Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 250 Gambling

The outer perimeter of the Japanese positions finally fell, and the armored regiment and the vanguard troops then surged into the town of Nanguadian like a tidal wave, engaging in fierce fighting with the Japanese army.

At this moment, the brutality of street fighting is on full display, but the two sides present a strange imbalance.

On one side are well-equipped, tactically skilled, and well-coordinated hunters, and on the other side are prey who are completely bewildered, disorganized, and fighting individually.

Zhang Wenshan personally led his infantry platoon, like a red-hot blade, plunging deep into the heart of Pumpkin Shop.

As a veteran who had served in the army for more than two years and was a sniper with a distinguished record, Zhang Wenshan should have been able to become a company commander long ago. However, when his superiors talked to him, he refused to agree, saying that he would rather stay in the army as a platoon leader or a private than become a company commander.

This matter even alarmed Su Yaoyang. Seeing his resolute attitude, Su Yaoyang had no choice but to appoint him as the platoon leader of an infantry platoon. Moreover, to reward him for his merits, Su Yaoyang specially promoted him to lieutenant, making him the only lieutenant platoon leader in the Shanxi militia.

"Fire support team! Suppress the windows on the second floor across the street! Assault team, follow me!"

Zhang Wenshan leaned against a broken wall and loudly issued orders.

As soon as he finished speaking, an M1919 heavy machine gun was set up and fired, emitting a dull and rhythmic roar. The dense rain of bullets instantly shattered the second-floor window of a house across the street, sending bricks flying and silencing the Type 91 machine gun inside.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zhang Wenshan led several soldiers carrying Thompson submachine guns, darting across the street like cats, and approached the house.

"Grenade!"

Several MKII grenades, puffing with blue smoke, were accurately thrown in through the window.

"Boom! Boom!"

Amidst violent explosions and screams, Zhang Wenshan kicked open the door and rushed inside, relentlessly unleashing the magazine of his Thompson submachine gun onto any still-moving target.

The entire operation was efficient, ruthless, and filled with a bloody aesthetic of violence.

Just then, a soldier who had gone out to scout returned, crouching low, his face showing a mixture of excitement and seriousness:

"Platoon leader...we've found them! At the crossroads ahead, we've spotted General Zhang's guards...they're surrounded!"

Zhang Wenshan's pupils suddenly contracted.

"Everyone! Follow me!"

Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately reported the matter to his superiors via walkie-talkie.

The battalion commander immediately issued a brief order to the nearby troops: "All units, move towards the intersection! Repeat, move towards the intersection! Quickly!"

When Zhang Wenshan led his men to the crossroads, they were shocked by the scene before them.

Under a destroyed archway, seven or eight soldiers dressed in Nationalist army uniforms stood back to back in a circle, using the few rifles and a large knife they had left to guard a burly body lying on the ground in the center of the circle.

Around them were dozens of Japanese soldiers who seemed to have gone mad. Like hyenas that had smelled blood, they were launching wave after wave of suicidal charges from all directions. Their purpose was obvious—to seize the body that was of utmost importance to the Chinese army.

The guards were all wounded and their ammunition was clearly exhausted, but not one of them retreated an inch. They used their bayonets and their teeth to protect their general's last dignity.

"Fire!"

Li Gaoyuan roared in anger.

The next second, flames of revenge erupted from all directions.

Dozens of Thompson submachine guns, M1 Garand rifles, and BAR automatic rifles opened fire simultaneously, creating a dense hail of bullets from different angles, forming a crossfire network that left no blind spots and instantly enveloping the besieging Japanese troops.

"Da da da da da..."

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

This is no longer a battle, but a one-sided massacre.

Those Japanese soldiers were like they had been thrown into a meat grinder, falling down in droves.

Bullets tore their bodies apart, leaving them bloodied and mangled. Some people's heads were even blown apart by large-caliber bullets, splattering red and white blood everywhere.

In just over ten seconds, the once bustling intersection was reduced to the roar of the militia soldiers' weapons and the crisp sound of bullet casings hitting the ground.

Zhang Wenshan, gun in hand, walked step by step toward the circle formed by the lives of his loyal guards.

Upon seeing the uniforms on their bodies, the surviving guards finally relaxed, collapsing to the ground one by one. One of them, a second lieutenant who was in charge, pointed to the corpses on the ground, tears streaming down his face, his voice hoarse: "We...we saved the general..."

Zhang Wenshan slowly removed his helmet, looked at the face on the ground that, even in death, still exuded an indomitable and dignified air, and silently gave a military salute.

He immediately picked up the walkie-talkie, pressed the call button, his voice trembling slightly, but more so with a solemn sense of having completed his mission.

