Chapter 136: The Battle of Bopu (Part 2)

Dugu Qiuhun’s farm truck sped along the simple road at 70 km/h in the dead of night, its horn blaring maniacally. Everyone in the truck was scared to death, fearing they would become victims of a traffic accident before they could be martyred in battle. After a few minutes, they saw the white beams of searchlights sweeping everywhere ahead. Tongues of fire erupted from the darkness, illuminating the flitting black silhouettes of people. Combined with the screaming sirens and the dense sound of gunfire, it was reminiscent of an old World War II movie.

Just as they reached the camp entrance, they saw Monde, dressed in a sailor shirt with a stab-proof vest over it, waving his hands frantically while holding an SKS rifle.

“Get to the docks, quick! The enemy is landing there!”

Dugu Qiuhun turned the truck around. Just as he was about to hit the gas, a burly man ran over, holding a five-shot shotgun in his left hand and a sapper’s axe in his right. A dozen disheveled men followed him; some carried guns, others lugged fire extinguishers. They all wanted a ride. Dugu waved his hand, “Get on, get on!” The small farm truck was instantly packed with over twenty people. Suddenly, someone screamed in pain—a fire extinguisher had been dropped on their foot.

“No retreat for minor injuries! Hang in there, brother,” Wang Ruixiang said, slapping the roof of the cab. “Go, to the speedboat dock!”

The battle at the speedboat dock was already underway. As a reward for the North American Branch’s efforts in shipping a large quantity of arms from the United States, the yacht they had “acquired” in Hawaii served as their private residence. Besides the two Qian brothers and their families, their tenant Zhou Weisen also lived there. The boat was about 100 tons, and being a yacht, it was fully equipped with all living amenities, making it spacious, comfortable, and an object of envy for everyone. Unexpectedly, because it was moored too close to the four fishing trawlers, it became a primary target. Several sampans, mistaking their target, directed their attack here. Arrows and jingal rounds rained down on the boat, leaving the once pristine white yacht scarred and battered.

One sampan pulled alongside, apparently preparing to board. Zhou Weisen lay prone at the cabin entrance, an original M35 helmet on his head, firing his 12-gauge shotgun wildly, clearing the sampan of anyone left standing. In the cockpit, Qian Shuixie was also firing indiscriminately with a Mosin-Nagant M44. Although he had a self-assembled, knock-off scope, in the darkness, he could only aim by the light of muzzle flashes and searchlights, essentially shooting blindly at the boat’s shadow. The pirates were relentless, returning fire with jingals, 2-pounder cannons, and matchlocks. The cockpit glass shattered, piece by piece. Qian Shuixie was frantic. Although the wives and daughters of his brother and Zhou Weisen’s Venezuelan bombshell he’d picked up in Hawaii had been sent to the comparative safety of the camp dorms when the yellow alert was issued, and they had plenty of weapons and ammunition, three men against dozens of pirates was still a terrifying prospect. The entire harbor was a cacophony of light beams, flames, and gunfire. There were no friendlies in sight. A chill ran down his spine—was this how they were going to meet their glorious end?

In the midst of his paranoia, he saw torches light up on the sampans. A dozen of them were thrown at once. Qian Shuiting saw the torches land on the wooden deck at the stern, which immediately caught fire. It was a critical moment. He dropped his SKS, drew the .40 caliber Sig P229 from his hip, grabbed a fire extinguisher, and was about to rush out when Zhou Weisen pulled him back, shouting, “I’ll go! If you die, what will happen to your wife and Beibei?”

“This is no time for that!” Qian Shuiting watched the fire on the aft deck grow. Just as he was about to force his way out, a yellow farm truck burst out of the darkness. More than twenty men jumped out and opened fire on the sampans attacking the yacht. The pirates, caught by surprise, fell into the water one after another. The rest quickly turned their boats and rowed away. A few men dragged fire extinguishers from the truck and furiously sprayed down the deck, putting out the fire.

