Chapter 107 - Deepening the Struggle

With the heads of Dang Namen, his three chief lieutenants, and a host of minor leaders adorning the county town gate, the bandit suppression campaign in Lin’gao raged in full force.

Bandit suppression is a protracted affair, a war of attrition. The bandits, for the most part, hold the advantages of time, terrain, and often, the support of the local populace, whether genuine or coerced. Deploying large forces is both inefficient and prohibitively expensive. From the outset, the General Staff opted for small, elite, and resilient detachments, capable of both reconnaissance and combat, engaging the enemy even as they gathered intelligence. They would leverage the transmigrators’ superiority in communication, mobility, and reconnaissance to neutralize the bandits’ inherent strengths.

To this end, special bandit suppression detachments were formed, each numbering no more than a hundred soldiers, a mix of infantry, snipers, scouts, and engineers. Artillery was attached only for assaults on fortified positions. Each detachment was led by two or three transmigrator officers, typically drawn from the Special Reconnaissance Team, and equipped with a 2-watt radio and several carrier pigeons for communication. In addition to their standard Minie rifles, the detachments were armed with a formidable arsenal of handheld shotguns and grenade launchers for fire support.

The soldiers for these detachments were drawn from various companies and rotated through the duty, a mix of seasoned veterans and fresh recruits. Ma Qianzhu’s directive was clear: if possible, every soldier should serve in a bandit suppression detachment at least once.

Huang Xiong, an experienced officer, was among the first to be selected. Five detachments were established simultaneously, conducting clearing operations in adjacent territories.

The nature of these operations was unpredictable. They set out at a moment’s notice, day or night, often with no knowledge of their destination. Only the “special reconnaissance soldiers” in their mottled green uniforms, the Australians’ equivalent of “night scouts,” knew the way. Huang Xiong, a veteran of the Liaodong campaigns, recognized their superiority. They were a far cry from their Ming Dynasty counterparts, guiding the troops with unerring accuracy through the pitch-black night, never once losing their way.

In later years, Huang Xiong’s memories of the bandit suppression campaigns would rarely feature pitched battles. Even assaults on fortified mountain strongholds or earthen walls were few and far between. Most of the fighting occurred under the cloak of darkness—at dawn, dusk, or in the dead of night. The detachments would descend upon the sleeping bandits, and most were cut down before they could even grasp their weapons.

Sometimes, two or three detachments would converge for a coordinated attack. Huang Xiong witnessed firsthand how the Australians, with their watches, maps, compasses, and radios, could execute complex multi-unit operations with an ease that bordered on the uncanny, all without resorting to elaborate stratagems.

The fighting was merciless. No quarter was given, even to a fleeing enemy. Once they had a target in their sights, the detachment would pursue them relentlessly, day and night. The commander’s tactic was simple: give the enemy no respite.

Huang Xiong had never imagined that a man could possess such reserves of stamina, to be able to subsist on dry rations and water while on the move, to march through the mountains all night and then launch into battle at dawn.

Though the pursuing soldiers endured long marches and immense physical exertion, they were sustained by specially formulated “Grassland No. 9” high-calorie rations. The flour, fried in lard, was fortified not only with essential salt but also with fishmeal, dried fruit, sugar, and dried vegetables. The taste was unremarkable, but it provided each soldier with over 4,500 calories a day, along with ample protein and vitamins.

These compressed biscuits, packaged in paper boxes, could be eaten with water on the move or cooked into a more palatable paste during brief rests. This allowed the soldiers to maintain their strength and health during the high-intensity mobile warfare of bandit suppression. The bandits, in stark contrast, struggled to find food on the run and were often forced to flee again before they could cook what little they found, subsisting on a semi-starvation diet. After two or three days of pursuit, their bodies would inevitably collapse.

Even bandits who prided themselves on their knowledge of the terrain could not escape such a tenacious and cold-blooded pursuit. The official army and the local militia would both withdraw after a victory, their will to fight dissolving before they were even defeated. On more than one occasion, Huang Xiong had seen bandits, broken by hunger, fatigue, and terror, collapse on the road, offering themselves up to the pursuers’ blades.

