Farm

Dutch's command is the supreme directive of the Van der Linde Gang. It resonates through the camp, an unspoken law.

As Dutch's order was given, the entire Van der Linde Gang, and even the sprawling Hope Ranch itself, began to hum with a frantic yet precise energy, operating like a finely tuned instrument.

Orders, scribbled on hastily torn paper or barked from one man to another, were delivered to various people in various corners of the ranch: preparing military rations, the scent of cooking fires already thickening the air; distributing equipment, the clink of metal on metal echoing across the grounds; gathering crowds, men and women converging with grim determination; and even the clatter of the Hope Happiness Factory Newspaper presses could be heard, now churning out a brand-new Saint Denis newspaper, its headlines already foretelling a dramatic shift.

From all directions, men constantly streamed in, their faces set, returning to their units after hurried farewells to their families. They formed phalanxes, the disciplined lines of their formations beginning to take shape. Heavy equipment was pulled out – the ominous gleam of Maxim guns being readied, the slow, deliberate setting up of artillery pieces.

The entire Hope Ranch became a hive of activity, a whirlwind of preparations, with only Dutch still seemingly idle, though his mind was intensely at work, contemplating his subsequent plans with a quiet, focused intensity.

Looking up, Dutch saw Jenny and Pearson walking in from outside, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. A new thought struck him, a missing piece in his grand design.

"Pearson, old man, you've come at just the right time." Dutch's voice boomed, cutting through the din of activity. He gestured expansively with one hand, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I have a brand new task for the two of you!" He then turned his gaze towards an invisible third party, his eyes twinkling. "Pastor Swanson, you go with them too. Find something to do for yourselves. Perhaps your three lives will be a little richer, instead of being utterly boring every day!" He chuckled, a playful jab at their current, seemingly uneventful, existence.

"Dutch, here, milk, freshly squeezed!" Jenny, her face flushed with effort and a sweet smile, happily extended a glass of milk towards Dutch, carefully holding it with both hands.

Dutch, who had just moments ago been consumed by a solemn seriousness, immediately beamed with unadulterated joy. He reached out to take the glass, his fingers brushing hers. "Alright, Miss Jenny." He took a long, appreciative gulp of the milk, then lowered the glass, his gaze sweeping over the two figures before him. "Oh, you three," he began again, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I have a brand new task for you!"

"Come on, Dutch," Pearson groaned, waving his hands repeatedly in a dismissive gesture, his face contorted in that damned scoundrel look. He took a step back, clearly wanting to retreat. "The three of us can just stay in the factory. You don't need to specifically find things for us to do out of consideration for our feelings. Really, we don't feel bored!"

However, before he could fully turn and flee, he was stopped dead in his tracks by Dutch's next words, a sly grin forming on Dutch's face.

"Come on, old man, what else do you need to do besides peeping at female workers every day? Dammit, quite a few female workers have already complained to me." Dutch's voice dropped to a low, warning growl, his eyes narrowed playfully but with a hint of seriousness. He took a step closer, towering over Pearson. "If you, you damned old thing, don't want your 'brothers'," Dutch made a pointed gesture towards Pearson's crotch with a wagging finger, a suggestive smirk, "then you can leave this room, and then I'll have Mac take the pliers…"

"Alright, alright, alright! I'll do it then!" Pearson threw his hands up in surrender, his face a mask of feigned exasperation, and helplessly stopped his retreat.

It seemed he couldn't be a parasite of the gang, which was a very sad thing. He sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping.

Looking at the old man's comical resignation, Dutch was very satisfied. He folded his arms across his chest, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Although this 'One-Shot Kid' had an improper name and was as lazy as they come, he was definitely the smartest in the entire gang, and even had more life experience. Entrusting him with matters that didn't require too much attention was absolutely reassuring.

"Very good, old man, very good!" Dutch's voice was warm, filled with genuine approval. He gestured around the vast expanse of the ranch. "Our gang is gradually expanding, but at the same time, the demands for food and drink are also gradually increasing. Now, in terms of clothing, we have our factory as a basic guarantee, but in terms of food and drink, we also need a certain guarantee to be invincible, and also to lay the foundation for a protracted war!" He spoke with the earnestness of a visionary.

"Therefore," Dutch continued, his voice gaining momentum, "I need the three of you to divide the work: dig a well in the ranch, and also recruit workers for farming!" He pointed towards the vast, open fields beyond the factory. "Now the entire New Hanover is our territory. It's truly a pity to leave such a large area unused, especially since the temperature here is suitable all year round, making it even more suitable for farming. So I require you to extensively recruit workers for grain cultivation, ensuring our logistical supplies are sufficient! It's best if the cultivated area can feed the people of the entire New Hanover! I think you should be able to do this, right?" He ended with a questioning look, a raised eyebrow, challenging Pearson.

