The War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression Begins in Songhu

Chapter 502 Ambush (Part 3) (Combined Chapter)

He barely managed to shield his head with his hands, his face pressed tightly against the ground.

A special fragmentation grenade, which had been launched from a grenade launcher, landed on Mr. Nanze's left side, just over two meters away.

And there was absolutely no buffer; it exploded immediately.

In such close proximity to the explosion, this middle-aged, greasy man who loved washing his feet was propelled by the wild shockwave, tumbling to the right like a rolling gourd.

They rolled for about ten meters before stopping.

The continuous, rapid tumbling made my head spin.

However, for Mr. Nanze, the more fatal injury than the dizziness in his head was the moment he was propelled by the shockwave of the explosion.

A barrage of shrapnel struck, causing considerable damage.

Aside from the head and face, which were protected by both hands, the rest of the body was covered by the hands. This included the arms, ribs, waist, thighs, and even the buttocks.

I don't know how many cuts were made, how many shards were inserted, leaving not an inch of good skin or flesh left on the left side of my body.

At that time, Mr. Nanze first felt numbness on half of his body.

Soon after, another wave of immense pain struck.

Even though this wasn't the first time he had been seriously injured in battle, and he had even died once during a mission, this was the first time he had experienced such excruciating pain.

In a throbbing, soul-shaking pain, Mr. Nanze really wanted to pull out his pistol and shoot himself dead for good.

However, after lying on the ground for about ten seconds and feeling that he had regained some strength, Mr. Nanze stretched out his only intact right hand, but did not reach for his pistol to finish himself off.

Instead, he crawled to the left, towards the firing point where he had just opened fire.

There's no way around it! It would be easy for him to kill himself with one shot, but without his suppression, the Japanese would definitely take the opportunity to rush towards that armored vehicle.

Once they successfully operate the heavy machine gun and the 37mm tank cannon, Hu Biao and his men will be finished.

"Damn it! You bastard, just for this one thing, when we get back to the modern world, you'll have to send me at least 50 catties of gecko medicinal wine to help me recover."

No, it should be to help my friend recover.

While making these noises, Mr. Nanze laboriously crawled forward using one arm; he stretched out one arm, gripped the ground tightly, and dragged his body forward a short distance.

As he crawled, he left a trail of thick, sticky blood on the ground.

It's unclear how long it took Mr. Nanze to climb, perhaps several minutes, perhaps only a few tens of seconds, before he finally reached the original firing point.

But that's not important; what's important is that Mr. Nanze finally made it to the destination.

He quickly picked up the Czech-made light machine gun that had been overturned by the blast wave with one hand and checked it; he found that this precious light machine gun had not been damaged in the explosion.

After he painstakingly set it up, he aimed it at the still-rotating tank turret.

That 13mm heavy machine gun is now firing from the positions of the Japanese armored vehicle's machine gunner and tank gunner, ready to open fire.

Before pulling the trigger, Mr. Nanze abruptly stopped his finger movements.

At that moment, he clearly felt an extreme weakness within himself, a state where he might die at any moment.

So after the firing began, simply killing those few Japanese soldiers was not enough.

Because after he dies, the Japanese will probably have new men to fill the gap, so there's no way to completely solve the fundamental problem.

We must get it done in one go and completely eliminate this thing.

How to solve this completely? Of course, blow up its fuel tank.

Based on the above thoughts, Mr. Nanze aimed his gun at the front of the armored vehicle, presumably at the fuel tank, and began firing in bursts.

Good heavens! When the gun was fired, the powerful recoil from the butt of the rifle was transmitted to Mr. Nanze's shoulder.

Because it aggravated the numerous wounds on his right side, Mr. Nanze was in so much pain after the first three shots were fired that he became disoriented and could not see anything clearly.

Under such circumstances, the middle-aged man's finger pulling the trigger and his arm holding the Czech light machine gun remained remarkably steady.

A loud explosion rang out as all the bullets in the magazine were emptied.

To be honest, it's unclear whether that loud explosion actually came from that armored vehicle, or whether that thing was actually blown up.

Mr. Nanze, whose consciousness was already quite blurred and who was lying on the light machine gun, was actually not very sure about anything.

But he felt he had done his best, so he figured he might as well consider it an armored vehicle that had already been blown up.

With this self-comforting thought, Mr. Nanze finally breathed a sigh of relief, lay down on the empty magazine of the Czech light machine gun, and died just like that...

Mr. Nanze died rather abruptly, so he naturally knew nothing of the subsequent events related to him:

Firstly, a second or two after Mr. Nanze stopped breathing, two small figures crouched down and stumbled to his side.

Those were the cultural troupe and two children who were ten and a half years old. Although the task Hu Biao assigned them was essentially to keep them away from the battlefield.

However, the two of them always took this mission very seriously.

As soon as they saw Mr. Nanze being propelled and tumbled by the shockwave of a grenade, the two rushed out from their cover to try and bandage his wounds.

Fortunately, they still took care of Cao'er and didn't bring along the seven-year-old girl whose eyes had been damaged by the smoke.

