Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 235 Battle in the Mud
"Click!"

The heavy tripod legs dug deep into the suction-filled mud. The assistant gunner forcefully stuffed a long string of canvas ammunition belts into the M1919's receiving port, then slapped Lao Cao's helmet hard.

"Alright, Lao Cao!"

Without the slightest hesitation, Lao Cao's bloodshot eyes, filled with anger and exhaustion, were fixed on the boulder he had identified on the hillside. He leaned forward abruptly, gripped the D-grip tightly with both hands, and pressed the butterfly trigger with his thumbs without mercy.

"Woo-hoo-hoo..."

A beast-like roar instantly tore the battlefield apart!
That wasn't the sound of gunfire, but a storm written in steel, flames, and death!
The muzzle of the M1919 Browning heavy machine gun burst forth with a dazzling, long, almost continuous stream of blinding flashes.

The slide of the air-cooled gun barrel even emitted a faint white vapor due to the violent vibration and contact with the humid air.

The bright yellow .30-06 rifle cartridge cases were ejected from the ejection port at an astonishing speed, like a swarm of golden bees, drawing chaotic and deadly arcs in the air before clattering into the muddy water at their feet, instantly swallowed by the murky water.

The barrage of deadly bullets, guided by tracer rounds, was like an invisible, high-speed chainsaw, relentlessly gnawing at the Japanese positions on the hillside.

The bullets struck the muddy ground, creating continuous, forward-rushing jets of mud.

They struck the massive rock, unleashing dense, dazzling sparks; large chunks of rock were forcibly ripped off and scattered in all directions; they tore apart the sandbags hastily piled up by the Japanese, the sand inside gushing out like blood.

A Japanese soldier who had just poked his head out to fire was instantly hit in the helmet. With a crisp clang, the helmet, along with half of his skull, flew backward, the red and white object tracing a horrific arc in the air.

"You son of a bitch! Die!"

As Old Cao roared, he pressed down hard on the constantly bouncing gun barrel, sweeping the destructive chain of fire left and right, completely engulfing the area in a death storm composed of shrapnel and gravel.

The comrades next to him were not idle either.

"Here you go! You little devils!"

Several soldiers roared as they skillfully bit open the safety pins of the MKII grenades with their teeth, swung their arms in a wide arc, and forcefully flung the pineapple-shaped iron lumps toward the hillside.

The grenade tumbled through the air, tracing perfect parabolas, and landed precisely in the Japanese positions that were pinned down by machine gun fire.

"Boom... Boom..."

Several muffled but violent explosions rang out in succession!

A sudden flash of orange-red light followed, and large plumes of black smoke, mixed with mud, rubble, broken guns, and human remains blown into the air, formed several grotesque fountains that shot into the sky.

A powerful shockwave swept over him, making Lao Cao's cheeks sting. The air was instantly filled with pungent gunpowder smoke and a nauseating smell of burnt flesh.

However, the Japanese were not lambs to the slaughter.

Just as the smoke from the explosion had not yet dissipated, a distinctive gunshot rang out, sounding like a woodpecker pecking at dry wood.

"Giggle...giggle...giggle..."

It was a Type 92 heavy machine gun! Its slow but steady and powerful firing sound seemed particularly cold and deadly amidst the M1919's ferocious roar.

7.7mm heavy machine gun bullets whistled through the air. They weren't as dense as the bullets fired by the militia, but each shot carried a heavy killing intent. The bullets thudded into the mud around Old Cao, each one like a heavy hammer pounding the ground, kicking up clouds of mud and sand mixed with gravel.

A sharp whooshing sound whistled past a soldier's scalp, startling him so much that he jerked his neck back.

Immediately afterwards, a bullet struck the muddy ground in front of Lao Cao. The flying pebbles and sand hit his face and helmet like shrapnel, making a "crackling" sound. Although not fatal, the burning pain and the cold feeling of being licked by death made Lao Cao's pupils shrink sharply.

