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

In this day and age, taking a boat on the Sacramento River is the fastest way to get from Sacramento to San Francisco.

Passenger and freight transport: every day, dozens of steam paddle steamers billowing long plumes of smoke shuttle back and forth on this waterway, making it incredibly busy.

The downstream section of the river, near the San Francisco Bay Area, is the most complex part of the entire river.

The winding river branches off here, turning into countless crisscrossing waterways that surround alluvial islands of all sizes, covered in lush vegetation.

The waterways vary in depth, are riddled with hidden sands and currents, and navigational markers are sparse.

Boats can easily lose their way or even run aground on muddy riverbanks.

Therefore, all ships habitually reduce their speed and proceed with caution before entering this area, and lookouts are extra vigilant.

This gave Zeng Tai and his group an opportunity.

On a slightly elevated hill a few kilometers from the riverbank on the edge of the delta.

Several clumps of dense shrubs were cut down, and the land was leveled and turned into a launch site.

A large black cannon stands atop it, its muzzle pointing several kilometers away at the main, winding waterway leading towards San Francisco.

The gun barrel is made of new alloy steel, with a caliber of 120mm and a weight of 1.5 tons. The barrel is 2.5 meters long and uses a horizontal wedge breechblock.

A recoil recovery device, consisting of a hydraulic cylinder and a recoil spring, is installed between the gun barrel and the gun carriage below. It can effectively absorb most of the recoil force when firing and automatically return the gun barrel to its original position.

The ammunition is separately loaded, with a streamlined warhead, and uses picric acid as the propellant.

The muzzle velocity was measured last night and reached 450 meters per second. The effective range is over 6,000 meters and the rate of fire is 6 to 8 rounds per minute.

In 1855, apart from Britain beginning to test Armstrong breech-loading cannons in small numbers, other countries were still using muzzle-loading cannons, which had short range, poor accuracy, cumbersome loading, and a rate of fire of only one or two rounds per minute.

From a data perspective, it's a case of "dimensional reduction attack".

"Judging by the speed, the ship should be arriving soon, right?"

Zeng Tai stood to the side and rear of the artillery position, holding a monocular telescope and looking at the winding river, and casually asked a question.

"Soon."

Hongwu squatted to the side, spread a map on his lap, calculated the distance, and nodded, saying:

"The members of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors departed at 8:00 a.m. They were on one of the fastest paddle steamers on this route, fully loaded and sailing downstream, with a maximum speed of about ten knots. They should have arrived by now."

As if to confirm his judgment, at the edge of Zeng Tai's telescope's field of view, at the last significant bend in the upper reaches of the river, a moving column of smoke appeared first.

Immediately afterwards, the silhouette of a steamship with a typical towering smokestack and huge side paddle wheels slowly turned out of the river bend and entered the straight section of the channel.

"Speak of the devil, and he appears!" Zeng Tai whistled, "Everyone, get ready, we're about to send them to meet their God!"

At the command, everyone began to busily get to work.

Two gunners worked together to crank the handwheels of the azimuth and elevation mechanisms, and the dark muzzle moved slowly with the subtle clicking of the gears, adjusting the aim and elevation.

The others began calculating the distance and confirming the wind speed...

The engineer, who was observing from the sidelines, sighed: "It's a pity that this operation was a bit rushed. We only had time to do the most basic ballistic tests, and there was no time to compile a complete firing table."

Currently, firing relies solely on the gunner's experience and visual estimation, inevitably compromising accuracy.

Upon hearing this, Hongwu said, "We can test it gradually later; actual combat is more important. Besides, the closest point of the river is only a little over a kilometer away from us, and the paddle steamer is slow."

At this distance, even without precise firing tables, relying on the gunner's scope and the gunner's experience, hitting the target shouldn't be a problem.

Rong Hong, who had come to observe from beside Zeng Tai, suddenly asked, "So, my lord, will this cannon be sold?"

"Cannons?"

Zeng Tai thought for a moment, then shook his head: "We definitely won't sell in the short term. Our current production isn't even enough for our own needs, so let's wait and see."

Selling them is also an option, since the steel used in artillery is produced using alkaline converter steelmaking and open-hearth furnace steelmaking methods, and the metallurgical technology is at least twenty years ahead of the mainstream level of this era.