Huang Xiong never discovered how the “superiors” knew the bandits’ lairs and campsites, or how they tracked their movements at night. He simply followed orders, leading his soldiers into battle in the forests, by the rivers, on the coast, in deserted graveyards, and in market towns and villages. They engaged in an endless cycle of encirclement, annihilation, rout, and pursuit, without mercy. The soldiers knew that to fall into the hands of the bandits was to face a brutal death. They grew up quickly in the crucible of such battles, and those who survived emerged resolute, brave, and ruthless.

The success of the bandit suppression campaign hinged on the accuracy of its intelligence, which was gathered through several channels simultaneously. First, there was the foundational intelligence provided by the Social Work Department, gleaned from village liaisons and the county government. Second, there was information from local militias and the common people. After the decisive first battle, which saw the annihilation of Dang Namen’s gang, the villages that had been lukewarm towards the campaign began to actively provide intelligence. Villages with militias even offered guides and sent men to assist in the fighting. Finally, and most importantly, there were the “spies” dispatched by the Intelligence Committee, who traveled from village to village disguised as merchants and peddlers, gathering information. The special reconnaissance soldiers within the detachments also frequently detached from the main force to conduct field reconnaissance.

But this alone was not enough. The bandits were not fools. They employed harassment tactics, launching surprise attacks on villages to burn, kill, and plunder, not only to secure provisions but also to keep the suppression detachments constantly on the move. The bandit suppression headquarters, therefore, adopted a clear strategy: “Enter an area, clear an area, consolidate an area.”

In addition to the Thirteen Villages work team led by Du Wen, the Executive Committee organized several other similar teams. As soon as a detachment had annihilated or driven out the active bandits in a district, a work team would immediately move in. The headquarters would select a centrally located village in the cleared area and station the team there, equipped with a 2-watt radio and a contingent of guards. Intelligence and information from the cleared area were reported by radio to the headquarters in Lin’gao. The headquarters would then analyze the information and dispatch troops based on the current location and mission status of each detachment. In this way, any new move by the bandits could be known to the headquarters in no more than six hours, and sometimes as little as half an hour, allowing for an extremely rapid response.

The work teams were also tasked with restoring order and establishing self-defense organizations in the villages. Villages without earthen walls began to construct simple ones. Those who couldn’t afford earthen walls built fences of bamboo and wood. A system of signals was established between villages. If a village was attacked, they would light a fire at night and burn smoky fires and sound gongs during the day. The neighboring villages would then mobilize their able-bodied men to come to the rescue. The newly formed militias, lacking proper weapons, were taught by the work team to make bamboo spears, which they soaked in urine and then dried over a fire to make them strong and durable. If Japanese peasants could use such weapons to fight samurai, the Ming peasants could certainly use them to deal with bandits.

The work team’s guard detachment drilled these ad-hoc militias daily, familiarizing them with their weapons and teaching them to advance and retreat to the sound of the gong and to form ranks.

Xin Nari was on the verge of collapse. After narrowly escaping a surprise attack by a suppression detachment, thanks to a timely visit to his lover, he and his few surviving brothers had joined another bandit gang. With his glib tongue and his credentials as one of Dang Namen’s four chief lieutenants, he had managed to secure a leadership position.

But leadership was a heavy burden in these trying times. Under the relentless attacks of the suppression detachments, the gang was constantly on the move. In the past, they could feast wherever they went. Villages without militias or earthen walls were like lambs to the slaughter. They would enter a village, slaughter pigs and chickens, and after sating their appetites, they could take any woman they pleased. Even in villages with militias, a shout at the gate from the great leader would usually be enough to secure a meal.

Now, such villages were becoming a rarity. Villages with earthen walls greeted them with a volley of musket fire. Villages without them had sentries posted everywhere. The moment bandits were spotted, the gongs would sound, and able-bodied men from all the surrounding villages would converge. These peasant bumpkins, who once trembled at the mere mention of the word “bandit,” now fought with a fierce, if undisciplined, determination, emboldened by the weapons in their hands and the backing of the “transmigrator thieves.” To fall into their hands was a fate worse than capture by the suppression teams—tales of captives being dismembered were not uncommon.