"Company Commander... I am Zhang Wenshan."

"We... have found General Zhang."

After a while, the company commander's cold voice came from the other end of the communicator, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, yet containing an indescribable power.

"very good."

"Zhang Wenshan... The Commander-in-Chief has given an order!"

"Pumpkin shop... not a single chicken or dog will be spared."

Inside the front-line command post of the Japanese 11th Army located in Yingshan, Lieutenant General Sonobe Kazuo was enjoying a cup of fine Gyokuro tea.

Just minutes earlier, he had received a piece of news that made him overjoyed: Zhang Zizhong, the commander-in-chief of the 33rd Army Group of the Chinese Army and a general, had been killed in action at Nanguadian!
"Yoshi!"

Sonobe Kazuo let out a satisfied sigh, a victor's smile spreading across his face. "This is a great victory for the Empire! The Chinese will to resist will be buried along with their most tenacious general!"

He had even begun to devise how to boast about his glorious military achievements to the Tokyo General Headquarters and the Ministry of the Army.

However, his good mood did not last long.

An intelligence officer rushed into the command post, forgetting to even salute, his face contorted with fear and covered in sweat.

"Commander...something terrible has happened!"

Sonobe Kazuichiro's brows furrowed instantly, and he scolded unhappily, "What kind of behavior is this, all flustered and unruly! Speak slowly and carefully!"

"South... Pumpkin Shop..."

The intelligence officer, panting heavily, his voice trembling with tears, said, "A highly effective Chinese army suddenly stormed into Nanguadian! Zhang Zizhong's body... was... was taken back by them!"

"Snapped!"

The teacup in Sonobe Kazuichiro's hand fell to the ground and shattered.

He suddenly stood up, grabbed the staff officer by the collar, and stared at him with bloodshot eyes: "Nani?"
The body was taken back? What about the 13th Division stationed there? What were they doing?! A bunch of good-for-nothings?!

"The 13th Division..."

The staff officer's voice trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind, "They...they've been routed! Heavy casualties, they've abandoned their armor and weapons...the enemy's firepower...it's too...too terrifying..."

"Bagaya road!"

Before Sonobe and Ichiro could vent their anger, another aviation staff officer responsible for liaising with the Army Air Force stumbled in, looking even more distraught.

His face was ashen, as if he had seen a demon from hell.

"Commander... in the air..."

"Say!"

Sonobe Kazuichiro felt a throbbing sensation in his temples, and an ominous premonition enveloped his heart.

"A large number... a large number of unidentified Chinese fighter jets suddenly appeared over Pumpkin Shop!" The aviation staff officer's voice was sharp and hoarse. "Our army aviation units... engaged in aerial combat with them..."

Sonobe Kazuo's heart sank, but he still clung to a sliver of hope and asked sharply, "What were the results?!"

The aviation staff officer's body trembled violently, as if all his strength had been drained away. He fell to his knees with a thud and said in an almost delirious voice:

"Less than half an hour... less than half an hour in a short time..."

"We...we lost more than fifty planes..."

"More than a hundred fighter jets...more than half of them have been lost..."

"boom!"

This report was like a bombshell, exploding in Sonobe Kazuichiro's mind.

The entire command post fell into a deathly silence. All the staff officers stopped what they were doing and stared at the aviation staff officer kneeling on the ground with the look of someone looking at a monster.

More than fifty planes? In less than half an hour?

How is this possible?! This isn't war, it's a one-sided massacre! When did the Chinese acquire such terrifying air power? Who are they fighting? The Americans?!
Sonobe Kazuichiro felt a sudden dizziness, staggered back two steps, and slumped into the chair behind him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

Just minutes after he was basking in the immense joy of killing the enemy commander-in-chief, he plummeted from heaven to hell in a matter of minutes.

His elite divisions, which he was so proud of, were decimated; the army aviation units on which he had placed his hopes were wiped out; and even the great achievement that was within his grasp—Zhang Zizhong's corpse—was snatched away from him by the enemy, who then slapped him hard in the face.

He asked in a hoarse voice, "Which unit did it?"

The staff officer answered tremblingly, "Shanxi militia!"

"Shanxi militia?"

Sonobe Kazuo suddenly snapped out of his daze. As if grasping at a straw, he stared intently at the intelligence officer and asked in a hoarse voice, "You said... the one who defeated us was a unit called the 'Shanxi Militia'? What kind of unit is that? Which of Chongqing's elite units is it?"

In his preconceived notion, the only force capable of such terrifying combat power must be Chiang Kai-shek's most elite German-equipped divisions, or some mysterious unit that received substantial aid from the United States and the Soviet Union.

