Firefight

The audacious establishment of the VDL Party marked America's official, undeniable entry into a bizarre, unprecedented era: a semi-capitalist, semi-Van der Linde epoch, a historical milestone that would forever alter the course of human society. Perhaps in less than a hundred years, some pedantic historians, with their hindsight and their smug criticisms, will undoubtedly castigate Mr. Van der Linde's radical system and his audacious actions, claiming they caused America to tragically miss an opportunity to seize a large chunk of global meat and rise to conventional power. However, no one, not a single soul, is truly qualified to criticize Mr. Van der Linde's right or wrong from the raw, lived perspective of the American people, for whom he is a godsend. Because from the current, desperate perspective of the American people, Mr. Van der Linde is nothing short of the most righteous, the most benevolent, the most necessary force.

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The lingering, mellow smoke from Arthur's cigar drifted lazily with the cool sea breeze, curling into ephemeral shapes against the vast expanse of the ocean. The mournful, yet somehow triumphant, whistle of the steamship echoed across the boundless sea, a lonely cry cutting through the vastness. Facing the distant, bleeding sunset, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, there was an undeniable sense of the melancholy of time passing, of moments slipping away like grains of sand.

"Cough, cough…" Arthur coughed lightly, a dry, rasping sound, then, with a flick of his wrist, tossed his half-smoked cigar into the churning, dark sea, watching it sizzle and vanish. He straightened up from his leaning position against the ship's cold, salt-encrusted rail, his shoulders aching.

A grueling month had passed since Dutch, with his characteristic flair, gave the order, and their vanguard unit, a fleet of steel and steam, responsible for pioneering the first, treacherous shipping route to Germany, had already set off, cutting a path through the waves.

This crucial, strategic route was not merely opened; it was pried from Britain's jealous, iron grip by the sheer, unyielding will of the German Kaiser Wilhelm, who mobilized the full, terrifying power of Germany to wrench it free.

At this time, the relationship between Britain and Germany was already abysmal, festering with mutual suspicion and thinly veiled hostility. Or rather, it had deteriorated to the very extreme, a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Although the old, bloated British Empire still appeared to be in its glorious zenith, its vast, sprawling colonies stretching across the globe, the excessive, crippling cost of governing its overly vast, unwieldy territories had made the empire unsustainable, a colossus crumbling from within. The nascent, hungry German Empire constantly sought to bite off a piece of its succulent flesh, or even, in its most ambitious dreams, to dismember it directly, tearing it apart limb by limb.

The distribution of global interests, of power and wealth, had become the most fundamental, irreconcilable contradiction, a Gordian knot with no possibility of resolution save for the sword.

However, as the old saying goes, outwardly strong but inwardly weak, the more hollow the interior, the tougher, the more belligerent, the exterior. The British Empire was precisely like this, a bloated tiger roaring to hide its failing health. Only after the brutal Anglo-Boer War, a draining, humiliating conflict, could it barely be considered a truly sick tiger, its roar a mere wheeze.

It is conceivable, Arthur grimly acknowledged, that the German Emperor paid a considerable, agonizing price to open a completely safe, unmolested sea lane through British-controlled waters.

Dutch, ever the master strategist, had meticulously considered all possible issues for this perilous, long-distance voyage, anticipating every trap, every challenge.

Firstly, their audacious sale of long-range, world-changing weapons meant their very existence would become known to the world, their shadowy presence unveiled. Whether taken seriously or dismissed as a mere aberration, the emergence of such a force, with such terrifying technology, would certainly attract unwanted attention, a spotlight on their operations.

Therefore, their headquarters, their very home, needed to display a certain amount of overwhelming force when necessary, a brutal show of power, to blind some prying eyes and prevent them from having further, dangerous thoughts.

Secondly, to ensure Arthur and his crew would have greater authority and command greater respect during their treacherous voyage, Dutch not only dispatched five of the ten formidable warships purchased from Britain to escort them, their cannons bristling, but also sent the main battleship, a leviathan of steel that the Saint Denis shipyard spent nearly half a year meticulously building, as the primary combat unit, its guns ready to sing. He also spent a frantic month installing the monstrous Venice Giant Cannon on it, a weapon of unparalleled destructive power, to serve as the main gun of the warship, acting as a significant, terrifying deterrent.

In addition, the accompanying combat personnel numbered a full two thousand hardened men, which, even in this era of burgeoning naval power, was a formidable naval force no one dared to provoke easily, a fleet that commanded respect.

This, Arthur knew, was the confidence Dutch provided for his and John's long, perilous journey, a shield of steel and fire.

Of course, this was only the fleet's size, its visible might; there were several actual transport cruise ships, their holds crammed with twenty gasoline Tanks and various newly developed, experimental weapons and equipment.

They were all the kind that weren't very useful, not for serious warfare, but perfect for a demonstration.

For example, the flat-trajectory howitzer, a crude, inaccurate weapon; the twenty-meter Venice Giant Cannon, impressive in size but unwieldy; and the 20mm anti-Tank rifle, a mere toy against true armor.

These expensive, high-end-looking, but practically useless items, designed purely for show, were the main equipment for sale.

Although not very useful, Dutch, with his cynical understanding of human nature, believed the German Emperor, blinded by ambition, would buy them, every last one.

The warship fleet, a dark, imposing silhouette against the horizon, sailed majestically across the vast, indifferent ocean.

This wasn't Arthur's first time crossing the ocean, not by a long shot. He remembered the last time, a lifetime ago, was with Dutch, wanting to grow mangoes in Tahiti, a ludicrous, romantic dream. But after realizing they couldn't afford the boat tickets, not a single cent, they decided, with their usual outlaw logic, to rob a bank to raise the money.