The two had only rushed out five or six steps when they were spotted by a Japanese machine gunner who had just set up a Type 96 light machine gun.

Perhaps it was the sudden ambush that brought out the most brutal and perverse psychology in this Japanese machine gunner.

After setting up the machine gun, he didn't fire at Hu Biao and the other firing positions. Instead, he fired at the cultural troupe and the ten-and-a-half-year-old boy, who was clearly a child.

He attempted to vent his violent emotions by shooting such a vulnerable target.

Fortunately, his hasty firing resulted in the first few shots missing their targets and landing only a short distance from the children's feet.

The two members of the performing arts troupe and the ten-and-a-half-year-old boy fell to the ground in terror and landed in a shallow pit.

For the rest of the time, the two children didn't even have a chance to get up amidst the whizzing bullets overhead.

Van Gogh, who was also a part-time sniper, finally got his turn among the many targets that needed to be suppressed. He shot the Japanese machine gunner in the chest and took him out.

The cultural troupe member, only ten and a half years old, finally had a chance to get up and stagger over to Mr. Nanze, who was lying on the Czech machine gun.

Looking at this "gap-toothed uncle" with a horrific, mangled wound on his left side, the two children, who only knew a little bit of basic bandaging, had no idea what to do.

Her eyes reddened, and she was on the verge of crying.

The older members of the performing arts troupe had more ideas. They gritted their teeth and called out to the ten-and-a-half-year-old, "Let's turn Uncle with the gap-toothed tooth over first."

The two children then worked together to turn Mr. Nanze, who was lying on the Czech light machine gun, over.

By this time, they discovered that the gap-toothed uncle who used to talk about "foot massage parlor" and "technician number 88"—things they couldn't understand—had completely fallen silent.

With a loud "waaaah," the ten-and-a-half-year-old burst into tears first, and the members of the performing arts troupe followed suit, silently shedding tears as well.

Soon, the performer wiped away her tears with her sleeve and, in a tearful voice, roared at the ten-and-a-half-year-old girl who resembled a little tigress:
"Shut up! Don't cry. We are Eighth Route Army soldiers. We shed blood and sweat, but not tears."

"Stay alert and carefully observe where we need to bandage or provide first aid."

Amidst the insults, the ten-and-a-half-year-old forcibly suppressed the sobs that were about to burst from his mouth, and looked around, observing which other uncles and elders were injured.

The 12-year-old girl from the cultural troupe took a Browning M1911 pistol, which was unusually heavy for her, from the holster on Mr. Nanze's thigh and clipped it to her own belt.

It goes without saying what it's intended for. Secondly, in a thicket about 70 or 80 meters to the right and behind where Mr. Nanze, the cultural troupe, and the ten-and-a-half-year-old are currently located.

Uncle Bo released one finger from the trigger of his Mauser M1918 anti-tank rifle; he let out a long, silent sigh, filled with indescribable desolation and resentment.

For some time before, Mr. Nanze struggled to crawl using his only remaining arm.

After forcibly climbing to the firing point, he picked up a Czech-made light machine gun and persisted in shooting down the Japanese armored vehicle before dying.

The performing arts troupe and two ten-and-a-half-year-old children braved machine gun fire to rush up and try to rescue people.

However, he witnessed the scene of Mr. Nanze bursting into tears because he had died long ago.

He simply couldn't do anything, or rather, it was inconvenient for him to do anything; the reason was simple: the task Hu Biao assigned him was very clear:
Unless absolutely necessary, we should not take action; our primary objective is to wait for an opportunity to assassinate that important Japanese figure.

Therefore, unless he is certain that Mr. Nanze has no chance of destroying that armored vehicle and that the tank cannon on it is about to fire at Hu Biao and his men.

Only in such a critical moment would Uncle Bo pull the trigger of this Mauser M1918 anti-tank rifle.

As for other situations, he would only do something if the children's lives were in danger; whether Hu Biao and other time travelers died in the process, he could only watch helplessly.

This is also a professional quality that a qualified sniper must possess, prioritizing the mission above all else.

The problem is that even though he clearly understands the above principles, seeing the situation unfolding before him, Uncle Bo still felt extremely frustrated, with only one thought in his mind:
Screw the snipers, screw their professionalism, I'm going to kill the Japanese devils...

******
Time: 2 minutes and 49 seconds after the ambush began.

"Damn it! Stop loading the gun and pour water into the barrel right now."

I could feel the temperature of the light machine gun I was operating; the barrel was already quite alarming. If it continued like this, it might explode soon.

The foreman, a novice, shouted something to the other novice, an experienced driver, who was acting as his assistant.

The Type 11 light machine gun, also known as the Japanese Type 11 light machine gun, did have a barrel that was prone to overheating due to its poor design and inability to replace the barrel.

Under normal circumstances, there shouldn't be a risk of the gun barrel getting so hot that it explodes less than 3 minutes into the battle.

There are two reasons for this that are somewhat baffling.

On the one hand, the Japanese army had too many troops, while their side had too few. In order to suppress the Japanese army as much as possible and create enough panic and pressure for them, so that the big shot would emerge.

