Extra 4: The Gun Dealer Plan
The following account draws upon recent conversations with several transmigrators, augmented by reasonable speculation and publicly available facts. Given the extensive cuts made to related plot points in the physical edition, we have every reason to believe this story will never become official canon. A word of warning to all readers: do not attempt to replicate any actions described herein. No country's law enforcement should be treated lightly.
Part One: The Las Vegas Meeting
Old Timeline, early 21st century. A standard room at the Luxor Hotel, Las Vegas.
Shi Niaoren extracted a liquor box from a brown paper bag and surveyed the five men gathered in the hotel room. They had traded names online and maintained contact for months, but tonight marked their first meeting in the flesh.
Lin Chuanqing smiled from his seat. "Twelve-year Yamazaki—Boss Shi has refined tastes."
Shi Niaoren laughed and waved off the compliment. "Please, none of that 'boss' talk. It wasn't expensive—just something with decent character." He drew the bottle from its box, cracked the seal, and poured two fingers for each man. Raising his glass, he waited until everyone followed suit. "I'm grateful for your confidence in choosing me as leader. I'll say only this: I will give everything I have. To our great endeavor!"
"Cheers!"
After several rounds, the group loosened, and conversation flowed more freely.
Zhou Weisen tore a strip of American beef jerky, chewed thoughtfully, and spoke. "I'll say what I've been saying all along. Equipping a thousand people? There's no way a handful of us can buy enough by walking into gun stores. Even purchasing a dozen at a time will attract notice."
Silence settled over the room. Of all of them, Zhou Weisen possessed the largest firearms collection. Over the years, every dollar not spent on dating had gone toward weapons. When it came to gun knowledge, they all deferred to Old Zhou. As he had explained in their WeChat group, Americans owning a hundred firearms wasn't unusual—but collectors typically acquired many types in small quantities, accumulated over decades. Investors might stockpile certain models for appreciation, but they focused on historically significant pieces with premium value. If they were to purchase common AKs and SKS rifles in bulk over a short period to meet their crossing needs—that would raise immediate alarms.
Qian Shuiting considered this. "If legal channels won't work, what about... other channels?"
Every eye turned to Lin Chuanqing, who hastily waved his hands in protest.
"Brothers, it's not that I don't want to help. These waters run too deep!"
Lin Chuanqing elaborated. Over the years he had heard countless stories and witnessed a few incidents firsthand, but reality bore little resemblance to what people imagined. He knew of street-level "retailers," but warehouses stuffed with weapons like something from the movies simply didn't exist. Black-market firearms came from two primary sources: theft and cheap smuggling. Stolen guns meant taking whatever was available—supply was never guaranteed. Smuggled goods had no quality standards; you could only hope they fired without exploding in your hands. Street shootouts were about using a weapon once and discarding it to avoid leaving evidence. Gangsters didn't concern themselves with accuracy. So street retailers were out of the question. As for more organized sources—those were crime syndicates himself. Approaching them would be worse than walking into the sea.
"The way I see it," Qian Shuixie said, downing his whiskey in one motion, "law-abiding citizens like us looking for underground channels is asking to die. Better to fly directly to Eastern Europe and buy by the crate."
"What, just show up with a suitcase full of cash?" Chen Sigen asked skeptically. He doubted it could be that straightforward.
Zhou Weisen shook his head. "We're not part of that world. It's not so simple." He lifted his glass. "In my view, there's only one viable path—what I've been advocating all along. We become gun dealers ourselves. Use the business to support our collection. Sell to others while building our own stockpile."
The group exchanged uncertain glances. Zhou Weisen's approach had its merits, but none of them had ever attempted anything like this. How treacherous were these waters?
After a prolonged silence, Zhou Weisen spoke again. "I've been researching this extensively and have some findings to share." He retrieved a laptop and projector from his suitcase, aimed the image at the wall, and launched into his presentation.
Step One: Obtain a federal firearms license. Regulations varied by state, but in jurisdictions with looser gun control, the process was relatively simple. First came identity requirements—applicants needed US citizenship or permanent residency. Then it was a matter of completing forms, submitting fingerprints and photographs to the ATF, and securing a location to serve as the store. After an ATF agent conducted an interview and inspected the premises, the license would arrive in roughly sixty days. Even without a proper storefront, if the owner could demonstrate safe firearm storage at their residence, that sufficed.
Step Two: Store renovation and stocking. This phase they understood fairly well. Lin Chuanqing had helped countless friends open shops in Chinatown; he'd witnessed the store-opening process more times than he could count. The Qian brothers and Zhou Weisen all knew people who ran businesses—standing behind a counter shouldn't prove too difficult. In principle, opening a supermarket to sell vegetables wasn't fundamentally different from opening a gun shop to sell guns—at least firearms didn't spoil. As for inventory, once they held the FFL, they could join dealer networks and order from major wholesalers. New stores lacking credit history might not secure the best prices, and payment terms would be stricter, but manageable.
"By Step Three, once the business runs smoothly, we can either accumulate stock gradually through regular operations or place a large order just before we leave. Either approach will work." Zhou Weisen concluded with evident satisfaction.
After further discussion, they could conjure no superior alternative. Opening a gun shop appeared to be their only option. Lin Chuanqing held US citizenship; the others possessed green cards—identity requirements were satisfied. All were essentially law-abiding citizens; passing background checks wouldn't be problematic. The location still required selection, but the more pressing concern was capital. If they pooled their resources completely, they could probably assemble over a million dollars. But running a gun shop was a long-term enterprise, and no reasonable person would abandon their livelihood entirely for a business venture. To avoid attracting ATF scrutiny, they could contribute only readily available funds—treating it as an ordinary business investment. This reduced their capital to roughly $300,000—insufficient for a proper gun shop. They would need support from back home in China.
That evening, Shi Niaoren reported their conclusions to the China group, immediately drawing attention from the highest echelons. Heavyweights like Wen, Ma, and Xiao convened a video conference within hours, demanding details. Days later came another, lengthier online session. This time the questions were more granular, the responses more carefully considered. Before the meeting concluded, Transmigration Company members voted unanimously to provide the North America group with $500,000 in startup capital. Combined with what they could contribute themselves, this would suffice to establish a modest gun shop in many locations. Xiao Zishan further proposed that the North America group establish a shooting range and develop tourism experiences—"shooting packages" and "hunting adventures"—with the China side responsible for sending customers. Naturally, these customers would include members of the Transmigration Company's own Military Division. The financial transactions between China and America would also serve conveniently as a conduit for subsequent funding.
Part Two: Establishing the Gun Shop
With the plan agreed upon, the North America group threw themselves into action. Zhou Weisen was unanimously selected as the gun shop's proprietor, and he accepted without hesitation. Lin Chuanqing accompanied him on reconnaissance trips across the American West. After surveying numerous locations, they concluded that Las Vegas was ideal. The city's firearms market was remarkably robust—a metropolis of half a million residents supported dozens of gun shops. Indoor ranges dotted the city proper, and venture slightly into the surrounding desert and outdoor ranges became available for rental. Among so many establishments, their operation would scarcely draw attention. Furthermore, if they intended to run a tourism-oriented range, they needed to be somewhere Chinese tourists actually visited. Beyond the East and West Coasts, Las Vegas was the only such destination in America's interior. There was also a certain psychological appropriateness to tourists visiting the decadent imperial city of casinos, then experiencing traditional American martial culture through shooting.
