Bringing Civilization

The turbulent waters between Guarma and Lemoyne stretched across a formidable distance, demanding two grueling days by boat. It had taken a full four days just to assemble fifty hardened gunmen and charter a vessel for the journey to Guarma. Factor in the travel time to Saint Denis, and an entire week had vanished since Dutch first issued his audacious order. Now, without significant incident, this grim crew finally reached the sun-drenched, hostile coast of Guarma. Of course, to bypass Guarma's coastal military defenses, they had taken a deliberate, circuitous detour, weaving through treacherous channels.

At this very moment, under Mac's crisp command, the fifty hand-picked gunmen began to meticulously organize their formidable weapons and equipment. Not a flicker of fear marred their faces; instead, each man beamed with a wild, excited grin, their eyes bloodshot with a manic glee, so thrilled they practically vibrated, yearning to flatten the entire island of Guarma themselves.

This was the terrifying, almost religious power of cultivated gratitude; even facing inevitable death, this devoted group would charge forward like madmen possessed. For them, fighting for Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was an exhilarating, life-affirming crusade. After all, if they died, their families would receive preferential treatment from the Van der Linde Gang, and they themselves would be posthumously awarded a generous pension of up to five hundred dollars.

It sounds a bit unbelievable, this insane loyalty, but in this brutal era, simply being able to eat one's fill every day was a magnificent luxury for common folk. Almost fifty percent of soldiers in the Indian Federation era joined the army just to escape starvation. The situation in the United States now was not far removed from that desperation. Joining the Van der Linde Gang now meant not just full bellies, but high wages, extraordinary benefits, and treatment that bordered on the lavish. If one sacrificed themselves, their family would be treated with reverence, and there was a pension, a sum so vast it was practically astronomical compensation, enough to drive any man to suicidal devotion.

The men of Valentine, those hardworking ranch hands and shopkeepers, even practiced their marksmanship with desperate fervor every day. Those without guns practiced archery, and some, in their sheer desperation, even used wooden sticks as makeshift firearms, just to have the slightest chance of becoming a gunman for the Van der Linde Gang and then, perhaps, to gloriously sacrifice themselves on the battlefield. Sacrificing one's life for the boundless happiness of the entire family truly existed in this brutal era, even in the United States, a nation not yet cleansed by extreme ideologies. Most people, in their quiet despair, held this mindset as their only hope.

This profound, almost fanatical loyalty was also why the New Hanover soldiers seemed to give face to the Indian people. Are you kidding? they scoffed. They suffered endlessly as soldiers, and every single one of them looked forward to enjoying a life of comfort and prosperity under Mr. Van der Linde after their discharge. So, if Mr. Van der Linde asked them to do something now, would they possibly refuse? One was a trashy, idiotic current boss, indifferent to their plight; the other was a generous, benevolent, big-hearted boss, willing to shower them with money and genuine humanistic care, who had already extended a life-changing job offer. Any man with half a brain could figure out what to do. If they got caught by an officer and scored an early, 'dishonorable' discharge, that was even better — a double blessing!

Back to the main topic.

The fifty gunmen who journeyed from the Van der Linde Gang this time were all professionally selected, not a single greenhorn among them. Each was a veteran soldier, hardened by countless battles. They had also undergone specialized marksmanship training for over a month, some even longer, honing their lethal skills. These men weren't all legendary sharpshooters, but every single one of them could be considered a first-rate gunman, easily on par with the likes of Sean or Bill. Any one of these fifty men could, with effortless ease, gather a ragged band and form their own formidable gang. And now, all fifty of these top-tier gunmen were gathered here, working in unison for Mr. Van der Linde, a single, terrifying fist. This allowed Mr. Van der Linde to now brazenly, without a hint of irony, utter his favorite, chilling phrase: "Are you teaching me how to do things?"

At this very moment, this elite group of first-rate gunmen were meticulously organizing the devastating equipment they carried. The Van der Linde Gang's exclusive gunman uniform, when worn, transformed them into sharp, imposing figures, resembling a disciplined military unit, making the wearer appear tall, straight, and impossibly handsome. Each man carried a devastating Marko semi-automatic rifle, a masterpiece of rapid-fire destruction, and a belt bristling with three hundred rounds of ammunition. They were also equipped with three monstrous Maxim guns, each capable of spitting death, and five thousand rounds of ammunition to feed them.

Thanks to Mr. Marko's almost supernatural capabilities ,an all-rounder who could, by all accounts, hand-craft thinking robots in this era, he had successfully replicated the complex production chain for the Maxim gun. This engineering feat led to a staggering reduction in the cost for the Van der Linde Gang to wield Maxim guns. If it weren't for the fact that too many bullets made the load impossibly heavy, perhaps it wouldn't have been just three Maxims and five thousand rounds of ammunition transported this time. In addition, they carried eight crates of high-grade explosives; although it wasn't an infinite supply of bombs, in practical terms, it was no different from infinite.

Gazing at the sheer volume of weaponry and equipment laid out before them, Mac couldn't help but exclaim, a raw, heartfelt cry of awe: "Shit! I've never seen such beautiful sight!

Marko is truly astonishing! Dutch… Dutch has truly never made a single mistake!"

"Yeah," John said, standing beside Mac, his eyes wide with a quiet shock, "I think this is the civilization Dutch has always talked about." Civilization, that elusive concept Dutch had constantly lamented and preached about, seemed to have finally materialized in their hands, being utilized, forged, by them. Before, they always struggled to grasp what Dutch's abstract "civilization" truly meant, but after witnessing the relentless industrial chains produced by Mr. Marko, and seeing the increasingly happy, prosperous life blossoming in Valentine, the word 'civilization' had already outlined a rough, yet tangible, shape in their minds.

"Alright, John, save the sentiments for later!" Mac clapped John's shoulder, then clapped his hands sharply, instantly drawing the attention of all fifty gunmen.

"Gentlemen, we are about to begin our operation officially, but before that, I want to tell you: you must ensure your personal safety. Five hundred dollars in pension money simply cannot compare to the subsequent rewards and boundless earnings you will receive if you survive! Valentine's school is now complete, and New Hanover has completely eliminated all gangs. Your lives will surely be happier and more beautiful under the magnificent leadership of the Van der Linde Gang! So, gentlemen, be careful in everything. Mr. Van der Linde is waiting for you to return safely and report to him! Now, the entire army advances, acting according to the route we meticulously planned earlier!" Mac's speech, though rough was filled with a raw, persuasive power. He possessed three-tenths of Dutch's charisma, a growing talent for rhetoric. However, compared to Arthur, it still fell slightly short, because Arthur was, by now, a seasoned veteran of public speaking!