Chapter 113: Blow That Bastard Sky-High!

The moment they made contact, the Japanese suffered the loss of several dozen men. The company commander was so enraged that he could hardly contain himself. He shouted for the soldiers to set up the machine guns and launch a fierce counterattack!

At his order, several Japanese soldiers at the rear of the formation immediately mounted their machine guns and began firing back.

Seven Type 11 machine guns were set up in quick succession. Several soldiers pressed the stocks against their cheeks and worked the guns, firing toward the First Regiment’s positions. Before long, the rapid clatter of the bolts rang out.

The so-called Type 11 machine gun was what people commonly called the “crooked-stock” machine gun.

Although it was classified as a machine gun, its rate of fire was, frankly, abysmal.

Its ammunition was far too cumbersome to load, and it was prone to jamming and malfunctioning. As a result, it could not even reach a rate of 150 rounds per minute. To call it a machine gun was practically an insult to the name.

Its firepower was also inferior to the Czech light machine guns issued to the Independent Brigade.

Under such circumstances, the Japanese had confidently assumed that once they mounted their machine guns, they would be able to suppress the defenders. Instead, they were stunned to discover that this was completely impossible.

After the seven crooked-stock machine guns appeared, the defenders’ fire was not suppressed in the slightest. On the contrary, their barrage grew even more ferocious.

The company commander was so furious he nearly spat blood.

Watching his soldiers fall one after another under the enemy’s fire, he realized that in a matter of moments, more than half his company had already been wiped out. He knew they could not afford to delay any longer.

He hurriedly ordered a sergeant, shouting, “Quickly! Send word to the battalion commander and request artillery support!”

“Yes!”

Two Japanese soldiers received the order and crawled toward the rear through the storm of bullets. They had gone barely ten yards when a burst of gunfire swept over them. One of them let out a scream and collapsed facedown, never moving again.

The other had not been killed, but a bullet had torn through his thigh. Blood poured from the wound, and the agonizing pain made him want to clutch his leg and scream. Yet remembering the company commander’s order, he forced himself to keep crawling forward.

After finally making it through the most dangerous stretch, the soldier dragged his wounded leg behind him and staggered toward the battalion commander’s position.

Every step sent a tearing pain through the bullet wound in his thigh. Blood streamed down in torrents, leaving a trail of red wherever he passed.

The Japanese soldier’s endurance was truly remarkable. He had crawled out of the combat zone for no other reason than to deliver the company commander’s message. That determination, however, was precisely why he became the sole survivor of his company.

Of course, that was a matter for later. At that moment, the soldier finally reached the battalion commander. After reporting the situation, he could hold on no longer and collapsed unconscious with a heavy thud.

Two medics nearby immediately carried him away to have his wound bandaged.

Upon receiving the report, the battalion commander was shocked. He immediately ordered the artillery to open fire, then committed all the remaining troops in his battalion in an effort to rescue the surrounded company.

Before long, eight Type 92 infantry guns were hauled into position by the Japanese. After adjusting their range and angle, they opened fire on the defenders’ positions.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The Type 92 infantry guns issued one dull report after another. At the instant the explosions rang out, eight shells shot from the barrels and crashed toward the defenders’ lines.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Several shells struck the position, flinging up great clouds of earth. Two machine guns that had been firing wildly were hit by the Japanese artillery and fell silent at once.

“Excellent! Our artillery is showing its strength!” At the front line, the Japanese company commander was overjoyed. He hurriedly shouted, “Machine guns, return fire! Return fire!”

As he spoke, he waved his command saber wildly, looking almost deranged.

“Spit! Spit! Spit! Damn it, the Japanese have started shelling us!” A battalion commander spat the dirt from his mouth and brushed the soil from his head with one hand as he cursed. “Damn those bastards! Do they think they’re the only ones with artillery? Zhang the Scholar, bring out our battalion’s guns and let the Japanese have a taste of our strength!”

“Right away, sir! Just watch!” a soldier nearby called back.

Then, sounding somewhat aggrieved, he added, “Commander, I really wish you’d stop calling me Zhang the Scholar. I have a proper name!”

Zhang the Scholar was not actually named Scholar. His name was Zhang Xiuwen. He had a mild, kindly face and a rather slender build, making him look frail and delicate. Since he had also received some schooling, most of the men in the battalion enjoyed calling him Zhang the Scholar.

Hearing his complaint, the battalion commander burst into laughter and shouted at the top of his voice, “Oh, give it up! In my opinion, your real name is even worse than Zhang the Scholar. Listen to it—Zhang Xiuwen! Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were a woman!”

The commander deliberately raised his voice so that many of the nearby soldiers could hear him. They all burst into laughter.

Seeing everyone laughing, Zhang the Scholar could only sigh helplessly and resign himself to the nickname.

While they were speaking, Zhang the Scholar had already led more than a dozen soldiers in hauling out the battalion’s infantry guns.

After adjusting the angle and direction, Zhang the Scholar called out, “Commander, everything’s ready!”

“Good. Aim at the Japanese guns and blow those turtle sons of bitches to hell!”

At the battalion level, the Independent Brigade was also equipped with its own artillery: the battalion’s Type 92 infantry guns. Each battalion could be issued twelve of them.

Watching Zhang the Scholar load the shells, the commander could not help saying, “Zhang the Scholar, no one in the battalion knows these guns better than you. You trained every one of the gunners yourself. Don’t let me down when it matters! It would be a disaster if we had the guns but no one knew how to use them!”

The commander sounded somewhat worried.

To be honest, despite having served in the army for so long, he had never once been able to return fire with his own artillery while under Japanese bombardment.

In the past, whenever he faced Japanese artillery, all he could do was grit his teeth and endure. Whether he survived had been left entirely to luck.

But now, they had artillery of their own with which to strike back!

The realization left the commander unusually restless.

He was afraid Zhang the Scholar might mishandle the guns and leave them unable to perform when the time came.

“Commander, just watch!” Zhang the Scholar said unconcernedly. “I was personally trained by Regiment Commander Zhu. I can even operate 105-millimeter howitzers, let alone these little Type 92 infantry guns. Using them is as easy as playing with toys!”

The battalion commander did not understand the technical terms, but seeing the confidence on Zhang the Scholar’s face, he felt considerably reassured.

By then, Zhang the Scholar had completed all the preparations. All twelve infantry guns were loaded and waiting for the order to fire.

He glanced back at the battalion commander and grinned. “Commander, keep your eyes wide open and watch!”

Then he turned to the soldiers operating the infantry guns and shouted, “Let ’em fly!”

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

At his command, twelve shells erupted from the guns beneath the battalion commander’s thrilled gaze, roaring through the air before crashing down upon the Japanese positions.