The three men, still in shock, saw that more than half of the newcomers were uniformly dressed in black, complete with stab-proof vests and helmets. They assumed it was some elite unit from the Executive Committee sent specifically to rescue them and were so moved they were on the verge of tears. Just as they were about to say something, the leader waved his hand, “You guys grab your gear too. They’re going for the fishing trawlers!”

The Qian brothers knew this was a moment of life and death. They quickly followed. Seeing that most of the newcomers were armed with machetes, Qian Shuixie feared their firepower was insufficient. He hurried down into the cabin and brought out three or four of his personal Mosin-Nagant M44 rifles, grabbing several ammo pouches to distribute among the men. Fortunately, everyone had practiced with various rifles during military training, so they wouldn’t be using them as spears.

Along the way, they joined up with Bai Yu, who was leading a team of about ten men with a cannon. They were also heading to the beach to reinforce it and prevent the enemy from destroying the ships.

The yacht was only a hundred meters from the pier where the fishing trawlers were docked. The beach along the way was already littered with bodies and wounded. A sandbag gun emplacement meant to protect the pier was deserted, its cannon overturned. The sight was increasingly alarming. On the water, numerous sampans had surrounded the outermost fishing trawler, with shadowy figures swarming over it. Dugu Qiuhun was about to open fire when Monde, who was beside him, stopped him.

“What are you doing? We don’t have any of our people on that boat!”

“If you start shooting, you’ll destroy a lot of the equipment on board!” Monde said urgently.

“Melee combat it is,” Wang Ruixiang said, drawing the sapper’s axe from his belt, ready to charge.

“The enemy is coming over!”

The pirates on the sampans had spotted the reinforcements. A dozen boats rushed to the beach, and a dense crowd of pirates disembarked. In the firelight, they could be seen: dark-skinned, small in stature, with fierce, slanted eyes. They held daggers in their teeth and wielded Malay-style curved swords.

“Hold your fire!” Dugu Qiuhun stopped a man next to him who was about to shoot.

“We’re going for annihilation. Don’t let them get back,” he said coldly, pulling down his helmet’s face shield and adjusting his urban management stab-proof vest.

Tweet! A whistle blew. The men formed up into three small squares, as they had been taught in military training, and advanced on the enemy from three directions.

The enemy seemed unfazed. They were clearly well-trained warriors. They drew their blades with a flourish, as if to say: “Close combat? We’re not afraid of you.”

Dugu Qiuhun saw this and smiled smugly. Fools, he thought. Who’s going to fight you in close combat? We’re holding our fire so you don’t hit the dirt and hide, wasting our bullets.

50 meters, 40 meters, 30 meters. They were getting closer. The enemy’s ferocious faces were now visible.

They closed to 20 meters. With a wave of his hand, the front rank of men quickly split to the left and right, revealing the black maw of a 12-pounder mountain howitzer that had been hidden behind the human wall.

In that instant, you could clearly see the expression on the enemy’s faces: astonishment. Their expressions seemed to say: You treacherous bastards!!!!

The enemy’s shock lasted less than a second. BOOM! The 12-pounder mountain howitzer roared, unleashing a double load of canister shot—a total of 24 pounds of small iron balls—that swept through the enemy ranks like a hurricane.

Smoke filled the air, punctuated by agonizing screams. When the smoke cleared, of the nearly 50 men, fewer than 10 were left standing. A few screamed in a language no one understood and ran for the sea, jumping in to escape.

Canister shot fired directly from a howitzer loses its kinetic energy quickly at long range, becoming ineffective beyond 100 meters. But at 20 meters, it was simply invincible.

“Beautiful!” Dugu Qiuhun was practically dancing with joy.

“Double canister!” Bai Yu roared. The ad-hoc gun crew, though fumbling, managed to complete the second reload within five minutes.

This time, the target was the sampans by the shore. The canister shot swept across the water. A few sampans began to sink, while more just floated lifelessly, all hands on board dead.

