Chapter 112: Homemade Plane

Of course, the transmigrators had no bugle or "little devil" bugler. Wu De's command was simply Yuan Qiushi firing another signal flare—red this time—and assault team members immediately blowing whistles.

This wave was the assault squad—all hulking men. Besides full riot gear, each carried a riot shield while the other hand wielded twenty-first-century cold weapons: steel replicas of Ming Dynasty border army regulation sabers, ordered by Wen Desi from a sword website. Both shields and sabers were heavy—everyone here stood over 180 centimeters and weighed nearly a hundred kilograms. Leading the charge was You Laohu—"Old Tiger You." Actually older and not particularly imposing, he had repeatedly volunteered, claiming countless street-fighting experiences. He was willing to be the vanguard, content even if he died. He had originally wanted to carry his personal giant Green Dragon crescent blade—like opera props—but everyone objected, fearing he would accidentally chop nearby allies.

The manor's militia, already shaken by that earth-shaking explosion, were in shambles. Some near the gate were bleeding from debris wounds or had blood streaming from their ears and mouths. Then through the smoke came these hulking figures in black armor, carrying giant shields and long blades. Terrifying. Their souls fled. Someone turned and ran: "Manor's breached! Run for your lives—"

Old Tiger You, short but lightning fast, was first through the gate—and nearly tripped. The ground was covered with debris. He stepped on something soft and looked down—a corpse. Apparently killed by the blast: no wounds, just bleeding from orifices. Gruesome. They had expected fierce fighting at the gate, but charging in, the assault team found no resistance. The overpowered explosives had collapsed both watchtowers, burying dozens of waiting militia alive. The dozen-plus men who had gathered behind the gate to fight were all killed or wounded by the shockwave, bricks, and debris. Just corpses everywhere—not one living soul. These men who had planned to hack and slash found themselves with nothing to do.

Wu De had charged in with follow-up forces. Seeing no enemies to clear at the gate, he immediately ordered the assault team to charge toward the Gou family compound's main gate at the crossroads. Other teams rushed along streets toward their assigned control points. Wang Ruixiang led a team onto the wall—and encountered two night patrolmen running toward them. Startled by these strange-looking figures, Wang Ruixiang screeched and raised his axe for close combat—but the rifles behind him opened fire first. Both enemies toppled off the wall.

"What's the hurry!" He had just cursed when he was shoved aside by those behind him. These fresh killers, eyes red with excitement, shrieked and charged forward, randomly firing, stomping any lantern they saw. Unfortunately, the walls were cluttered. The lead runner tripped on wood—the wall was also narrow—and fell straight off.

Thus: the operation's first casualty. Several men quickly jumped down and carried this unconscious comrade to the gate for treatment.

Wu De had his men continuously shout while others set a wooden watchtower ablaze—to intimidate villagers and let the panicking militia disintegrate. Various assault teams seized intersections, quickly cutting off links between the outer manor and the Gou compound itself. At the crossroads, he raised a white flag. People alternately shouted in local dialect, Hokkien, and Cantonese: "Surrender and live!" Soon dozens of prisoners gathered—weapons confiscated, bound in groups of five, marched out of the manor.

The street fighting they had anticipated did not occur. Commoner households' doors were shut tight. Some who peeked out were warned off with shots. Wu De heard distant Saiga-308 fire—wall jumpers were fleeing—but he was confident the major targets had not escaped yet.

The assault team surrounded the entire compound. Inside, Gou Xunyi and his henchmen knew their prospects were grim. Relying on high, thick walls and solid buildings, they simultaneously sent people for reinforcements while randomly firing muskets. The compound faced streets on all sides. Inside were some two hundred women, children, and elderly, plus seventy or eighty men. Approaching the compound brought showers of bricks, tiles, and stones—dense as rain from above—too intense to advance. Assault team members, trusting their riot gear protection, charged to the wall base with ladders. Inside, women boiled water—bucket after bucket sent to rooftops, poured down with the stones. Immediately several chargers were scalded. One unlucky soul took a direct hit—despite inner and outer protection, boiling water seeped in, making him roll on the ground in agony.

Seeing comrades hurt, the transmigrators—most of whom had approached this battle with a cat-and-mouse attitude, somewhat reluctant about killing—now grew murderous. Angry roars erupted: "Kill! Slaughter them all!" "Spare neither chickens nor dogs!" "Flatten Gou Manor!"

Faces flushed, SKS rifles fired wildly—roof tiles and wood splinters flew, blood sprayed. Figures on rooftops toppled. A woman carrying water, crawling along the eaves slowly retreating, suddenly had smoke rise from her shoulder—and fell straight down. This scene drew cheers.