Fortune favored them. A gun shop location became available for lease. According to records, the previous owner was wanted for allegedly supplying weapons to Mexican drug cartels, and his property had been seized. Since the incident struck suddenly, the shop had been fully operational when police sealed it—interior renovation and gun vault remained completely intact. Now that the case had essentially concluded, the storefront had reverted to the property owner, but he couldn't afford to renovate for other purposes and had found no takers. This suited Zhou and Lin perfectly. After negotiation, they signed the lease.
One day, soon-to-be gun shop owner Zhou Weisen was supervising renovation work—honestly, there was little to do beyond cosmetic touch-ups and rearranging the layout according to feng shui principles—when someone knocked at the door. He answered to find a white man of modest height and slender build, elderly but with a good-natured, stubble-covered face that spoke of years spent dealing with customers.
"Sir, I'd like to speak with the owner of this establishment."
"That's me."
"Sir, I'd like to apply for a position at your gun shop."
Zhou Weisen was genuinely surprised. He hadn't even begun searching for employees, hadn't posted a single job listing. Questioning revealed that the old man, named Bob, had worked at this very shop for years. When the previous owner fled after his legal troubles, Bob had lost his position. He was of course entirely ignorant of his employer's crimes—the new owner needn't worry about his reliability. Zhou Weisen was puzzled; with so many gun shops in the casino city, finding work shouldn't be difficult. Further inquiry revealed that Bob and his wife both suffered chronic illnesses and required the health insurance of a full-time position to maintain treatment. Bob had spent over twenty years in the local industry, and everyone knew his history. People were willing to offer temporary positions, but jobs providing long-term health benefits weren't simply available on demand. When he heard the old shop had been leased again—and to a Chinese person—he'd come to try his luck.
Zhou Weisen saw the value in having a local expert. He posed all the questions he'd accumulated during his research, and the old man answered fluently and sensibly. In the end, Zhou Weisen was thoroughly satisfied and had Bob sign an employment contract on the spot. The employee health insurance was already in place, resolving Bob's major concern. Following Zhou Weisen's instructions, Bob recruited several former colleagues, and they set to work.
A little over a month later, "Lucky Star Collectible Firearms and Ammo," owned by Mr. Zhou Weisen, officially opened for business. On the business license and mailing address, it was listed simply as "Lucky Star Collectibles"—no mention of firearms or ammunition. This was Old Bob's suggestion. The greatest risk in shipping firearms was internal theft by postal and shipping workers. Gang members embedded in the US postal system would check package addresses in large warehouses; if they spotted words like "firearms" or "weapons," they would alert outside accomplices who would intercept the packages and resell the contents. Zhou Weisen would never have imagined such things—in China, this was inconceivable. But the US had its own particular circumstances, and internal theft in ground transportation had been an entrenched problem for decades. With so many hands in postal warehouses, package theft was routine. The postal service's only countermeasure was to recommend registered mail and advise against labeling packages as "firearms." The prominent sign outside the store, of course, displayed "Firearms and Ammunition" in enormous letters. Following American convention, a large roadside sign faced the street, and for clusters of commercial buildings, an even larger shared sign stood at the parking entrance. Zhou Weisen was willing to spend generously—he paid extra for double-sized signage with lettering visible from hundreds of meters away.
Adhering to the traditional Chinese principle of thin margins and rapid turnover, Lucky Star's merchandise was generally priced slightly below competitors. American shop owners often said, "If I can't make a hundred bucks on this sale, I won't take it." Zhou Weisen would accept any transaction that brought in a few dozen dollars, so long as it exceeded the manufacturer's minimum advertised price—he would simply work harder. He focused primarily on common items: AKs, ARs, and popular handgun models. After several months, while profit margins remained modest, his volume was unmistakably growing.
With a few months of operation behind him, Zhou Weisen began to appreciate the gun shop industry's subtleties. On one hand, a gun shop was merely a specialty retail store, not fundamentally different from electronics or audio equipment shops. The same retail tedium applied: cleaning, organizing merchandise and shelves, taking inventory, while handling a parade of customers—most reasonable, but always a few difficult ones. Some pretended expertise they didn't possess, constantly displaying unreliable knowledge before staff. Others were impossibly particular with all manner of peculiar requests. Many handled numerous firearms and purchased nothing. Thankfully, Old Bob was there to manage situations, defusing awkward moments with a few well-chosen words and typically leaving customers satisfied. Old Bob often told Zhou Weisen, "Boss! Relax—a gun shop is just a retail store!"
Yet when Zhou Weisen observed everyone's holstered pistols, he found this somewhat ironic. This was the trade's other face. What they sold were, after all, instruments of death—beneath the friendly exterior, a vigilant heart must always remain alert. All staff members were armed while on duty, without exception, openly wearing holsters with Glocks or Smith & Wessons on their belts or thighs. Behind the counter, hidden from customer view, lay semi-automatic shotguns and AR-15s within easy reach. According to Old Bob and the others, in their combined forty-plus years working in gun shops, they had never encountered a robber foolish enough to attempt hitting one. But preparedness was the true principle of this profession. This wasn't merely about preventing robbery but also guarding against various schemes. In just a few months, Zhou Weisen encountered several individuals who tried to purchase guns despite knowing they had criminal records—a quick background check revealed them, and they were immediately shown the door. Once, a suspicious-looking man brought a woman who seemed utterly clueless about firearms; a few probing questions revealed she was actually buying for her "boyfriend." That wasn't permitted either—both were promptly sent away. According to Old Bob, the ATF sometimes deployed undercover agents to test shop owners, so those running gun shops had to operate strictly by the book and never grow clever enough to burn themselves. Of course, his former employer, who'd been supplying weapons to cartels, had been too deceptive—who could have guessed? Listening to all this, Zhou Weisen couldn't help contemplating his own true purpose for opening the gun shop, and broke into a cold sweat.
Part Three: Selecting Equipment
With the gun shop running smoothly, they could begin their original plan. The first task: determine targets for acquisition. This proved no simple matter. The transmigrators back in China posed a particular challenge—only a handful had regular access to real firearms. The vast majority had fired a few rounds during university military training and nothing since, their experience limited to airsoft replicas. This didn't deter a vocal minority of keyboard weapons experts from publishing endless pontificating online. Zhou Weisen sometimes shook his head at the questionable "data" and "theories" of dubious origin proliferating on the internal forum. In his view, while long guns still required discussion, for handguns there was really only one choice: the Glock series. Only Glock could satisfy all requirements for reliability, longevity, availability, and price.