Therefore, they had no choice but to maintain the maximum possible firepower output against the Japanese.

In this way, the firepower of the light machine gun operated by the foreman and the old car became quite important; since the start of the war, the two of them had been firing at top speed, using as many bullets as possible.

The faster the firing rate, the hotter the gun barrel becomes.

Another problem lies with the bullets they are currently using.

Although both the Type 91 light machine gun and the Type 38 rifle used 6.5x50mm ammunition, the former would not normally use the latter's ammunition.

Because the bullets used by the Type 96 light machine gun need to have a smaller propellant charge than those used by the Type 38 rifle, in order to reduce the risk of barrel explosion.

Unfortunately, the 6.5mm caliber bullets that Hu Biao and his men currently have are the same type used in the Type 38 rifle.

In this critical situation, the light machine gun they had on hand was able to force the use of rifle bullets without reducing the propellant charge.

However, this also makes the gun barrel heat up even faster.

In short, after the two men had been firing wildly since the start of the battle, and feeling the heat, the foreman knew he had to cool down the gun barrels.

Only after he shouted did he realize that he had already called the old car "Deaf," so how could his novice companion possibly hear him?

There was no way around it! In the heat of battle, everyone would inevitably forget that the old car had been blown up and become deaf.

After realizing what had happened, the foreman, while keeping his right hand still pulling the trigger, used his left hand to laboriously remove a Japanese Type 94 military aluminum water bottle from his waist.

After taking it in his hand, he made a gesture towards the old car, indicating that he should pour the gun onto the barrel.

The unfortunate old car was only deafened by the explosion, but definitely not stupid. Of course, he could understand what the foreman's gesture meant.

He immediately stopped the action of loading rows of five-round magazines into the open hopper of the Type 91 light machine gun.

He took the water bottle, opened the lid, and poured it directly onto the red-hot gun barrel.

With a 'sizzle' sound, a large plume of thick steam rose from the gun barrel, and the originally scalding temperature noticeably decreased.

However, this cooling effect was still far from sufficient to allow the light machine gun to continue firing for much longer.

Unfortunately, the foreman's water bottle was almost empty. He poured out another 50 or 60 milliliters, and then no more water could be poured out.

Seeing this, Lao Che decisively threw away the water bottle in his hand and picked up his own water bottle.

Unfortunately, after casually shaking it, he didn't hear a single splash of water. Old Che's expression was as frustrated as if he had just slapped a husky in the sun.

In other words, the situation he is currently facing has both bad news and good news.

The bad news was that he then realized that the smoked wolf meat that Hu Biao had pickled last night was too salty, almost like he'd been beaten to death and then bought salt instead.

While I was eating, I kept drinking water, and I finished the whole bottle of cooled boiled water in the kettle.

The good news is that, besides pouring water from a canteen, he had other ways to cool the gun barrel: pee! It's been shown a lot in movies.

Even more wonderfully, just over ten minutes ago he felt his lower abdomen was quite bloated and was about to find a place to relieve himself when the Japanese soldiers suddenly appeared.

He had no choice but to keep it to himself, which means he's quite full of things now.

After thinking about all this, Old Che felt a strange sense of pride welling up inside him, and he thought smugly:
"Hey! What a coincidence! Once I pour a bucket of water on it, I guarantee it will cool down the barrel of the Type 99 rifle to a freezing cold."

With this strange sense of smugness, he stood up and quickly loosened his belt, preparing to take out that thing.

A bullet struck his Type 90 helmet.

Unfortunately, helmets can only protect against shrapnel from artillery shells.

It had absolutely no effect on the power of rifle bullets, especially the Japanese rifle bullets from World War II, which were known for their penetrating power.

After a bullet was shot into his forehead, his brains were churned up into a mushy mess by the rolling bullet.

Old Che was holding that thing in his right hand. As he fell backward, he only managed to utter a curse, "Damn it!" before losing his life.

Even in death, his face remained frozen with extreme frustration, still brooding over the disappointment of failing to land a blow...

Just as the old car, weighing over 100 pounds, fell backward, smashing into the ground and creating a layer of dust.

The foreman was equally frustrated, but all his unspoken words boiled down to a single "Damn it!" and he could only continue firing from his spot.

Otherwise? As time went by, the Japanese side became more and more organized in their fighting.

Besides engaging in a firefight with them and gradually gaining the upper hand in terms of firepower and the battlefield, there were also a hundred or so Japanese soldiers in groups of three to five, firing as they slowly advanced towards their position.

Without his crucial machine gun firepower, the situation on the battlefield would only be worse.

What if the barrel continues to get hot and explodes?
What can the foreman do? The only thing he can do is silently hope and pray that this thing can hold out a little longer before it explodes.

It's best to hold out until that big shot from the Japanese shows up.

Twenty seconds later, the Japanese high-ranking officer still hadn't appeared.

Whether it was the scorching hot barrel reaching its limit or some problem with the bullets that hadn't had their propellant reduced, this Type 96 light machine gun exploded.

Before he could react, several shrapnel fragments flew through the air and pierced the foreman's head and face, killing this strongest of the new recruits on the spot...

(End of this chapter)