lovenovelstory Chapter 115 Taking Down the Benicia Armory
Chapter 115 Taking Down the Benicia Armory
Chapter 115 Taking Down the Benicia Armory
The Kaquinez Strait.
As a key passage connecting San Francisco Bay and the Central Valley water system, this area has been extremely busy since the Spanish colonial era.
And to its north lies the city of Benicia.
But at this moment, Benicia was already engulfed in flames and smoke.
After the Southern California militia, who had sailed from Los Angeles, landed and seized the dock, they used it as a base to advance into the city.
Once the city's militia realized what was happening, they all converged on the Benedictine Armory. With the help of an artillery battery stationed at the arsenal, they began a counterattack against the Southern California militia.
However, because their numbers are far fewer than those of the Southern California militia, they have so far been able to hold out at the arsenal and wait for support from other Northern California city militias.
"One thousand Southern California militiamen, four hundred Northern California militiamen, and one hundred U.S. Army artillerymen."
On the gently rising hill, John gazed at the riverside city, a Pacific Type 1 rifle in one hand resting diagonally on his shoulder, his horse trotting forward beneath him.
"Uncle, which side should we attack first?"
The middle-aged man next to him, half a horse's length behind, rolled his eyes and said irritably, "The Southern California militia have the arsenal completely surrounded. Do you think we can fly in and kill the American troops and Northern California militia inside first?"
"Putting aside the fact that none of our people are inside, even if they were, would you really want to trouble our lord with such a trivial matter?"
John chuckled and said, "Then let's kill those outside first!"
"Perfect, after we kill them all, we can also gain the trust of the garrison inside and make them think we are reinforcements."
"drive!"
John flicked the reins, and the horse beneath him suddenly sped up.
Behind him, eight hundred Van der Linde cavalrymen quickened their pace and charged south toward Benicia, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.
Inside Benicia.
The civilians had already fled to other settlements or arsenals, and the houses outside were naturally occupied by the Southern California militia as barracks, canteens, and command posts.
Inside a two-story house with a garden, George Sheridan, commander of the Southern California militia, was discussing the upcoming attack with his officers.
"We cut off the stream flowing into the arsenal, and there are no wells inside. In three days, the five hundred men should have finished drinking the water in their tanks."
Sheridan said smugly, "It hardly ever rains in California during the dry season. Tomorrow, tomorrow we'll see those people inside come out and surrender to us!"
Upon hearing this, his subordinate immediately began to flatter him: "The colonel truly lives up to his reputation as a hero who participated in the Mexican-American War. From strategy to tactics, he is simply the embodiment of perfection."
"That's right, that's right."
Another subordinate chimed in, "Your retirement was a real loss to the country. You shouldn't have stopped at colonel; you should have become brigadier general or even major general."
"Hahahaha, you're right."
Sheridan laughed heartily, clearly pleased. His eyes burned as he looked at the map on the table: "Once I take over the arsenal, I'll upgrade my weaponry, then march straight to Sacramento and crush those American Party bastards!"
"At that time, maybe I can be appointed by Governor Doug as the deputy commander and quartermaster of the California militia, and then we'll all have a good life."
As a group of people were envisioning their bright future, they suddenly felt the ground tremble slightly.
"What's going on? Is it an earthquake?" one of his men asked, somewhat panicked.
Sheridan frowned, signaling everyone to be quiet. He listened intently for a moment, then his pupils suddenly contracted, and he roared, "Warning! Cavalry are charging this way!"
"Da di di dou! Da di di dou!"
Before the words were finished, a rapid horn sounded from the nearby clock tower, warning the surrounding soldiers that a large, unidentified cavalry force was charging toward the city.
Sheridan rushed up to the second-floor balcony, pulled out his monoculars, and looked in the direction from which the sound came.
On the northern horizon, a gray torrent was surging in at an alarming speed, the sound of hooves like a storm, striking the earth and billowing dust.
"Reinforcements sent by the American party?"
He narrowed his eyes, bowed his head, and ordered his subordinates, "Pass on my order: all soldiers must immediately retreat into the buildings and occupy the rooftops, balconies, and windows."
"If those horsemen dare to charge straight into the city, let the streets become their graveyards!"
The messengers below began to move their legs rapidly, went out the gate, mounted the horses tied to the gate, and galloped towards the militia's positions inside the city.
