Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 42 Lawson Wants Both

Chapter 42 Lawson wants both...

Sacramento.

In a shabby office filled with the smell of sweat, gun oil, and cheap tobacco,
Allen Cross donned his signature long black trench coat.

He had already met with the governor and received the special commissioner's appointment letter authorizing him to have the power of life and death.

"Reporting, Major!"

The office door was pushed open, and four figures filed in.

They were Cross's most trusted subordinates during the war.

They are also the backbone of his current private execution squad.

Although they have long since retired, they still habitually refer to Kroos by his military rank.

"How's the situation, Buck?"

Without looking up, Cross simply shoved a sharp dagger into his military boot.

Buck, the one-eyed strongman, stepped forward and replied in a deep voice, "The militia battalion is assembling and can set off as early as tomorrow morning. They're all seasoned veterans, good fighters."

"very good."

Cross nodded: "Buck, you stay."

Once the militia has assembled, lead them by land and clear them out along the way.

I went through every village, farm, and construction site with an Irish population in great detail.

Arrest suspicious persons!
Anyone who dares to resist will be killed!

I don't care about the evidence, I just want to see the body.

"Yes, Major!"

Buck grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

Cross turned to the remaining three: "You three, come with me. We'll take the train tonight and get there first."

The subordinate nicknamed "Skinny Monkey" hesitated for a moment, then reminded him, "Major, isn't this too risky? The intelligence says those potato bastards are capable of blowing up trains. There's nowhere to hide on the ferry."

Cross scoffed: "A bunch of Irish idiots who've had too much whiskey and don't even know their own names?"
They're only good at sneaking up on the police when they're not looking. FUCK! On the battlefield, these kinds of guys aren't even fit to shine my boots.

"A bunch of bastards who only know how to hide in the fog and pretend to be gods and ghosts, do they have the right to make me feel scared?"
My purpose in going there this time is to personally find their leader and, in front of everyone, skin him alive.

I'm going to let all the Irishmen in California know what happens when you cause trouble.

The others were infected by his brutality and revealed twisted smiles.

However, another burly, one-eyed man with burn scars on his face offered a suggestion: "Major, I agree with you. But there's no need to make things worse."

"We're outnumbered, and if we get recognized at a crowded place like the San Francisco harbor, it could cause unnecessary trouble. It's better if we try to disguise ourselves."

Kroos remained silent for a moment.

Although he was arrogant, he was not stupid.

His subordinate was right; his face was too conspicuous in Sacramento.

He touched the scar on his face with his rough fingers.

Finally, a muffled gurgle of agreement escaped from his throat.

Four cleverly disguised figures silently boarded the late-night steam train bound for Vallejo.

Aaron Cross took off his signature long black trench coat, the turned-up collar covering half his face.

He changed into a worn-out set of rough cloth travel clothes, looking like a land surveyor who travels around.

The three subordinates also disguised themselves as a liquor merchant, a fur trader, and an ordinary cowboy.

The train spewed thick black smoke and sounded its long whistle.

It roared away amidst the rumble of steel.

……

At the heart of the storm, Mrs. Marlene's farm.

Lawson sat alone in a rocking chair on the porch.

He was carrying a bottle of high-quality bourbon whiskey.

On the wooden table beside him was a small dish of thinly sliced dried venison.

That was made by marinating the beef with a secret blend of spices and then drying it in the intense California sun.

It has a firm texture and a savory aroma.

He didn't use a cup, but occasionally he would unscrew the bottle cap, tilt his head back, and gulp down a mouthful of the spicy liquor.

Tear off another strip of dried venison and chew it slowly in your mouth. The strength of the liquor and the chewiness of the meat intertwine in your mouth, transforming into a primal and unrestrained power that slides down your throat and into your stomach.

Kroos is here.

Lawson had anticipated this.

He could even visualize the butcher's image in his mind.

An old madman who has been suppressed for too long and craves blood.

Governor William Irwin released him from the cage and gave him a full battalion of soldiers.

This old butcher's target is far more than just Finnian's "Wolf Pack" gang.

All the gangs operating in Northern California: Hyenas, Slugs, Quick Gang...

They will all be seen as prey on his list of achievements.

He will not rest until he has slaughtered countless people and turned the entire Northern California underworld upside down.

Lawson took another swig of whiskey.

He never considered such a foolish question as "whether we can win".

If he wanted, he could now assemble a full-strength gang of 35 men every day, with 12 slots still available for other uses.

Cross's five hundred militiamen were no match for his seemingly inexhaustible manpower.

He could drown this elite force alive in the mud of Malin County at any time.

His consideration was how to maximize profits.

This old butcher and his 500-man army cannot have come for nothing.

They must become the stepping stones for "White Tiger Security Company" to achieve instant fame.

Imagine if this old butcher and his full-strength battalion were wiped out in Marin County.

How terrified the white men in California must be.

When the time comes, White Tiger Security Company will take action again to wipe out the 'bandit gang,' wouldn't that make them famous overnight?

The heads of the bandits are easy to deal with.

California has no shortage of Irish scum.

It takes 35 heads to collect all the members of the wolf pack gang.

But this play cannot be rushed.

If the heat isn't right, the meat won't become tender.

He needed the perfect opportunity, a momentous debut.

Just now, new intelligence has arrived.

The Southern Pacific Railroad's train, laden with salaries, has already departed from Reno, Nevada.

The Wolverines, a top-notch team of sixty agents dispatched by the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, have boarded the vehicle.
They are expected to cross the Caquines Channel by train ferry tomorrow evening and enter Northern California territory.

Butcher, militia, Pinkerton elites, pay train...

All the key figures began to gather on this small stage.

It's really lively.

Robbing the pay truck was a sure thing for Lawson.

The problem is how to deal with those sixty Pinkerton agents.

These are not the armed guards who are just coasting along at the railway company.

This is the face and fist of America's largest private armed force.

If they were all killed, Pinkerton's founder, Alan Pinkerton, would probably go completely insane.

That level of trouble is what Lawson wants to avoid right now.

There must be a way.

You want...and you want...

Lawson's thoughts raced through a multitude of conspiracies and schemes.