As for the word "military group," in his mind it was basically equivalent to a mob armed with homemade guns and cannons, a group that was easily defeated.

Seeing the commander's bewildered expression, the intelligence officer dared not delay and quickly pulled out a crumpled document that had been prepared beforehand. It was information about this mysterious unit that their intelligence department had pieced together from various fragmented intelligence reports overtime.

“General, according to the intelligence we currently have, this Shanxi militia... it... it is indeed a local militia from Shanxi.”

The staff officer's voice was somewhat hoarse, because even he himself felt that the contents of this intelligence were too fantastical.

"Its commander is Su Yaoyang, who is said to be a young man who escaped from Nanjing. He somehow acquired a large amount of American equipment, even more advanced than that of our Imperial Army, including tanks, heavy artillery, and... fighter jets."

As the staff officer spoke, he carefully observed Sonobe Kazuo's expression.

"This unit initially operated in Shanxi, repeatedly inflicting heavy losses on our troops stationed there. The North China Area Army Headquarters attempted to encircle and suppress them multiple times, but all attempts ended in failure. Because of their superior equipment and unpredictable tactics, they were privately referred to as the 'Monster Unit' by the North China Area Army. But none of us expected that they would suddenly appear on the Hubei battlefield..."

Listening to the staff officer's report, Sonobe Kazuo's expression changed from astonishment to realization, and finally, it was replaced by an even stronger nameless fire mixed with humiliation and anger.

He, the commander of the 11th Army of the Imperial Japanese Army and a lieutenant general, was utterly defeated by an unknown "military group" led by a mere young man.
This is an utter disgrace! It is a disgrace to the entire 11th Army, and even to the entire Imperial Japanese Army!

"idiot!"

Sonobe Kazuro slammed his fist on the table, sending the intelligence report he hadn't even bothered to look at flying. His bloodshot eyes, blazing with rage, once again ignited with a frenzied fire.

The shock and fear I felt earlier have now been completely replaced by a gambler's mentality of being unable to accept defeat.

He cannot afford to lose, especially not to such a "ragtag" team!
"Pass on my orders!" Sonobe Kazuichiro practically roared as he issued the command, his voice echoing throughout the command center with an undeniable madness.

"Order! The 3rd and 13th Divisions, immediately halt all planned operations! The entire army shall turn and launch a general offensive towards Nanguadian!"

"Tell them! I don't care about casualties, I don't care about the cost! I just want one result!"

"That is……"

"Erase this so-called 'Shanxi militia' completely off the map! Leave not a single one alive!"

"I will use their blood to wash away the shame of the Imperial Army!"

The entire command staff was stunned by the commander's insane order. Two elite divisions, just to deal with a militia? And after losing air superiority and facing overwhelming firepower, to launch a frontal assault?

But looking at Sonobe and Ichiro's face, twisted with madness, no one dared to raise any objections.

They knew that their commander had staked everything on this.

…………

Unlike the Hubei battlefield, which was engulfed in flames thousands of miles away, the militia rear base in Wutai County, Shanxi Province, was a scene of peace and busy activity.

Outside the field hospital, rows of brand-new dormitories are rising from a vast expanse of newly reclaimed land. And the people responsible for building these houses are a special group of "workers."

A group of Japanese prisoners of war wearing khaki military uniforms.

Under the sunlight, these soldiers of the "Imperial Army," who were once fierce and brutal on the battlefield, now seemed like completely different people.

They were shirtless, revealing their strong muscles, and were sweating profusely as they carried timber and bricks.

Some were mixing mud, some were building walls, and some were erecting roof beams. Their movements were skilled and coordinated, and their faces showed no reluctance but rather an almost devout focus.

Not far away, several militia soldiers responsible for guarding them leaned against the shade of a tree, smoking listlessly. They looked at the group of prisoners of war who were more docile than rabbits, with a look of bewilderment on their faces.

"Damn it, this is really weird."

An old soldier exhaled a smoke ring and muttered to his comrade beside him, "I was thinking of finding a chance to teach these sons of bitches a lesson and avenge our fallen brothers. Look at them now, they're such a mess, I can't even find a reason to cause trouble!"

"Who says it's not?"

Another soldier chimed in, "If you make him work, he'll work harder than anyone else. If you give him food, he'll bow ninety degrees and say thank you. It's gotten to the point where I'm almost losing my temper when I see them now."

Among this group of "overseers," one person stood out.

He was Katsuhiko Nakata, the first to kneel down and surrender.

