Chapter 635: The Infuriating Mess on the Beachhead

"What? We've encountered an enemy attack?"

The group of Transmigrators commanding the flagship received the news of the woodcutters coming under attack at the first moment.

This news left Commander Wang deeply puzzled: in a place so desolate not even a wolf would shit here, they'd run into "intelligent life" this quickly?

Wang Bo, not quite believing the intel, asked again: "Are you sure it's 'the enemy,' and not something like a poison dart frog?"

The communications Staff Officer replied: "Reporting to the Commander, the intel is confirmed."

Soon, Wang Bo saw the murder weapon—a feathered arrow—delivered specially from the shore.

The arrow shaft, already soaked through with blood, gave off a dark brown luster. No one knew if it carried the rumored biological toxins, and the shaft was placed on Wang Bo's desk wrapped in a handkerchief.

Seeing this flat arrowhead, primitive in line yet sharpened to an exceptional edge and made from an unknown wood, Wang Bo had no more doubts—even in the seventeenth century, aside from higher intelligent life, that is, humans, no other species could produce a handcrafted arrowhead like this.

Pushing the handkerchief aside, Wang Bo smiled wryly and shook his head, saying to the several other Transmigrators in the room: "There really are savages! What the hell, they aren't following the routine? Don't natives usually make contact first, do a bit of trading or something?"

"Heh, Commander Wang, have you been on the home island so long you think the natives everywhere are like the Shoufan on Dayuan Island?"

The one dealing out this verbal jab was Pioneer Captain Pan Mingzhong. This fellow held a certain contempt for someone's naivety: "In fact, when facing unfamiliar outsiders, the natives in most regions are predisposed to hostility and are extremely aggressive. Not to mention this is seventeenth-century South Asia, mostly unenlightened tribes—a true paradise of 'unassimilated aborigines,' with cannibal communities everywhere."

"Furthermore."

Pan Mingzhong had the air of someone enjoying the show: "Right now is the peak period of outsiders conquering native tribal civilizations. With colonial ships and Malay pirates all over South Asia, the savages on Balabac's Zhenghe Island being this unfriendly might also be because they've suffered losses at the hands of the Spanish—or rather, the Dutch—before."

"That theory holds water!"

Fleet Commander Sha Zhengming, who had remained silent to the side, raised his eyebrows at this point: "The Dutch are just south in Batavia. Zhenghe Island is roughly the midpoint between Dutch and Spanish power bases. The natives must have dealt with colonizers before, and most likely came out on the losing end."

Thinking of this, Sha Zhengming grew a little worried: "Since the natives are so aggressive, I think we should be a bit more cautious with the landing operation. Should we pull everyone back this evening?"

"Pull back? On what grounds should we pull back?"

Sha Zhengming's seemingly very reasonable suggestion met with Wang Bo's questioning: "Just because of a few savages?"

Sha Zhengming frowned: "Savages can kill people too! And they have the advantage of terrain! We've just made our first landing and our footing isn't secure yet. Pulling back and coming ashore again tomorrow morning is standard procedure. What's wrong with avoiding casualties?"

Wang Bo's long, stern face—at this moment, no one knew what he was thinking—seemed to flush with blood, a redness surfacing on his cheeks.

He slowly rose, clasped his hands behind his back, and gazed through the narrow porthole of the captain's cabin at the distant beach, remaining silent for a long time.

After a long while, Wang Bo exhaled a pent-up breath from his chest, then turned around and said slowly: "Actually, I've been looking for an opportunity like this for a very long time."

"These soldiers we've raised under our command, whether the regular army or this bunch of reservists on the beach, have always relied on superior ships and cannons and have never fought a real battle. They're more like security guards than an army."

"An army like this does not suit the grand ambitions of our collective. Can we really expect these security guards to protect the boundless territory we leave to our descendants in the future?"

"A true army, whether main force or reserve, whether holding a javelin or an assault rifle, must at the very least have a soul, right?"

"How does an army's soul come about? Isn't it forged through one bitter, grueling battle after another?"

Wang Bo's eyes shone with a spirited light, the redness on his cheeks growing more pronounced: "The opponent has the terrain; our army has the armaments. In my view, we still have the upper hand. What is there to fear!"

"Casualties? If men die, I'll replace them. If we don't have enough, we'll transfer them from Saigon. If that's still not enough, we'll send a telegram! How many men did the Dutch lose when they first planted their flag in Batavia? If the Dutch weren't afraid, what are we afraid of!"

Once the reasoning was clear, the line of thought became understood.

At this moment, Wang Bo waved his arms and said loudly: "There is not a single inch of a homeland truly passed down through the ages that is not stained with blood! There must always be hardship and suffering, there must always be going through fire and water, there must always be wave after wave pressing forward, there must always be dying for a righteous cause!"

In the end, Wang Bo smashed his fist onto the desk: "The vanguard will spend tonight on the beach. I want to see just how many men can die!"

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Those unaware that they had already been arranged for by the big boss are blessed.

Just as Commander Wang was smashing the table, Wu Sanye was directing the security cordon at the edge of the woods, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a gunpowder sprayer with its barrel sawed off in his hand.

The earlier attack had not made the outsiders halt their steps. On the contrary, knowing there were enemies in the Dense Forest ahead, all the landing personnel worked with even greater effort.

