Chapter 48: Woe the vanquished
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As circumstances evolved, we were forced to change tactics. It became evident that we would rather be welcomed as saviors by the locals than face fierce resistance against slavery and occupation. Earning their loyalty, or at least their cooperation, would be far more beneficial than attempting to subdue them by force.
One of the biggest challenges was restricting access to their vices: alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs. Some of the inhabitants were addicts and depended on these substances. Unfortunately, we couldn't offer them treatments to overcome their addiction, so the quickest and most effective solution was to remove the addicts from the town and, without hesitation, put a bullet in their heads. It was a cruel measure but necessary to prevent disorder from spreading.
The next day, we dedicated time to confiscating distillers and drug-making equipment. Instead of destroying these resources, we decided to repurpose them for producing medicine for the Legion. It was unthinkable to waste such a profitable operation. Although this caused us to lose some of the initial devotion of the locals, we managed to maintain good relations, especially when I presented them with the conditions of their new status as tributaries.
The town would be responsible for producing medicine, food, and minerals for the Legion, while we would guarantee a constant supply of clean water, a scarce resource in the region. This exchange ensured stability and kept the population cooperative, even if they no longer saw us as their saviors.
I sent patrols to the small surrounding villages with clear orders: if they resisted, they would be enslaved; if they collaborated and helped eradicate the drug traffickers, they would become tributaries. Meanwhile, with the bulk of my troops, we continued our advance. I couldn't miss the opportunity to strike while the Narcoqueen was still unprepared to face us.
Our journey by land passed without incident. As we left Yécora behind, the population density noticeably decreased. After several hours of marching, we reached a village near a river we needed to cross. The state of the place was apparent at first glance, and I immediately understood why it was called the "Valley of the Addicts."
The streets were filled with people with needles in their arms, surrounded by a sea of drug-related trash like Jet. The entire village was consumed by addiction. The only ones who seemed in better condition were the ghouls serving the Narcoqueen. They controlled a huge drug depot, selling to the addicts in exchange for caps or some form of service. The town was utterly ruined, a shadow of what it might have once been.
There was no place for this kind of degeneration in the domains of the Legion. The verdict was clear and swift: the entire town was put to the sword and the pistol. There was no mercy. Addicts had no place in the social fabric the Legion sought to build, and leaving their existence unchecked would only feed into the decay. The ghouls were eliminated along with the rest, and the drug depot was destroyed.
The Legion couldn't afford enclaves like this, where vice dominated every aspect of life. Caesar's justice was relentless, and I wouldn't allow these corrupt elements to infiltrate our campaign.
After finishing the purge in the Valley of the Addicts, we continued our advance. After several more hours of marching without incident, we finally encountered some resistance. It seemed that the few survivors of our previous attacks had managed to alert the narcos, who were now trying to organize a defense.
When we reached the river, I looked through my binoculars and could see a small resistance on the other side. It wasn't an imposing force, but they had managed to set up an improvised defense. At first glance, I didn't detect any heavy weaponry—just some pistols, rifles, and a couple of light machine guns scattered among the men guarding the terrain. Their position wasn't particularly strong, but the river acted as a natural barrier that would complicate a frontal assault without preparation.
"Weak resistance," I thought, evaluating the situation. While they weren't well-armed, any engagement without a strategy could cost us time and resources I didn't want to waste. Still, this force was more of an obstacle than a true threat. With our superior equipment and the experience of my legionaries, there was no doubt that we could easily overrun them if we moved our forces correctly.
Quickly, I launched the two APCs equipped with 25mm machine guns as the spearhead. The thunderous roar of the engines and the machine guns echoed as they advanced, firing relentlessly at the enemy positions. Behind them, a hundred men in power armor marched steadily, moving like an unstoppable tide of steel. The infantry, armored and well-armed, crossed the river under the protection of the armored vehicles.
As our forces advanced, the crack of light mortars broke the air. The explosives fell precisely on enemy positions, dismantling their fragile defenses with ease. The explosions sent smoke and debris into the air, completely disorganizing the narcos, who barely managed to respond with their light weapons. The ground they had tried to defend crumbled under the rain of fire and shrapnel.