Seizing this opening, everyone quickly dragged back the scalded. Thanks to thorough protection, injuries were not too severe. Boiling water's heat retention was not great—the worst cases were only second-degree burns. The most serious victim's burns were extensive but not life-threatening. The one who had fallen from the wall remained unconscious—the Medical Group's diagnosis was extremely pessimistic: likely a skull fracture. After basic treatment, he was rushed back by vehicle.

"Fill the truck bed with sand—quick!" River Horse ordered. Sand in the truck bed reduced shock—a crude wartime field evacuation technique. Burns, he decided, would not be evacuated yet—no life danger, low infection risk after treatment. But this head injury could not be diagnosed without equipment—surgery here was impossible.

The transmigrators' rifle volleys pinned down rooftop defenders. But behind thick walls, guards kept firing muskets and arrows through gun loops. Most threatening were the "pack-guns"—far more powerful than fowling pieces and muskets. Loaded with bean-sized iron pellets, nails, and small stones—like a giant shotgun—one blast scattered widely. Though the transmigrators' rifles were powerful, they could not easily approach. Enemies mostly hid behind walls or rooftops—hard to spot.

"Blast again—there's one more explosive charge!" Zhang Bailin's face was grazed but he stayed in the fight—his wound was really just a scratch.

Wu De thought: charging and scaling would likely cause more casualties. Old method: give the Gou family another "homemade plane ride." He nodded: "But reduce the charge by half!"

"Got it—I'll handle this."

This time, to prevent boiling-water repeats, besides full riot gear, Zhang Bailin wore a plastic rain poncho. Clutching the explosives, about to charge—Wu De grabbed him: "Trying to die?!" he snapped.

"What?" Zhang Bailin looked innocent. "I'm guarding against boiling water—"

"You're only thinking about water—this plastic poncho, one torch—" he pointed, "—you're a human torch."

"I hear plastic burns are horrific—melted plastic fuses to your skin—" someone added helpfully.

Zhang Bailin quickly shed the poncho. Wu De ordered the assault team to send five men as cover. Three steel shields linked into a curved barrier; two more on top—a "turtle formation" protecting Zhang Bailin's advance toward the gate.

"Watch for pack-guns!" Wu De knew these were powerful at close range. "Never let the formation break. Hold firm. We'll cover you with fire."

The transmigrators organized continuous rifle fire. Some mounted scopes, specifically firing into gun loops. Zhang Bailin's demolition team advanced slowly. Arrows clinked off shields, leaving white scratches. Bricks and tiles drummed on the top shields. The shields had observation slits, but no one felt like looking—just marching forward. Whenever SKS fire sounded, impacts on their shields lessened.

Defenders lit a pack-gun. The assault team saw the flash—stopped, braced. After the flash, the pack-gun roared. Fierce hammering on shields—worse than the densest hail. The propellant's thrust made them waver. But this was the enemy's death throes. Though someone recklessly threw lime pots and lit sulfur bombs from behind the walls, nothing could stop their advance. Sulfur bombs slid off steel shields; lime was useless against goggles. The turtle formation quickly reached the gatehouse—placed the explosives—quickly retreated.

Compound defenders were confused. They had expected attackers to either chop the gate or set fires—but neither happened. If the attackers meant to blast it, by their calculations that required one hundred to two hundred jin of gunpowder, plus digging pits under the gate. This quick in-and-out—what for?

Seeing Zhang Bailin and his team retreat, the transmigrators on the opposite rooftops and in the street also ducked back into shelter at the sound of the commander's whistle. Both sides suddenly fell silent. Then came a deafening roar. The earth trembled; thick smoke and dust filled the air. Bricks, tiles, and wood flew in all directions. Some flew into the compound, followed by a series of screams.

Just after the explosion, the transmigrators, long prepared, let out a heaven-shaking cry. You Laohu, brandishing his longsword, led the charge through the collapsed gate. The cross street in front of the residence was already littered with the bodies of the dead and wounded. A few bloody figures, crying for their parents, fled toward the inner courtyard gates. He chased them down and hacked them one by one. Some people were paralyzed with fear, either kowtowing and begging for mercy or standing dumbstruck. Among them were a few women who had been boiling water. The transmigrators were holding in their anger at this point and had no intention of showing mercy. They were quickly bayoneted to death.

Some who had been forced to defend the residence threw down their fowling pieces and hand cannons and fled toward the backyard, shouting as they ran: "Run for your lives! Run for your lives!"

