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Hearing Arthur's order, the three others nodded without argument. They dismounted, boots hitting dirt in near unison, and led their horses off the road to hitch them to low branches and fence posts hidden among the brush. Caleb gave Morgan a quiet pat on the neck, whispering for it to stay put, before putting his Rolling Block Rifle into his hands.
Arthur led the way toward the pillar wall, the four of them crouching low as they moved. They pressed against the old stone, rough beneath their palms, before peering around its edge.
Binoculars were lifted, Arthur, John, and Charles each raising theirs, while Caleb raised the long scope of his rifle, the polished glass catching the sunlight as he scanned the grounds ahead.
Shady Belle sprawled before them, a once proud mansion now drowning in decay. Its whitewashed walls were peeling, the paint flaked away to reveal weather-beaten wood beneath. The veranda sagged in places, railings broken, and vines clawed their way up toward the second floor. Yet despite the rot, the place lived, if only with violence.
Through the lenses of their scopes and binoculars, they saw the full picture. Raiders. Plenty of them. At least thirteen men on the front lawn alone, and more drifting between the shadows of the veranda and outbuildings.
Caleb swept the scope across the grounds, counting silently. "Thirteen... fifteen... eighteen... more than twenty, easy," he murmurs in a low voice. "And that's just outside. Not counting whoever's holed up inside the mansion."
Every single one of them was armed, repeaters, rifles, and revolvers slung loose and ready, men leaning with weapons in hand as though they expected trouble. Some were pacing, restless. Others lounged but never far from their guns.
Then Caleb's scope slid upward, and his stomach sank. Just as he'd feared, there on the second floor balcony sat the machine gun. Its ugly barrel jutted out, silent but waiting. Worse yet, two Raiders occupied that perch, one hunched over the weapon, hands already near the grip, while another stood beside him with a rifle casually slung, eyes sweeping the ground below.
Caleb gritted his teeth. He didn't even have to say it, but Arthur's low curse beside him said enough.
"Son of a bitch…" Arthur muttered, adjusting the focus on his binoculars. "There's two of 'em up there on the balcony. And a whole lot more down here than last time Caleb and I were here with Lenny. A lot more."
Caleb lowered his scope just enough to glance at him, voice hushed. "You're damn right it is. When the three of us came through here, it wasn't anywhere close to this. Maybe half, if that. This time… this is a small army."
Charles's steady tone cut in, level but sharp. "Twenty men. Maybe more. And every one of them armed to the teeth."
John muttered a vicious curse under his breath, his jaw right with frustration. "Looks like the goddamn bastards found themselves a whole army of like minded sons of bitches."
Charles, however, tilted his head slightly at John's words, speaking low and thoughtful. "Or maybe they were forced. Forced to join, or forced to live this way. Some men don't pick this life, it's chosen for them by circumstance."
Arthur gave a small chuckle under his breath at that, shaking his head as he kept his eyes on the mansion. "Well, forced or not, it don't matter much now. We still gotta clear the place. Question is, how the hell do we do it?"
His eyes flicked to the balcony. "Charles, with two men up there, no way you sneak in close enough to take 'em out with your bow. That'd be suicide."
Caleb nodded in firm agreement. "Exactly. If it were just one man, you could slip in and handle it quiet. But two? No chance. And not to say you're not capable, Charles, but with this many men on the ground, there's no way to move unnoticed. They'd spot you before you drew the string."
The four men fell into a tense silence, the swamp buzzing around them as they considered the impossible math of men and guns. Caleb could feel sweat beginning to bead along his neck, not only from the humidity but from the weight of what he knew, this was one of those fulcrum moments, the kind of fight that could shift everything if they weren't careful.
It was John who broke the impasse, his voice rough but clear. "You said we should act like we've already lost the element of surprise, right? So let's do it. But let's do it on our terms."
He pointed a thumb at the Rolling Block in Caleb's hand. "Caleb uses that big baby of his. He picks off those two bastards on the balcony from right here. Clean. Then, he stays up here, providing coverin' fire while the three of us go down there and clean house. He can keep an eye on that machine gun, make sure no one else gets any ideas, and pick off any Raiders who try to flank us or get too brave. Simple, direct, no fancy nonsense."
All three men turned toward Caleb at once. He lowered the rifle slightly, considering.
It wasn't a bad plan. Dangerous, yes, it meant opening the fight loud and hard, giving every Lemoyne Raider in earshot a reason to bear down on them. But it was clean. Straightforward. No creeping, no gambling on silence that would never hold.
Caleb blinked, then let out a short, low chuckle. "That… actually ain't half bad. Straightforward. Direct. Not too complicated." He nodded slowly, his voice firm. "Yeah. I can do that."
Charles gave his own nod of agreement. "It makes sense. If Caleb takes them down first, that machine gun never gets a chance to fire. And with him covering us, we can focus on pushing through the field."
Arthur gave the idea a moment longer, weighing it like a coin in his palm, then finally nodded. "Alright then. That's the plan. We use Marston's idea. Caleb, you get into position. On the count of three, you start shooting those bastards on the balcony. Once they're down, me, John, and Charles will move downhill and clear out the ones on the field. You keep your sights on that machine gun, Caleb. Make sure it stays quiet."