Everyone knew that time was incomparably precious. Before the sun overhead set, every bit they pushed back the forest meant they would be a bit safer from now on. But this time, they had all learned their lesson—work was work, but no one ventured deep into the woods anymore.

And the mysterious attackers in the Dense Forest seemed to realize their opponents had raised their alertness. From then on, not a single trace of them appeared again.

It was under these seemingly peaceful but actually guarded circumstances that Wu Sanye received a message: Commander Wang had come ashore.

As the Vice President in command of the landing, Sanye's heart went "thump." He knew that the big boss, who should have been commanding from the center, had come ashore because of that corpse from earlier.

When Sanye hurriedly jogged to the beach, he found that the Commander seemed to be in a rather good mood—his complexion rosy, his expression relaxed, sitting cross-legged on a burlap sandbag and observing the wind.

"Wu Meng, you've come. Sit."

Seeing Sanye approach, Wang Bo patted the latter's shoulder without any formality, gesturing for him to sit beside him. Next, the Commander untied the laces of his high-grade handmade leather shoes and fiercely knocked the sand out of them. At the same time, the Commander asked casually: "Wu Meng, how is the beachhead position coming along?"

"Your eyesight must be acting up, old sir!" Wu Sanye grumbled inwardly.

The so-called beachhead position, in truth, so far only consisted of three hexagonal "nests" surrounded by sandbags, spaced five meters apart from each other, which could be taken in at a single glance.

Commander Wang's rear was currently sitting right beside one of these nests—this was making conversation for the sake of it.

Inward grumbling aside, when facing the big boss, Sanye still replied respectfully and honestly: "Reporting to the Commander, the beachhead position is just this much. I've dispatched all the manpower to chop down the forest."

"Mm."

Commander Wang seemed to grow sentimental again at this moment, gazing at the distant sea in silence. After a while, he turned his head, stared into Wu Sanye's eyes, and said unhurriedly: "Wu Meng, don't go back to the ship tonight. Take the brothers and spend the night here."

"Ah!"

It took Sanye two full seconds to grasp what the Commander meant, and then he was utterly shocked, his mouth agape and unable to speak for a long time.

Sanye truly could not understand this order. According to his own understanding, and that of everyone toiling on the beach, in a situation like today's where an enemy had clearly appeared, everyone would ultimately return to the ship at night.

Once back on the ship, no natives could do anything to the outsiders. At worst, the natives might carry off a few sand-filled burlap sacks?

Continuing like this for a few more days, waiting until the danger on shore had been pushed far enough away and enough supplies had been stockpiled, then choosing to land the main force and set up camp—this was originally the standard landing response method from the Pioneer Army's prior training.

Although suddenly hearing this terrible news, Sanye knew that the words casually drifting from the Commander's mouth were a military order.

A military order could not be disobeyed; disobedience meant losing one's head. So Sanye could only try to understand from a different angle whether the big man had lost his mind: "Sir... Sir, has some unforeseen event occurred on the ship?"

The next moment, Wang Bo abruptly stood up and shouted sternly with a solemn face: "Officer Wu Meng!"

"Present!"

"You are hereby ordered to have your unit hold the beachhead position until 10:00 AM tomorrow. During this period, anyone who dares to retreat will be dealt with by military law under the charge of desertion. Is that understood!"

"Your subordinate understands. Hold the beachhead position, not one step back!"

Having issued the order, Wang Bo turned around and walked toward the landing craft without looking back.

Wu Sanye, having received the order, clicked his heels, turned his back, dropped his saluting arm, and with a face full of wounded pride spat out a trendy new phrase he had picked up while stationed in the New District: "Seriously, what a damn con!"

The next moment, the Third Lord suddenly realized something. He broke into a long stride, running and shouting at the same time: "Everyone pull back from the woods, now! All of you, get the hell back here!"

Tree-felling was a slow, grinding kind of work, meant to support a methodical, step-by-step strategy. Now that the plan had been changed on the fly, cutting down the trees was a pointless effort.

The most important thing right now was to gather the manpower, fortify the beachhead position, and survive through the night.

For the next half an hour, Wu Sanye, transformed into a demon god, frantically drove his men to expand the beachhead position on one side, while constantly urging the Dawn Landing Transports to bring personnel and munitions ashore on the other.

In addition, the Third Lord rearranged the limited boat trips, prioritizing the transport of various weapons and food from the Transport Ships onto the Beach — the previous transport plan had included neither food supplies nor large quantities of munitions. These new supplies took up the majority of the remaining Transport Capacity.

During this period, the Third Lord drew upon his own rich crisis-management experience, promptly soothing his subordinates' agitated emotions, and fulfilled the duties expected of an officer.

Of course, publicly flogging the idiots who were grumbling — that sort of thing was certain to have happened. Though the Third Lord had long since stopped being the big boss, management principles like these were universal.

After the Third Lord had exerted his utmost effort, by sunset, the last boat of non-combat personnel had left the Beach. What remained was a hastily constructed Defense position.

The position consisted of five sandbag bunkers, arranged in a plum-blossom formation.

Between each of the blossoms, and along the outer perimeter of the main position, the defenders had taken branches obtained from felling the forest and crudely whittled them into individual spikes, which were then driven slantwise into the ground in an ancient and primitive manner.

It looked a bit like an orcish tribe from a barren land.

By nightfall, eighty pioneers had squeezed tightly into the crude position. Chewing on compressed rations, beneath the bright Milky Way overhead, they waited anxiously for the deep of night to arrive.