Currently, countries around the world still use acidic bottom-blown converter steelmaking or crucible methods, which not only make it difficult to process high-phosphorus ores, but also result in unstable steel quality and high costs.

Even if the cannon is sold and acquired by countries around the world, and they want to reverse engineer it, the performance of the imitation will inevitably be inferior to the original due to the steel issue.

That being said, it is still unnecessary to do things that could increase the enemy's military strength before one's power has fully grown.

"However, technological and production advantages ultimately need to be monetized and their influence expanded."

Once I have completely taken control of California and established a solid base and a complete military-industrial complex, I can selectively export some of the previous generation of weapons in exchange for some resources or political leverage that we desperately need.

But that's a story for another time.

Upon hearing this, Rong Hong smiled and said, "May your great cause be accomplished soon, and may that day come quickly."

These days, following Master Gan Jiang around, he has seen and become familiar with all the weapons currently in production, including those that are still under development and have not yet been finalized, such as hand grenades and mortars.

The more he saw, the more trust he placed in Zeng Tai.

With these weapons, returning to China in the future to save 400 million Han compatriots and free them from the oppression of the Manchu Qing Dynasty and foreign powers, thus saving the country and ensuring its survival, is not just empty talk, but a foreseeable future.

Zeng Tai smiled slightly: "Don't worry, Rong Hong, you should be able to see it next time you take the ship back to San Francisco."

Meanwhile, the prepared artillery crews began making final adjustments.

"Final calibration. Target: steam paddle wheel ahead, waterline area."

"One test shot."

"put!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the steam paddle steamer named Joan of Arc, the first-class lounge, with its relatively ornate decor, was filled with smoke.

Members of the San Francisco Board of Governors were sitting at several tables, playing Texas Hold'em to pass the time on the voyage.

"Judging by the time, we should be arriving in San Francisco soon, right?"

After the card game ended, a middle-aged man with neatly combed blond hair put down his cards and took out his pocket watch to take a look.

"Hopefully, Mr. Hosea and Mr. Matthews have already stabilized the situation in San Francisco. Let's hope we don't end up with a completely out-of-control mess as soon as we get ashore."

The brown-haired man sitting across the card table smiled slightly: "Mr. Howard, I don't know about others, but you and Mr. Morse are definitely going to be busy."

"You two are temporarily assuming the duties of a judge and a prosecutor, which is no easy task."

San Francisco had just experienced such unrest, with rampant riots and a completely paralyzed justice system. Just issuing arrest warrants and handling the mountain of cases would keep the two of them busy for months.

Howard sighed upon hearing this, half envious and half complaining, "Mr. Humphrey, you're so lucky. You're the acting mayor, wielding great power and overseeing everything."

You can't help but be envious. Humphrey is the governor's wife's brother, and the position just fell into his hands without him even having to fight for it.

Humphrey waved his hand, feigning humility, and said, "Well, we're all serving the citizens of San Francisco. What's the point of talking about power? It's all just a responsibility."

Howard's lips twitched slightly; he really wanted to call him shameless. But considering his own background wasn't as strong as the other man's, he could only smile.

He glanced at the newspaper beside him and changed the subject: "Speaking of which, you've all seen the news about Senator Brannan's murder in Calistoga, haven't you? It's truly horrific."

Someone chimed in, "I can't just see it, I can't believe it! God, what kind of evil person would kill hundreds of people and then set fire to their bodies? This is the work of the devil!"

One person nonchalantly flicked his cigar ash: "Who cares? Anyway, it was someone from the American Party who died, and a Mormon at that. I'm already being kind to God by not clapping and drinking champagne to celebrate."

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Howard lowered his voice and asked, "I saw in the newspapers that it might be the work of some radical colleagues within the party, in retaliation for what happened in San Francisco. Do you think that's possible? Yes or no?"

As soon as he said that, Humphrey's smile vanished.

He coughed loudly, his tone somewhat displeased: "Mr. Howard, these baseless and inflammatory street rumors are not worth discussing in such a formal setting."

"I suggest we change to a more suitable topic."

In this semi-public setting, in front of waiters and other passengers who might be eavesdropping, discussing such a sensitive matter in which your own party is highly suspected—Howard, has your brain been soaked in horse manure?!