Caleb settled himself against the stone pillar, adjusting the strap of his rifle, his scope already glinting as he found his mark. Arthur, John, and Charles drew their repeaters and checked their sidearms, positioning themselves to rush down the slope the moment Arthur's gave out the command.
Arthur crouched low, his voice a calm rumble. "Alright. Get ready. On my count."
The four of them tensed, the air heavy with anticipation.
"One…" Arthur's voice was a low growl, his revolver already in his grip.
"Two…" Charles drew an arrow, the bowstring creaking softly as he readied it.
"Three."
Caleb's finger squeezed the trigger.
BOOM!
The machine gunner jerked backward and crumpled over his weapon, a dark stain blooming on his chest. Before the echo had even died, Caleb was working the bolt, ejecting the smoking cartridge and chambering a new round. He swung the scope to the second man, who was staring in shock at his dead companion.
BOOM!
The second shot was just as true. The rifleman on the balcony spun and dropped, his own weapon clattering to the floor. Chaos erupted below. Lemoyne Raiders shouted, scrambling for cover and lifting their weapons toward the tree line.
"Go!" Arthur barked, already breaking from cover.
He, John, and Charles burst from cover, charging down the hill with a ferocious yell, their repeaters already barking. The Lemoyne Raiders, disoriented and now leaderless from above, were slow to react.
Caleb saw one man trying to enter the mansion, likely to reclaim the machine gun. Caleb exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger. BOOM. The man tumbled down the porch stairs.
From his perch, Caleb became the gang's guardian angel. He methodically scanned the battlefield, his powerful rifle speaking with decisive authority. A Raider taking aim at John from behind a water trough fell. Another trying to flank Charles from the side of a crumbling slave cabin met the same end. He was the overwatch, the silent, deadly hand that tipped the scales.
Down below, the trio worked with brutal efficiency. Arthur was a force of nature, advancing and firing with cold precision. John, fueled by a feral energy, moved with a reckless courage that was somehow effective. Charles was a ghost of death, using cover flawlessly, each of his shots a measured, economical kill.
The shootout was fierce, thunderous, chaotic, and unrelenting. Gunfire cracked through the humid morning air, echoing across the swamp like a storm breaking apart the sky. Splinters flew from railings, plaster dust billowed from the mansion walls, and the shouts of the Lemoyne Raiders mixed with the steady, deliberate rhythm of Caleb's rifle shots.
The four of them fought as one living machine, deadly, precise, and determined. Arthur, John, and Charles pressed forward across the yard, advancing from cover to cover, each of them moving in practiced coordination honed through years of survival.
Caleb, from his high vantage, kept his rifle steady, his heartbeat matching the cadence of each shot. Every time he saw a muzzle flash pointed toward one of his allies, he corrected the balance with a single thunderous report.
The Lemoyne Raiders scattered around Shady Belle, seeking cover behind fallen carts, broken statues, and the remnants of the veranda. Some tried to flank, others dug in and fired wildly from windows and doorways. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy, thickened by the humid air, and the once-quiet swamp was now alive with death.
Caleb's focus narrowed to the balcony, to that cursed machine gun. He knew it was the greatest threat, the one thing that could turn victory into slaughter. His scope swept across it every few seconds, his finger always ready.
That vigilance paid off.
He saw it, sudden movement behind the balcony doors. Several Lemoyne Raiders burst out from inside, shouting orders, their boots pounding against the warped wood. One of them immediately ran to the mounted weapon, hands gripping the handles.
"Goddammit," Caleb muttered through gritted teeth, swinging his scope toward them.
BOOM!
The first man went down before his hands even reached the trigger. The others dove for cover, ducking behind the balcony pillars, one even dragging out a table to use as makeshift protection.
Caleb worked the bolt, the rhythmic clack echoing between his teeth. BOOM! Another shot splintered the pillar inches from a Raider's shoulder, forcing him back. Caleb fired again, the next round slamming into the Raider's chest as he tried to peek out.
Down below, Arthur, John, and Charles kept pushing. They'd reached the center of the yard now, bullets snapping past their heads.
Charles rolled behind a wagon wheel, firing quick bursts, while John vaulted over a low wall and fired his revolver at two Raiders rushing from the left. Arthur advanced steadily, his repeater barking, his aim cutting through the chaos with chilling calm.
Caleb's role was clear, keep the balcony under control. The Raiders up top fired back, but their shots went wide, chipping bark and stone near Caleb's perch. He didn't flinch. He just reloaded, breathing evenly, eyes cold and sharp behind the scope.
"Not today," he muttered, lining up another shot. The Rolling Block thundered again. A Raider's leg jerked, and he toppled backward through the doorway. Another tried to rush the gun, screaming orders, but Caleb was faster. One more shot, BOOM, and the man folded over the railing, hanging limp.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,814 dollars and 46 cents
Inventory: 103,988 dollars and 50 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -