Chapter 321 - Occupying Thirteen Villages
Dang Namen thought quickly. The other two mountain paths were narrow and difficult to traverse, and the enemy had already seized favorable terrain. Their fierce firearms meant just a dozen men could block a large group. Only Datai Slope offered the widest, flattest terrain. If everyone swarmed over together, seeking life in death, perhaps some could escape.
Hearing his reasoning, the crowd hurriedly threw away their burdensome valuables and swarmed toward Datai Slope.
"Detonate the first group!" Pan Da ordered upon seeing the dark mass of bandits enter the kill zone.
Only eleven of the fifteen directional mines detonated, and their timing was inconsistent. But the violent explosions and sky-filled flying stones smashed the rushing bandits bloody. Many died on the spot; more were left groaning on the ground.
The chain of explosions and shrill screams shattered human will. The bandits retreated, bleeding and crying, spinning like headless flies. Yang Zeng led the expert marksmen in his platoon, performing precise shooting at two hundred meters with rare calmness. The skill of "one shot, one man down" stunned the Education Soldiers, who surged forward to watch, disrupting their formation.
"Form up! Form up!" The sergeants yelled desperately, using scabbarded bayonets to drive the chaotic recruits back into ranks.
Pan Da coughed from the gunpowder smoke and dust. Fortunately, the enemy is few and their fighting will is weak. Otherwise, these recruits couldn't be relied upon.
Bandits repelled from various positions retreated near the stronghold, hoping to defend it. But the great fire made that impossible.
No road to heaven, no door to earth—gunfire and killing resounded from all sides. Dang Namen gathered over a hundred men before the stronghold, preparing another rush at Datai Slope. But before they could set off, the 1st Platoon intercepted them. First came canister shot from a 12-pounder howitzer, followed by three consecutive volleys. The painfully gathered team scattered instantly.
Under desperate cover from Zhao Haiqing and a few aides, Dang Namen escaped to a secluded hollow behind the stronghold. Only four or five trusted men remained. Zhao Haiqing had been shot in the back and was foaming blood—he wouldn't survive.
"Boss Dang... run quickly, report to the brothers—" Before finishing, Zhao Haiqing's head tilted and he died.
The distinctive sound of Australian rifles drew closer. Screams and groans came from everywhere as the army killed his brothers. Behind him, the stronghold blazed... his work of ten years, destroyed in one morning. With no options left, he thought only of hiding until dark. He instructed his subordinates: "Find your own way to live!" Then he abandoned them and went alone toward the deep forest.
The 1st Platoon broke into the stronghold and controlled key points. After confirming enemies were cleared, they organized Education Soldiers to fight the fire. It had become difficult to control, so the Platoon Leader commanded men to push down nearby houses for a firebreak. Gradually, the flames subsided.
At noon, as the Hall of Gathering Righteousness became charred ashes, He Ming led the command post into the stronghold. The place was a mess, with scattered valuables everywhere. The granary, not completely burned, held enough grain for two or three months. Charred air-dried meats hung from eaves.
In houses behind the stronghold, thirty or forty women and a dozen old and young men remained locked up—the fleeing bandits hadn't freed them, nearly burning them alive. They all claimed to be kidnapped victims, kneeling and begging for mercy.
"These bandits have harmed so many." He Ming ordered staff to seal the warehouses and collect scattered spoils.
"What about these people? Let them go—they're just unfortunate poor folk..."
"How do you know there aren't bandits or their families among them?" Luo Duo shook his head. "Besides, releasing them in these mountains—what if they encounter danger? That's harming them."
So they decided to send these people to Bairen along with the captured bandits for screening.
Led by veterans, Education Soldiers conducted a comb-style sweep of the surrounding area. Their long spears proved unexpectedly useful—occasional screams followed random stabs into grass, then a bloody figure was dragged out. Wounds to thighs might be survivable; belly wounds were fatal unless a kind soldier delivered a bayonet mercy thrust. Seeing such terrible ends, many bandits hiding in the grass came out to surrender. By evening, fifty or sixty prisoners had been caught, a similar number killed. Only three careless Education Soldiers were stabbed by suddenly attacking bandits. But Dang Namen remained unfound—he wasn't among the corpses.
He Ming saw Education Soldiers cutting off heads, tying hair together, hanging them on waists or spears—some spears already bore seven or eight.
"What is this for?" He Ming frowned, repulsed by this medieval practice. "We don't award prizes based on heads. Bury the corpses!"
Only leader-level heads were ultimately taken. Though the transmigrators disliked this method, they had to announce battle results to the county's people.
