Heil-I mean Hail Dutch

At precisely 8 AM, Hope Ranch was already a pulsating hive of activity, a symphony of anticipation. A staggering total of over 1,500 workers had gathered, their collective gaze fixed, unblinking, on the middle of the muddy field.

There, arrayed in crisp, identical uniforms, stood five hundred gunfighters, each one gripping a brand-new, menacing semi-automatic rifle. The air vibrated with their disciplined silence, a tangible hum of suppressed power.

The five hundred gunfighters, clad in their sharp, uniform black and white attire, stood ramrod straight, their eyes fixed on the man who stood before them with an almost terrifying fervor. A palpable sense of rigid oppression emanated from their ranks; a team of five hundred, organized and equipped, was already a force to be reckoned with, but these five hundred were something else entirely. These gunfighters, meticulously selected from the seasoned veteran ranks, were far more serious, far more disciplined than any ragged band of irregular troops.

They exuded a chilling sense of grim resolve, a hardened aura. Coupled with the specialized, brutal training they had received during this period, and their unwavering, almost fanatical belief in Dutch Van der Linde's willingness to sacrifice everything for them, the cold, deadly aura about them grew even more intense, more profound.

This was a truly fearless army, an army ready to sacrifice every last breath for Mr. Van der Linde! Because each and every one of them knew, with a certainty that settled deep in their bones, that if they sacrificed themselves, their precious families would receive Mr. Van der Linde's most solemn, most sacred care!

Therefore, they had no worries, no nagging anxieties, no crippling fears about their own mortality! A cold army, utterly devoid of fear, was truly an army that could make enemies tremble in their boots. An army that feared neither life nor death was the most violent, most terrifying mad dog, the most relentless, unstoppable demon imaginable.

And Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, in his infinite, cunning wisdom, to help them solidify their beliefs, to hammer their devotion into an unyielding steel, had even specifically designed a solemn, striking black and white military uniform for them, drawing subtle inspiration from that infamous World War German distinctive military uniform design style. It must be said, that Germany was truly a talent in propaganda; a handsome military uniform was not only the best recruitment advertisement imaginable, but also the most crucial factor in solidifying an army's belief, its very soul.

This military uniform was handsome, it was solemn, it was commanding. It made people involuntarily straighten their chests when they wore it, and a powerful, almost zealous belief, seemingly carried by the very fabric of the uniform, surged from their chests.

This handsome appearance not only brought a deeply shocking, almost seductive visual impact to the surrounding onlookers, making them unconsciously want to wear it, to become a part of this powerful, disciplined team, but also allowed the gunfighters actually wearing the uniform to solidify their faith, to become increasingly, terrifyingly fanatical. This feeling was similar to watching, say, an infamous gang boss dancing with his subordinates, finding it incredibly cool, and wishing you could either replace them or somehow join their ranks.

If he weren't constantly worried about being reported and targeted by the omnipresent, ever-watchful United States Federal Government, Dutch would have already, without a moment's hesitation, brazenly renamed the Van der Linde Gang to the Van der Linde Party.

A team, a collective, bound by strict party rules and regulations, could possess an immense, almost unshakeable appeal and cohesion. At that point, even if he, Dutch Van der Linde, were to meet his demise, the Van der Linde Party would remain undying, its spirit living on until the very last person perished, fighting to the bitter end.

To truly unite a scattered group, to seamlessly recruit countless members, and to instill in these members an unyielding sense of belonging – that would inevitably result in a vast and terrifyingly effective organization, a force to be reckoned with. Dutch was working relentlessly, meticulously, towards that very goal.

At this moment, Dutch, standing majestically in front of the five hundred gunfighters, was also wearing a uniform. His, of course, was largely similar in style and color, but with some additional, subtle embellishments and decorations signifying his supreme rank, his undisputed leadership.

These very decorations, he knew, would become the lifelong pursuit, the ultimate aspiration, of every gunfighter standing before him. Once a system is established, once its rules and rewards are clear, a large group of people within that system will spontaneously, eagerly, work to maintain its operation, to strengthen its foundations, because it is so inextricably tied to their own vital interests. And now, his system, his magnificent structure, was established.

