novelSusiti Chapter 71 War
Chapter 71 War
Chapter 71 War
It is 120 kilometers east of San Francisco.
Edge of the central valley.
Chongyue rode his horse on a hill, gazing westward.
"They're here."
Through the monocular telescope, one could already see the smoke and dust rising in the distance, a sight that only appears when a large army is galloping.
"Chief, are we really going to fight the American army on the plains?"
Bai Yun, standing to the side, put down his binoculars, his brow furrowing slightly. "The flat terrain is extremely advantageous for the enemy's artillery."
"But it also benefits the performance of our ten enemy machine guns, doesn't it?"
Chongyue also put down his binoculars and said, "The configuration of the US artillery battery is four 6-pound cannons and two 12-pound howitzers, with an effective range of about 1,000 meters, which is about 100 meters farther than the range of machine guns."
"Furthermore, who said only the US military has artillery?"
Bai Yun paused for a moment, then seemed to remember something and hesitated before asking, "Chief, you didn't ask the military industry group to bring over their 120mm breech-loading cannon, did you?"
Chongyue shrugged: "Sachem said there are plenty of weapons."
"So I not only got the cannons, but also some hand grenades. If the mortars and new rifles weren't still under development, I would have wanted those two too."
Bai Yun whistled and asked, "So, how are we going to fight later?"
Chongyue took one last look at the American troops appearing on the horizon, then turned his horse around and headed towards his own troops.
"A direct confrontation."
Bai Yun cracked his whip and caught up with Chong Yue. "I thought you were going to continue with your ambush tactics, Chief."
Chongyue said, "The enemy is a regular army. Their scouts are deployed company by company. What terrain could possibly allow them to ambush us?"
"Moreover, in terms of both numbers and firepower, we are the stronger side."
"Why bother with an ambush? Just run them over!"
As he spoke, thousands of Native American warriors appeared on the Great Plains.
The infantrymen lined up in formation, while the artillerymen began to set up their artillery positions.
Three 120mm Type 1 breech-loading guns were lined up, aimed at the west. Dozens of artillerymen were carrying ammunition and checking firing tables within the position.
As for the cavalry, they broke up into smaller groups and began their westward advance, preparing for battle.
While ambushes are no longer an option, harassing advancing American troops and hunting down enemy scout cavalry squads are still possible.
"drive!"
Ten minutes later, the scouts from both sides met in the mountains and forests.
Without the slightest hesitation, they first greeted each other with carbines, then used revolvers when they got close, and finally drew their sabers to fight when they were within a few meters.
Soon, the U.S. military scout team discovered that something was wrong.
The Native Americans on the other side were not only accurate and fast shooters, but even after they finally rushed in front of him and pulled out their sabers to fight, they still couldn't beat them no matter what.
Before they could withstand more than a few moves, American soldiers facing each other head-on would have their heads chopped off or be stabbed through the chest, dying on the spot.
Although they eventually managed to defeat the enemy due to their numerical superiority, the ferocity of the Native Americans still instilled fear in the American scouts.
"Aren't these red-skinned bastards afraid of death?" a soldier muttered, clutching his injured arm. "They're like demons crawling out of hell!"
The lieutenant of the scout squad picked up a gun from beside the dead Indian, fiddled with it for a few moments, and then looked astonished.
"This structure and design—the Sharps rifle?"
He took out his newly purchased Sharps rifle from the saddlebag and compared it. "No, no, the design is simpler, and there's no air leakage. It's practically, practically like a Sharps rifle from decades later."
The soldier beside the lieutenant, hearing his mutterings, asked in confusion, "Lieutenant, what's wrong?"
The lieutenant, as if waking from a dream, immediately grabbed his gun, mounted his horse, and said urgently, "Let's abandon the reconnaissance mission for now. You'll come back with me and give this gun to the colonel."
"But----"
"No buts, this is an order! I'll take full responsibility for the consequences. Let's go!"
Meanwhile, on the other side...
Some of the US scouts have already arrived at the battlefield that Shigeaki and his men had planned.
Captain Smith, the company commander of the U.S. Army cavalry company, pulled out his monocular binoculars, looked at the Indian regiment in the distance, and couldn't help but gasp.
"My God, is this really the lineup those red-skinned bastards should have?"
