Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 49 Guys, want a smoke?
A steel behemoth roared in the darkness.

Payday trains of the Southern Pacific Railroad travel through the rugged mountains of Northern California.

The steam locomotive's chimney continuously spewed scorching sparks and thick black smoke into the starless and moonless night sky.

This is a mobile fortress.

The windows in the front and rear carriages of the train, which were originally used for carrying passengers, have been completely sealed off by thick steel plates, leaving only rows of narrow firing ports.

An extra layer of thick sheet metal was riveted to the wooden exterior walls of the carriage.

It was powerful enough to withstand the fire of the vast majority of rifle bullets at the time.

Even the chassis has been thickened to cope with possible explosions from beneath the tracks.

Two menacing Gatling guns were mounted on the roof of the front compartment.

The middle carriage, the most heavily guarded, contained tens of thousands of brand-new Morgan Eagle dollars.

Sixty elite agents are currently scattered across the front and rear carriages.

Their captain was a man named Sullivan, who had been a cavalry captain in the Union Army during the Civil War.

At that moment, he was leaning against the wall of the carriage, wiping his beloved Colt revolver over and over again.

"Hey, boss."

An agent nicknamed Bull asked, "Do you think those Irish potatoes will really dare to come tonight? I'm practically shitting my pants in the car, and I haven't seen a single one."

His companions burst into laughter.

Captain Sullivan stopped cleaning his gun.

"Put away your damn pride, all of you!"

"Our opponents are a bunch of lunatics who would cut off the heads of more than twenty policemen and kick them around like a ball."

"Let me reiterate the tactics. If the tracks are bombed and the train derails, do not panic. This carriage is our best cover."

He tapped the inner wall of the metal sheet beside him with his finger, producing a dull thud.

"Remember, even if the train is completely overturned, we must stay inside the carriages and use the firing ports to provide crossfire suppression!"

"Bull, you and Mike are in charge of the two Gatling guns at the front of the vehicle. Remember, short bursts! Don't fucking empty the magazine in one go! Your job is suppressive fire, not to set off fireworks!"

"The rest of you, two people per group, one firing port. Remember our training! Observe, fire, and observe again! Don't act like greenhorns who've never seen blood, blindfolded and firing randomly!"

"No one is allowed to leave the carriage without my order!"

A young, freckled detective shouted, “Boss, don’t worry! To be honest, I’m even a little afraid they won’t come! My Winchester badge is waiting to be lubricated with the blood of Irish bastards!”

Another veteran, who was wiping his revolver, grinned and said, "A bunch of country bumpkins who only know how to grow potatoes. Even if they pick up guns, it doesn't change the fact that they're idiots. They only succeeded last time because those cops were too useless."

"Yes!"

O'Malley pumped his fist excitedly: "I'm even hoping those bastards will send more people! Otherwise, sixty people sharing that little bit of credit won't be enough!"

A burst of laughter rang out in the carriage.

In their eyes, the Irish gangsters were nothing more than a bunch of lowlifes.

They are the country's top experts in violence.

Amidst this arrogant atmosphere, the train let out a long whistle and entered a narrow canyon with towering mountains on both sides.

Sullivan's gaze sharpened.

He stared intently out the window.

The canyon walls, like two giant hands, squeezed the sky into a narrow black band, swallowing up the already sparse starlight.

He scanned every corner of the ridgeline like the most experienced hunter.

empty.

His gaze returned to the railway tracks ahead.

There were no railway patrol members in sight, not even a temporary sentry post or a campfire.

An inexplicable unease quietly crept into Sullivan's heart.

This is so abnormal.

Given the cowardly nature of the Southern Pacific Railroad crew, after the last robbery, this most dangerous section of the railway should now be heavily guarded with sentries every three or five steps.

"Everyone!"

He suddenly raised his voice: "Be on high alert! Something's wrong!"

He just finished speaking.

A blinding white light suddenly exploded on the tracks in front of the train!

boom! ! !
The entire world was completely turned upside down in that instant.

Sullivan felt the floor beneath his feet suddenly arch upwards, and an irresistible, terrifying force lifted the tens-of-tons locomotive off the tracks.

The entire train carriage crashed violently into the cliff on one side of the canyon!

The agents inside the train carriage were thrown into the air by this sudden and dramatic change.

Tables, boxes, and human bodies collided and tumbled violently in the confined space.

Thanks to Sullivan's advance warning and rigorous daily training, the vast majority of agents reacted immediately.

Although they were still dazed and confused from the impact, not many people were seriously injured.

When the dizzying sensation finally stopped, the overturned carriage was a complete mess.

"Are they all still alive?" Sullivan was the first to get up from the ground.

"Alive, boss!"

"not dead!"

The agents scrambled to their feet.

"very good!"

Sullivan wiped the blood from his face and shouted sharply, "Execute Plan B! Get into combat positions! Let these bastards taste the power of a wolverine!"

The agents immediately sprang into action, opening the firing ports located on the side walls (now the ceiling) and the top (now the side walls) of the carriage.

He extended the Winchester rifle in his hand.

The Gatling gunner on the roof also struggled to climb to his position and began turning the crank!
"Da da da da da da!"

Flames spewed forth, and a furious hail of bullets probed the silent darkness.

To everyone's surprise, there was no response from outside.

There were no gunshots, no shouts of killing, not even a single scream.

Sullivan immediately made the gesture.

"Stop shooting!"

The Gatling gun's roar came to an abrupt halt.

The canyon fell into a deathly silence once again.

Only the locomotive in the distance was still burning, crackling and popping.

All the agents held their breath, vigilantly observing the situation outside through the narrow firing ports.

It was quiet all around; there wasn't a soul in sight.

Their overturned carriage was pressed tightly against the steep cliffs of the canyon, a sheer drop where it was impossible to hide anyone.

In front of them was an open field, also deserted.

However, in the center of that open space, there was a huge pile of felled branches and logs, resembling an oddly shaped little hill.

“What the hell is that?” O’Malley asked, frowning.

Sullivan was also puzzled.

But his extensive experience told him that anything that defies common sense on the battlefield means deadly danger.

"Fire!"

"Da da da da da da!"

The Gatling gun roared again, and a barrage of bullets tore the huge pile of branches apart, sending splinters flying everywhere.

The bullet easily pierced through the seemingly thick pile of branches.

There was still no response.

There was no one hiding behind the tree branch.

What the hell is going on?!

Just then, a faint scent drifted into the carriage on the night breeze.

Sullivan's expression changed drastically.

Kerosene! It smells like kerosene!
Alarm bells rang in his mind.

He was just about to give the order to send out two of his most agile men to investigate the situation.

An unexpected incident occurred again.

A parabola with a long trail pierced the dark night sky.

It was a lit torch.

Like a malicious meteor, it landed precisely on that huge pile of branches that had already been soaked in kerosene!
"call!"

A massive wall of fire, tens of feet high, shot into the sky!

"FUCK!"

One of the agents instinctively scoffed, "These idiots! Do they think they can burn us alive from this distance?"

But the captain didn't smile.

He sensed the direction of the night wind rushing in through the firing port, and his face instantly turned deathly pale.

"wind……"

He muttered to himself in despair, "It's the wind direction..."

His nightmare came true.

After burning for a while, the massive wall of fire began to produce a huge amount of thick smoke mixed with sparks!
The thick smoke, as black as ink, swept across the canyon with the strong night wind, engulfing everything and engulfing their overturned carriage!

The agents coughed violently and their eyes watered from the sudden burst of thick smoke.

broken!

They are trapped!

(End of this chapter)