Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Everyone, follow wartime protocols!"

The Village Head, holding the document, briefly said, "Our Seburn Village's 37 militiamen will be incorporated into the Reserve Seventh Division, 6th Regiment, F Company. If there are no issues, come and sign."

War?!

The militiamen below stared with wide eyes.

"Village... Village Head, we are just militia."

"Militia doesn't count as soldiers? Duncan, you come first."

"Dad..." A young man said hesitantly from below.

"Dad? Call me Company Commander, starting now, I am the Seburn Village Militia Company Commander, and you are my soldier, understand!" The Village Head glared, exuding an imposing aura that made the youngsters somewhat afraid.

The other side slowly stepped forward, but a figure rushed past him, took the pen from the table, and signed his name.

"Rodri?!"

"Company Commander, I've signed. I'd like to go home and say goodbye to my parents first." The honest young man's lips were tight, looking very serious.

The Village Head stared at him, "Go on, from now on you are our company's Deputy Company Commander."

"Yes!" Rodri saluted and left the meeting room.

"Next!"

When he got home, his parents had finished their meal, and his sister Jina was still holding a bowl gnawing on a bone, smiling with rice on her big front tooth as she saw him return.

"Back already? What did the Village Head need you for?" the woman asked curiously.

"Our militia has been drafted into the reserves; we're going to war, heading to the frontline."

Crack!

The woman's bowl slipped from her hands onto the floor, breaking in two, her face turning pale, "War? No! That's not happening! I'm going to see the Village Head."

"The Village Head is leading himself; his own son has joined too," Rodri said.

"Why does it have to be like this? We've just had some peace, why must we go to war..." The woman cried, covering her face, tears in her eyes, suddenly looking at her husband furrowing his brows, "Let's leave, leave this place."

"What nonsense are you spouting!"

"Mom!"

Both men were looking at her.

Rodri took a deep breath, his expression stern, "Where can we go? Should we return to being bullied by those drug traffickers? Have you forgotten how dad got his eye and leg injury? Those bastards don't see us as human."

This reminded the woman of a dark past.

The Tijuana Cartel used to hover around, demanding "body smuggling" to the United States, blackmailing some villagers into doing their bidding, but Rodri's father had refused, and they broke his legs on the spot; his eyeball was gouged out with a toothpick.

Back then, life was worse than death...

"General Victor gave us food, clothes, even free schooling for the little brother, and land, and he even abolished the agricultural tax. Mom, haven't you always taught me to have a conscience? Where else in Mexico could be better?"

"United States? They'll just see us as refugees without a country."

"Southern? They need drug traffickers."

"Only here, is where our roots truly are."

Rodri laughed freely, "Besides, I ranked third in shooting, running, and the all-around obstacle course in the full reserve forces competitions. If I can earn military honors, I could go directly to the Military Academy for further studies. Soon, you'll be living the good life!"

Some are afraid, while others are thrilled by the prospect of war!

In the Northern Army, "military exploits" take precedence above all.

The more enemies you kill on the battlefield, the more rewards you are given.

This is one reason why the morale of the Northern Army is so high.

Which officer isn't made through battle?

Upon hearing Rodri's words, the father slapped his shoulder, "A man must go out and protect what he needs to protect."

"Let's eat."

The shadow of war loomed over this small household, and although the mother was reluctant to part with her son, she still prepared everything through her tears.

Rodri had already changed into his military uniform, adorned with the rank of Sergeant First Class, an award he received after the competitions.

"Brother..."

His sister Jina tugged at his finger, and he looked down to see her handing him a drawing, eyes behind glasses, "This is a drawing of the family; remember to think of us."

Under a blue sky strewn with clouds, the house was small, but on the left side the family of four were holding hands, with a little dog squatting beside them.

"You have to behave at home." Rodri patted her head and solemnly tucked the drawing into his jacket pocket.

"Yep, I'll be good." Jina didn't know why, but she felt like crying. She always felt that her brother was going to be gone for a very, very long time...

"Mom, Dad, I'm off." Rodri saluted and then resolutely turned away.

In the village, a troop carrier was already waiting, with many people in military garb climbing aboard under the watchful eyes of parents, spouses, and children.

"Rodri! Rodri!"

He heard someone call him and turned to see his father running up, stuffing dates into his hand, "Be careful on your journey."

"Get on!" the Village Head shouted, and everyone ran aboard and took their seats inside. Rodri looked outside.

His limping father stood there for a long time, watching his son leave.

Rumble...

The engine turned over, and the vehicle slowly departed.

"Rodri, your dad is still watching you," a comrade elbowed him. He looked up, but after a turn, he could no longer see clearly.

He put the dates in his mouth.

They were really sweet.

Just like life right now, so sweet.

...

"You're going to the front lines?" Casare frowned deeply, looking at the younger brother standing in front of him.

Felix nodded, "I want to go to the frontline."

"You need to understand what you're saying. You're currently a General's Guard, and soon you'll be the Guard Commander. You have limitless prospects; you don't need to go to the front lines to risk your life with others."