While the enemy’s morale was shattered, Wang Ruixiang and Dugu Qiuhun—one with an axe, the other with a machete—led the charge. The men behind them, as if on drugs, surged forward with wild cries, beginning a fierce hand-to-hand battle to retake the boats.

The four fishing trawlers were lined up alongside the pier. The pirates had quickly captured the outermost one and had already attached tow lines. But they couldn’t raise the mechanically operated iron anchor chain, nor could they cut it. They had to try to raise the anchor by hand, which delayed them from towing the boat away.

Wang Ruixiang, wielding his sapper’s axe, was unstoppable, carving a bloody path. Blood flew everywhere. For those following behind, it was like watching a cheap horror movie. In truth, he knew no technique; he was simply relying on his size, strength, and his nearly impenetrable armor: an urban management-issue stab-proof vest, covered with multiple layers of local cotton robes, a motorcycle helmet, and butcher’s protective gloves. He was like a heavily armored “iron-hat” soldier of the Qing dynasty; their flimsy blades couldn’t harm him.

In an instant, the pirates on the pier were cleared out. Those who weren’t killed jumped into the sea, only to be shot at by the men who followed with five-shot repeaters and shotguns. Dugu Qiuhun, annoyed that Wang Ruixiang was stealing the show, rushed forward, wanting to be the first to leap onto the fishing trawler’s deck and kill to his heart’s content. But he didn’t realize the boat’s mooring lines had been cut. In the darkness, the boat had drifted. He leaped, his front foot landing on the deck, but his body lost its balance, and he fell into the sea with a splash.

From the deck of the trawler, pirates fired arrows and threw short javelins. Many hit the transmigrators, but not one pierced their armor completely. Wang Ruixiang, at the very front of the charge, had his robes bristling with projectiles like a porcupine. He kept firing his revolver. At such close range, with the pirates packed together, every shot hit at least one person. When his bullets ran out, he had no time to reload. A pirate swung a sword, hitting him on the arm. His arm went numb, and he dropped his pistol. With a roar of rage, Wang Ruixiang’s axe came down, severing his opponent’s wrist. Another pirate tried to stab him in the chest with a short javelin. He dodged, and the pirate, losing his balance, practically fell at his feet. Wang Ruixiang kicked him to the ground, and his steel-soled combat boot flew up, connecting with the Malay pirate’s temple. The kick dislocated the man’s cervical vertebrae, killing him instantly.

Another pirate jumped out from behind the wheelhouse, a swimming ring slung over his shoulder—perhaps intended as a war trophy. Wang Ruixiang grinned, about to send him on his way, when the man’s head suddenly flew off his shoulders. Blood gushed from his neck, spraying all over Wang Ruixiang’s face and helmet, blinding him.

“Damn it,” he cursed, wiping the plexiglass face shield with the sleeve of his robe. He saw Dugu Qiuhun holding his sword with the expression of a peerless, lonely swordsman, though he was dripping wet from head to toe. It turned out that after falling into the water, he had climbed onto the deck from the side, cut down several men, and finally, beheaded this one.

“A fine blade. The man who sold me my military gear didn’t lie,” Dugu Qiuhun said with a look of profound solitude.

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

Reports that the enemy had been eliminated came from all parts of the deck. Wang Ruixiang, fearing there were still some stragglers, checked all four fishing trawlers. The cabins had been locked before everyone left the ships, and because of their swift response, no pirates had managed to get inside. Monde, who had been worried about the instruments, equipment, and tools inside, breathed a sigh of relief.

Bai Yu led his men to quickly clear the gun positions on the deck. The two precious 70mm breech-loading cannons, one fore and one aft, were completely unharmed, though splattered with blood. Monde hurriedly used a universal key to open the ammunition locker and brought out shells and powder.

“Seven o’clock, distance 750 meters, one round of armor-piercing shot!”