There were three main positions within the city: a company remained at the docks to guard the waterway, a vital lifeline; six companies surrounded the four city walls around the arsenal; and the remaining three companies rested in various locations within the city, ready to be rotated at any time.
The messenger responsible for notifying the soldiers resting throughout the city arrived almost simultaneously with Van der Linde's gang.
They were lying in their houses, fast asleep or playing cards, when the messenger came and shouted military orders, many of them didn't even realize what was happening.
"Quick! Quick! Quick! Retreat inside! Get to the high ground!"
Inside one of the houses, the lieutenant kicked a soldier in the buttocks, driving him to the highest point on the second floor, and then moved a sofa to block the door.
Soon, most of the soldiers from the three companies outside appeared by the windows or on the balconies, their various firearms pointed towards the street.
Rumble! Rumble!
A muffled thunderous sound approached from afar, causing the windowpanes to rattle.
A dozen seconds later, the cavalry charged into the city along several roads, their hooves pounding the streets.
Fire!
With shouts, the militiamen closest to the cavalry opened fire.
Gunfire rang out, and although it was sporadic, several unlucky people were still hit, resulting in casualties.
But the main force remained unmoved, and more cavalrymen charged into the streets like a flood bursting its banks, impossible to stop.
"A bunch of idiots, they think they can stop cavalry with the rate of fire of muzzle-loading rifles?"
John, crouching low on his horse, didn't even look up. He pulled a grenade from his waist, gave it a gentle pull, and tossed it upwards. The grenade arced through the air and landed precisely in a second-floor window of a house.
boom!
Flames, carrying shrapnel, exploded in the cramped room, instantly sending splinters of wood flying and thick smoke billowing.
Several militiamen inside died on the spot, and even two who were lying on the roof were thrown off by the blast wave and fell to the ground, the sound of bones breaking could be clearly heard.
More cavalrymen pulled out grenades and threw them at the windows or rooftops on both sides of the street.
Explosions rang out one after another, accompanied by screams and cries of agony. Smoke and dust billowed everywhere, and debris rained down, striking the cavalrymen with a crackling sound.
In less than two minutes, the cavalrymen had crossed the street covering the three companies and headed straight for the arsenal.
Outside the arsenal, the company commanders of the six companies, after receiving orders from messengers, hurriedly led their militiamen to retreat.
The officers shouted at the top of their lungs, "Line up! Maintain formation during evacuation, do not break apart!"
But it had no effect.
Upon hearing the news of the approaching cavalry, the militiamen instantly panicked. They feared that the Northern California militia inside the arsenal would seize the opportunity to break out, and their retreat quickly turned into a flight of terror.
Just then, the cavalrymen had already passed through the city.
"Scatter! Weave through them!"
John looked at the scattered troops ahead, grinned maliciously, took the rifle off his back, and began to fire.
boom! boom! boom!
The cavalry at the front fired and killed several men, creating a weak point, then drew their sabers, gripped their horses' bellies, and charged into the crowd.
"Don't panic! Fight back!"
Several officers nearby shouted and drew their revolvers, firing repeatedly at the cavalrymen on horseback in an attempt to organize them.
But with several precise shots, the leading lieutenant was killed one after another, and the team that was just beginning to organize collapsed once again.
Eight hundred cavalrymen cut back and forth on the outer perimeter of the arsenal, like sickles reaping wheat.
They didn't linger or prolong the fight; after firing a few volleys of rifles and throwing a few grenades, they immediately withdrew from the battlefield. But just when the militia thought they could catch their breath, they turned around and charged back, killing another wave.
The militia members were divided into small groups, each fighting their own battles, and none of them could take care of the others.
Under repeated flanking maneuvers by the cavalry, the six companies were completely routed in less than an hour. Corpses lay scattered on the ground, and blood pooled in pools.
The survivors scattered and fled, some running towards the docks, some hiding in houses, and some even dropping their guns and raising their hands in surrender.
Sheridan was dragged out of the city and stumbled onto the dock. Behind him, the cavalrymen pursued.
The dockside was still well-defended, with several horse-drawn carriages blocking the road and sandbags piled up. The last company commander let Sheridan in and shouted, "Fire! Drive them back!"
The militiamen, lined up in three rows behind the sandbags, began firing, repeating the action repeatedly, and managed to stop the cavalry's charge.
But the cavalrymen opposite seemed completely unafraid of death, continuing their charge despite the hail of bullets.
