PFC Chapter 114 Three Cities Conquered in One Day
Chapter 114 Three Cities Conquered in One Day
Chapter 114 Three Cities Conquered in One Day
Midnight.
Night had fallen, but Chinatown and even the whole of San Francisco were wide awake.
Because everyone saw a scene and heard a sound.
Thousands of soldiers in dark green uniforms were jogging in unison through the streets of San Francisco. Their boots clattered on the cobblestones with a dull, rhythmic sound.
"My God, I knew those Chinese were wolves in sheep's clothing!"
White people hid in their homes, peeking out through a corner of the curtains with worried expressions. Some even began packing their belongings, preparing to flee at any moment.
"What are the big shots of Xinghantang going to do?" A Chinese laborer leaned on the windowsill, his eyes wide.
"Can't you even see that?"
Another Chinese man lowered his voice, but his tone was filled with barely suppressed excitement. "The whole team is Han Chinese, and they're carrying guns. They're about to start conquering the world!"
Without the slightest pause, thousands of soldiers began to automatically split into different groups and run forward in different directions.
One team rushed toward the customs house, another toward the port docks, and a third occupied Portsmouth Square.
At the road intersection, soldiers piled up sandbags, set up machine guns, and established checkpoints. Observation posts and artillery positions were being rapidly established on Telegraph Hill, Russian Hill, and Nob Hill.
Within just two hours, essential urban facilities such as banks, grain warehouses, police stations, post offices, and telegraph offices had all fallen under the control of Xinghantang.
Everywhere, a flag embroidered with the words "Revive Han" was raised.
At the same time, soldiers from all directions began shouting at the houses in Chinese, English, and Spanish: "Everyone stay home! No one is allowed to go out! Anyone who dares to loiter in the streets is considered an enemy and will be shot on the spot!"
Chinatown, literacy school.
Zhang Wu was stationed at the school, overseeing the entire operation. On the table in front of him was a model of the San Francisco Bay Area, covered with small flags, each representing a key point that had already been controlled.
His gaze fell on a small island in the middle of San Francisco Bay on the sand table, and he began to give orders: "One artillery company, split into two platoons and two cannons, and move into Alcatraz Island in San Francisco Bay."
Remember, no ship is allowed to enter or leave the strait without our permission!
"yes!"
On Mount Norbu, the artillery company of the regiment that received the military order immediately split up its personnel and took two cannons and ammunition to the dock area.
Alcatel-Las Island is only 3 miles from the eastern Golden Gate in San Francisco Bay, located at the throat of the Golden Gate Strait. Controlling it means controlling the entire Golden Gate Strait.
For this reason, the U.S. military began hiring people to build military facilities on Alcatraz Island in 53. However, it is still not completed; only the foundation has been laid.
"Second Regiment, have you arrived yet?"
The second regimental commander, mounted on horseback, replied, "Reporting, I have led the cavalry company and am approaching San Jose, but the infantry are still trailing behind. It is estimated that it will take another three hours to arrive."
Zhang Wudao: "The cavalry company should disperse and block the exits of San Jose. While waiting for the infantry to arrive, do not let anyone escape."
"yes!"
San Jose, 6 a.m.
Old John got up from the hardboard covered with only a few layers of hay and a thin cloth, his back aching.
But ignoring the pain, he simply drank some cold water, washed his face, and went out to his farm in the Santa Clara Valley.
The wheat on the farm is in the critical stage of dry grain filling, and he has to rush to the fields to drive away pests immediately, otherwise the farm owner will find an excuse to deduct his pay.
But as soon as he reached the outskirts of the city, he was terrified.
Suddenly, many Chinese men dressed in dark green military uniforms appeared outside the city. They rode horses and carried guns, completely blocking the exit from San Jose to the outside world.
Anyone who tried to force their way in was beaten down and tied up.
Some caravans leaving the city, emboldened by their superior numbers, opened fire. But within minutes, they were riddled with bullets, and blood flowed everywhere.
Old John swallowed hard and hurriedly ran back, shouting to the people ahead as he ran, "Go back quickly! The Chinese are attacking!"
The person in front blinked, revealing an indifferent expression.
"Is this old man still dreaming?"
But soon they heard the militiamen shouting.
"All adult males, take your guns and assemble in the square! A group of armed men have arrived outside; we must defend our home!"
The second regimental commander stood on a small hill outside San Jose, looking into the city through binoculars.