Glock's reliability was beyond dispute—numerous US law enforcement agencies with impeccable martial virtue relied on them, and complaints about reliability were seldom heard. Its dependability was widely acknowledged as comparable to HK, with other brands falling notably short. Regarding longevity, Glock guaranteed over ten thousand rounds of service life—far exceeding what the China-based members could appreciate. Military firearms didn't require such extended lifespans; several thousand rounds would suffice. But for their grand plan, this was a clear advantage. After crossing over, who knew how long it would take to climb the technological ladder high enough to manufacture Glocks—perhaps a century. A Glock that could be passed down through generations was excellent indeed. As for availability, no explanation was necessary—Glocks were ubiquitous. Manufacturers producing accessories and attachments for Glocks were equally everywhere. Zhou Weisen judged from his own store's sales that ordering several dozen at once would present no difficulty, and once their volume increased, ordering one or two hundred at a time should also prove feasible. Finally, regarding price, wholesale costs for various Glock models ranged from around $300 to just over $400—entirely within everyone's expectations.
What he hadn't anticipated was the ferocity of the keyboard experts' verbal warfare. The forum accumulated various charges against Glocks: the absence of an external safety made them prone to accidental discharge, poor ergonomics made them awkward to hold, they supposedly couldn't withstand Yellow River water, plastic components would definitely crack in severe cold—the accusations were endless. Zhou Weisen initially attempted patient responses, addressing each concern in turn, but eventually discovered that some people were simply contrarian echo chambers. There was also outright absurdity: claims that Glock-fired casings couldn't be reloaded, that Glocks were so complex you couldn't reassemble them after disassembly, that failing to clean one for a year would seize the slide—all manner of bizarre assertions. He eventually abandoned efforts to persuade the forum masses and instead focused on far more productive exchanges with leadership and Military Division core members.
While the casual transmigrators debated which weapons were cooler and more advanced, the leadership was weighing trade-offs across time scales spanning decades, and the operational Military Division members concerned themselves with practical questions of logistics, supply, maintenance, and management. It was easy to imagine that until the transmigrators established a powerful native army under their command, every transmigrator—regardless of gender or specialty—might need to bear arms. Even after establishing such an army, they would need to maintain a core force of absolutely loyal personnel wielding absolutely overwhelming firepower for an extended period. Even the steam-obsessed Boss Ma himself had to acknowledge this reality. After all, assault rifles and semi-automatic pistols were somewhat more effective than Minié rifles and revolvers.
With this premise established, the transmigrators' firearms needed to satisfy both short-term requirements for establishing a foothold and long-term requirements for maintaining military advantage. This couldn't involve merely a handful of firearms plus ammunition—they needed complete capability. Modern firearms generally boasted long service lives, so spare parts requirements weren't too demanding. But ammunition was another matter entirely. Finished ammunition was heavy—including packaging, eighty thousand rounds of 9mm weighed approximately a ton, and rifle ammunition was heavier still. Zhou Weisen estimated he could acquire at most a million rounds of various types—already around twenty tons, presenting enormous storage, transport, and loading challenges for the few people in the North America group. This million rounds seemed impressive, but a single thousand-person engagement would consume at least tens of thousands, and the Military Division's basic marksmanship maintenance would consume at least that much annually. A million rounds would be exhausted within a few years—the transmigrators would need to reload and eventually manufacture ammunition from scratch.
On this foundation, leadership and the North America group engaged in intensive discussions during video conferences. Xi Yazhou spoke first. "I think we can rule out M43 ammunition. Corrosive powder, steel cases, Berdan primers—it's all traps."
Zhou Weisen agreed. "We won't touch Soviet military surplus. Their commercial ammunition does use non-corrosive powder, but the cases and primers present genuine difficulties."
He Ming offered a thought. "How about spending more on brass-cased ammunition for reloading? We can't do without AKs and SKS rifles."
Qian Shuiting shook his head. "It's not that simple. AKs are designed for steel-cased ammunition; their bolt action is violent with loose manufacturing tolerances. Brass cases often can't withstand it and cause malfunctions."
"So then..." Xi Yazhou was clearly unsatisfied with this response.
Zhou Weisen presented his research findings. "I believe manufacturing steel-cased ammunition is currently beyond our capability. Equipment exists in Eastern Europe and Russia, but those production lines are designed for annual outputs exceeding a hundred million rounds—the investment and manpower required would be far too great for us, and raw materials would prove difficult to source. Because the market is flooded with cheap steel-cased ammunition, no market exists for small-scale steel-cased production equipment, and therefore no ready-made products to purchase."
"Have the Mechanical Division investigate?" Everyone naturally considered the next step.
Xiao Zishan interrupted the discussion at the opportune moment. "Comrades—let's step back and examine this from a higher vantage point, shall we?" He raised one finger. "First—to ensure we have ammunition for the long term, we need to manufacture our own, correct?"
Everyone agreed.
"To manufacture ammunition, we must solve a series of problems from raw materials to machinery. Can these challenges wait until after we've crossed?"
Zhou Weisen responded immediately. "Once we cross, we'll be building from nothing. Trying to solve this afterward could take who knows how long. I think we can bring some raw materials, but not too much—once depleted, we'll need to source locally. Machinery and equipment, if properly maintained after transport, should last decades without significant problems."
"So we can begin working on machinery and equipment now, and also stockpile some raw materials?"
No one objected to this reasoning.
Xiao Zishan raised a second finger. "Another consideration—examining our needs, there are really two components. First is the armament requirement for initial post-crossing armed struggle: ensuring everyone is armed with sufficient ammunition. This is urgent and critical. Second is long-term technical superiority—also critical, but perhaps we have more time to address it. For example, this steel-cased ammunition challenge—after five years of groundwork, could we begin addressing it at the ten-year mark?"
"Comrades, the War of Resistance lasted only eight years." Zhong Lishi interjected. "I've been studying history. The Eighth Route Army's conditions were incredibly harsh, yet they used copper coins to press cartridge cases and ceramic vats to produce sulfuric acid. We've assembled a group of master's and doctoral graduates here—if we can't develop a cartridge case solution in ten years, that would be rather embarrassing."
Xi Yazhou spoke up immediately. "I believe ammunition is of paramount importance. One could argue it determines what weapons we select and what path we follow. I propose we proceed on two fronts: our North America group continues searching for solutions, while back home the Mechanical Division begins early preparations."
Part Four: Ammunition Strategy
America deserved its position atop the world's martial virtue rankings—firearms-related information and resources were extraordinarily abundant. Zhou Weisen spent several weeks reviewing materials and consulting experts under the guise of personal interest. According to his research, for handgun ammunition, the most common 9mm Parabellum was the optimal choice. All manner of reloading equipment was available in overwhelming quantities, and the average person could master the process with some practice. If manufacturing from scratch, its straight-walled case was relatively simple to produce, and complete stamping die sets were even commercially available. The simplest full metal jacket bullets weren't difficult to manufacture either, with ready-made tooling sets for sale. These manufacturing tools, if modified appropriately, could also produce .380 ACP or even .38 caliber cases and bullets, covering the needs of revolvers and compact self-defense pistols. Zhou Weisen's reasoning gained approval from the leadership back home, and even the ordinary members who had some military knowledge expressed no objections upon hearing the explanation.
For rifle ammunition, what could be confirmed first was 7.62x54R. This venerable cartridge had over a century of history, and its applications were broad—from PKMs to Dragunovs and Mosin-Nagants. Its manufacturing requirements were somewhat lower than modern rifle cartridges, making it suitable as the transmigrators' first step up the ammunition technology ladder. Its dimensions were also fairly close to .308 Winchester and a series of .30-caliber rifle cartridges. With some improvements to its manufacturing process, producing more varieties of ammunition—especially .308 Winchester, which had equally broad applications—would be feasible. This cartridge also gained everyone's approval. Some were already fantasizing about wielding Mosin-Nagants or Dragunovs to snipe across the land. To this, Zhou Weisen suggested they start physical training early, especially upper body strength, so they could hold their aim steady longer.
