Shit! Literally

"Yah!"

Amidst the sound of hooves, a group of Japanese ronin wearing white headscarves charged into Mr. Amalfetano's military camp.

The ronin dismounted, then one by one they gathered idly around the camp, each pulling out a pipe from their bosom. Then, sitting together, they laughed and made noise while smoking.

Apart from them, the large camp was filled with idle gunmen gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing, some looking lewd, others nervous.

Many were still smoking and drinking, making a noisy, chaotic mess.

It was more like a bandit den than a military camp.

These were Mr. Amalfetano's forces, augmented by Miyamoto Morishita's group of gunmen, prepared to use these two thousand-plus smiling, disorganized, undisciplined scoundrels to counter Mr. Van der Linde's well-disciplined regular army.

According to reports from Mr. Amalfetano's scouts, Rhine Harbor was bustling with people, suggesting an imminent attack.

They dared not approach closer, as there were watchtowers everywhere, so they couldn't get a clear view. This blurry image was obtained with great difficulty from a nearby hilltop using binoculars.

Unable to ascertain when Dutch Van der Linde would launch his attack, Mr. Amalfetano had no choice but to gather his forces early and wait for them to arrive.

This led to the chaotic state of the camp.

These people, who had not undergone professional training and were fundamentally street thugs, could not possibly have any discipline; in fact, their terrible personalities made them even less disciplined than ordinary people.

It was like having two thousand Mac standing here. Would a person like Mac stand at attention properly?

Impossible!

Mr. Amalfetano sat in the very center of the camp, oblivious to the commotion outside. He had no concept of military discipline or morale in his mind, and had never given them any training.

After all, bullets cost money! How could Mr. Amalfetano spend money on such meaningless things?

If people died, they died; he could just recruit more. But bullets couldn't be wasted; buying more cost money!

Mr. Amalfetano sat on a sofa in the middle of the camp, looking troubled. Beside him stood several people, one of whom looked very familiar.

Mr. Cornwall stood nearby, a look of satisfaction on his face, eager to see Dutch Van der Linde suffer a setback.

"Mr. Amalfetano, our forces are here. I'd like to see if that damned Dutch Van der Linde dares to come!" Mr. Noah said, looking at Mr. Amalfetano with a fawning expression.

This time, the forces didn't reach three thousand because that damned Kyle didn't bring his men. He had long wanted to seize Mr. Amalfetano's power, so how could he miss this great opportunity?

But it didn't matter. According to Mr. Noah's conjecture, there would definitely be no fighting this time, because a battle involving thousands of people was simply too large in scale. Would this so-called Mr. Dutch Van der Linde dare to initiate a war so aggressively?

Even if he had five thousand men, what then? The consequences of war are unpredictable, and besides, he might not even have five thousand men. Mr. Cornwall only said he might have taken over the Lemoyne army, not that he actually did.

Listening to Mr. Noah's words, Mr. Cornwall, who had not been seen for a long time, said with hatred, "Mr. Amalfetano, that damned Dutch Van der Linde will absolutely not start a war, because his foundation is unstable, and these people cannot be loyal to him! He's just a damned desperado!

Kill him! Just kill him, and New Hanover and Lemoyne will be ours! I believe you know best how immense the benefits are!"

Listening to the two men's reassurances, Mr. Amalfetano finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Miyamoto Morishita, standing nearby, wore a particularly disdainful expression.

"You are trash! Your people have no backbone, cowards! If you kill one hundred with real swords and guns, no one will dare to fight again!"

Miyamoto Morishita was particularly contemptuous of Americans.

Reality is not a game; unlike in games where the O'Driscoll Gang fights to the last man without fleeing, that's impossible in reality. In war, morale usually breaks after 30% casualties, even with execution squads. These desperadoes would be even less likely to fight to the death.

So, when Miyamoto Morishita came, he just kept slashing. It was normal for ten people to be cut down before the enemy scattered in fear.

Just as he finished speaking, a sentry rushed in from outside.

"Mr. Amalfetano, Mr. Amalfetano, this is bad, this is bad! An army is coming, we just saw an army coming!"

His report had just ended, and before Mr. Amalfetano could even ask about the army's situation, Miyamoto Morishita abruptly stood up and roared, "Baka! They are all going to die!"

As soon as he spoke, a sound like muffled thunder came from outside.

The sound seemed distant, like muffled thunder from the horizon.

The few people in the camp had just felt a hint of unease, when in the next moment—

"Whoosh!"

The whistling sound of a cannonball came from afar, followed by a huge explosion outside the tent.

"Boom!!!"

Accompanying the massive explosion, piercing screams came from outside.

Countless bits of soil and mud splashed onto the tent fabric, making a rustling sound. The faces of the few people who had just been boasting in the room instantly changed.

"Fuck! Artillery! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!! Damn it, they actually have artillery!!!" Mr. Amalfetano cursed, his face turning green with fright.

However, just as he cursed, one muffled thud after another sounded from afar.