A few veteran bandits and members of the Gou clan, knowing that there was no hope of survival once the residence was breached, were still fighting desperately. But even in hand-to-hand combat, they were no match for the blood-eyed transmigrators. The inferior iron swords they used could not withstand the triangular bayonets on the SKS rifles, and they were quickly eliminated. Seeing this, everyone else fled for their lives. The gate of one residence was breached before it could even be closed. In a moment, the gates of all seven residences were opened. Some of the defenders tried to escape through the back gate, but an ambush had already been set there. Those who went out were either killed or captured alive.

Wu De heard the chaotic sounds of killing, crying, begging for mercy, and cursing from inside and knew that the residence had been completely breached. To be fair, he was satisfied with this battle. At this moment, he felt extremely exhilarated. He raised his hand and looked at his watch: it was just past eight-thirty.

Prisoners began to be escorted from the back gate—men and women, old and young. Wu De had them temporarily locked up in a dilapidated temple in the village, awaiting screening and sentencing.

After another half hour, the sounds of killing inside the residence slowly quieted down, though an occasional, particularly chilling scream would still ring out. A specially formed search team was systematically searching each area for any who had escaped the net. After a while, the assault teams that had charged in began to withdraw one after another. This had been arranged beforehand: once the residence was completely under control, the combat teams would withdraw, and personnel from the Planning Committee would take over to inventory and receive the spoils of war.

However, Wu De still noticed some discordant sights. Someone had a woman's colorful clothes wrapped around his head, another was carrying the leg of a Sancai horse statue, and a few were even carrying out a large vase together. The order not to take spoils of war for oneself had been completely forgotten.

He quickly put a stop to the looting spree and, after reiterating discipline, walked around the streets again to inspect the situation at the back gate. A large pile of dead bodies was stacked there, all killed by the team guarding it as they tried to escape. Some were dressed in fine clothes, others in rags. There were also women and children who had either been killed by random rifle fire or trampled to death in the chaos. Many were still clutching bundles and small boxes filled with valuables. The air was thick with the smell of death. Wu De sighed. Revolution means death.

He then led some men into the residence to inspect it. Most of the houses were already empty, with doors and windows wide open. Tables, chairs, and furniture had been pushed aside, as if they had intended to resist from house to house. Unexpectedly, the residence was luxuriously furnished, with a dazzling array of vases, screens, ornaments, and even antiques. Some had already fallen to the ground and shattered. Although Wu De had no expertise in this area, he felt that the sheer quantity of such items was outrageous. There were also signs of attempted resistance in the courtyards. The flagstones on the ground and at the foot of the steps had been dug up. The gates of some courtyards had been blocked with stones from behind. Swords, spears, gunpowder, and fowling pieces were scattered all over the ground.

Walking into the backyard, he saw several combat team members escorting a group of prisoners who were carrying out bodies, all of them women, old and young. Wu De looked up and saw some cut pieces of silk hanging from the beams and pillars. He knew these were the female family members of the Gou clan who had committed suicide, and his heart was filled with pity. As a soldier, he was usually indifferent to death, but the scene at this moment moved him.

The person in charge was a veteran from the Military Group. With a gloomy face, he was puffing hard on a cigarette. Seeing Wu De approach, he said, "Chief, this is too tragic—"

"Say no more. Continue the mission." He paused and softened his tone. "It's better for one family to cry than for everyone on the road to cry. Have you found Gou Xunyi?"

"Not yet. We've found a few of the Gou family's surrendered servants and maids to identify the bodies." He exhaled a puff of smoke. "I really don't get it. Why did they have to commit suicide? It's not like we were going to eat them—"

"They were probably afraid of being raped and losing their chastity or something." Wu De thought that ancient people were very feudal, and that was probably the reason. It seemed it would take a long time to establish a good public image.

As they were talking, someone came to report that a dungeon had been discovered behind the livestock shed in the backyard. Just as Wu De reached the entrance, he saw several transmigrators leading a group of people out. Some were in shackles, some had iron chains around their necks, and some had their hands tied with ropes. All were sallow and emaciated, staggering in the sunlight.

Upon asking, he learned that these people all owed rent and high-interest loans to the great households of the Gou family. Unable to repay, they had been captured by Gou Xunyi's militiamen and retainers and thrown into his private jail. Others had been imprisoned for offending him in other ways. Remembering that Xi Yazhou had specifically told him that several elders from Saltworks Village were being held by the Gou family, he had someone ask if there was anyone from Saltworks Village.