The city is small, with only a few main roads. In the center is a square, surrounded by a church, a post office, and rows of shops. Beyond that, there are densely packed houses.
"It's not too difficult to fight," he said to the person next to him, putting down his binoculars.
"How difficult could it be to attack a small town of 10,000 people, especially one without even city walls?"
The assassin beside him said, "The militia in the city have spotted us, and the infantry have arrived. It's time to attack."
The second regimental commander nodded and put away the binoculars.
"Let's begin."
The infantry advanced into the city in three-man formations and soon encountered the first wave of resistance.
A group of militiamen parked several horse-drawn carriages across the street corner, hiding behind them with their guns pointed at the direction Xinghantang was heading into the city.
"Fire!"
Seeing the infantrymen charging towards them, the militia captain quickly gave the order.
A cacophony of gunfire erupted.
Shotguns, pistols, old-fashioned rifles—all sorts of gunfire mingled together, amidst billowing smoke.
But when the smoke cleared, the militiamen were horrified to find that the infantry on the other side had not been harmed at all. Instead, they had taken advantage of the moment when the smoke obscured their vision to rush to a place less than seventy meters away from the carriage.
"Grenades, throw them!"
With a loud shout, the first dozen or so infantrymen pulled out grenades and threw them forcefully toward the carriage.
The militiamen stared at the smoking cylinders, still not quite understanding what was happening.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
A dozen or so explosions rang out in succession, shattering many nearby windows. The barrier formed by the carriages was torn to pieces, and the people behind the carriages were also torn to pieces.
The infantrymen stepped over the militiamen's severed limbs and continued their advance.
But this time, there was absolutely no resistance.
The militiamen who had survived began to flee, and the twenty-odd policemen at the police station chose to surrender upon seeing the army.
In less than an hour, many places, including the city hall, church, post office, and granary, were brought under control and the Xinghan Church flag was raised.
The citizens watched through the cracks in their windows as the soldiers in dark green uniforms lined up in the street, silently praying to God that someone would come to save them.
The second regimental commander unfolded a map of the Santa Clara Valley and drew several circles on it with his finger.
"Companies 1 through 5, you are stationed in San Jose. Company 6, responsible for the farms in the northern part of the valley. Company 7, responsible for the central part. The cavalry company, responsible for the southern part."
"Our primary task is to collect grain. All the grain from the granaries of the grain companies in the city and the granaries of the farms outside the city must be collected and stored in the city. Not a single grain of rice is allowed to be lost."
"Yes."
"What about those farmers?" a company commander asked.
"Arrest them all and enslave them, so that the Indians and Mexicans who were originally enslaved can supervise and manage them."
The second regimental commander slowly said, "As for the city, don't act all at once. Separate areas and proceed gradually. After all, 10,000 people could easily riot, which would be troublesome."
The soldiers dispersed silently, disappearing into the morning mist.
Santa Clara Valley.
The sun had just risen, and golden sunlight spilled across the boundless wheat fields. The heavy ears of wheat swayed gently in the morning breeze, like a green ocean.
Sun Desheng, the cavalry company commander, turned his horse around and said to his men, "Listen up, cavalrymen! From now on, operate in squads. If you encounter strong resistance, do not fight head-on; call for backup immediately!"
"yes!"
The crowd responded with a chorus of agreement, and then began to disperse, heading towards the numerous farms scattered across the plain.
Los Angeles, Southern California.
Chongyue stood atop a hill outside Los Angeles, surrounded by over a thousand Native American warriors. They wore deerskin coats, their faces painted with dark camouflage, and held rifles in their hands.
Down the mountain, there were more than a thousand servants recruited from various Native American tribes, armed with bows and spears.
The clocks in Los Angeles began to chime urgently.
"We've been discovered. Looks like these white people have learned their lesson and are now sending out sentries outside the city."
Hei Tu raised his monocular binoculars and looked into the city. People were running, shouting, and carrying guns as they rushed towards the militia's camp in the streets.
"We've looted so many cities and settlements in Southern California, even the dumbest white people have learned their lesson."
Chongyue said calmly, "Let's begin."
Heitu waved a flag representing an attack at the crowd in front of him.
Upon seeing the flags waving, the soldiers below the mountain mobilized.
Led by Warhawk and other Native American warriors who had been naturalized earlier, more than a thousand men surged down the hillside like a tidal wave, heading towards Los Angeles. They carried bows and spears, shouting in various tribal languages, creating a formidable force.