When they reached a point less than 100 meters from the dock, dozens of grenades were thrown high into the air and then quickly fell back down, hitting the crowd behind the sandbags.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The explosion was deafening; sandbags were blown apart, carriages were overturned, and militiamen hiding behind them were blown to pieces. The company commander was thrown to the ground by the blast wave, and when he got up, his ears were ringing and he couldn't hear anything.
Sheridan gritted his teeth, pulled the company commander up, and dragged him quickly towards the ships on the dock: "Come on, get on the ship!"
Boom!
They hadn't taken two steps when a grenade landed not far from their feet.
"Fuck!"
boom!
Inside Benicia, the gunfire gradually subsided.
John, mounted on his horse, looked around.
Corpses lay scattered across the streets, and the assassins were meticulously searching for any surviving militiamen. The prisoners, their hands and feet bound, were gathered in an open area.
He nodded and looked in the direction of the arsenal. The gray complex of buildings stood quietly in the north of the city, with people peering out from the watchtowers on the walls.
"Leave some people to clean up the mess here, the rest of you, come with me to the arsenal."
A quarter of an hour later, John led five hundred dismounted cavalrymen slowly toward the gate of the arsenal.
On the walls of the arsenal, Northern California militiamen peered out, watching the slowly approaching cavalry. They had just heard gunfire and explosions in the city, but didn't know what had happened.
"Halt! Who are you?" someone shouted from the top of the wall.
John looked up at the wall and replied, "We are reinforcements sent by Sacramento!"
The people on the wall looked at each other in bewilderment.
A man who looked like an officer poked his head out and looked John and his cavalryman up and down.
"How can you prove your identities?" the officer shouted.
"The proof is that we just drove off the army of those cowardly Democrats and saved your life, you stupid pig!"
John snapped, "Open the door! We need to replenish our ammunition, and our wounded need medical attention!"
The officer on the wall turned pale with anger as he was scolded, but he gritted his teeth and suppressed his rage.
"Open the door for them!"
Upon receiving the order, the Northern California militiamen quickly pulled the chains, lifting the heavy gate of the arsenal, and then ran outside without saying a word.
John glanced at the militiamen who had run past.
Their lips were chapped, their eyes sunken, and they looked like they hadn't had a drink in a long time. They dashed off towards the nearest stream or well, completely ignoring the sporadic gunfire outside.
Seeing that the cavalry outside made no move, more militiamen rushed out, completely ignoring the officers' reprimands inside.
"They're all so thirsty!"
John waved his hand, and five hundred men lined up in neat rows and jogged into the arsenal.
Although it's called an arsenal, it's actually more like a fortress complex. Apart from the stone walls, the ammunition depots, warehouses, and various buildings inside are all constructed of stone.
Five hundred people stood on an open space in the arsenal, and curious eyes were cast at them from all directions.
"I am Captain Charles Sidney Wind, the company commander of the 1st Company of the 3rd Artillery Regiment stationed here."
The officer who had been scolded earlier climbed down from the wall, walked over to John, and angrily said, "What's your name? Who's your superior? I've never seen you before!"
As he spoke, his gaze fell on the rifle in John's hand.
It was a breech-loading rifle, its barrel gleaming and in excellent condition. More importantly, the reinforcements this man brought also carried this type of rifle—
"Who sent you? I don't recall any militia group in California that's all armed with breech-loading rifles." Wendt looked at John warily, his hand reaching for the revolver at his waist.
boom!
A gunshot interrupted his actions.
John pulled the trigger of his rifle, and the bullet struck Wendt squarely in the chest, splattering blood. Wendt's eyes widened, his mouth opened, and the body fell to the ground.
"Let's do it."
Five hundred rifles opened fire simultaneously, aimed at the soldiers all around.
The soldiers nearby, caught completely off guard, were instantly devastated, with half of them falling to the ground.
Before the remaining soldiers could react, they saw the men below load bullets at lightning speed, followed by another volley of fire.
Some tried to fight back, but were quickly killed.
The suicide squad began to scatter, creeping deeper into the arsenal. Half an hour later, they killed the last soldier who was putting up a desperate fight.
John looked at the uncle who had arrived and said slowly, "Take stock of the arsenal's inventory: weapons, ammunition, gunpowder, lathes. Write all of these down and wait for the Xinghan Hall people to come and take them over."
"We'll rest here for the night, and tomorrow morning, we'll head straight to Sacramento!"