Barbecue,” has asked him on television more than once to abdicate.

And also threatened to kill him and his cabinet members.

A country’s president being threatened like this, it’s truly a tragedy.

“Sir, it’s me.”

The person who came in was an officer in military uniform who was startled by the gunpoint and hastily raised his hands.

“Du Kaolei, what’s going on?”

Mark Louis Bazan breathed a sigh of relief seeing the visitor; the officer was from the Official Residence, not loyal, but not someone who would harm him.

“A force has come from the east coast of Port-au-Prince and wiped out the Mawozo gang active over there. Their firepower is pretty strong.”

The officer paused, then emphasized, “Very strong!”

“The French?”

“Don’t know.” The other person shook his head.

“Sir, maybe you should hide?”

“Where to hide?”

Mark Louis Bazan responded with a hint of helplessness, saying, “There’s no safest place in Haiti. Have the soldiers guard the gates, and by morning, we’ll know who they are.”

The officer tugged at his mouth, and ultimately could only salute in resignation.

The whole night was filled with gunfire.

The people huddled indoors, shivering in fear.

The sound of angry gang shouts mixed with screams echoed near the Port of Prince.

God?

At this time, calling anyone is useless.

The fear caused by the loss of control over public safety is incomprehensible.

When guns and ammunition become readily available everywhere, public safety?

It’s long since fucking collapsed.

That’s why at East University, there’s always talk about the need for allowing gun possession…

By the next day, half the population would be gone.

Don’t think everyone is a pacifist.

With a sharp weapon in hand, murderous intents arise!

Mark Louis Bazan lay in bed, his mind heavy with worry.

Ugh—

Too tired, might as well resign.

When the sun rose again and sunshine graced Haiti.

The people hiding indoors heard the gunfire gradually fading and hesitantly came out.

Buzzing—

A harsh propeller sound rang from the sky. Looking up, they saw helicopters flying overhead.

Four or five of them.

They didn’t understand, but any military enthusiast would recognize them as H-53E transport helicopters, nicknamed “Super Stallion,” mainly used for low-altitude rescue and clearing low-altitude flight paths.

Some gang members stood on the ground, shooting at the sky. They didn’t have any rocket launchers; having a gun in this place was impressive enough.

“Kill you!!!”

The gang member shouted, as if venting his discontent.

The H-53E transport helicopters in the sky seemed to hear his “prayers,” turning the nose of the helicopter.

12.7 mm machine gun began exchanging fire with the drug trafficker!

Hell, whoever hides is a coward.

The truth proved…

Humans still can’t beat machines. In just a few seconds, that gang member was turned into pieces.

Hiding inside a house, Jimmy Cherizier looked extremely grim.

He is the leader of the G9 Gang Alliance!

Also the largest gang in Port-au-Prince, “high status,” in Haiti, no one dared to provoke him, not even the president.

But unknown outsiders, who don’t follow local rules, suddenly opened fire.

Now he is made quite humiliated.

“I’ll get them sooner or later!”

Now he can only hide indoors, impotently raging.

“Contact American arms dealers for me. I want bigger, rougher, more violent weapons!”

…

Port-au-Prince dock.

The directly subordinate battalion is resting on the spot.

The military medics quickly checked the status of the wounded, sending those not doing well to the transport ship.

“Captain, we suffered 16 casualties yesterday, killed over 500 enemies, not including those hit by the transport vehicle missile strike.” The deputy commander ran over to report.

Major Fritz Klingenberg grinned with satisfaction, “The Mob is just The Mob, lacking faith, support from the people, and firepower. Waiting for the follow-up troops to arrive and engage in humanitarian aid, with the people’s support, Haiti will stand firm!”

“This is too easy.” The deputy commander couldn’t help but laugh.

Major Fritz Klingenberg’s eyelids twitched.

Woo woo woo—

Just then, a sound came from above, and he looked up, squinting to shield his eyes from the sun.

“F-15, Americans?!”

“Old rivals have arrived.”

…