After 7.62x54R, Zhou Weisen recommended adding .22 LR to the list. The .22 LR—known in China as the 5.6mm sporting long round—was an equally ancient cartridge with similarly modest manufacturing requirements. Its cost was very low, making it suitable for entry-level or skill-maintenance training. Many countries' militaries had historically used it for recruit marksmanship training. Its chamber pressure and recoil were also low, and compatible revolvers could be made quite compact, suitable for users with less physical strength. Of course, .22 LR ammunition's reliability was inherently inferior to 9mm Parabellum—if one didn't pay attention to replacing old ammunition promptly, embarrassing misfires at critical moments were inevitable. Beyond training and self-defense, accurized .22 LR rifles were also suitable for hunting small game like rabbits and sparrows, useful for improving the transmigrators' diet. After this explanation, .22 LR was also accepted by everyone.
With the easy decisions handled, what remained was the thorniest question—what cartridge would serve as the primary rifle ammunition? 7.62x54R wasn't entirely suitable; the Mosin-Nagant, for all its reputation, was still a rifle over a century old. Its ergonomics fell far short of modern rifles, and using it as a primary weapon would yield suboptimal results. Moreover, this cartridge's size and weight were substantial—for the same carrying capacity, far fewer rounds could be transported. .22 LR was even less suitable. That left 7.62x51, 5.56x45, 7.62x39, and 5.45x39. Zhou Weisen argued that since the latter two were primarily steel-cased and difficult to reload, while 7.62x51 was like the Russian 7.62—too large, too heavy, with excessive power—the only truly practical option was 5.56x45.
This opinion immediately drew attacks from all sides, with various objections flying like snowballs. Claims about insufficient power, insufficient range, excessive fouling, and lethality so high that treating wounded friendly fire casualties would be difficult—these concerns had some merit, and Zhou Weisen addressed each one. Objections made purely for the sake of opposition were less engaging, and he simply ignored them. As for Xi Yazhou's insistence on AKs and SKS rifles, Zhou Weisen produced a weapon at the next video conference for him to examine.
"This is a Serbian-made M21—a modified AK-74 that uses 5.56 ammunition." According to Zhou Weisen's introduction, this weapon was manufactured by Serbia's Zastava company. During the Cold War, they had already begun producing 5.56 versions of AKs as quality export products for earning foreign currency. After the Yugoslav Wars, Zastava resumed arms exports, and the M21 was one of their flagship products. According to "private military contractors" who had served in Iraq, the M21 performed excellently in counterinsurgency operations. Zastava had also made improvements based on combat experience feedback—the main load-bearing structures had been enhanced and strengthened, and operation was more convenient and comfortable.
For the sake of the AK, Xi Yazhou reluctantly agreed to evaluate this rifle. He then asked, "I heard there's a version of the SKS on the American market that uses AK magazines, called the SKS-D. Is that true?"
Zhou Weisen actually hadn't heard of this. He immediately searched online. "SKS-D... yes, it exists. Oh, made by Norinco, specifically manufactured for the American market. Price-wise..." He frowned. "Why is it so expensive!" He logged into his dealer account and studied it carefully for a while.
"The average price for SKS-D on the American market is around five hundred dollars. The reason is scarcity. Norinco exported a batch in the eighties—a few thousand units. They sold cheaply then, but after Norinco was banned from exporting to the US, the supply dried up and prices kept climbing.
"My M21's wholesale price is just under five hundred—the AK-74 is better than the SKS anyway, isn't it?"
Part Five: The First Training Cohort
Firearms selection wasn't a secret within the transmigrator collective. Everyone doing physical training, drilling formations, and working on engineering projects in the blazing sun discovered that "prop guns" had appeared at the training camp. Presumably to maintain plausibility, these props had been made to look like ridiculous toys—hard plastic with obvious injection molding seams, painted in absurdly garish colors, with obvious firearm features carelessly cartoonified. The transmigrators shouldered these props during route marches, immediately becoming something of a joke in the area around the training camp. Locals who saw them unanimously concluded the purchasing officer had taken kickbacks and obtained children's toys to fill the quota.
Yet these custom props weren't cheap at all. Those in the know couldn't help noticing that the trigger, safety, and other operable parts on these props were actually identical to real AK-74s. If they could hold one, they would discover the charging handle could actually be pulled, magazines could be inserted and removed, and the weapon's center of gravity and weight closely matched a real AK-74. The training camp also had several empty warehouses where, after nightfall, people practiced with nearly authentic-looking airsoft guns—but this couldn't be seen by outsiders.
On the North America side, Zhou Weisen had already put his first batch of M21s on sale. Honestly, with the ocean of cheap Russian and Eastern European military surplus ammunition and equally cheap surplus AKs available, ordinary enthusiasts were only willing to pay modest prices for original AKs. The M21, despite its quality and improved design, was decidedly uncompetitive on price. Zhou Weisen's wholesale cost from importers approached five hundred dollars, but retail prices above six hundred found few buyers. After subtracting various costs, he made only a few dozen dollars per unit—truly earning just sweat equity. In comparison, original AKs could be acquired for under three hundred and sold for five hundred, with far better margins and capital efficiency. Old Bob had told Zhou Weisen that selling M21s wasn't profitable, but Zhou Weisen—with his own agenda—said his conclusion was that they needed to order larger quantities directly from the factory to reduce costs through volume. Old Bob could only shrug and shake his head at this.
According to decisions from countless meetings, the M21 would serve as the lower end of a high-low mix, issued to ordinary transmigrators. This group constituted the majority. They wouldn't normally carry long guns, only being mobilized to take up arms when needed. Therefore, the M21 quantities required were substantial—four or five hundred minimum, seven or eight hundred wasn't excessive. Given these users' training levels, their weapons should be semi-automatic. Inexperienced people on battlefields inevitably grew nervous—if issued full-auto, a single trigger pull would empty the magazine. Accessories for these rifles would be limited to basic maintenance and disassembly tools, with only a minority receiving Russian-made optics.
Complementing the M21, a higher-end rifle was needed for Military Division members. These weapons required reliability, full-auto capability, high precision, and full accessories including optics, tactical flashlights, and bipods. Zhou Weisen had ideas for this too, though he estimated Xi Yazhou and company wouldn't approve of his choice. Sure enough, when he presented the weapon at the online meeting, Xi Yazhou exploded.
"This—this is Taiwan's T91?! What garbage! I don't want it!"
It really was Taiwan's Ordnance Factory production—the T91. More precisely, it was the civilian "Wolf" brand T91 upper receiver they exported to America. Despite being civilian, it was actually slightly better equipped than their military-issue version. It was a piston-driven AR design, and its reliability had been proven through extensive abuse by American users. With good civilian ammunition, its hundred-meter accuracy was around 2 MOA—quite acceptable. Zhou Weisen planned to swap in a tactical handguard for easy accessory mounting. Most importantly, it was designed for full-auto and could mate with any AR lower receiver. Converting to full-auto on D-Day would only require swapping a part in the lower receiver.
