Lemoyne

It turned out that those bastards in the O'Driscoll gang, who seemed to subsist purely on spite and moonshine, were actually quite resilient. Or, perhaps, just exceptionally good at bleeding out in inconvenient places.

Arthur and the others, for all their seasoned tracking skills, didn't find so much as a single, mangled toe belonging to Mr. Colm. The tracks of the fleeing carriages were an absolute disaster, scattering like desperate rats, dissolving into chaos with every panicked turn.

Even when they valiantly split into small, grim-faced teams to scour various directions, they ultimately lost the faint, bloody trail, finding nothing but two unfortunate gang members who had decided to bleed out permanently. Left with no choice but to admit defeat to a missing limb and a blood trail, they rode back to the gang's camp, tails metaphorically between their legs.

Time slowly bled into a new day. With the first resolute rays of dawn, Davey, Mac, John, and others rode out of the ranch, their horses' hooves drumming a determined rhythm on the hard ground. They were due to hit Saint Denis by tomorrow morning, poised to kick off the new, delicate mission Dutch had assigned.

Not long after, Arthur, with a knowing grin, also rode out of the ranch, his horse pointed squarely towards Vulture Ranch. His mission: to act as Dutch's personal emissary of goodwill, a human comfort blanket for Mr. Marko, assisting the eccentric genius and helping him bask in the newfound warmth of gang camaraderie.

Convoys of wagons, laden with Dutch's fashion empire, steadily departed from the ranch, rumbling towards Strawberry and Saint Denis. Led by the ever-dependable Charles and Javier, and escorted by ten grim-faced gunmen, these valuable clothes were unlikely to encounter any problems. If any foolhardy soul dared to attempt a robbery, their entire gang would swiftly become the bloody, unfortunate "compensation" for this batch of cutting-edge couture.

Back at the ranch, the rest of the gang thrummed with activity, already digging the foundations for two more formidable bunkers, ensuring that their firepower could completely saturate and dominate the entire perimeter. All aspects of the Van der Linde Gang, it seemed, were operating with chilling precision, and the entire enterprise was undeniably thriving.

As the hours bled into evening, Davey, Mac, and the others, having arrived near Saint Denis, wheeled their horses out of the town's outer limits and quickly headed towards a whispered-about place known as Shady Belle.

"Hya!" Davey yelled, his voice a sharp command, and the powerful horse beneath him leapt forward, galloping with a desperate urgency. This particular operation involved the formidable core of the Van der Linde Gang's strength: Davey, Mac, John, Sean, Lenny, and Bill.

While Sean's marksmanship was notoriously poor and Lenny's was only marginally better, this was merely in comparison to the likes of Arthur Morgan. In reality, their shooting skills were still far beyond average, hitting seven or eight out of ten shots – making them, by any sane measure, first-rate gunmen.

Of course, the true, visceral power of this operation rested on the shoulders of Davey, Mac, and John. Rumor, thick and whispered like swamp mist, claimed that Davey and Mac were the Van der Linde Gang's undisputed top combatants, asserting that together, even Arthur was no match for their combined fury.

Whether this was true or merely a delightful campfire exaggeration remained unconfirmed, but it undeniably cemented their status as sharpshooters of legendary caliber, firmly within the first echelon of the Van der Linde Gang's might. Whether they could surpass Arthur was a delightful debate for another time, but they were undeniably far more formidable than John Marston was at this very moment. This unwavering confidence in their abilities was precisely why Dutch had chosen to send them.

"John, is this absolutely the way Dutch said to go?" Davey asked, his eyes scanning the tree line, a hint of unease in his voice, as he rode alongside his grim-faced companion. Shady Belle was a name Dutch had given them, whispered like a secret, a location rumored to be a natural fortress, easy to defend, nearly impossible to assault.

"Yes, Davey," John confirmed, nodding curtly, his gaze darting around the encroaching gloom. "But Dutch said there's a group of damned Lemoyne raiders in Shady Belle, and it seems to be their primary arms storage. We might need to be... extra careful." John looked remarkably better now than he did in the game – a testament to Dutch's recent efforts to "civilize" him, and the merciful cessation of Abigail's constant nagging now that the gang was flush with cash and operating somewhat legitimately. In other words, he'd seen more of the world and, shockingly, become a bit smarter.

As they drew closer to the coordinates Dutch had provided, the ominous two-story villa within Shady Belle began to materialize through the deepening shadows, a dark, skeletal silhouette against the dying light.

"Alright, gentlemen, stop," Davey commanded, raising a gloved hand, his voice low and urgent. "We'll hide in the woods here. Ahead should be Shady Belle, just as Dutch said. This is an arms storage location, and I have no desire to rush in and get spontaneously ventilated by a thousand bullets!" Davey, as the most senior and undeniably strongest man present, had naturally assumed temporary leadership. Indeed, he was a leader; two of the Van der Linde Gang's three top enforcers had perished in the Blackwater Town massacre. Otherwise, even facing the devastating Pinkerton ambush in Saint Denis, they might have resisted, or even caused an even greater, more legendary tragedy in the city.

"Sean, Lenny, you two take the binoculars and scout out the situation inside," Davey instructed, his gaze cutting to the two younger men who were already expertly tying their horses to trees. "Pay particular attention to the exact location of the firearms. Since we intend to build bunkers here and transform this villa into a bastion to contain Saint Denis, I believe this batch of firearms will be an invaluable asset to our cause. When the shooting starts, for God's sake, do not blow them up directly!"

"Okay, Davey," Sean and Lenny chorused, nodding with grim determination. When they were on missions, it was always Davey, Mac, or Arthur who issued the commands, and they obeyed without question. The two of them, rifles slung casually over their backs, quietly melted into the shadows, approaching the two broken, crumbling walls of Shady Belle. Using the crumbling masonry as cover, they began their cautious reconnaissance.

Davey, meanwhile, had already unslung his own rifle and sniper rifle, his eyes assessing Mac and John with a critical gaze. "John, our marksmanship is superior," he stated, a subtle hint of professional pride in his voice. "So, we'll hide back here and provide cover for the three of them, primarily to neutralize that damned Maxim gun on the second floor. And Mac, you take Sean and Lenny forward to draw their fire for us, create the perfect firing positions for the two of us."

"Okay, Davey," John nodded, a grim set to his jaw, already shouldering the sniper rifle from his horse. Then the three of them, a silent, deadly trio, began their stealthy approach towards Shady Belle.

As an arms storage location, Shady Belle's defenses were not inherently weak; the issue lay squarely with the guards' abysmal vigilance and laughably shallow coverage. There were no sentries positioned at the two massive, vision-obstructing gates – an oversight that bordered on criminal negligence. Davey, raising his sniper rifle, peered through its scope at the scene within, a faint eyebrow rising in surprise.

"Damn it," he muttered, a low whistle escaping his lips. "There's a ludicrous amount of ammunition stored in this place! I guarantee, if even a tiny, errant spark gets in, it will trigger an apocalyptic explosion! This simply won't do, gentlemen. Dutch needs us to establish a stronghold here, build bunkers using this very villa, and use it to control Saint Denis. So, be exceedingly careful when you start shooting.

For the love of all that's holy, do not let these damned explosives blow up! These things are more than enough to sustain our war efforts in Saint Denis!" He paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Also, Mac, if you get a clear chance, capture someone alive. We need to ask them about the source of their firearms. I do not want to disappoint Dutch!"