At dusk, battlefield cleanup ended. He Ming withdrew some troops, giving fish that slipped through a glimmer of hope. But Special Reconnaissance soldiers were already ambushed on the roads. Wearing night vision goggles, they hunted bandits attempting to cross the blockade using darkness. Throughout the night, gunshots rang sporadically; dying cries echoed in the valley. In an early morning hunt, Dang Namen was shot dead in a gully. Soldiers drove prisoners to identify the corpse. His head, half blown off by a 7.62mm NATO round, was carefully severed and placed in a lime-filled wooden box.
The next day, the raid on Daolu Village commanded by Xue Ziliang launched simultaneously. Led by Special Reconnaissance members, an infantry company rushed to Daolu Village by starlight and blockaded the whole village. Then Xue Ziliang led a squad straight for the Dang Family Ancestral Hall.
This hall was newly built after Dang Namen's rise. Actually, the Dang family had only settled here two generations ago—too early for an ancestral hall. Moreover, with no official titles to display, it appeared empty. But the brick-and-tile structure with three courtyards was grand by any standard.
After controlling front and rear exits: "Little Ye, take people to suppress the roof!" Xue Ziliang ordered—scout slang for seizing the building's commanding heights. He personally led a team rushing through the main gate. An old gatekeeper emerged from the gatehouse, scolding:
"This is Master Dang's Ancestral Hall—" Seeing strong men in colorful clothes holding various weapons, the gatekeeper fell silent, sat on the ground, and shivered.
Xue Ziliang didn't make things difficult for the old man and rushed inside—intelligence placed the bandits in the second courtyard.
Suddenly, the old man shrieked from behind: "Someone rushed in—"
Indigenous team members weren't as respectful. A kukri came down, slicing off half his skull.
At the gate, two bandit guards stood. One ran inside; the other held his saber horizontally: "Who goes there? Daring to break ground on Tai Sui's head—"
Before he finished, Xue Ziliang bounded in, waved his military saber, and finished him on the spot.
"Someone's crashing the place!" the running bandit shouted.
The house exploded into chaos. Disheveled people ran out carrying weapons. Special Ops members on the roof fired grenade dischargers into the courtyard. Instantly, wailing filled the air.
The disadvantage was obvious—gunpowder smoke obscured everything. Xue Ziliang cursed silently and guarded the inner gate:
"Don't move! Surrender and don't kill!"
This was crash-course Lingao dialect. Then Cantonese and Hokkien versions followed—under PLA veterans' training, the Army had adopted certain habits.
A matchlock shot returned the shout, iron sand pocking the wall. Xue Ziliang and team members shrank behind the wall. Rifle fire rang from the roof. Suddenly, a figure darted from the courtyard fast as lightning, rising and falling several times, already ten feet away. Xue Ziliang swung his Remington—a huge muzzle flash, a scream, and the figure fell.
"That kid probably knows qinggong," a young transmigrator remarked. "Moves pretty fast."
"Even the best qinggong eats bullets." Xue Ziliang smiled contemptuously. "Prepare to clear!"
"Captain Xue! You stole my target!" Ye Mengyan poked out from the roof. "I had him lined up!"
"Head-cutting is yours."
"Don't want it." Ye Mengyan waved his SKS. "This thing is too long for commando work!"
After another volley, silence. Special Reconnaissance searched room by room, throwing everyone into the courtyard. Nearby gunshots signaled caught escapees.
Nearly thirty people living in the hall, except those killed, knelt with raised hands—terrified into wooden silence. One bandit who tried pulling a small dagger had four fingers and half a palm sliced off, his wails piercing hearts and scaring prisoners witless.
That swift-footed figure was Wang Wushu—now riddled with holes. A soldier hacked off his head.
"Hang it at the gate." Xue Ziliang felt somewhat nauseous despite having seen such scenes before.
After counting, the last Heavenly King—Xin Nari—was missing.
"Where is Xin Nari?"
"Not among prisoners or corpses," a team member reported.
"He escaped from us?" Xue Ziliang found it hard to believe. "Search—turn the place upside down."
Even ransacking the village, they didn't find him. Repeated questioning revealed Xin Nari had left yesterday for a lover's house.
"One escaped—doesn't matter. Have the county issue a wanted notice." Xiong Buyou, handling coordination, expressed indifference. "Magistrate Wu wants the bandit heads sent to the county for public display."
When Wu Mingjin learned the Bald Thieves were conducting large-scale suppression, he knew another performance review opportunity had arrived. He'd gradually ceased disliking them—especially after they'd handed over pirate heads last time, which became his "personally leading braves in victorious attack." The victory report had received good reviews from the Prefect: reporting suppression victories wasn't rare, but having genuine heads and evidence was. Even the Lord Prefect gained face.