During this meeting, Zhou Weisen deployed every argument at his disposal but couldn't persuade Xi Yazhou. His points—proven reliability, good value, barrel-swappable for higher precision, easy full-auto conversion—failed to move him. From Zhou Weisen's observation, Xi Yazhou wasn't the only one with distaste for Taiwanese products. Finally, Director General Wen interceded: whether it was a mule or a horse, they needed to test it for real. They would conduct live-fire evaluations, letting facts and data speak. Everyone agreed. The North America group's shooting range was already on the agenda; when visitors from China arrived in batches to shoot in the Nevada desert, the quality of different weapons would become clear. They could finalize procurement decisions after reaching consensus.
With rifle matters temporarily shelved, Zhou Weisen refocused on confirmed priorities. Days later, he sent back a detailed Glock budget. It included two hundred Glock 17s for the Military Division, two hundred Glock 19s and 26s for other personnel's self-defense, plus matching holsters, spare magazines, luminous night sights, training equipment, spare parts, and maintenance tools—estimated total under $300,000. By his estimate, adding roughly a hundred 9mm revolvers and about a hundred sample pistols of various types primarily for future reverse-engineering studies would satisfy a thousand-person organization's needs.
When those back in China studied the budget, they discovered American firearms were genuinely cheap. Someone noticed subsequent sample pistol procurement plans, and minds began wandering. Who started it was unclear, but "suggestion" posts for firearms procurement suddenly exploded on the internal forum. Requested weapons ranged from James Bond's PPK to the supposedly excellent Desert Eagle. Zhou Weisen had long since coordinated with leadership on this. Personal weapons were permitted, but with conditions:
First, demonstrate proficiency with standard-issue weapons—Glocks and revolvers. Glock shooting was the primary evaluation, including slow-fire and tactical shooting. Slow-fire: twenty rounds, 200 points maximum, minimum 170 required. Tactical shooting: fifty rounds total, minimum thirty hits, with at least twenty in primary scoring zones.
Second, requested firearms had certain restrictions, principally: common, reliable, safe, and economical. Reliability, safety, and economy were self-evident. "Common" meant the weapon should be readily available on the American civilian market, using commonly available calibers—preferably those already confirmed for transport and planned for future self-manufacture. For example, the original PPK used .32 ACP, which wasn't very common. PPKs could only be purchased in .380 ACP and .22 LR.
Third, users bore full procurement costs, including the weapon itself and all tools, consumables, and spare parts required for extended service life. Non-standard calibers required stockpiling at least three thousand rounds. For example, the original Desert Eagle used .50 AE—common enough, but at three dollars per round, ammunition plus weapon would cost over ten thousand minimum. This condition alone discouraged Desert Eagle enthusiasts.
Fourth, to avoid legal complications, all purchased firearms would legally belong to the North America group's corporate entity before crossing, transferring to individual ownership only after crossing. Owners would be responsible for their weapons' custody and maintenance. Lost weapons were the holder's responsibility. In emergencies, holders must surrender their weapons for collective use.
Zhou Weisen specially recorded a video demonstrating the qualification requirements. First, using standard American two-handed stance, he fired ten rounds each at two handgun targets fifteen yards away with a Glock 17—final score 192. Then, under timed conditions, he rapidly moved through over a dozen close-quarters scenarios, shooting at twenty-plus targets at varying distances. He hit forty-five, with forty in primary scoring zones. He noted at video's end that such performance was only upper-middle level in martial virtue-blessed America—enough to maybe place in regional competitions with effort.
Suddenly, airsoft usage at the transmigrator training camp skyrocketed, consuming air cylinders and pellets at astonishing rates daily. Once enough people understood that handgun shooting wasn't so easy, "suggestion" posts on the forum finally subsided.
Part Six: The Nevada Range
It was called the Nevada Star Range—a piece of land the group had arranged to purchase in the desert. The old man who'd owned it had a terminal illness; he was selling desperately and the price was right. Though technically still in the escrow and closing process, an agreement had been reached for the group to use it during this period. Along with the land came various accessories—three hundred old steel targets, a Conex container converted to a range office, and five hundred wooden target frames. The old man had run it as a members-only shooting club for gun enthusiasts, but the location was too remote and members too few to turn a profit.
At first, the group had only thought to use the land as a shooting range, but after multiple planning meetings, it had become a "multi-purpose training ground." Besides the existing range, they built rifle and handgun shooting areas, equipped two Quonset huts for storage, constructed a row of bungalows as dormitories, and brought in water and electrical infrastructure. A small machine shop occupied one corner of the property—ostensibly for routine repairs, but actually equipped for more ambitious projects.
Wen Desi arrived with the first group. Beyond his special role as "Director General," he was genuinely interested in firearms and shooting—hence his insistence on joining the initial cohort. The flight from China was grueling; Wen Desi was among the minority who'd never traveled abroad. Upon deplaning in San Francisco, his first impression was the airport smelled strange—some odor he couldn't identify permeated everything. When he mentioned this later, others said they hadn't noticed anything.
Lin Chuanqing met them at the airport. From San Francisco, they transferred to a domestic flight to Las Vegas. Then Lin Chuanqing's minibus transported them to the range.
"How much further is it?" After nearly two hours of desert highway, Wen Desi's patience was fraying.
"Not far now. This is where the suburbs end." Lin Chuanqing pointed ahead. "You can see the range."
What looked like range buildings in the distance were actually still ten minutes away. Wen Desi, being from southern China, found it hard to judge distance across flat desert terrain. Once at the range, Zhou Weisen welcomed them. After a brief tour of the facilities and lunch, half the group collapsed into their bunks to sleep off the jet lag.
But Wen Desi didn't nap. He dragged Zhou Weisen to the pistol range to get shooting.
"Director General, we have a structured curriculum..."
"That's for them. I'm here to learn—right now."
Over the next two hours, Zhou Weisen taught Wen Desi the basics of handgun shooting: stance, grip, sight picture, trigger control. By the time they called it a day, Wen Desi had fired over a hundred rounds of 9mm. His right forearm ached, his ears rang despite the earmuffs, and a spent casing had left a small burn on his neck—but he was grinning from ear to ear.
At dinner, the rested members of the training cohort peppered Zhou Weisen with questions about the shooting program.
"Tomorrow morning, everyone starts with the Glock 17. Afternoon, we move to the MP5 submachine gun. Day after tomorrow, rifles. Day three is tactical shooting. Day four is the evaluation. Those who pass can continue with intermediate curriculum. Those who don't stay with remedial basics."
"What rifles are we using?"
"T91 and M21. We're also testing the SCAR-L and CZ805 this week."
Day One: Handguns
The next morning, under Zhou Weisen's supervision, the training began in earnest. Fifteen transmigrators lined up at the pistol range, each with a Glock 17 and ten loaded magazines. Most had never touched a real firearm before.
"First, safety." Zhou Weisen walked down the line. "Treat every weapon as if it's loaded. Never point at anything you don't intend to shoot. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire. Know what's behind your target." He paused. "These four rules are religious commandments. Violate them and you're off my range."
