Legio Mexicanorum

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A week passed in the blink of an eye as the forces stationed at my settlement and Flagstaff mobilized toward our new base of operations. While I hadn't achieved the revolutionary breakthroughs I wanted to upgrade all my men's equipment, I had made significant progress: integrating a microfusion generator into a T-51B power armor. This development greatly increased the armor's operational duration on the battlefield, a crucial advantage for prolonged operations without immediate resupply.

This success inspired me to modify my personal power armor, providing it with a nearly unlimited power source on my back. With this new energy, I significantly enhanced the armor's defensive capabilities, making it nearly impenetrable in combat. But it wasn't just about defense. The additional power allowed me to increase the number of servos in the armor and improve its overall power, resulting in a notable boost to my agility. What had once been a heavy, restrictive suit now felt lighter and more agile, enabling me to move more freely on the battlefield.

Each adjustment I made transformed my power armor from a mere combat tool into an extension of myself, merging strength, speed, and endurance into one seamless unit. This new agility would allow me to adapt better in the heat of battle.

As much as I wanted to continue refining and upgrading my power armor, duty called, especially since I was already operating on borrowed time. Caesar expected results, and I couldn't afford delays. Now that I had permission to use modern medicine to heal my men of any ailment science could treat, I needed to ensure everything moved forward as planned. Surprisingly, luck seemed to be on the Legion's side. Despite the promiscuity among the legionaries and the slaves, we hadn't had serious issues with sexually transmitted diseases. Still, modern medicine could offer solutions for nearly all of them. Nevertheless, the Legion, out of pride and tradition, refused to produce these cures systematically.

With time running out, I managed to complete two armored vehicles equipped with the 25mm cannon we needed in case we encountered lightly armored vehicles or needed to quickly eliminate enemy infantry. Once finished, I sent them to the front immediately, knowing they could make a difference in the initial skirmishes. I used the Vertibird to transport ammunition and weapons, giving us a significant logistical advantage over our enemies.

However, I knew that as a commander, I couldn't afford to constantly fly the Vertibird myself. My place was on the battlefield, leading my men, not transporting supplies. So, I made the decision to train one of McKinley's trusted slaves in the art of piloting. Using the teaching capsules we had at our disposal, in just a few days, the slave had the necessary knowledge to fly the Vertibird with skill. This allowed me to delegate the missions of transporting ammunition and power armor to the front while they were being produced in the rear.

With a dedicated pilot, I no longer had to worry about aerial logistics, freeing me to focus entirely on the campaign. If everything went according to plan, with a bit of luck and resources, I could expand our air fleet and create more Vertibirds in the future, forming a small but powerful squadron of transport aircraft. This wouldn't just give us a tactical advantage; it would also solidify our ability to maintain the flow of supplies and armament to any point on the front, regardless of the distance separating our forces from the supply lines.

The campaign in Mexico demanded innovation and adaptation, and I was determined to meet those expectations.

Upon arriving at the camp, I was greeted by the imposing sight of three thousand legionaries training relentlessly, all perfectly equipped for the upcoming campaign. From the veterans wearing upgraded power armor to the freshly armed recruits, everyone was preparing for battle with an intensity that reflected their devotion to Caesar's cause.

The power armor users, towering and nearly invincible with their modifications, practiced complex maneuvers, while the recruits, though less experienced, fired their rifles with near-unlimited ammunition supplied by our war machinery. Although new to battle, they were armed with assault rifles capable of making any enemy tremble, with enough firepower to sweep away any obstacle in their path.

The arsenal I had assembled was, without a doubt, the most formidable the Legion could muster. We had not only assault rifles but also sniper rifles for taking out enemies at long range, anti-material rifles capable of shredding any armor, light and heavy machine guns that would offer devastating cover fire, and rocket launchers and grenade launchers to unleash chaos among enemy ranks. Every legionary, from the veterans to the recruits, was armed with the best the Legion could provide.

In addition to the infantry, the mechanized power we had assembled was something to admire. The APCs were ready to advance, but only two reinforced with 25mm machine guns, capable of withstanding enemy fire while transporting men to the front lines. The armored vehicles, though simple, would be a deadly surprise to any opposing force that underestimated us.

Of course, the crown jewel of our arsenal was the West-Tek power armor. These power suits, thanks to the modifications I had ordered, now also carried flamethrowers and grenade launchers. These units would be key in breaching fortified defenses and turning the battlefield into a living hell for our enemies.

My men were eager, hungry for victory, and the entire camp vibrated with palpable energy. I could see in their eyes that there was no doubt or fear, only one mission: to win in the name of Caesar.

The wind blew fiercely, kicking up dust into the air as I observed the endless ranks of legionaries. The sound of rifles firing, engines roaring, and the metal of power armor clanking with each step created a symphony of power. The campaign was ready to begin.

All our forces gathered at a single point, ready to cross the river. We expected organized resistance, prepared to defend their territory, but what greeted us was silence. The river was clear, not a single profligate in sight. It was disconcerting but advantageous. We had anticipated difficulties at this crossing, but the point where they could have inflicted damage on us was entirely undefended. Better for us.