Upon hearing this, the lieutenant next to him also pulled out his binoculars, his expression immediately becoming serious.
"A cavalry force of at least two hundred men, plus those persistent Native American scouts behind us, that's two companies."
"Behind the cavalry were about six hundred infantrymen, each armed with a lance. They even had three cannons!"
"Damn it, are we at war with the British or the Mexicans?!"
Smith took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to turn his horse around.
These were not the Native American thugs he had encountered before, nor were they savages with bows and arrows and rusty shotguns.
They had cavalry, infantry, artillery, orderly ranks, and clear formations.
This is an army.
He said, "Carl, take half the men back and report to Colonel Norton and Colonel McCarthy on the situation here."
Lieutenant Carl paused for a moment, then asked, "And what about you?"
Smith took his carbine from the saddlebag and began loading it with black powder and lead bullets.
"Of course, we should keep a close eye on them from here, and at the same time check the surrounding area to make sure there are any other hidden Indian troops that we haven't discovered yet."
Karl opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he only nodded. He turned and beckoned to ten cavalrymen, then turned his horse around and galloped back the way he came.
Smith watched them walk away, then raised his binoculars again and stared at the Indian army that was now arrayed in formation.
He had a bad feeling.
Another group of scouts was rushing back to the main force of the US military.
The lieutenant sat astride his horse, clutching the rifle he had salvaged from beside the dead Indian. His horse was drenched in sweat, but he dared not slow down.
Several soldiers followed closely behind.
After running for about ten minutes, a large group of people appeared ahead.
That was the main force of the US military.
Fifteen hundred soldiers were advancing eastward along the edge of the central valley. The column was long, with infantry in the center, cavalry on the flanks, artillery at the rear, and supply wagons trailing behind.
The lieutenant spurred his horse into the ranks, heading straight for the two regimental commanders at the heart of the group.
"Halt! Who goes there?" The alert soldier raised his gun.
"Scout, I have urgent intelligence and need to see the commander!" The lieutenant reined in his horse and jumped off.
Colonel Norton and Colonel McCarthy heard the commotion and rode over together.
"What is it?"
The lieutenant saluted the two colonels, pointed his gun downwards, and handed them the gun.
"Sir, we encountered Indian scouts during our reconnaissance. After the engagement, I captured this gun."
Norton took the rifle, examined it for a few seconds, and then showed an expression of disbelief.
"A Sharps rifle?" McCarthy leaned closer. "No, there's no such model as the Sharps—"
Norton examined the gun from all angles, his expression growing increasingly grave.
"This isn't a Sharps; it's a replica, but it's better than the original. It has a simpler structure, better gas tightness, and should have a faster rate of fire."
He looked up at the lieutenant and asked, "You fought the Indians? How many of them were there? What were their casualties?"
The lieutenant swallowed hard and whispered, "We had two squads, and they had one. After the engagement, we lost seven men and wounded three. They lost three men and wounded two before running away."
"Three dead and two wounded?"
Norton raised his voice a few decibels: "You two squads, twenty-four men in total, well-equipped and highly trained, went toe-to-toe with a group of Indians in a firefight, and ended up with a casualty ratio of one to two?"
The lieutenant explained, "Sir, they all have these kinds of guns; the rate of fire is too fast—"
Norton waved his hand: "No need to say anything more, you can leave."
The lieutenant, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, saluted and turned to leave.
Norton and McCarthy exchanged a glance.
"What do you think?" McCarthy asked.
Just then, another team of scouts came galloping from the front.
"Sir!"
Lieutenant Carl reined in his horse, panting, and shouted, "A large Indian force has been spotted ahead, numbering around a thousand, including cavalry, infantry, and three cannons!"
McCarthy's expression changed.
"Cannons? Did the Native Americans have cannons?"
"Yes, sir. The barrel is very thick, about the same size as our 12-pounder cannon."
McCarthy looked at Norton and said, "Advanced firearms, 12-pound cannons, and an organized army—this is not something the Indians could have accomplished on their own."
"They have someone backing them up. They are being provided with weapons, training, and command."
Norton nodded and said, "You also suspect them?"
"British."
McCarthy said, word by word, "Only those bastards have the ability and the motive."
"They're still fighting the Crimean War in the Black Sea, yet they're secretly reaching out here. Are they trying to start a third war of independence with us?"
