Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

Chapter 70: The US Army Arrives in San Francisco

In just four days, thanks to the California cold front and northwest winds, ten merchant ships fully loaded with American soldiers arrived at the port of San Francisco.

Colonel Samuel Norton, commander of the 1st Dragoon Regiment, and Colonel Patrick McCarthy, commander of the 2nd Dragoon Regiment, stepped out of their respective cabins and met on the deck.

The two leaned against the railing, watching the soldiers on the dock disembark one after another.

"Colonel Norton, how about we make a bet?" McCarthy suddenly said.

Norton looked at him, intrigued. "Colonel McCarthy, what's the bet?"

McCarthy pointed to the soldiers assembling below and laughed, "Let's bet on which regiment, yours or mine, will finish assembling first, shall we?"

Norton's competitive spirit flared up: "What's the bet?"

McCarthy smiled slightly and said, "If you lose, you take out your treasured bottle of French red wine; if I lose, I'll give you that Qing Dynasty tea set. How about it?"

"Let's gamble!"

McCarthy calmly pulled out a pocket watch from his pocket, glanced at the time, and said, "2:17 PM, begin."

The two deputy commanders behind the two immediately blew whistles signaling an emergency assembly.

A sharp whistle rang out across the dock, instantly tensing the soldiers' previously relaxed posture. The shouts of the company commanders rose and fell like a pack of dogs whose tails had been stepped on.

"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

A company commander from the First Regiment yelled at the top of his lungs, "You bunch of shit, you're as slow as women!"

This is an emergency assembly, not a fucking dismissal whistle.

"You all better put in all your effort, or if those cowards in the second regiment laugh at me, I guarantee you idiots won't even get to eat hot shit for the next few months!"

"You son of a bitch, who are you calling a coward?" A company commander from the Second Regiment immediately retorted.

"Whoever answers first is the one!"

A burst of laughter erupted on the dock, but the procession assembled even faster.

Norton smiled, watching with satisfaction as his team gradually took shape.

The 1st Dragoon Regiment, consisting of nine hundred men, was composed entirely of elite soldiers, from company commanders to privates. After several days of bloody fighting in the Rogue River Gorge, the Native Americans suffered hundreds of casualties, while his soldiers lost only a dozen or so.

"Two twenty-three," McCarthy announced. "Six minutes, one of my companies has assembled."

"It's still early," Norton said dismissively. "Not everyone has disembarked yet."

Just then, a commotion suddenly broke out on the dock.

A four-wheeled carriage sped from the street outside the docks, crashing straight into the middle of the assembling ranks. The soldiers scrambled to get out of the way, and the newly formed formation instantly fell into chaos.

"Damn it!" Norton cursed. "Who's so blind?"

The carriage screeched to a halt near the pier, and two men jumped out. One was dressed in a smart suit and top hat, while the other wore a police uniform with a badge pinned to his chest.

"My God, they really are a regular army."

The man in the top hat let out a sigh of relief, and after scanning the surroundings, his gaze instantly locked onto Norton and McCarthy, who were on the ship.

He led the police officers up the gangway in a few quick steps and onto the deck.

"I am Humphrey, the acting mayor of San Francisco, and this man next to me is Hosea, the acting police chief of San Francisco."

Humphrey, without even removing his top hat, spoke urgently, "Colonels, we've finally waited for you! San Francisco, no, California needs your help!"

Norton and McCarthy exchanged a glance, puzzled.

Norton frowned. "Mr. Humphrey, our mission to go south is to quell an Indian rebellion."

Could there be an Indian riot in San Francisco as well?

"Indians?" Humphrey gave a wry smile. "Colonel, the biggest problem in California right now isn't Indians, it's the civil war!"

"Civil War?" McCarthy paused, then asked, "What Civil War?"

Hosea stepped forward and said in a deep voice, "Gentlemen, let me explain."

Since Governor Bigler was assassinated by members of the American Party, Democratic supporters in Southern California have organized a militia and marched north under the banner of "avenging Bigler."

In response, supporters of the American Party in Northern California organized militias to fight back. The two sides have already fought once, resulting in over a hundred deaths and injuries.

Humphrey picked up where he left off and continued, "Now, the militias on both sides are regrouping, preparing for another battle."