Unlike the other soldiers, he, as the supervisor, did not participate in physical labor. With a black rubber roller at his waist, he held a simple blueprint and pointed to it from the side, occasionally correcting the prisoners of war's mistakes in construction in broken Chinese.

"Hey you over there, yes, you! The angle of the wood is wrong, it needs to be tilted a little more inwards! That way it will be more stable!"

"And you, the one laying the bricks! The mortar in the joints needs to be spread evenly, there can't be any gaps! Are you building houses for yourselves, trying to slack off so the houses will collapse and crush you to death? You idiot!"

He still carried the air of a military officer when he scolded people, but the prisoners of war acted as if they had heard a royal decree. They immediately stopped what they were doing, bowed respectfully to him, and then meticulously made corrections according to his requirements.

This bizarrely harmonious scene left the militia officers, who had hoped to find an opportunity to "teach" the prisoners of war feeling utterly powerless. Their prepared punches felt like hitting cotton, completely unable to find a way to land a blow.

The Japanese are truly a fascinating people. When they wield the butcher's knife, they are inhuman beasts; but once the knife is taken away and they become prisoners, they can quickly switch roles, bringing their deep-rooted obedience and collectivist spirit to the extreme, becoming unbelievably docile.

As noon approached, the stuffy smell of sweat, dirt, and sawdust on the construction site was dispelled by a woman's fragrant breeze and cheerful laughter.

Katsuhiko Nakata stopped his shouting and looked in the direction of the voice. His gaze swept past the prisoners of war who had suddenly become agitated, and precisely locked onto that familiar and graceful figure.

It's Haruko, his Haruko has arrived.

She and a group of Japanese nurses, all dressed in white uniforms, carried several large wooden basins, like goddesses descending upon a dusty construction site.

Haruko walked at the front, her well-fitting nurse's uniform outlining her graceful curves. With her light steps, her legs were faintly visible beneath her skirt, and every step seemed to tread on Katsuhiko Nakata's heartbeat.

"dinner time!"

Haruko's clear voice was like the sound of a starting gun. The prisoners of war who had been working hard just a moment ago immediately dropped their tools and swarmed forward, forming a long line in front of the food bowls.

Of course, not everyone was happy. For example, Watanabe and Kobayashi, who had participated in the rape of Haruko, unconsciously hid at the back, timid and afraid to show themselves.

Katsuhiko Nakata didn't move. He simply stood there, silently watching his woman with a possessive gaze. He knew she would come.

As expected, after serving food to several prisoners of war, Haruko carried a separate, obviously larger lunchbox and walked straight toward him, avoiding the crowd.

She wore a professional, sweet smile, but her watery eyes sparkled with an intimacy and cunning that only Katsuhiko Nakata could understand—a trait reserved for lovers.

"Mr. Nakata, dinner is ready."

She handed over the lunchbox, her voice so gentle it could melt your heart.

Inside the lunchbox, besides sorghum rice and cornbread, there was a piece of Spam luncheon meat, fried until golden brown and sizzling with oil, emitting a sinful yet tempting aroma.

"Thank you." Katsuhiko Nakata took the lunchbox, his voice deliberately remaining calm.

As Haruko handed him the lunchbox, she naturally moved closer to him. Her hand seemingly slipped away unintentionally, quickly stuffing a small bag wrapped in a handkerchief into his large trouser pocket.

Those soft fingers, through the fabric, left a brief but burning sensation on the outside of his thigh, like a weak electric current that instantly coursed through Nakata Katsuhiko's body, reminding him of those crazy and passionate nights they spent together.

Haruko quickly withdrew her hand, winked playfully at him, and whispered in his ear in a warm, moist voice that only the two of them could hear, "Chocolate and cookies to replenish your energy. And your favorite Camel cigarettes... See you at the usual place tonight, I... I miss you."

After saying that, she took a step back with a slight blush on her cheeks, transforming back into the dignified and gentle nurse, and turned back into the crowd, as if the explicit invitation from just now was merely a hallucination of Nakata Katsuhiko.

Katsuhiko Nakata held the warm lunchbox, the small package in his pocket feeling so real. He could clearly feel the hardness of the chocolate, the outline of the biscuits, and the sharp edges of the two packs of cigarettes.

These were not merely food and luxuries, but also proof of his relationship with Haruko, and of her undisguised love and desire for him.

As he watched Haruko's charming figure bustling about in the crowd, the last shackle in his heart, the one called "loyalty to the Emperor," snapped with a crisp sound.

The Emperor was far away in Tokyo, but the woman who could bring him warmth, food, and ultimate physical pleasure was right in front of him.

To whom to pledge allegiance no longer seems to be a question he needs to consider.

(End of this chapter)