The first hour was dry-fire practice—no ammunition. Zhou Weisen demonstrated the proper grip: thumbs forward, fingers wrapped around the grip with the support hand covering the shooting hand. "Americans call this the 'thumbs forward' grip. It controls recoil better than conventional methods."
One by one, he corrected their stances. Xiao Zishan kept leaning back, flinching in anticipation of recoil that hadn't yet occurred. "You're fighting a battle that hasn't started yet," Zhou Weisen told him. "Relax forward into the gun."
When live ammunition finally arrived, the results were mixed. He Ming, who had served briefly in the PLA, shot competently from the start. Most others sprayed rounds across the target with inconsistent results. A few couldn't hit the target at all.
"Don't worry about the score yet," Zhou Weisen reassured them. "Handgun accuracy takes thousands of rounds to develop. Today we're just building foundations."
By afternoon, everyone had fired at least two hundred rounds. The brass-littered ground glittered in the desert sun. Several trainees nursed sore wrists.
"Tomorrow, your muscles will ache," Zhou Weisen warned. "That's normal. We'll do stretches in the morning."
Day Two: Submachine Guns
The MP5 felt familiar to anyone who'd played video games, but its real-world behavior surprised many trainees.
"It fires faster than you expect," explained Zhou Weisen, demonstrating a three-round burst. The casings ejected in a perfect arc. "The key is controlling that muzzle. If you let it rise, your second and third rounds go into the sky."
He set up a steel silhouette at twenty-five meters. "Watch." He raised the MP5, fired a controlled burst, and three rapid clangs echoed. "Now you try."
The results were predictably chaotic. Full-auto fire proved irresistible to some trainees, who emptied entire magazines in seconds. Zhou Weisen patiently explained trigger discipline until they learned restraint.
"In a real fight, you'll run out of ammunition before you run out of enemies," he reminded them. "Every round counts."
By the end of day two, the group had consumed nearly eight thousand rounds of 9mm ammunition between the Glocks and MP5s. Zhou Weisen had anticipated this and stocked heavily.
Day Three: Rifles
The rifle portion began with fundamentals: prone shooting, proper cheek weld, breathing techniques. The hundred-meter range stretched into the desert, steel plates positioned at various distances.
"Your rifle," Zhou Weisen announced, holding up a T91, "is accurate out to four hundred meters with iron sights, six hundred with optics. Today we'll work at one hundred."
The T91 proved popular despite initial resistance. Its light weight—under seven pounds—made it manageable for extended sessions. The optical sights, once zeroed, grouped impressively.
"Not bad for Taiwanese garbage," Xiao Zishan admitted grudgingly.
The M21 drew different reactions. Its familiar AK-pattern controls felt natural to some, but the heavier weight fatigued others quickly. Its accuracy lagged behind the T91, though still adequate for combat distances.
"Different tools for different jobs," Zhou Weisen concluded. "The T91 for precision work, the M21 for volume."
Day Four: Tactical Shooting
The tactical course was Zhou Weisen's pride. He'd designed it based on professional training curricula, incorporating movement, cover usage, and target transitions.
"Real combat isn't standing still and shooting at paper," he explained. "You move. You find cover. You engage multiple threats."
The course began with a simulated house-clearing exercise. Trainees moved through a plywood maze, engaging pop-up targets around corners. Some froze at first contact; others rushed recklessly. Zhou Weisen stopped and restarted the exercise repeatedly, drilling proper techniques.
"Slow is smooth, smooth is fast," he repeated endlessly. "Don't race—flow."
By evening, the cohort had developed rudimentary tactical awareness. They wouldn't win any SWAT competitions, but they could navigate a building without shooting each other.
Day Five: Evaluation
The final evaluation was straightforward: demonstrate proficiency with standard handgun and rifle. Those who passed would continue with intermediate training during future visits; those who failed would repeat basics.
The handgun test consisted of twenty-five rounds at varying distances. Minimum passing score: 200 out of 250 possible points. The rifle test required five out of ten hits on a steel plate at two hundred meters.
Twelve of fifteen trainees passed. The three who failed weren't discouraged—they'd spent their lives at keyboards, not ranges. Zhou Weisen assigned them additional homework: grip strengtheners and dry-fire practice daily until they returned.
"You have the fundamentals," he told the group at the farewell dinner. "Now you need repetition. Thousands of rounds over years. There are no shortcuts to competence."
Wen Desi, who had proven a natural shooter, raised his glass. "To Zhou Weisen—who turned keyboard warriors into something slightly better."
Laughter echoed across the desert night.
Part Seven: Rifle Selection
On the third day, the rifle comparison began. Present besides the training cohort were He Ming, Xi Yazhou, and several other Military Division members who'd made the trip specifically for this purpose. The test was simple: each shooter would fire standardized courses of fire with each rifle, recording accuracy and subjective impressions.
Zhou Weisen laid out the contestants. The T91 was the test baseline—it was cheap, proven, and he'd already acquired substantial quantities. The M21 represented the AK camp. The SCAR-L was the premium option; the CZ805 was a dark horse from the Czech Republic.
Xi Yazhou still couldn't hide his distaste for the T91. "Taiwanese garbage," he muttered as he picked it up.
"Put fifty rounds through it first," Zhou Weisen said evenly. "Then give your opinion."
Despite his prejudice, Xi Yazhou was a professional. He ran the T91 through its paces—slow fire at a hundred meters, rapid fire, magazine changes, simulated malfunctions. His shooting was excellent. When he finished, he set the rifle down with an expression of grudging respect.
"It's... acceptable."
"Acceptable how?"
"Light. Good trigger. Optic mounting is well-designed. Accuracy is maybe 2 MOA with this ammunition." He paused. "If it wasn't Taiwanese, I would say it's a good rifle."
The SCAR-L impressed everyone. Its accuracy was genuinely excellent—1.5 MOA or better. The ergonomics were superior to the T91. But Zhou Weisen pointed at the price tag he'd printed for comparison.
"One SCAR-L upper costs as much as four T91 uppers. We need rifles for several hundred people. The math doesn't work."
The CZ805 fell between the two—better than the T91 in some ways, worse in others, and not cheap enough to justify the differences.
As for the M21, it performed as expected. Xi Yazhou was happier with it on ideological grounds, but he couldn't deny the accuracy difference.
"For ordinary transmigrators who'll shoot maybe once a year after we cross, the M21 is fine," Zhou Weisen concluded. "For the Military Division who'll be our primary combat force, the T91's accuracy and lightweight advantage matters. I propose we proceed with the dual-platform approach."
After two more days of testing and discussion, the group reached consensus. The T91 (with heavy barrel conversion) would equip Military Division personnel. The M21 would go to general transmigrators. The decision wasn't unanimous—Xi Yazhou abstained—but it was enough to proceed.
Part Eight: Manufacturing and Restoration
With the rifle question settled, Zhou Weisen could finalize his manufacturer's license application. This required multiple ATF interviews, extensive background checks, and careful documentation of his facility's compliance. The transmigrators' lawyers prepared meticulous paperwork. After six months of bureaucratic process, "Nevada Star Armory" became a licensed firearms manufacturer.