The APCs fired ceaselessly with their 25mm machine guns, shredding the air and destroying the cover behind which the few defenders tried to hold. The men in power armor, imposing and unstoppable, advanced without hesitation, eliminating anyone left alive after the bombardment. With each step they took, the enemy became more demoralized and in complete disarray.
The resistance, though small, was quickly being crushed under the weight of our offensive.
We crossed the river swiftly, maintaining our steady advance. After reloading the APCs' ammunition, we knew we had to keep pressing while we still had the initiative. Every minute wasted meant giving the narcos time to reorganize, and we couldn't afford that.
In our pursuit of the fleeing ghouls and humans, we arrived at a large city sprawling around an imposing mansion perched atop a hill. It was clear this place was an important strategic point, likely the Narcoqueen's headquarters. I knew that here we would finally encounter the real resistance I had anticipated since the beginning of the campaign.
My suspicions were confirmed. Hundreds of ghouls had entrenched themselves in the streets, accompanied by thousands of men armed with pistols and light weapons. Although they weren't well-equipped, their numbers and the advantage of urban terrain made them a considerable force. It was evident they were prepared to fight to the end to protect what remained of their empire.
This time, our tactics had to adapt. I knew capturing the inhabitants alive and taking control of the city was crucial. We couldn't afford to cause too many casualties with indiscriminate bombings, so we ruled out the use of mortars. However, the basic strategy remained the same: the APCs moved to the front, opening fire with their 25mm machine guns, tearing through any attempts at resistance.
The ghouls and men facing us quickly fell under the barrage of bullets, their improvised barricades reduced to rubble. My men in power armor followed the APCs' advance, moving relentlessly through the streets. Their armor and firepower ensured that every confrontation resulted in a clear victory for us. Any group attempting to halt our progress was swiftly silenced by the coordinated fire of the heavy machine guns and the well-equipped legionaries.
Still, the advance was more complicated than expected. Every street turned into a battlefield, with intense firefights and constant ambushes. The narcos, in a last-ditch effort to stop us, had brought down buildings with dynamite to create blockages, temporarily trapping our armored vehicles. The APCs, despite their firepower, were stuck behind the debris, forcing us to continue the urban combat solely with our power-armored units.
The city wasn't large, nor was it filled with skyscrapers, which played in our favor. The two-story houses limited the number of snipers who could have turned every window into a threat. Still, every corner, every street, and every building posed a risk, as the ghouls and men defending this place knew the terrain well. They entrenched themselves in the ruined structures and launched surprise attacks from windows and rooftops, forcing us to advance cautiously.
The legionaries in power armor advanced with determination, their footsteps echoing on the concrete as they returned fire at each attack that emerged from the shadows. The heavy machine guns they carried turned them into an unstoppable wall, but the combat was intense. Every street had to be secured before we could move forward, and though we were winning, the progress was slow and methodical.
I knew the casualties had to be minimal if we wanted to maintain control of the city and its inhabitants. Our priority was to eliminate the resistance without causing unnecessary destruction. Although the terrain made our advance difficult, our forces were well-trained for this kind of close-quarters combat.
As we continued to fight street by street, we got closer to the mansion atop the hill, where I knew the Narcoqueen or her remaining leaders would be holed up.
With every passing minute, dozens of profligates fell before the relentless advance of the power armor units. Their weapons, unable to penetrate our armor, were useless. The shots from their pistols and rifles bounced off harmlessly, while our forces responded with overwhelming precision and lethality.
One hour of intense urban combat was enough to secure the entire city. The streets, filled with barricades and debris just minutes before, were now ours. The legionaries without power armor quickly spread throughout the city, securing every street and sealing off any possible escape routes. We knew that the population, and especially the leaders of the narcos, would try to flee if given the chance. We couldn't allow anyone to escape.
We blocked the main exits and set up patrols in the less accessible areas. Any attempt to flee would be crushed before it even began. The few remaining leaders, if there were any left, would be cornered in the mansion on the hill, their final refuge.