Black Earth asked, "Chief, do you think they can take this wave?"
Looking at the militia's scattered formation, Chongyue shook his head: "Although Los Angeles only has five thousand people and the number of remaining militia is not large, it is not something they can take down."
"Don't forget, our old friend is in there too."
The black soil is clear.
The old friend the two men were referring to was William Tecumseh Sherman, a former bank manager and stockbroker.
Since Sherman became the commander of the militia, the two sides have had many dealings.
Stockton, San Bernardino, San Diego, Ventura—he was always on the front lines dealing with Native American uprisings.
But that Sherman was really as slippery as an eel. The militia was scattered several times, but he always managed to escape.
Last time, I finally managed to shoot Sherman in the shoulder and thought I could catch him, but the guy chose to jump into the river and escaped from the encirclement.
Meanwhile, inside the city hall, Sherman was setting up a defensive line.
"Everyone slowly retreat to the city center. Block the streets with furniture, carriages, stones, anything will do. Set up ambushes in alleys and corners. Don't engage them head-on; fight in the streets."
After giving instructions to the officers around him, Sherman turned to look at the mayor of Los Angeles.
"Mayor, please give the order immediately to transport some of the food and weapons to Fortress Hill."
Although the Los Angeles fortress there is now abandoned, its rammed earth walls are thick enough to withstand the Native American attacks.
The mayor of Los Angeles wiped the sweat from his brow: "Can't they be stopped in the city? I saw the militia block the streets and they've already kept them outside the city center."
If we temporarily recruit some civilians, we should be able to drive these Native Americans out, right?
Sherman shook his head, his face grave: "There are only two hundred militiamen in the city. Even if we temporarily conscript male citizens, we can only mobilize no more than a thousand men."
The attacking Native Americans numbered over a thousand, and most importantly, their elite troops hadn't even moved yet—the very force capable of annihilating a regular army.
"Should we choose to gradually retreat and buy time through urban warfare?"
Chongyue lowered his binoculars, a slight smile playing on his lips. He turned to Heitu and said, "Notify Zhanying to have his servants intensify their attack, harass the north, and draw their attention."
"Black Earth, you take two hundred men and make a big detour, attacking from the south."
"Alright."
Black Earth grinned, selected two hundred elite soldiers, and began to circle around to the south of Los Angeles.
Half an hour later, the militiamen on the street were caught off guard.
Although basic defenses were also built on the south side, with wagons and sandbags forming a defensive line, these defenses were nothing more than sandcastles in the face of dozens or hundreds of hand grenades, and would crumble at the first blow.
With most of the militia stationed in the north, the southern defenses crumbled after holding out for five minutes.
However, Sherman had anticipated this and ordered the militia to begin their retreat to the fortress hill.
It's called a mountain, but it's really just a small hill, and the fortress on it isn't very big either, only big enough to garrison a company at most.
Sherman was the last to retreat into the fortress, where he and several militiamen closed the extremely thick wooden door and bolted it shut from the inside with a large bolt.
He walked up to the fortress wall, panting heavily, and looked down at the city below.
The streets of Los Angeles were teeming with Native Americans. They were looting stores and massacring civilians. Thick smoke began to billow from houses in the distance, and cries and gunshots mingled together.
"Tell Warhawk and the others to tone it down."
Chongyue rode his horse into the city, casually gave an order, and then looked at the sturdy fortress on the hill.
"Bring over three Type 1 Polu guns."
Soon, the three cannons were set up one kilometer below the fortress.
The gunners skillfully adjusted the firing angle, loaded ammunition, and aimed the gun muzzles at the rammed earth wall of the fortress.
At such close range and with such a large target, the artillerymen don't even need complicated calculations; a slight adjustment is all it takes to hit it.
"put!"
The three cannons fired simultaneously, producing a deep, rumbling sound. Shells whistled through the air and slammed into the fortress walls!
With several loud booms, dust billowed up and three huge holes appeared in the fortress wall, with rammed earth blocks falling down with a clatter.
"Second round, release!"
The shells slammed into the fortress wall again. This time, the entire wall collapsed with a roar, bricks and stones cascading down like a waterfall, burying several militiamen behind it. Thick smoke and dust billowed out, obscuring most of the fortress.
As the dust settled, someone emerged from the ruins of the fortress, carrying a white flag.