The manufacturing capability was modest at first—a CNC mill capable of cutting AR-15 lower receivers, the legally-defined "firearm" component. This gave them the ability to produce complete rifles without purchasing the serial-numbered part. Combined with their existing stock of T91 uppers, barrels, and accessories, they could assemble weapons domestically and avoid the importation paper trail.
Learning to Reload
Before manufacturing ammunition from scratch, they needed to master reloading—the art of assembling cartridges from pre-made components. Zhou Weisen had recruited a local reloader, an elderly Korean War veteran named Bill, to teach the fundamentals.
"Reloading isn't hard," Bill explained, demonstrating on a single-stage press. "It's precision work. Measure twice, load once." He walked them through the process: resize the case, prime it, charge with powder, seat the bullet, and crimp.
Two members from the Mechanical Division—Zhou Xiaoming and Chen Li—had been designated as the "ammunition team." They would learn reloading first, then scale up to actual manufacturing. For the first week, they loaded 9mm under Bill's supervision, producing several thousand rounds that were immediately test-fired for quality verification.
"Your loads are consistent," Bill pronounced after examining the spent brass. "No pressure signs. Good work."
With 9mm mastered, they moved on to rifle calibers: 5.56 NATO and 7.62x54R. The rimmed Russian cartridge proved trickier—its rim required special shell holders and its long case demanded more careful powder measurement.
"One grain over maximum, and you've got a grenade instead of a rifle," Bill warned. "Russian cartridges don't forgive mistakes."
By month's end, the ammunition team could produce five hundred rounds of any caliber per day using manual presses. Zhou Weisen ordered a Dillon progressive press to increase output—at full speed, it could load a thousand rounds per hour.
Primer Experiments
Manufacturing primers proved to be the most dangerous work. Commercial primers were readily available and cheap, but after crossing, they would need to produce their own. The chemistry wasn't complex—lead styphnate, barium nitrate, antimony sulfide—but the materials were impact-sensitive and prone to detonation.
A small laboratory was established in a shipping container, located far from other buildings. Chen Li, who had a chemistry background, led the experiments.
"The goal isn't mass production yet," he explained to the video-conferencing leadership. "It's proof of concept. Can we make primers that work reliably?"
The first batches failed—either too sensitive, detonating during handling, or too insensitive, requiring multiple strikes to ignite. After three months of experimentation, they achieved a stable formula that matched commercial primer sensitivity within acceptable margins.
"We can do this," Chen Li reported. "Not in large quantities yet, but the process is proven. After crossing, with proper facilities and scaled-up equipment, a thousand primers per day should be achievable."
Machine Gun Restoration
More significant was the restoration project. Zhou Weisen had located sources for deactivated military surplus machine guns—weapons that had been demilitarized for import and sale as display items. The SG-43, a Soviet design from World War II, was available in quantity. So were various PKM variants. These weapons had been "dewatted" (deactivated to War Trophy standards) through cuts to the receiver and barrel.
Two members of the Mechanical Division—Zhang Qiang and Liu Wei—arrived from China under cover as "technical consultants" for the armory business. Their actual purpose was restoring these machine guns to functionality.
"The cuts are quite clean," Zhang Qiang observed, examining an SG-43 receiver. "Soviet design—simple, overbuilt. We can TIG weld the cuts and reinforcing plates, then heat-treat to restore hardness."
He pointed to the barrel. "This is more problematic. The bore is destroyed—they drilled holes through it. We'll need to manufacture new barrels entirely."
The CNC lathe in the machine shop could produce barrels from chromoly steel blanks. Rifling was cut using a button rifling process—slow but effective. Each barrel took nearly a full day to produce, but quality was excellent.
The first restored SG-43 was ready for testing after two months of work. They set it up on the rifle range at dusk, with the target at two hundred meters. Zhang Qiang loaded a belt of fifty rounds.
"Fire in the hole," he called, and pressed the trigger.
The SG-43 roared to life, brass casings arcing through the air, the distinctive sound of a heavy machine gun echoing across the desert. The steel plates downrange rang with impacts. When the belt was expended, Zhang Qiang examined the weapon with a satisfied expression.
"Functions perfectly. No jams, no feeding issues. The welds held."
By the end of the year, they had five functional SG-43s and three PKMs. Two of the SG-43s were modified for semi-automatic operation only—useful for training and maintaining legal plausibility. The rest remained select-fire.
"These aren't precision weapons," Zhou Weisen cautioned the leadership. "They're suppression tools. But in the seventeenth century, precision won't matter—volume of fire will be overwhelming."
Part Nine: Complications
The ATF investigation began without warning. Zhou Weisen arrived at the shop one morning to find two agents waiting.
"Mr. Zhou? I'm Special Agent Jackson. This is Agent Xue." The senior agent, a weathered Caucasian man in his fifties, flashed his credentials. "We'd like to ask you some questions about your business partner."
"Which partner?"
"Lin Chuanqing."
Zhou Weisen kept his expression neutral. "Of course. Please come in."
The interview lasted four hours. Jackson's questions were pointed but professional. Why had Zhou entered business with Lin? What did he know of Lin's background? Had Lin ever discussed his past associations? What was the source of Lin's investment capital?
Zhou Weisen answered honestly about what he knew—which wasn't much. He'd met Lin through mutual acquaintances. Lin had capital and wanted a legitimate American business. Zhou needed a partner. The arrangement was straightforward.
"Mr. Zhou, I'll be direct with you." Jackson leaned forward. "Mr. Lin came to our attention through Treasury Department inquiries. His financial history shows patterns consistent with money laundering. His previous associations in Hong Kong included individuals with Triad connections."
"I wasn't aware of that."
"We believe you." Jackson's expression softened slightly. "You seem to be running a legitimate business. But your association with Mr. Lin creates problems. For us and for you."
"What kind of problems?"
"The kind that could result in your licenses being revoked."
The threat was clear. Zhou Weisen asked what they wanted.
"We have two options for you. First, you could cooperate with our investigation. Report on Mr. Lin's activities. Help us build a case."
"And the second option?"
"End your business relationship with Mr. Lin entirely. Buy out his stake. Sever all connections."
Zhou Weisen reported the conversation to the leadership in China that night. An emergency meeting convened. The options were debated.
"Cooperating with federal investigation is too risky," Director General Wen concluded. "If they audit our accounts thoroughly, they'll find the capital flows from China. At best, that creates legal complications. At worst, it exposes the entire operation."
"Buying out Lin is expensive," someone observed. "His stake is worth at least four hundred thousand dollars."
"We have the funds. The question is whether it's worth it."
In the end, they chose the buyout. Lin Chuanqing, informed of the situation, was surprisingly cooperative. He'd apparently been expecting something like this.
"American law enforcement has long memories," he said philosophically. "Some old debts never really settle."
The buyout was completed within a month. Lin took his $400,000 and departed for Macau. The business restructured—Zhou Weisen became sole proprietor, the shop relocated to smaller premises, and operations pivoted primarily to online sales and wholesale.
The change actually benefited the operation in ways they hadn't anticipated. Operating primarily online reduced foot traffic and scrutiny. The wholesale focus meant larger transactions with fewer customers. And the manufacturing side continued undisturbed—the ATF's interest had been entirely in Lin Chuanqing, not in Zhou Weisen's armory business.