Unexpectedly, now, by some twist of fate, they could sail their own imposing ships to Europe, masters of their own destiny.

"Arthur, hey, Arthur, you goddamn landlubber! There's a ship following us, my God!"

As Arthur was strolling leisurely on the deck, enjoying the sea air, John, who had been in the captain's cabin, burst out onto the deck, his face pale, and shouted loudly to Arthur, his voice raw with alarm.

"Sh*t! What kind of ship, John?! Is it Americans or those damned British, trying to play games?!"

Arthur's expression instantly turned grim, his hand instinctively going to the revolver at his hip. The main reason for pioneering this route was to scout it out, to map its dangers, and unexpectedly, there was already a situation, a challenge, even before they were fully out at sea.

"Neither, Arthur, sh*t!, neither!" John yelled, waving his arms frantically. "These ships are closing in, fast! I think they might be a group of pirates, by the look of them, a pack of goddamn vultures!"

John was observing the approaching vessels from the highest point of the ship, the crow's nest, with a powerful pair of binoculars, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement.

From his vantage point, he could clearly see a dozen or so speedboat-like vessels, small but fast, approaching them from behind, cutting through the waves.

These speedboats weren't large, mere specks on the horizon, but they flew flags John didn't recognize, clearly different from any pirate flags he'd ever seen.

"Sh*t!" Arthur cursed, his jaw tightening, then quickly ran to the stern of the ship, pulled out his own binoculars, and looked back, his heart pounding.

With one look, a single, clear glance, he knew exactly who these audacious fools were.

"Sh*t! Open fire, have our fleet open fire, now! Don't wait for orders!" Arthur roared, his voice cutting through the wind. "These are Cuban warlords, I saw this damn flag when Davey was studying Cuba! They're French proxies! Those rat bastards!" The entire fleet, a well-oiled machine of war, sprang into action, its crew moving with practiced efficiency.

"Boom…"

Accompanied by a muffled, ominous whistle, the monstrous 400mm Venice Giant Cannon on Arthur's main battleship slowly, ponderously, turned its massive barrel, a dark, gaping maw, aiming at the rapidly approaching ships behind them as the ship itself turned, presenting its broadside.

The five warships circling a bit further away, their decks bristling with guns, also began to maneuver, their movements synchronized, aiming their cannons at the dozen or so small boats behind them, like a pack of wolves encircling prey.

"Fire!"

With the cannon commander's sharp, decisive order, the massive barrel of the Venice Giant Cannon immediately erupted in a blinding flash of gunpowder, a blinding, concussive burst of light and sound.

As the Venice Giant Cannon fired, the various secondary guns on the main battleship and the five warships that had already surrounded them also fired shells, a thunderous symphony of destruction.

"Boom…"

The explosion of gunpowder created a deafening, continuous sound, a roar that shook the very air, so loud that Arthur and John on the ship were almost deafened, their ears ringing painfully.

Shells rained down from the sky, a deadly, metallic hail, and the dozen or so small boats trailing behind them were instantly blown to pieces, dissolving into splinters and flame, sinking to the bottom of the sea without even a whimper, their crews annihilated.

"Whoosh…" The sharp, piercing cease-fire horn sounded on the main battleship, cutting through the lingering echoes of the explosions.

The crisis was resolved, swiftly and brutally.

But Arthur's expression was not good; it was grim, a troubled frown etched on his face.

"Sh*t! I can't believe these people would be so goddamn brainless as to come and die like that! Didn't they see we were an entire fleet, a whole damn navy?!" John hurried down from the captain's cabin, his face pale, complaining incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What a waste of time, Arthur, wasting perfectly good shells on those fools!"

"No, John, you damn fool, they weren't brainless. They were just probes." Arthur's voice was low, grim, his eyes fixed on the churning, debris-filled water behind the ship, where the wreckage of the speedboats slowly sank. "Dutch told me about this, warned me. Sh*t!, I'm afraid someone wants to start making a move against us, testing our resolve!"

Arthur cursed, a troubled frown on his face, his gaze fixed on the disappearing wreckage.

"What do you mean, Arthur? I think you should explain more clearly, you're talking in riddles." John's brows furrowed, a rare sign of genuine concern.

He didn't often see Arthur's expression like this, so grim and thoughtful, but whenever he did, it meant there was truly a tricky, dangerous situation at hand.

"These sh*t! ships belonged to a group of Cuban rebels, Marston, a bunch of French puppets, and behind these rebels are the goddamn French themselves! Don't you understand, you simpleton?!" Arthur said, pointing a trembling finger to a tattered piece of flag still floating on the water in the distance, a silent accusation.

"And before we even left port, Dutch had already told me that many people, many nations, would try to test us on this trip, both at sea and on land! He knew it was coming!"

Arthur's face was grim, his jaw tight. "And this also means we have officially entered the sights of some powerful countries; the American East will also start paying damn close attention to us! And this, John, is clearly just the first test!"

Arthur's face was grim, a deep furrow between his brows. Dutch had warned him, had laid out the scenario, but he hadn't taken it to heart at the time, dismissing it as Dutch's usual paranoia.

He felt that the world was so vast, so immense, and they had been traversing the American West for so many years without much attention, merely a band of outlaws, so how could a group of powerful nations be watching them on the vast, indifferent ocean? It seemed impossible.

Unexpectedly, the test came as soon as they set sail, a brutal, immediate confirmation of Dutch's foresight.

This clearly meant that the news had leaked, that their plans were compromised, and these international players had already learned that Germany was transporting some sh*t! important goods along this route, something valuable.

Otherwise, the test wouldn't have come so quickly, so brazenly.

And this also meant that someone had already begun to shift their attention to them, the Van der Linde Gang, marking them as a new, dangerous player on the global stage. The game had truly begun.