The Battle of Black Creek (2)
One day before the Free Arrow was set to attack the Black Creek plantation.
The first thing Ben, the proud head supervisor and leader of the personal guard at James Sett’s plantation, did upon arriving at Black Creek was to construct traps to bind the enemy’s feet.
"Alright, let's move! Quickly! We have to stop working once the sun rises, so we need to get as much done as possible while it's dark!"
"Finish up the 9 o'clock direction, then move straight to the 3 o'clock position! Leave the rest for now!"
Coming here might have been their choice, but leaving won't be.
If they turned the area around the fence into a swamp, it would be impossible for the bandits to flee on horseback, effectively stripping them of their mobility.
Once that was done, they wouldn't be able to run far, so all that remained was to systematically annihilate them as much as they pleased.
"This side is finished!"
"Good! Grab all the weeds you can find and cover it up! They're coming at night anyway, so they won't even know something is off."
"Alright. Then let's secure a few more spots for our ambush."
Since they didn't know exactly when the enemy would arrive, they had to finish as much as possible while they had the time.
They had narrowed down the enemy's likely path of attack, so as long as they held the right positions, they could unilaterally gun down the enemy with almost zero losses.
That was right.
They were going to pull the triggers on white men with their own hands.
As he paused for a moment in thought, Henry, who had been digging diligently, approached him.
"Supervisor, are you taking a break?"
"Yeah. Just catching my breath for a second. It wouldn't be strange if those bastards showed up at dawn tomorrow."
"Aren't you excited? Honestly, no matter how hard we train, it's all for nothing if we don't have a stage to show it off on. Now we finally get to put it to use."
"And against white men, at that."
A strange smile spread across both their faces.
Honestly, they wondered if it was really okay to do this, but hadn't their master—their god, for all intents and purposes—James Sett, declared it?
That they were white men who deserved to die.
Since God had commanded them to offer a sacrifice, they just had to pull the trigger without hesitation.
"They said we get a day of vacation for every one we take down, so if we catch about ten of them, we get almost a month off, right?"
"But what are we supposed to do if we take a month off?"
"Why wouldn't there be anything to do? Baseball, cards, dates, touring the farms—there's plenty to do."
It was true; they could now do all the things they couldn't even imagine in the past, so they wouldn't be bored even if they didn't work for a month.
And the messiah who made all of this possible was still with them, even now.
"Leo is staying with the Master, right?"
"Yes. Just in case something happens."
"If we're considering every possibility, wouldn't it be safer for the Master to stay somewhere else...?"
"If a battle breaks out and the sheriff arrives faster than expected, the situation will change completely depending on whether the Master is there or not. If it looks like we gunned down white men on our own, things could get very complicated."
"That's true. But it's still dangerous, no matter what."
In fact, Séraphina, who would soon be the mistress of the house, understood James's plan but had threatened to call off the engagement if he got hurt.
It wasn't that she really intended to break the engagement, but rather that she was that worried about James's safety.
"We're going to protect the Master anyway, so why worry? It's simple. We just gun down every single white man who charges in. The Master will be happy, we'll get more vacation days, Mississippi will return to stability, and it'll be a happy world for everyone, right?"
"...That sounds about right."
The best way to serve the Master was to put a big hole in the heads of the bandits who dared to invade.
And so, their first real battle began.
Following the plan they had laid out, they signaled the moment the enemy approached the fence and unleashed crossfire from both directions.
Bang! Bang-bang-bang!
"Fire! Fire!"
"Gun down every one of those bandit bastards!"
"For the Master! For the Sett plantation!"
Just as James had said, the firearms they possessed were far superior to the muskets the enemy carried.
Furthermore, because they had unleashed their fire while completely hidden from the start, they held the absolute initiative.
"Argh! Aaaargh!"
"You cowardly nigger bastards! Don't hide like cowards, come out here!"
"Cowards? Coming from bastards who came here to rob us? Just die and become my vacation days!"