"Damn it!" He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, adjusted the muzzle of his gun, and pulled the trigger...

…………

Katsuhiko Nakata felt like an earthworm stuck in the mud, the cold, slippery mud seeping through every seam of his uniform, constantly sucking away the warmth from his body.

He pressed his cheek against the cold stock of the Type 38 rifle, trying to draw a tiny bit of courage from the familiar wood and steel.

But the battlefield shows no mercy.

The visibility was extremely poor.

The blackish-gray smoke from the explosions of grenades and artillery shells, mixed with moisture in the humid air, formed thick, ever-rolling walls of smoke, staining the entire world with a hue of despair. He could only see blurry, swaying figures a dozen meters ahead, unable to distinguish friend from foe.

Suddenly, a sharp, ear-piercing bang, "Crack!" exploded right next to his right ear!

That wasn't the familiar "whoosh" of a bullet flying by, but a purer, more violent explosion, as if the air itself was being torn apart.

Katsuhiko Nakata's muscles tensed up and spasmed instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his heart felt like it had been crushed by an invisible hand, causing him to stop breathing for a moment.

Almost at the same moment he instinctively ducked to the right, a muffled "bang" of gunfire rang out in the distance a fraction of a second later.

His mind was in a mess.

Gunshots came from the left front, but the deadly explosion came from the right! This strange misalignment of sound and direction made it impossible for him to judge the enemy's exact location. He could only shrink himself tighter in vain, like a frightened rabbit.

He didn't know that this was a physical phenomenon where the shockwave from a supersonic bullet arrived before the sound of the gunshot. All he knew was that death had just grazed his scalp.

Immediately afterwards, a burst of tracer bullets from the Chinese army's machine guns tore through the damp and murky air at a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

In his pupils dilated with extreme fear, Katsuhiko Nakata saw in horror that a small, translucent cone of mist instantly formed at the front of the scarlet dot of light, just like the legendary scene of a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier, except that this scene was rushing towards him at a deadly speed!

That fleeting "steam cone," with its eerie and terrifying beauty, was deeply imprinted on his retina.

boom!
A heavy machine gun bullet slammed into the breastwork less than half a meter in front of him!

He wasn't hit, but the invisible shockwave struck his skull like a heavy hammer, even through his helmet.

A violent wave of dizziness washed over me, and the smoke and fire in my vision began to spin and twist. My stomach churned, and a strong urge to vomit rose in my throat.

His pupils dilated uncontrollably, not from excitement, but from the purest form of nervous system stress response stemming from vestibular-ocular reflex disorder.

He could see and hear nothing clearly; all he could hear was a high-frequency buzzing and the frantic pounding of his own heart.

Before he was completely consumed by fear, the instinct for survival took over his body. Mechanically and frantically, he pulled the cold bolt, and with a "whoosh," the hot cartridge case ejected. He pushed a new 6.5mm bullet into the chamber, and without even having time to aim precisely, he pulled the trigger in the direction of the enemy he remembered.

"boom!"

The butt of the rifle slammed into his shoulder, and the excruciating pain brought a moment of clarity to his muddled mind. He lay prone in the mud, panting heavily, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of gunpowder and mud, like a dying fish.

Fear, like an icy tide, completely overwhelmed Katsuhiko Nakata's reason. He lay prone in the mud, becoming a machine capable of only two repetitive actions: pulling the bolt and firing the trigger.

"Crash—Bang!"

"Crash—Bang!"

He stopped aiming, stopped thinking, and even stopped looking ahead.

His world consisted only of the cold, rough feel of the bolt and the pain from the butt of the rifle hitting his shoulder—the only proof that he was still alive.

Hot cartridge cases kept ejecting from the gun barrel, falling into the muddy water around them with a soft hissing sound, and then being swallowed by the darkness.

He had no idea where the bullet went or what it hit, nor did he want to know.