This is a topic that should never be discussed, let alone mentioned!

Sensing Humphrey's displeasure, someone immediately tried to smooth things over, changing the subject: "This kind of newspaper is pure nonsense. If you ask me, it should be banned! Don't you agree, Mr. Humphrey?"

Humphrey shook his head: "No, I would never ban the newspaper from publishing it; I might just choose not to."

"Huh?" Everyone present was taken aback. "What's the difference?"

"A world of difference, gentlemen."

Humphrey smiled. "Banning publication is a tactic of totalitarian dictatorship, something only a dictatorship like Tsarist Russia would do."

"In a free country like the United States, we might simply decide, through democratic procedures and appropriate administrative discretion, not to approve the distribution of certain publications that clearly contain false or inflammatory content, based on considerations of the general well-being and stability of the community, and advise printers and distributors to handle such material with caution."

Everyone exchanged knowing smiles.

The people on the boat chatted for a while longer and were about to get up and leave when they suddenly heard a dull sound.

The sound was like thunder, exploding not far behind the ship. At the same time, rain began to fall from above the ship, and the raindrops fell onto the boat.

"Thunder and rain? The weather in San Francisco changes so quickly?"

Some people curiously leaned out of the window and looked up at the sky, only to see clear weather and the sun shining on the land.

"No, that's not thunder!" Howard jumped to his feet, his face changing drastically. "That's the sound of cannons!"

"God, they're shelling us! They're shelling the ship!!"

As if to confirm his words, the sound rang out again a few seconds later.

This time it was not far ahead of the ship.

First came an extremely short and sharp screech, followed by an explosion that was closer and louder than the first one, which exploded on the river surface in front of the bow of the ship!

A huge column of water shot into the sky, and the river water crashed down like a torrential rain. The shockwave caused the entire ship to rock in the water, and the items on board rolled around.

In an instant, order collapsed among the crowd on the deck.

Some scrambled and stumbled toward the captain's cabin, yelling for a turn or a speeding escape. Others rushed to their cabins to retrieve their luggage. Still others ran around like headless flies, emitting meaningless screams.

Without hesitation, Howard ran to the stern, shouting, "Gentlemen, let's jump ship before it sinks and swim to shore!"

Upon hearing this, everyone in the lounge followed him as if they had found their pillar of support.

But just as they were still a dozen meters from the stern, the third shell arrived!

Everyone heard the screech, which grew closer and sharper.

then……

boom!!!

A deafening explosion erupted directly on one side of the ship, and scorching flames instantly engulfed everything nearby.

Splinters of wood and broken steel flew everywhere, killing several unfortunate men.

Then came a strong feeling of weightlessness. Many people on the deck were thrown up and then fell heavily back down, the sounds of bones breaking and screams mingling together.

Before the survivors could recover from their pain, the sharp screech rang out again.

boom!!!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the artillery positions on the small hills along the riverbank, the air was thick with the pungent smell of burning propellant and the smoke of gunpowder.

On the river, the steam paddle steamer had broken in two, its bow raised high, and it was sinking rapidly while a raging fire broke out on its hull.

The previous shell hit the steam engine and coal bunker directly, leaving the ship with no chance of escape.

Zeng Tai, holding a monocular telescope, said, "Three out of five shots hit; the accuracy is not bad."

Hongwu asked, "My lord, the fate of the people on board is unknown. Should we continue firing?"

Zeng Tai said, "If his fate is unknown, then he is dead."

"what?"

Just kidding, just kidding.

Zeng Tai coughed and said, "Keep firing. Use up all the shells we have to make sure the ship completely disintegrates."

"yes!"

Without hesitation, the artillery crew began loading the sixth shell.

Zeng Tai thought for a moment, then turned to Hongwu and ordered, "After the shelling is over, send another twenty men to search carefully downstream along the riverbank, in case anyone is lucky enough to escape."

As for those who have died, he can still make use of them; the "fear of death" for today hasn't been used yet.

If the skill is successful, it can make the resurrected people accuse the American Party and make their infighting more intense.

"Understood!" Hongwu solemnly accepted the order.

Five minutes later, all the shells were used up, and there were no large pieces of wreckage left on the distant ship.