They were perpetually on the run. Having lost the support of the local villagers, the bandits rarely managed to secure food. Even lighting a fire to cook had become a luxury, as the smoke would often attract nearby peasants. The transmigrator thieves had offered a reward of one hundred “large catties” of grain for a single bandit head, and the armed peasants had turned hunting bandits into a profitable enterprise. There had even been armed clashes between two villages over the ownership of heads and corpses.

The bandits’ usual tactic of retreating into the mountains was no longer viable. They were not Sun Wukong, who could live on the wind and sleep in the open. They needed food, clothing, and shelter, and the mountain strongholds that could provide these necessities were the primary targets of the suppression teams. Most had already been breached. Hiding in the mountains offered temporary safety, but in the long run, it was a slow death by starvation.

With his numbers dwindling, the bandit chief grew increasingly neurotic, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. The gang was rife with conflict. Yesterday, the oppressed bandits had mutinied, killing the chief and his trusted followers. They had then thrust Xin Nari into the leader’s seat, a “yellow robe” forced upon him.

If Zhao Kuangyin’s reluctance had been somewhat feigned, Xin Nari’s was entirely genuine. He had no desire for leadership and had been coerced into it. He was not your average bandit. He had mingled with government officials and knew that no matter who sat on the emperor’s throne, the policy for suppressing bandits was always “the ringleader must be punished, but the followers will not be prosecuted.” As the leader, he was now the “ringleader,” and if he fell into the hands of the Australians, his head would surely roll. He did not want to end up like Dang Namen, his head displayed at the county town gate for the crows to peck at.

But with the entire gang before him, refusal would have meant instant death. Xin Nari took command of the forty-odd men, his mind a blank. The best course of action was to flee, to escape Lin’gao for Danzhou or Chengmai—surely the Australians wouldn’t cross the border to hunt them down.

But the bandit trade was a local one. To operate in one’s home territory was crucial. Once they left their native land, survival would be a struggle. Their counterparts in the new territories would not necessarily welcome them, and even if they found someone willing to take them in, he, as the leader, would likely be eliminated.

While he was in a state of helpless panic, the spy he had sent to the Thirteen Villages returned. He reported that all the bandits’ families were safe. The Australians had only sent two “female officials” to Daolu Village, with no more than twenty men under their command. A flicker of an idea sparked in his mind.

If he could launch a surprise attack and capture those two women—he had heard that women were a rarity among the Australians, and held a high status, equal to men—he would have a bargaining chip.

“What of Zhao Dachong?” he asked.

“He’s fine, hiding in his house, not showing his face,” the spy added, his tone fawning. “Miss Xin is also well, she’s at Master Zhao’s house every day…”

A sharp slap cut him short. The spy realized he had touched a nerve and quickly fell silent, his hand covering his cheek.

“And the families of the others?” he asked.

“They’re all fine!” the spy replied hastily. “They’re asking if you’re safe and when you’ll fight your way back. They don’t even dare to wear mourning clothes, for fear of being discovered by the Australians and taken away.”

“The bald-haired thieves haven’t made a move?”

“No, they just run in circles at the entrance of the ancestral hall every day. There are also people wandering around, talking to the villagers. The two female officials never even leave their gate.”

“Hmm.” Xin Nari pondered this for a long time. “They didn’t confiscate property? Didn’t demand grain and treasure from the families?”

“No!” the spy answered with certainty. “The work team only requisitioned some grain for their meals, and they use exchange coupons to buy things.”

“Strange.” Xin Nari wondered what this work team was doing in the village. Whether it was the government or the heroes of the greenwood, the purpose of controlling a place was always the same: money, grain, and people. The Australians had never shied away from levying grain and labor in the past.

Truly inscrutable. The thought sent a chill down Xin Nari’s spine. But his situation was desperate. After weighing his options, he decided that a desperate gamble was his only hope. He sent another man back to the village to contact Zhao Dachong and see if they could coordinate an attack from within and without. With fewer than fifty men, he had little confidence in succeeding alone.