He was simply using this frantic and futile act to fight against the boundless fear that was about to tear him apart.

Just as he was sinking into this mechanical frenzy, a familiar voice came from his right. "Giggle...giggle...giggle..."

That's the sound of a Type 92 heavy machine gun! That's Takeuchi-senpai's voice!
Katsuhiko Nakata suddenly turned his head, and through the gaps in the billowing smoke, he saw that familiar figure.

Takeuchi Takashi lay prone on the mound at the highest point, his entire body almost pressed against the constantly beating Type 92 heavy machine gun.

He gripped the handle tightly, his body trembling violently with the recoil of the gun. Even from dozens of meters away, obscured by the smoke, Katsuhiko Nakata could still clearly see that Takeuchi-senpai's face was completely contorted.

His mouth was agape, a silent, beast-like roar emanating from his throat. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, like copper bells. His face, which had once held a hint of honesty and timidity, was now contorted with savagery and hysteria, a sign of being driven to the brink of despair.

With the final madness of his life, he unleashed his fury and fear upon the world that had plunged him into hell.

Upon seeing this scene, Katsuhiko Nakata's heart sank, and an indescribable sense of desolation and coldness instantly spread throughout his body.

He was no longer the rookie who had just entered the battlefield. Having participated in several battles, he knew better than anyone that Takeuchi-senpai... wouldn't live much longer.

Those Chinese, those devils with terrifying firepower, would absolutely not tolerate a heavy machine gun spitting fire at them so recklessly.

as predicted.

As if to confirm his idea, the focus of firepower on the entire battlefield shifted instantly in the next second.

Countless scarlet tracer bullets, like a swarm of enraged, bloodthirsty bees, converged from all directions, weaving a dense, gleaming net of death, viciously pouncing on that small, lonely mound.

Bullets struck the sandbags and soil around Takeuchi Takama with terrifying density, making a continuous "thud thud thud thud" sound. Soil and sand were constantly being blasted into the sky like a fountain, instantly enveloping the small machine gun position in a cloud of smoke and dust stirred up by the rain of bullets.

Katsuhiko Nakata stopped breathing. His eyes were wide open, staring intently at the area shrouded in death.

Suddenly, amidst the dense hail of bullets, an exceptionally thick and dazzling tracer bullet, like a sharp sword slicing through the night, accurately and without suspense, plunged into the blurry figure in the smoke and dust.

Time seemed to slow down countless times at this moment.

Katsuhiko Nakata clearly saw that Takashi Takeuchi's helmeted head, like a watermelon being smashed in the face by a hammer, snapped back violently, and then... with a muffled "bang," it exploded!
That's not a movie special effect; it's a more primitive, barbaric, and disgusting physical phenomenon.

The helmet was flung into the air by a tremendous force, tumbling and deforming. Where the head should have been, a shocking cloud of red and white mist instantly exploded—a mixture of pure white, viscous brain matter and bright red, warm blood!

The viscous, warm brain matter and scalding blood splattered violently in all directions, covering the still steaming Type 92 heavy machine gun and the corpse of the assistant gunner, who was also riddled with bullets.

Under the immense kinetic energy impact, Takeuchi Takama's headless body jerked backward before collapsing limply and powerlessly onto the machine gun smeared with his own brains and blood.

Everything returned to normal speed.

Gunfire continued, explosions continued.

But Nakata Katsuhiko's world fell completely silent. He lay there blankly, staring at the familiar figure that was no longer human, his mind a complete blank.

Senior Takeuchi... is dead.

The senior who had asked him to take care of his fiancée, the senior who had placed his last hope in him, turned into a pile of rotten flesh right before his eyes.

Katsuhiko Nakata lay there blankly in the mud, staring vacantly at the small mound in the distance.

The image of Takeuchi-senpai being blown in the head was like a red-hot branding iron, imprinting itself again and again on his blank mind.

That red and white mist, and that powerless, collapsed body, constituted his entire world at that moment.