Part Ten: Final Preparations
The Mosin Acquisition
The Mosin-Nagants arrived on a container ship at Long Beach. Seven hundred twenty rifles in three crates—Soviet military production from the 1930s through 1950s, packed in cosmoline and sitting forgotten in a Ukrainian warehouse until the importer arranged clearance and shipping.
Zhou Weisen inspected them personally, spending two full days at the customs warehouse. The condition was mixed—some rifles looked nearly unfired, their bores bright and rifling sharp. Others showed heavy wear from decades of military service. A few had cracked stocks or damaged metal. But even the worst specimens could be cannibalized for parts.
"At sixty dollars each, we can afford to be selective," he reported to the leadership. "I recommend we clean and test all 720. Keep the best 500 for use, strip the rest for spare parts."
The next question was who would clean them. Cosmoline—the heavy petroleum grease used for long-term storage—was notoriously difficult to remove. It required patience, heat, and mineral spirits. Zhou Weisen organized "cleaning parties" where visiting transmigrators would spend an afternoon stripping rifles between shooting sessions.
"Think of it as homework," he told them. "You'll be using these rifles someday. Better to know them intimately."
He also acquired another batch—500 rifles that had been contaminated during transport by leaking chemical drums on the same ship. The importer sold these at deep discount, barely ten dollars each. Most of the chemical contamination could be cleaned, though some rifles were badly pitted. Even those would cross with the group; they'd be better than nothing if needed.
"The seventeenth century doesn't have gun stores," Zhou Weisen reminded skeptics. "A marginal rifle is infinitely better than no rifle at all."
Training Cohorts
The training program had processed six cohorts by then. Every two months, a group of fifteen to twenty transmigrators arrived from China under various cover stories—corporate retreat, bachelor party, "security training seminar." Each group spent ten days at the range, beginning with basic handgun instruction and progressing through rifles, shotguns, and tactical scenarios.
The second cohort included several female transmigrators, which prompted Zhou Weisen to adjust his curriculum. Some of the women struggled with the Glock 17's grip size and recoil.
"This is a common issue," he explained. "We'll issue you Glock 19s or 26s—smaller frames, same reliability. Some of you might prefer the .380 subcompact models."
He was secretly pleased when several women out-shot their male counterparts. "Ego gets in the way," he told his assistant. "Women listen to instruction. Men think they already know."
The third cohort included Military Division core members—the people who would form the transmigrators' primary combat force. Their training was significantly more intensive: night shooting, stress drills, team movement, vehicle tactics. Xi Yazhou arrived with this group and spent the entire ten days pushing himself to exhaustion.
"The T91 is acceptable," he finally admitted on the last day. "I still don't like Taiwan, but the rifle is good."
Zhou Weisen wisely said nothing.
The fourth and fifth cohorts focused on specialty training: designated marksmen with accurized rifles, heavy weapons operators with the restored machine guns, and medical personnel learning to treat gunshot wounds. The sixth cohort was primarily leadership—department heads and section chiefs who needed at least basic proficiency.
The curriculum expanded as Zhou Weisen and his assistants gained experience. By the final cohort, the training included:
- Basic handgun qualification (Glock, revolver)
- Rifle qualification (T91, M21)
- Tactical movement and cover usage
- Team coordination and communication
- Night operations with flashlights and night sights
- Medical response to gunshot wounds
- Weapon maintenance and field repairs
- Basic reloading of ammunition
Final Inventory
By the final count, the North America group had accumulated:
Handguns: - 200 Glock 17 (Military Division issue) - 200 Glock 19/26 (general personnel issue) - 50 various revolvers (.38 Special and .357 Magnum) - 30 sample pistols for reverse engineering studies - 12 suppressed .22 LR pistols (special operations)
Submachine Guns: - 20 MP5 (Military Division) - 10 UZI (surplus, acquired at auction)
Rifles: - 600 M21 (semi-automatic, general issue) - 150 T91 (Military Division issue, heavy barrel, optics) - 720 Mosin-Nagant (mixed condition, including 500 chemical-damaged) - 50 accurized hunting rifles (.308 and .30-06) - Various sample rifles for reverse engineering
Shotguns: - 100 Remington 870 (12-gauge, assorted barrel lengths) - 50 surplus military shotguns
Machine Guns: - 5 SG-43 (3 semi-auto, 2 select-fire) - 3 PKM (restored) - 10 BREN guns (surplus, parts condition)
Ammunition: - 400,000 rounds 9mm Parabellum - 300,000 rounds 5.56x45 NATO - 200,000 rounds 7.62x54R - 100,000 rounds 7.62x39 (for surplus AK testing) - 50,000 rounds .22LR - 30,000 rounds various (.380 ACP, .38 Special, .357 Magnum) - 20,000 rounds 12-gauge (assorted loads)
Manufacturing Equipment: - Complete reloading press and dies for 9mm, 5.56, 7.62x54R - Bullet swaging equipment (lead core, jacketed) - Brass drawing and forming dies - Containerized primer manufacturing laboratory (proven functional) - CNC milling and lathe equipment for receiver and barrel production - Rifling button set for .30 caliber - Complete documentation library (prints, specifications, chemistry texts)
Packing and Shipping
Everything was packed for transport according to exacting specifications. Rifles were coated in protective grease and sealed in cosmoline-lined crates; wooden partitions prevented movement during shipping. Ammunition was boxed by caliber and type, with desiccant packets to prevent moisture damage. Equipment was documented, photographed, and catalogued in a master inventory database.
The shipping containers—twenty-foot steel boxes, arranged through Lin Chuanqing's old contacts before his departure—waited at a warehouse in Carson, California. Each container was inspected for structural integrity and fitted with padlocks and tamper-evident seals.
"Everything goes in properly labeled containers," Zhou Weisen instructed. "We might not be the ones unpacking it. Someone needs to know what's where."
The final packing took two weeks. Every transmigrator who happened to be in town was pressed into service. When the last container was sealed, they gathered for a photograph—a dozen exhausted people standing before a wall of steel boxes, none of them smiling but all of them proud.
"Three years of work," Zhou Weisen said. "Whatever happens next, we did our part."
Epilogue
Zhou Weisen stood alone in the empty warehouse. The containers had been loaded onto trucks that morning, bound for the port. The shooting range had been sold—the old man's relatives were happy to have a buyer at last. The shop was closing; the few remaining inventory items would be sold to another dealer.
Three years of work. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Countless hours of planning, procurement, and training. And now it all came down to faith—faith that the transmigration would actually happen, that the technology would work, that they wouldn't simply be abandoning everything for a fantasy.
He thought about what they'd built. A thousand people, armed with modern weapons, equipped with the knowledge and tools to manufacture more. Trained—some of them, at least—in tactics and shooting. Prepared as thoroughly as possible for what amounted to the conquest of a world.
It should be enough. It had to be enough.
His phone buzzed. A message from Director General Wen: Containers confirmed received at staging point. Final timeline review tomorrow. D-Day minus 15.
Zhou Weisen typed his reply: Understood. On my way to the airport.
He took one last look around the empty space, then turned off the lights and walked out.
(End of Extra)
Originally posted by Avo17000, edited March 2024