As we prepared the explosives to breach one of the mansion's walls, a massive explosion shook the entire area. Within seconds, a large portion of the mansion was engulfed in flames. The fire spread rapidly, fueled by the chemical products stored in what we now knew was a hidden drug lab inside.
The chemicals must have reacted violently, causing total chaos. From my position, I could see dozens of ghouls running out of the building, their bodies consumed by flames. Desperate, they tried to roll on the ground to extinguish the fire, but their efforts were in vain. The intensity of the blaze made any attempt at survival impossible.
The acrid smell of burning chemicals mixed with the thick black smoke rising into the sky. The explosion had destroyed much of the mansion, but it had also wiped out many of the occupants still inside.
Some leaders of the narcos were still inside, and while the fire was consuming a large part of the mansion, we needed to ensure there were no survivors who could escape amidst the chaos.
"Continue with the assault," I ordered firmly, adjusting the plan on the fly. While parts of the mansion burned and collapsed from the explosion, the still-intact areas became our new target. We had to make sure that any remaining leaders of the Narcoqueen were either captured or killed. The fire and destruction wouldn't be obstacles for the Legion; they had simply changed the circumstances of our inevitable victory.
Gunfire continued in the streets and among the mansion's debris. Sporadic shots rang out from the few remaining defenders, but their forces were clearly decimated and disorganized. The legionaries equipped with power armor advanced with unstoppable ferocity, their armor shrugging off the weak attempts at resistance. As the enemy lines broke, many of my men, eager to end the battle, rushed into close combat, machetes in hand, facing off against the narcos and ghouls still clinging to their defense.
Steel flashed in the air as the legionaries unleashed their fury upon the dwindling defenders. Any attempt to resist was quickly crushed under the Legion's brutality. Machine guns and rifles continued to fire, but it was clear the fight was nearing its end. The resistance, though desperate, could do nothing against the discipline and might of our troops.
We finally managed to breach what remained of the mansion. With the flames consuming parts of the building and the last remnants of resistance being eliminated, we began the search for the Narcoqueen's leaders. We knew that if any of the top lieutenants were still alive, they would be hiding deep within the mansion, guarding what little power they had left.
As my legionaries swept through the ruins, we came across a reinforced vault. It was like a fortress within the mansion itself. There was no time for subtlety, so we quickly placed explosives and blew it open with a precise detonation.
When the doors swung open, what we found was surprising: the vault was packed, almost overflowing, with silver and gold bars. Heaps of them, gleaming under the dim light that filtered through the cracks. Alongside the bars, there were also thousands of bottle caps, the common currency in these lands.
The wealth accumulated in that vault was immense, a testament to the economic power the Narcoqueen had built on the backs of her subjects and the drug trade.
"This was the real power they were defending," I murmured to myself, gazing at the fortune that had been the foundation of their criminal operation.
I quickly gave orders for everything to be inventoried and prepared for transport. This treasure, which had once fueled the narcos' empire, would now belong to the Legion. With this wealth, we could finance new campaigns, acquire vital resources, and further strengthen our forces.
We finally found the Narcoqueen deep within the mansion, surrounded by corpses. Her collaborators, who had apparently planned to betray her and turn her over in exchange for their lives, lay dead. She, in an act of pure desperation or perhaps twisted loyalty to her own fate, had killed them all before they could carry out their betrayal.
Despite her situation, the Narcoqueen showed no fear. She spoke English, albeit with difficulty, and began to tell me her story, trying to justify her actions and her empire. However, at no point did she beg for her life. There was a mixture of pride and resignation in her words, a silent defiance, as if she still believed she could leave her mark even in defeat. But her words were empty to me, full of justifications I had no interest in.
As she spoke, I realized her time was running out, and her story, as predictable as the others before her, had nothing new to offer. When I grew bored of listening, I made the decision without hesitation. In one swift motion, I severed her head, silencing her final words forever.
The Narcoqueen's head, still bearing that expression of defiance, rolled across the floor. I gave the order for it to be prepared and sent to Flagstaff as a symbol of our first major victory in this campaign. Caesar would receive his trophy and understand that the region was now under control.
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