"Vacation! Vacation!"
Bang-bang-bang!
The Springfield rifles spat fire without mercy at the bastards trying to enter the farm.
"Scatter! Scatter!"
"Those nigger bastards are really killing us..."
Bang!
One white man who had been running his mouth fell silent, accompanied by a spray of blood.
It was strange.
This was their first real battle, their first time shooting at people, yet they felt absolutely no guilt.
Ben briefly scanned his comrades' faces, wondering if he had gone crazy, but no one showed a hint of hesitation.
If anything, they showed the cold-bloodedness of marksmen, aiming precisely at the bandits who were shouting so loudly.
"...There aren't as many of them as we expected. I don't think I'll get that many vacation days."
Someone analyzed the situation with such cold logic that a sigh of disappointment even escaped their lips.
"Then we just have to make sure we don't miss and shoot them all."
Bang!
Ben, who had put down a fat white man trying to charge toward them with a single bullet, sensed that the time had come to completely annihilate them.
"Kill the white men! They are white men who deserve to die!"
"Kill them! Kill them!"
"Vacation! Vacatiooooon!"
As soon as the bandits, having lost their will to fight, turned to flee, the black men who had been lying in ambush jumped out and began concentrated fire.
The flow of battle was exactly as their master, James, and Owen had planned in advance.
They had already sufficiently tenderized them with gunfire, so now it was time for close-quarters combat, beating the enemy down with swords and clubs.
Crack!
"Where do you think you're running!"
"Chase them! They won't get far after taking a bullet!"
They drew the bayonets attached to their rifles or the iron clubs they carried at their waists and swung them in a trance.
At this distance, neither side could use their guns.
What remained was pure hand-to-hand combat, and the Sett personal guard descended upon them as ferociously as lions attacking a flock of sheep.
"Die! Die!"
Thwack! Thud!
"Ugh... ugh... you crazy niggers..."
"You bastards who aren't worth shit!"
Crack!
"Try calling us lowly niggers again! Go ahead, you bastards!"
A gun could take a life with a single trigger pull, but close-quarters combat was a different story.
Pure clubbing and fist-fighting.
To those who had been trained through systematic nutrition, exercise, and labor at the Sett plantation, the white bandit gang was nothing more than white-skinned punching bags.
"Kill them all! Kill them!"
"How does it feel to be beaten to death by a nigger, white master?"
There was even a sense of relief in the expressions of his comrades, who were venting everything they had suppressed until now.
Ben was about to let himself be swept away by the flow, but he suddenly remembered the order James had given.
'If possible, don't kill the one who looks like the leader; capture him.'
Right, stay cool.
Wasn't he the proud personal guard of the Master?
If he just followed his instincts, wouldn't he be no better than a beast, just as the white men said?
He calmed his heart and let out a roar across the battlefield, which had already become a one-sided slaughterhouse.
"Everyone, sto-oo-op! As the Master said, we have to catch their leader! Don't kill everyone yet, find out who the leader is!"
At Ben's shout, his compatriots seemed to come to their senses, stopping their clubbing and aiming their guns at the fallen white men.
"Drop your weapons and get on your knees!"
"If you move even an inch, we shoot!"
Like the dignified personal guard they were, they regained their reason and tied the bandits, who were groaning on the ground, tightly with rope.
Since the horses the bandits had ridden were stuck in the artificial swamp they had created, only a handful had managed to escape alive.
It was a total victory.
Now, if they just presented the leader to the Master, the Sett personal guard's debut would be a success beyond compare.
Ben, standing tall with his shoulders back, looked over the white men lying in miserable states and spoke with authority.
"Who is the leader guiding you bastards? We have to present you to our Master, so we won't kill you here."
No sooner had he finished speaking than—
"It's me!"
"It's me!"
"I'm the leader!"
Every hand shot up like lightning.
Ah, he had phrased that wrong.