Unlike the empty land across the river, on the Legion's border stood a fortified castra manned by seasoned border legionaries—veterans of Caesar. These legionaries, granted retirement some years ago, had not been given the honor of rest like others. Instead, they were tasked with guarding the frontier. Now, their vigilance was unnecessary, as we crossed into enemy lands without opposition.

As we crossed the river, I couldn't help but think that something was off. The ease with which we advanced worried me. But I knew one thing for sure: the Legion was ready for anything.

Guiding my men, we immediately headed toward the largest nearby town: Yécora. Compared to the first tribes Lanius had faced, the population of Yécora was considerably larger, but the simple, disorderly houses stretching for miles made it clear they weren't prepared for organized defense. Despite their numbers, we saw no signs of resistance.

As we approached the city, I was surprised at how easily we were entering enemy territory. By now, I had expected some kind of response, but the locals only watched us. Upon arriving at the town square, the inhabitants began murmuring among themselves, nervous at the presence of the Legion.

"¿Y quiénes son esos pendejos?" said one of the local men, clearly baffled by our arrival.

"No manches, pendejo, esos son los güeyes del César ese," another replied, visibly more frightened.

I had spent a few hours studying Spanish in the learning capsules, and while my understanding was basic, I could communicate well enough to handle the situation. I knew that imposing our authority immediately was crucial, without allowing fear to spiral into uncontrolled panic.

"¿Dónde está el líder de su pueblo?" I asked the men who were watching us, my voice firm and commanding.

One of them, a middle-aged man wearing a faded cap, responded without much concern: "Están pisteando, carnalito."

I frowned, confused by the expression. "¿Pisteando?" I repeated, not fully understanding what he meant.

"Simón," another confirmed, as if that explained everything.

I had no time for word games. I raised my rifle, aiming with intention. "Llévame con ellos," I ordered.

The man raised his hands in a calming gesture and nodded, pointing to a battered truck. "Claro, súbase a mi troca."

I climbed into the back of the vehicle as the engine roared and we drove a few hundred meters through the town. Soon, we arrived at what appeared to be a bar, a dilapidated building with flickering lights and the sound of music seeping through the walls. Outside, a large group of people was drinking beer, smoking, and chatting in an atmosphere of complete nonchalance. The most striking thing was that the group was made up of both humans and ghouls, coexisting as if the differences didn't matter.

"Esos son los que sirven a la narcoreina," said the man who had brought me, cautiously stepping out of the truck.

It wasn't long before my legionaries arrived, and the sound of machine guns began to rumble through the air. In a matter of seconds, the festive atmosphere turned to chaos. The roar of bullets filled the air as the legionaries opened fire mercilessly, shattering the carefree attitudes of those who had dared to underestimate the Legion.

The group drinking barely had time to react. Beer bottles shattered, cigarette smoke mixed with the dust kicked up by the gunfire, and panicked screams were drowned out by the roar. Some tried to run, but few made it beyond the range of our weapons.

"Hay virgencita... la cagué, pero bien," said the man who was hiding in his truck, clearly scared.

"¿Hay más miembros que sirven a la narcoreina?" I asked him bluntly, knowing there was still work to be done.

The man hesitated, his eyes filled with fear. "Ah... sí... pero... si no me matan ellos, lo harás tú. Así que, súbase a la troca," he said with resignation, knowing he had no escape.

I climbed back into the back of the truck, and for several hours, my legionaries swept through the town's streets. With precision, we systematically eliminated everyone serving the Narcoqueen. However, something unexpected happened: the locals, realizing we were taking down the drug traffickers, began to help us. At first, they were cautious, but soon they joined us, even participating in some of the firefights. Their support was crucial, especially during the attack on a local drug lab, where they guided us and provided valuable information.

By nightfall, the town of Yécora was completely under our control, and the remaining narcos had either been eliminated or were fleeing. The most surprising thing was the reaction of the locals. Instead of fearing the Legion, they began to cheer my men as if we were their saviors. Cheers and thanks echoed through the streets as lights came on in the homes, and the survivors came out to greet us.

"They still don't realize we came to enslave them, do they?" Cato said, with a mix of surprise and confusion as he saw the crowd thanking us.

I observed the situation for a moment before responding. "I suppose loyal tributaries aren't a bad idea either. If they believe we're their saviors, it'll make their submission easier. I doubt Caesar would complain about that. Guaranteed income every month, and as long as I'm leading the expedition, all that money will finance the campaign."

The surprise in my voice wasn't just due to the locals' attitude, but how quickly they had become useful. What initially seemed like a typical conquest was turning into an opportunity to establish a tributary territory. After all, if the town willingly submitted and saw us as their protectors, there would be minimal resistance, and resources would continue flowing to the Legion without much effort.

Caesar always said brute force was just a means to an end. Perhaps this time, instead of enslaving everyone, we could use their loyalty to strengthen our position. The easier it was to manage Yécora, the more resources we could dedicate to the real campaign ahead.

"Let them keep thinking we're their saviors for now," I finally said. "It benefits us more if they stay that way... until Caesar decides otherwise."