The gunshots, explosions, and shouts of his comrades all around him became distant and blurry, as if separated by a thick curtain of water. His auditory system, out of its self-protective instincts, automatically filtered out these noises that his brain deemed "meaningless."

He couldn't hear the people around him shouting his name at the top of their lungs, nor could he feel the splattering mud hitting his face. He just watched, numbly watching.

Until a powerful, brute force kicked him hard in the lower back.

"Boom!"

The intense pain and impact caused him to lose his balance instantly, and he fell forward, his cheek slamming heavily into the cold, sticky, and foul-smelling mud.

Mud poured into his mouth and nostrils, and the suffocating feeling and the biting cold were like a sharp awl, violently pulling his wandering soul back into his trembling body.

"Cough...cough cough!" He suddenly raised his head, coughing violently and spitting out a mouthful of muddy water.

A pair of mud-splattered officer's leather boots came into his blurred vision. He looked up along the boots and saw Squad Leader Kameda's face, contorted with rage.

"Damn it!" Kameda's roar rang in his ears like thunder.

Before Nakata Katsuhiko could react, a rough, large hand grabbed his collar and lifted him up from the mud.

"Clap! Clap! Clap!"

Kameda swung his other hand and slapped him several times without mercy.

The force was so great that Nakata Katsuhiko saw stars, his head was buzzing, his cheeks were burning, and his mouth was immediately filled with the metallic taste of blood.

"You coward! You piece of trash! Did the Empire raise you just to sit here and wait to die?!" Kameda spat in his face. "Your predecessors were serving the Emperor! And you're just lying here like a dead dog! Pick up your weapons! Fight! Fight for the Empire!"

Kameda shoved him back against the breastwork like he was throwing away trash, and stabbed his Type 38 rifle, which had fallen into the mud, hard with his sword.

After cursing, Squad Leader Kameda still seemed unsatisfied. He glared at him fiercely again before picking up his command sword, bending over, and walking along the narrow trench to the other side, still cursing under his breath.

Nakata Katsuhiko's mind was still a mess. He passively picked up the rifle, leaned against the breastwork, and could still hear Kameda's roar and feel the stinging pain in his cheek.

Squad Leader Kameda had only taken a dozen or so steps.

Just then, a small, grayish-green, pineapple-shaped thing drew an inconspicuous arc in the air and landed lightly in the muddy water at his feet with a "plop".

Time seems to have frozen.

Kameda instinctively looked down and saw the smoking metal lump. The anger on his狰狞 (zhengning - ferocious/hideous) face was instantly replaced by extreme fear, and his pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints.

He opened his mouth, as if trying to let out a shrill scream or a command, but it was too late.

"Boom..."

A deafening explosion rang out in the narrow trench!

The orange-red flames and the violent shockwave instantly engulfed Captain Kameda's figure. Nakata Katsuhiko felt an irresistible shockwave slam him against the mud wall behind him, shaking his internal organs out of place.

He watched helplessly as Squad Leader Kameda's burly body was flung high into the air by the shockwave, like a tattered rag doll. In mid-air, his body twisted at an unnatural angle before crashing heavily back into the trench with a "plop," like a water-filled sack, splashing up large amounts of blood and mud.

As the smoke and dust dissipated slightly, a nauseating scene appeared.

Squad Leader Kameda is still alive.

But his thick right leg had completely disappeared from the top of his thigh.

Instead, a gaping, jagged gash revealed a mangled, bloody wound, exposing stark white bone fragments and torn muscle strips to the air. Blood gushed forth from the horrific wound like a fire hydrant with its valve opened, forming a shocking fountain of blood that instantly turned the mud beneath him into a viscous, crimson swamp.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaa..."

The next second, a heart-wrenching scream, inhuman and agonizing, burst from Kameda's throat, echoing wildly in the narrow trench, drowning out all the gunfire.

(End of this chapter)