Ben scratched his head, looking around awkwardly.
But how should he describe this?
It wasn't a bad sight to see those who had treated them like bugs until now clinging desperately to life, trying to save their own skins.
* * *
The Free Arrow, which had made Mississippi, Texas, and Louisiana tremble, collapsed helplessly in just one day.
This is why information is so terrifying.
Perfect information gives you a sense of omnipotence where you fear nothing in the world, but if you slip up just once, you can fall into the abyss just like this.
I listened to the report from Ben and Henry that everything was over, and leisurely looked down at the bandits kneeling in the yard of the Black Creek plantation.
"So. Which one of you is the leader?"
"That... I suppose they thought they could live if they were the leader, so they're all claiming to be the head."
"Good grief. A bunch of vermin with their intentions written all over their faces."
It was understandable; the more of a chaotic mess a group like this was, the more they would resort to extreme self-preservation.
I looked at Ben with a feigned tone of admonition and clicked my tongue.
"Ben, you didn't relay my words correctly. A leader is a position of responsibility; how can you live alone? Naturally, you have to take all the responsibility and be dragged to the gallows."
Confirming that the prisoners' faces had turned pale, I turned my head toward them.
"So, who is the head of this organization?"
"........."
Silently, the fingers of everyone kneeling on the ground pointed at one man.
They were truly a group with zero loyalty or solidarity.
"So that's how it is. What's your name, little rat?"
"...If I tell you... will you spare me?"
"Well. That depends on how cooperative you are, doesn't it?"
"........."
The sheriff would be here soon to haul them all away, so I wanted to extract some useful information before then.
I decided to cast bait to provoke him on purpose.
"If you have a brain, you must have noticed by now that you were nothing more than a disposable tool, thoroughly used. That's why you're caught here like this."
"...What?"
"Think about it. Why would you, who always received near-perfect information, suddenly end up in such a difficult situation? How did we know you were going to attack and have an ambush ready?"
"...Did he... betray me?"
"Exactly. He just used you well and intended to dispose of you here. But if you tell me everything you know, I'll use my connections to ensure you at least keep your life. I have quite a few connections up top, you see."
I didn't wait for an answer and clearly set a time limit.
"If you don't make a decision before the sheriff arrives, you're headed straight for the gallows. You don't actually think the guy who used and discarded you is going to save your life, do you?"
"...Gary... Gary Dawson... is my name."
"Wise choice. Now, Gary Dawson, whose orders were you moving under?"
"I... I don't know the identity of the sponsor. I'm not pretending not to know; I truly don't know."
I had expected that much.
After all, I hadn't thought someone who had prepared such a cunning scheme would be caught by something as trivial as this.
But no matter how meticulous a person is, it's impossible to do work without leaving behind any traces at all.
"Give me all the information you received from that sponsor. Then, as I said, I'll take responsibility and ensure you avoid the gallows."
"That..."
Just as Gary was about to open his mouth, I saw the sheriff and his men on horseback rushing toward us from far away.
I left Gary with a reminder not to forget our deal and turned toward the sheriff.
"Mr. Sett! We came immediately after receiving a report of gunfire! Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Thank you for your hard work! A bandit gang attacked, but my slaves and I fought with our lives on the line and repelled them!"
The sheriffs, their mouths agape, couldn't continue their words as they looked at the corpses strewn around the farm.
"Th-this... what on earth..."
"I diligently directed my slaves."
"Excuse me? You, you directed all of this, Mr. Sett?"
"Of course. You don't think these niggers fought on their own to repel the bandits, do you?"
There's no way these sub-human blacks could repel 'white' bandits just because they held a few weapons, right?
So our boys don't know anything. Even if you investigate, you won't find a thing.
Because this was an operation that took place from beginning to end under my command.
Anyone who doubts that is a black rights activist.
The sheriff quickly nodded and began writing his report on the spot.
Of the heroic victory achieved by the great commander, James Sett.