That's right, farming. This place is simply too suitable for farming. The grass grows so vigorously; it would be a pity not to use it for cultivation and animal husbandry.

The most important thing is to ensure that logistical resources are entirely self-sufficient, which means their Van der Linde Gang won't be held hostage by others in terms of food.

"Alright, Dutch!" Pearson nodded reluctantly, a weary sigh escaping him, while Jenny, on the other hand, was practically radiating happiness, her eyes wide with enthusiasm.

This 'Tiger of Van der Linde' had been practically nonexistent during this period. He wasn't needed for cooking, nor for killing, and even laundry and housework were taken care of by others, which made him feel very insignificant. Most importantly, seeing other members of the gang having things to do and becoming increasingly famous and powerful, while he could only hide in the factory and rot every day, was truly a tormenting thing.

Dammit, how was he supposed to brag to his aunt now! He couldn't possibly say, 'I wandered the world and ended up becoming a damned parasite,' could he?

So now that Dutch had finally assigned him a task, he was very happy, a wide grin breaking across his face.

"Alright, Dutch, I will definitely plant crops all over the surrounding land!" Pearson promised, thumping his chest with a gusto that belied his earlier reluctance.

"Very good, then you can begin your work…" Before Dutch could even finish speaking, the door was suddenly pushed open with a decisive shove by Arthur, who strode in with a purposeful stride.

"Dutch, all our men have been assembled, and we can depart now!" Arthur announced, his voice crisp and clear.

Arthur stood tall, a Marko rifle held securely in his hand, its barrel gleaming faintly. He wore the dark, practical uniform of the Van der Linde Gang, looking fully prepared, a picture of disciplined readiness.

Hearing his words, Dutch's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then a fierce satisfaction bloomed on his face. He suddenly surged up from the sofa, his movement swift and powerful.

"Excellent, then let the entire army advance, march on Saint Denis, and fight for a new future for the people of Lemoyne!" Dutch declared, his voice ringing with renewed vigor and conviction.

Dutch followed Arthur out of the wooden house and immediately stepped into the vast open space specially reserved inside the factory for assembling troops. There, a thousand gunmen stood in disciplined ranks, each holding a Marko semi-automatic rifle, their faces grimly determined.

A month ago, a group of gunmen had gathered here once, and that first gathering brought immense shock and pride to the factory workers, their jaws dropping in awe.

And this second gathering, though still proud and shocking, was certainly not as intensely awe-inspiring as when they first saw it. The factory workers now watched with a more accustomed, albeit still impressed, air.

Presumably, after a few more gatherings, they would get used to it completely.

A thousand gunmen gathered in a large open space specially reserved inside the factory for assembling troops.

A force of this scale was actually very spectacular. A thousand-man unit could already be called a legion in America, and with the addition of such heavy and light firepower, it was undoubtedly a legion-level combat force, not inferior even if brought to the World War I battlefield.

Of course, this group of veteran gunmen, fed by bullets, might have even more exaggerated combat power than World War I soldiers.

Looking at the fiery-eyed group of gunmen before him, their expressions a mix of anticipation and steely resolve, Dutch uncharacteristically did not deliver his exclusive, rousing speech. Instead, he simply called the captains of each small team forward, beckoning them with a quick flick of his hand, and handed them the detailed tasks he had assigned, a serious, no-nonsense look on his face.

"Gentlemen, this mission will be carried out in complete silence, and Saint Denis must be brought under our control as quickly as possible!" Dutch instructed in a low, firm voice, his gaze piercing. "All marked families must have all their family members found and confined to their homes!" He emphasized the last phrase with a pointed finger.

"All in all, Saint Denis on the second day will still be no different from usual!" He concluded, a chilling finality in his tone.

The night raid certainly couldn't be loud, so only the small team leaders needed to be controlled.

Listening to Dutch's precise, yet audacious instructions, these small team leaders, who were undertaking such a grand scheme for the very first time, were all brimming with excited anticipation, their eyes red with fervent loyalty and the thrill of the upcoming operation.

"Dammit, Mr. Van der Linde has finally come to his senses. Why didn't he do this sooner!" one whispered, his voice hoarse with eagerness, clenching his fist. "Dammit, I can't even imagine how great Saint Denis and New Hanover will be in the future!"

"Exactly! Mr. Van der Linde, that's right!" another chimed in, nodding vigorously, a wide, almost manic grin on his face.

One by one, the small team leaders returned to their respective units, their strides more confident, their expressions resolute. And then, at Dutch's final, crisp command, a thousand-strong army, laden with various equipment that clanked softly with their movements, marched mightily and silently towards Valentine, fading into the gathering dusk.

They would change uniforms on the train, shedding their camp attire for something more discreet. Tomorrow night, around one o'clock, this train would arrive in Saint Denis, and then, an unprecedented Saint Denis coup would erupt, silently and swiftly, from the very heart of the train itself!