The uniform Dutch wore symbolized the absolute highest leader of the Van der Linde Gang, while Arthur, Hosea, and the other core members standing nearby also wore uniforms, subtly differentiated, representing their respective crucial positions within this burgeoning system. Furthermore, the uniforms of the five master gunfighters, the immediate commanders standing in front of these five hundred gunfighters, were also distinct, with their own embellishments clearly indicating their specific statuses.

And in addition, every ten people in the team had a different, minor rank, and each successive rank was intricately related to their salary, their power, and their social status within the organization… Of course, that's enough said about the intricacies of his new social hierarchy. It can only be said that everyone hoped to repay Mr. Van der Linde's immense kindness, but at the very same time, everyone hoped to slightly, subtly, raise their own status, to gain just a little more power, a little more influence.

By this time, the entire team, which had been undergoing rigorous, disciplined training for nearly two months, stood in perfect, unyielding silence. Their eyes, fixed with an unblinking, fervent intensity on Dutch, who stood at the very front, radiated a light so fierce, so devoted, it was difficult to meet directly.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Hello everyone!" Dutch boomed, his voice resonating across the square. He stood on a high platform, specifically ordered and built last night, ensuring every single soul could see him. Today, the factory was temporarily shut down, and all the workers had gathered, their faces alight with eagerness, their eyes filled with utter devotion as they looked at Mr. Van der Linde, their benevolent leader, standing on his lofty perch. "I wonder if you have been happy recently? Are you feeling joyful? Is life here fulfilling?"

Upon hearing Mr. Van der Linde's words, the workers below responded with a collective, eager roar, as if in a frenzy, a wave of profound, heartfelt affirmation washing over the square.

"Happy! Mr. Van der Linde! I will dedicate my life to you!" a female worker shrieked, her voice cracking with raw emotion, her eyes brimming with tears, her face flushed with an almost feverish devotion. They jumped desperately, waving their hands, trying to raise their positions higher, just hoping that Mr. Van der Linde, their living god, might catch a glimpse of them. Even if it was just a fleeting glance, they would be content, their hearts overflowing.

Life during this time had been like an impossible dream for them. Women in this era held a tragically low status; when they were poor, they could only desperately try to find ways to earn money to support their families, yet work opportunities were still heartbreakingly scarce.

Beyond the crushing weight of poverty, they also had to endure constant oppression within their own families. Because they themselves found it so difficult to generate resources, their status in the household was even lower, their husbands would often beat and scold them with impunity, and if they were bullied outside, they could only swallow their anger, their humiliation, in silence.

But after coming to Hope Ranch, their lives had, suddenly, miraculously, become completely different! Each of them could work, earn generous wages, and even their husbands, those previous tyrants, now needed to rely on them to work in the factory. As a result, their family status was completely, utterly transformed; they no longer needed to bow and scrape, they no longer needed to endure humiliation, no longer silently weep into their pillows. While their quality of life improved dramatically, their family status also rose, and even their social standing increased due to their newfound spending power. Comparing the two existences – their past lives and their current reality at Hope Ranch – it was truly like the stark, unimaginable difference between heaven and hell. Therefore, among all the workers at Hope Ranch, the loyalty of the female workers was undoubtedly the highest, so profoundly high that they were willing to dedicate everything, their very souls, to Mr. Dutch Van der Linde!

Of course, while the loyalty of the female workers was extraordinarily high, that of the male workers was by no means low. Their lives, too, were completely different from their previous, miserable existence. They had gained respect, recognition, and a profound understanding from Mr. Van der Linde, and their children, their precious children, could even begin school here, learning to read and write, preparing for a future they'd never dared to dream of. These profound changes in their lives filled them with an infinite, boundless reverence for Mr. Van der Linde.

If their attitude towards Saint Denis's performative feminism was one of disdain, and their attitude towards the United States Federal Government's hollow slogan of freedom and equality was one of cynical sarcasm, then their attitude towards Dutch Van der Linde's practical doctrine of universal happiness and equality was one of the utmost, unshakeable faith. It was a belief forged in the fires of personal salvation.