Norton's expression turned serious. "We have to take down this Indian unit first, and cut off the British hand they're reaching out to us!"
He shouted to the messenger, "Order the entire army to accelerate! Cavalry to spread out on both flanks, infantry to prepare for battle, artillery to move forward. Have all company commanders come to a meeting!"
Ten minutes later, at the edge of the central valley.
U.S. troops finally arrived on the battlefield.
Norton and McCarthy stood on a gentle slope, raised their binoculars, and looked toward the Indian front ahead.
A thousand Native American warriors stood silently on the plain, arranged in three horizontal lines. At the front were the infantry, in the middle were the three cannons, and on the flanks were the cavalry. Their formation was impeccable, their ranks orderly, without a trace of panic.
The two armies faced off, two kilometers apart.
"My God—" McCarthy murmured, "Are these really Native Americans?"
Norton's gaze swept over the three cannons, over the rifles in the soldiers' hands, and over the menacing cavalry on both flanks.
"They're not moving; they're waiting for us to come."
McCarthy said, "Then let these Indian bastards see the power of artillery."
"Infantry advance! Artillerymen, prepare explosive rounds!"
Upon receiving the order, the American gunners quickly stuffed four kilograms of ammunition from the ammunition boxes into the muzzle of the 12-pounder gun, and some infantrymen began to help dig the position.
Suddenly, a muffled thud came from the opposite side, followed by a sharp whistling sound.
Norton looked up sharply and saw a black dot falling from the sky, heading straight for the American artillery position.
"boom!!!"
A huge crater appeared dozens of meters behind the position, with mud flying everywhere.
"What?!" McCarthy exclaimed. "Their cannons can hit targets that far?!"
Norton's face turned ashen.
Their 12-pound howitzers have an effective range of just over 1,000 meters, and their 6-pound howitzers have an even shorter range.
The two armies are now about two kilometers apart, which means that the three cannons on the other side can fire at least two kilometers!
"Stop digging! Artillery, advance immediately! Return fire once you're within range!" he roared. "Cavalry, move out and harass the enemy artillery from the flanks! Don't let those red-skinned bastards fire with impunity!"
Four cavalry companies charged out from the left and right flanks, their hooves thundering, heading straight for the Indian artillery positions.
However, the Native American cavalry also moved.
More than three hundred Native American cavalrymen charged out of their ranks, splitting into two groups to meet the American cavalry. The two sides met on the plain, sabers flashing and gunfire erupting.
In an instant, dozens of corpses rolled to the ground and were trampled into mud by the horses' hooves.
After the first wave of clashes, the remaining cavalry continued forward, attempting to bypass the Indian cavalry and head straight for the artillery positions.
Just then, a burst of gunfire suddenly erupted from the Indian infantry ranks.
That wasn't ordinary rifle fire; it was a continuous, relentless sound.
"Da da da da da————"
Before the American cavalry could react, bullets rained down on them.
The dozen or so men at the very front were riddled with bullets, their horses and riders falling to the ground with screams. Those behind them couldn't rein in their horses in time, tripped over by the fallen steeds, and tumbled over in disarray.
"What the hell is that thing?!"
An officer stared wide-eyed at the direction from which the gunshot had rang out.
Ten strange weapons had been set up in front of the Indian infantry.
They had two legs, a square receiver, a barrel, and a crank behind the barrel. The Indian was rapidly cranking the crank, the muzzle spitting flames, and bullets poured out like water.
The cavalry charges on both flanks were completely suppressed.
Meanwhile, the Native Americans launched their second barrage of artillery fire.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Three shells landed in succession and exploded around the artillery position.
The shell landed precisely in the center of the artillery position, exploding into a huge fireball. Both 6-pounder cannons were hit directly, their carriages shattered, and the barrels flew more than ten meters away. The surrounding artillerymen were scattered and killed.
"Speed up!"
"Charge! Charge into range!" the artillery company commander roared, whipping the horses pulling the cannons.
However, the Native Americans' artillery fire was too accurate.
The third round, the fourth round, and the fifth round.
Each round of shelling took away several cannons or a dozen gunners.
By the time the American artillery finally advanced within range, only three of the twelve cannons remained operational.
With another barrage from the Native Americans, the last cannon, along with its artillerymen, was reduced to dust.
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