The Fox of France

Chapter 180: Turning the Tables (2)

Several black dogs, each wielding a stick they had somehow found, cautiously advanced into the swamp. They probed the ground with their sticks, ensuring it was firm before taking a step forward, for fear of getting trapped in the muck. Every time they thrust their sticks into the swamp, it took considerable effort and time to pull them back out. Despite walking for quite a while, they hadn't covered even ten meters.

"You idiots!" the British officer cursed, dismounting from his horse and drawing his revolver. He approached the water's edge, and the local "security force" officer, with a servile grin, followed.

"Sir, do you have any orders?" the local officer inquired, bowing respectfully.

The British officer retorted angrily, "Tell your men to stop dawdling and move forward quickly! Otherwise, I'll order my men to open fire!"

"Yes, yes, I understand, I understand," the local "security force" officer nodded repeatedly, bowing. He then turned and yelled at the black dogs still cautiously navigating the swamp, "The officer said you're too slow! Move forward quickly! If you keep dilly-dallying, I'll have my men open fire..."

The black dogs up ahead were still taking their time.

"You fools!" the British officer exclaimed. He turned around and prepared to have his men ready their rifles.

The local officer quickly shouted, "Don't dawdle, the officer is about to open fire! I'm telling you, the officer is ruthless, he's not one to hesitate to kill or eat...!"

Before he could finish his sentence, the local "security force" soldiers immediately abandoned their sticks and began running forward.

"These guys..." the local "security force" officer shook his head, turned to the British officer, and grinned, giving a thumbs up. "Sir, you certainly know how to handle them!"

"All you Irish are worthless! You won't move unless you get a whipping!" the British officer sneered.

"That's right, Sir," the local officer nodded vigorously. "Those Irish, they're all worthless. They won't work unless you give them a good thrashing!"

"Damn," the British officer said, "You said 'those Irish,' aren't you Irish too?"

The local officer quickly replied, "Oh, you see, how could I be Irish? Sir, look at my body, it may look Irish, but my heart is loyal to the United Kingdom..."

"Unbelievable," the British officer muttered. But just then, a prolonged cry for help echoed from the swamp: "Help! Help! Please, brothers, lend a hand, help a brother out!"

Everyone looked in the direction of the cry and saw not just one, but two black dogs sinking halfway into the mud, with the water barely reaching their chests.

Other black dogs nearby were frantically moving aside, but one of them accidentally stepped on a submerged log, and he too started shouting for help in the name of the United Kingdom.

However, the plea for the "United Kingdom" didn't hold much sway, especially considering that the men trapped in the mud were in dire straits. Even just freeing a single leg stuck in the muck required a great deal of effort. In this situation, the camaraderie of the "security force" didn't hold much water.

As a result, the remaining men all turned and ran back. This irked the British officer.

"Don't run back! Keep going, or I, representing the United Kingdom, will shoot you all!" Captain Jarvis seized a rifle from one of his men and fired a shot into the air.

Hearing the gunshot, the black dogs stopped in their tracks. One of them cried, "Captain, please spare us. We'll move forward, but it's life or death out there..."

"You fools!" Captain Jarvis exclaimed. "The officer said there's no war without casualties. If you don't go, do you think I will? If you don't, the officer will blame me, and before the officer gets to me, I'll get to you first."

With that, Captain Jarvis snatched a rope from one of his men and ordered them to fetch two more.

"Captain, pulling like this could kill them," a soldier quietly warned.

"You think I don't know?" Captain Jarvis whispered back. "They're as good as dead anyway, and the officer is in a good mood. Let the officer have some fun. Understand?"

"Got it. As long as the officer is happy, we don't care if they die..."

So, the unfortunate fellows were finally dragged out of the mud.

Meanwhile, the First Division of the Irish Independence Army was quietly slipping out of the British encirclement through a swamp passage. After leaving a small detachment to keep watch, the entire division hurried toward the vicinity of Dublin.

Their goal wasn't to capture Dublin itself. Even with the British rear exposed, Dublin was a formidable target for the less than a thousand men in the First Division. Their objective was a series of supply depots near Dublin.

These depots were key nodes supporting the British logistics in the countryside around Dublin and played a vital role in storing and transporting supplies for the British "counter-insurgency" operations. Taking down these depots would reduce the efficiency of the British forces by at least a third.

Ordinarily, these depots would have been well defended with a garrison of five hundred British troops and six heavy guns, along with trenches and high walls. But with most of the British forces redirected to the "counter-insurgency" campaign, the garrison had been reduced to fewer than a hundred British soldiers, along with over two hundred "security force" personnel. The defense had been significantly weakened.

Furthermore, due to the extensive supply operations, a large number of Irish laborers were entering and exiting the depots daily. This made the depots vulnerable in multiple ways, despite the facade of security put in place.

The commander of the First Division, Brigadier General Joyce, focused on the Yellow Willow Ridge Depot. This depot was a crucial logistics hub supporting the British "counter-insurgency" campaign. Capturing it would significantly hamper the British forces' rear support.

The depot was indeed important, but its defenses had been relaxed due to the assumption that the rebels lacked the ability to attack. The diminished garrison and the lackluster preparations were indications of their complacency. They hadn't expected such a large force of "Irish rebels" to strike.

As the main force of the First Division closed in, the British and "security force" personnel assumed the approaching troops were their own. They were completely caught off guard and never considered they'd encounter such a large group of "Irish rebels" at this location. In addition, a squad of disguised "rebels" had already infiltrated the depot and were busy arguing with the depot's commander, a captain.

When the main force of the First Division drew near, someone finally grew suspicious and asked. But this clever British officer was shot in the head before he could react. Inside the depot, the rebel infiltrators shot the depot commander, who was already engaged in a heated argument with them. Simultaneously, the reconnaissance troops opened fire and threw grenades at the enemy.

Under the sudden onslaught, the British troops and the "security force" were mowed down. With this pincer attack, it took only about ten minutes for the depot to fall into the hands of the First Division of the Independence Army.

And that's how they accomplished their mission, with both a ruse from within and a surprise attack from outside.

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