The entire state of California is in complete chaos. We request that you send troops to quell the American militia in Northern California and restore order!

Norton paused for a few seconds, then slowly said, "Mr. Humphrey, do you mean that your Democratic Party and the American Party are fighting, and now you want the federal army to intervene and wipe out the militia under the American Party?"

Humphrey's expression changed slightly, but he quickly regained his composure: "Colonel, this is not a partisan dispute, it's about upholding law and order—"

That's enough.

Norton raised his hand, interrupting him.

"Mr. Humphrey, we are federal troops, not Democratic private soldiers. Our mission is to quell the Indian uprising, not to get involved in partisan battles at the state level."

Humphrey panicked: "But sir, the Southern California militia organized themselves to avenge Mr. Bigler; they are on the side of justice—"

Hosea advised, "Sirs, regardless of who is right or wrong, California is indeed in chaos. The federal government has a responsibility to maintain order—"

"It is true that the federal government has a responsibility to maintain order, and it is also true that we, as the federal army, have a responsibility to suppress rebellions."

McCarthy interrupted him and then began to speak in official jargon.

"However, gentlemen, everything you are saying now is only one side of the story."

You say the American Party killed the governor, but do you have any evidence? You say their militia are thugs, but they might consider themselves patriots.

Until the investigation is complete, the federal army will only carry out orders that have already been issued.

He paused for a moment, then gave them the order to leave.

"Please leave. We will report your remarks to General Wool and let him decide. He is a brigadier general, the highest-ranking military officer on the entire Pacific coast. Whatever he says, we will do."

He turned to Norton and asked, "Colonel Norton, what do you think?"

Norton shrugged. "I agree. We're not getting involved in this mess."

Humphrey and his group left.

Norton watched the departing carriage, shook his head, and muttered a curse.

"Damn it, these politicians."

"Send someone to Oregon to report to the general."

McCarthy said, "These kinds of things should be handled by those with higher ranks. We're just responsible for killing people. Whether it's reds or whites, we'll kill as long as someone gives us the orders."

On the dock, soldiers from two regiments had assembled and were neatly arranged in square formations, awaiting further orders.

Norton looked at the team and suddenly asked, "McCarthy, that bet—who won?"

McCarthy paused for a moment: "When Humphrey charged just now, the entire formation was thrown into chaos, so it's impossible to calculate."

"Then next time," Norton said.

"Okay, next time."

Chinatown.

The carriage that had come from the dock stopped at the entrance of a courtyard. Hosea and Humphrey got out of the carriage and walked into the courtyard with practiced ease.

Near the courtyard were many bodyguards, dressed in traditional Chinese jackets with bulging waistbands. Upon seeing the two of them, they made way for them, keeping their eyes straight ahead.

After passing through two courtyards, we arrived at the innermost small courtyard.

The aroma of roasted meat wafted through the courtyard. The charcoal fire burned brightly, and large chunks of lamb were skewered on an iron rack. The fat dripped onto the charcoal and sizzled, sending up plumes of white smoke.

Zeng Tai sat on a small stool in front of the grill, fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan, without turning his head.

"How is it?"

"Have you found out the purpose of that American force? They're not here to cause us trouble, are they?"

"My lord, we have investigated thoroughly."

Hosea stopped behind Zeng Tai, standing with his hands at his sides: "They've come to deal with Chongyue and his group."

"It must be because Chongyue has been making too much noise these days that even the U.S. brigadier general in Oregon heard about it, which is why he sent people back."

"Furthermore, they currently have no intention of getting involved in the feud between the Democratic and American parties, so there is no need to worry about the end of the infighting between the two parties for the time being."

Guilliman, who was squatting by the charcoal fire turning over meat, looked up at the sound of his voice. "My lord, are we just going to let the American army advance south so easily?"

Zeng Tai thought for a moment and said, "Letting them fight a battle and testing the mettle of the American army is a good idea."

"Eighteen hundred regular soldiers, twelve cannons, well-equipped and highly trained. We'll have to face such a force sooner or later. Rather than being caught off guard, we should gather our intelligence now."

Guilliman said, "Then let Chongyue make a move. Find a city, launch a brilliant attack, and lure the American troops there?"

Zeng Tai nodded and said, "Tell Chong Yue to lure the American troops to our pre-designated battlefield. Don't worry about casualties or logistics."

"I'll replace any dead soldiers, new guns if they break, and plenty of bullets. I want to see just how capable this so-called elite force really is. I want to see just how capable this regular US military unit really is."

Guilliman closed his eyes and began to contact Chongyue.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.

"Chongyue replied. He said that his men had rested enough and needed to stretch their muscles."

Zeng Tai smiled slightly.

"Then let him move around."

Deep in the San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California.

When Chongyue received Guilliman's message, he was sitting on a boulder, wiping his rifle.

He put down his rifle, stood up, and looked at the Native American warriors training not far away.

In a nearby camp, Native American warriors were doing their morning exercises.

Some were practicing aiming, some were practicing reloading, and some were practicing hand-to-hand combat in pairs.

After extensive training and combat experience, these men are completely different from what they were a few months ago. They are no longer tribal hunters who only knew how to use bows and spears, but are now skilled in using rifles and understand squad coordination.

I have seen warriors who have killed many.

"Black soil!" he shouted.

Black Earth ran over: "Chief, what's the matter?"

Chongyue grinned: "Gather everyone, we've got work to do."

Black Earth's eyes lit up: "Who are we going to fight?"

"The US military," Chongyue said. "Regular troops, 1,800 men."

Hei Tu paused for a moment, then grinned.

"That's great. I've been wanting to see how good those regular troops are for fighting for a long time."

He turned and ran off to relay the order.

Chongyue looked again at the distant, continuous mountain range.

The US military, a regular army, numbered 1,800 men and had 12 cannons.

He squinted, looking somewhat eager to try.

Let me see how your fighting strength compares to those militia.

Over the next few days, ranches, farms, and towns across California were ravaged as if by a hurricane.

The first day was spent in a small town.

A group of several hundred people rode into the town, their hooves thundering.

The first person to discover them was a Mexican shepherd.

He had just emerged from the pen, paused for a second, then screamed, "Indian! Indian!"

Gunshots rang out.

The townspeople began to fight back, but all their bullets hit thin air.

Because the Native American cavalry had already crossed the entire town and disappeared into the night.

Within the town, more than a dozen unfortunate men were shot or run over by horses.

The attack took place at St. Margarita Ranch the following night.

This is a huge estate belonging to a wealthy man from Los Angeles. It employs more than thirty people and has a dozen armed bodyguards.

The walls were made of stone, the gate was made of thick oak, and there were watchtowers at the four corners.

But even the thickest wall cannot prevent a breach from opening from the inside.

Chongyue sent three warriors who, after dark, scaled the stone wall and, taking advantage of the bodyguard's inattention, slit the gatekeeper's throat with a single stroke.

The gate creaked open, and the warriors who had been waiting in the darkness surged in.

The battle lasted forty minutes.

Those bodyguards were indeed more troublesome than the townspeople from the previous day. They hid behind the stone houses and fired sniper shots, killing four Native American warriors. But they were too few in number; they could only protect the front yard, not the back, and were eventually wiped out one by one.

The third day, the fourth day, and the fifth day.

Indian cavalry appeared throughout California, and the survivors who escaped gave incoherent accounts of the attackers with painted faces.

San Francisco, Presidential Street Military Camp.

The soldiers of the First and Second Dragoon Regiments had just finished their morning training and were cleaning their guns in front of the barracks.

Colonel Norton sat in his office, looking at a map of California. The door was flung open, and McCarthy burst in, clutching a stack of telegrams.

"Norton, the exact location of that group of Indians has been determined."

Norton looked up and asked, "Where?"

"East, just a few hundred miles east of San Francisco."

McCarthy slammed the telegram on the table. "Within five days, from south to north, through ranches and rural towns, their marching route is very clear: straight towards San Francisco."

Norton was silent for a few seconds, then sneered, "Those red-skinned bastards are declaring war on us. They're making such a big show of it to get the message to us and lure us over there."

"I think so too," McCarthy said. "They must have intelligence support from other forces behind them, otherwise they wouldn't have known we were coming back."

"Those rats in the gutter can only provide a little intelligence," Norton scoffed. "I'll show those red-skinned bastards what the firepower of two regiments of eighteen hundred men really means!"

"Emergency assembly! Get the soldiers ready for battle! Move out!"

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