Hearing the question, several old men in the group knelt down and kowtowed repeatedly. Wu De hurried over to help them up. As he got closer, he noticed a foul stench coming from them, but since he was already there, he could not shrink back. He braced himself, helped them up, and told them it was alright, that people from Saltworks Village would come to get them soon.

For a moment, these old men could not figure out what was going on. Village head Tan Guirong was quicker on the uptake. Seeing their appearance and attire, he remembered the "kūnzéi" Chief Xi who had come to buy salt from him the other day. He suddenly understood and quickly knelt down to kowtow: "Are you… sent by Chief… Chief Xi?"

Wu De laughed and did not explain further. He had someone lead them out, give them something to eat, and wait for the people from Saltworks Village to arrive. Turning his head, he said to the captain in charge, "Unlock their shackles and chains, give each of them something to eat, and let them go home."

A young man in the group heard that they were being told to go home and shouted at Wu De, "Master Kun, I have no place to go back to. Can you take me in?"

Seeing that someone wanted to join them, Wu De smiled and said, "You want to work for us? This isn't just being a soldier and getting fed. You have to work hard and risk your life in battle. It's not an easy job."

"I'm just a poor bachelor anyway. There's no happiness in living, and death is just a bowl-sized scar. What's there to be afraid of?"

"Alright, then we'll take you. Just mention it to the person in charge of registration later."

"Done!"

The others left, thanking him profusely. Curious, Wu De took some men into the private jail. It was a semi-subterranean earthen dungeon, filled with a foul stench and very damp. Rusty iron chains, cangues, and shackles hung on the walls, along with whips, bamboo boards, and various instruments of torture. It was a grim sight. The scene reminded Wu De of a movie about serfdom in Tibet he had seen as a child, which had left him with a very sinister and fearful impression. Disgusted, he quickly came back up.

Xi Yazhou's voice came over the walkie-talkie; their transport team had arrived.

With Xi Yazhou came several hundred common people, old and young, including some women. Those with livestock herded them, while those without carried baskets or cloth bags on shoulder poles. The newly formed Saltworks Village militia, carrying swords and spears, accompanied them for protection. After several days of continuous training, they already looked quite impressive.

The work of gathering the laborers had begun two afternoons ago. Militia captain Tan Chengqing and women's director Tan Xiaoqin were responsible for spreading the word, only saying that they were going to transport grain and valuables for the "Kun." After being transported back to a designated location, a portion would be distributed to the transporters. Although the residents of Saltworks Village had received some relief and their situation had slightly improved, the salt had just been shipped out and had not yet been exchanged for money and rice, so life was still quite difficult. Upon hearing the call, every household was in an uproar, scrambling to respond and immediately preparing for action.

Cheng Dong of the Planning Committee was in charge of this matter. To avoid temporary disputes and private appropriation of goods, he had Xi Yazhou divide the people into small teams, each with a leader. For easy identification, each team member had a colored cloth strip sewn onto their arm. The team leader carried a small flag of the team's color, making it clear at a glance.

Before dawn, these several hundred people had gathered in groups. Each brought their own dry rations and water. It was only then that everyone learned they were going to Gou Family Village. The people of this village had suffered terribly at the hands of the Gou family. Hearing that the "Kun" were preparing to break Gou Family Village and wanted them to transport valuables and grain, they were extremely excited. Some who had not originally intended to go also rushed to join. Considering that the village still needed people to dry salt and stand guard, Xi Yazhou politely declined their offers. He only said that regardless of whether they went or not, everyone in Saltworks Village would receive a share of the grain and valuables. This boosted everyone's enthusiasm even more, and they hurried toward Gou Family Village with almost no rest along the way.

The personnel from the Planning Committee were already taking inventory of the various goods. The Gou family's supplies could be described as "abundant." From the granaries alone, they found over a thousand shi of coarse and fine grain. Another one to two hundred shi were found in the kitchens and storerooms of the various houses. There were nearly a hundred mules, horses, and donkeys, and five to six hundred pigs and sheep. And this was just the food.

In Gou Xunyi's residence, the transmigrators discovered a dedicated storage courtyard where three rows of houses were all warehouses. Some warehouses were filled with various cloths, silks, and satins. Others contained entire storerooms of porcelain and pottery. There were also warehouses specifically for storing various types of wood and spices. They found over two hundred bags of pepper alone, each weighing fifty to sixty catties. The sheer quantity and variety of the items were dazzling, making it hard to believe that this was merely the wealth of a local tyrant in a small southern county.

(End of Chapter)