Immediately after, one whistling sound after another followed.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom…."

Dense explosions rang out one after another throughout the camp. Along with the sound of explosions, piercing screams, the commotion, and yells of the crowd continuously erupted, but they were completely suppressed by the explosions.

Even a cannonball exploded directly outside Mr. Amalfetano's tent, completely overturning it.

And as the tent was overturned, the scene outside finally appeared before their eyes.

The far reaches of the entire camp were densely surrounded by soldiers. These soldiers were all lying on the ground or hiding behind cover, precisely sniping with Marko semi-automatic rifles. From all directions, objects resembling steel fortresses were rapidly driving towards the camp.

Carriages carrying Maxim guns and artillery were rapidly approaching. As the machine gun fire began, the Maxim guns on those carriages instantly spat out blinding flames.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!!!" Mr. Amalfetano was scared out of his wits; when had he ever seen such a terrifying scene?

The camp had completely descended into chaos. Over two thousand desperadoes were wailing after this round of artillery barrage. Some were clever enough to find a place to hide their bodies, dodging the Maxim gun's sweeping fire, while others were completely terrified by the overwhelming dark mass of enemy forces, desperately riding their horses to escape, wishing to break through.

Mr. Amalfetano's camp was in complete disarray; no one could give orders at such a moment.

The gang members riding horses to escape charged directly at the rapidly approaching Tanks, attempting to break through.

"Boom!" The steel Tank's cannon barrel emitted a blinding flash of light, and then a cannonball suddenly exploded next to a gunman charging out on horseback.

"Whoa!" Accompanied by the horse's mournful cry, the entire horse was directly blown over, and the desperado on it was directly killed by the shock, his mutilated corpse falling into a nearby haystack.

"Boom, boom, boom…" The Tanks in front continuously fired, almost plowing the ground clean.

Slower gang members were blown to pieces by cannonballs, blood and shredded flesh splattering everywhere.

Faster gang members were directly hit by the steel Tanks, and instantly, both man and horse were crushed into the treads.

"Squish!" With a faint sound, the horse's flesh and human flesh mixed together, crushed into a paste by the treads, and brutally rolled over.

The lucky ones were instantly crushed to death, while the unlucky ones only had their lower bodies crushed, their upper bodies not yet fully dead, lying on the ground, spitting blood and wailing.

"Baka!!!" Miyamoto Morishita's Japanese contingent was indeed very strong, each one charging arrogantly into the battlefield with a samurai sword.

They had never encountered Tanks before and didn't know how to deal with them, but their samurai spirit made them fearless of death, even if it meant being crushed, they would go up and slash the Tank's treads twice.

"Boom!" A cannonball exploded in front of the charging Japanese, blowing two or three of them away. Some had their limbs directly blown off, leaving them as limbless torsos lying on the ground, wailing helplessly.

Gun smoke permeated the battlefield, and with the explosions of cannonballs, it was like a smoke screen, completely obscuring the vision of those in the camp.

It also obscured the vision of the charging Japanese ronin.

However, in the next moment, steel behemoths rumbled out of the thick smoke.

"Ahhh!!" The Japanese devils at the very front couldn't dodge in time and were brutally crushed under the Tank's treads.

Flesh and blood were not even a speed bump in front of Tanks weighing tens of tons. Bones protruded from their flesh, then were ground into powder. With bone-deep pain, their flesh was churned by the treads and adhered to the muddy ground.

"Baka! Baka!" Miyamoto Morishita, who had just been so arrogant in the camp, was blasted away by a cannon shot, hitting the tent. His forehead was covered in blood, his left hand was completely shattered, and he lay on the ground, disoriented, muttering "Baka" repeatedly.

However, in the next moment, the rapidly approaching Tank tread crushed his head.

"Squish!" There was barely a sound as his head was completely pulped like a watermelon.

The more than two thousand gunmen had no means of resistance against modern weapons and powerful firepower suppression.

They couldn't damage the Tanks and could only passively take hits. However, escaping the Tanks meant facing countless Maxim guns and dense numbers of gunmen surrounding them.

No one could escape the penalty of death. Ten steel Tanks, appearing on the battlefield for the first time, demonstrated an utterly terrifying dominance!

If he were to assault the strongholds with just men, Dutch would not dare to be so aggressive, because the losses would be too great.

But with steel Tanks assaulting the strongholds, there was no possibility of defense whatsoever. Ten steel behemoths charged forward brutally and unreasonably, crushing anything in their path. Rifles and bullets of this era caused them no damage at all.

Even the artillery of this era was helpless against them.

Mr. Cornwall stood alone and bewildered among the crowd, looking at the terrifying scene around him as if he had lost his mind.

He mumbled to himself, shaking his head repeatedly, "Impossible, impossible! This cannot be real, Dutch Van der Linde cannot have such a terrifying army…"

Before he could finish speaking, a Tank sped up from behind him, knocked him down, and then ran over him.

"Pfft!"

A sound like a fart was heard, and Mr. Cornwall's excrement splattered all over the ground.