Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 269 Pursuit
Inside the temporary division headquarters at the Bell and Drum Tower in Yichang, the air was exceptionally humid and stuffy, perhaps because it was about to rain, mixed with the smells of mud, tobacco, and various kinds of sweat.

A huge military map hung on the wall, covered with dense arrows and symbols marked in red and blue pencils, like a web crawling with colorful spiders.

Su Yaoyang's gaze, however, fell on a calendar on the wall to the side, which had been torn down to only a few pages.

The calendar featured a modern woman in a cheongsam with a sweet smile, but it was now yellowed from the smoke of gunfire. He stretched out his finger and gently tapped one of the dates circled in red pen.

"Tuk, duh."

The soft sound of fingertips touching rough paper seemed insignificant in this room filled with the ticking of telegraph machines and the hushed conversations of the staff, yet it was like a chess piece falling, determining the course of the entire game.

He let out a long, satisfied sigh, a breath that seemed to carry away all the tension accumulated from days of fierce fighting, leaving only a sense of ease and relaxation from having made a well-thought-out plan.

"It's finally time."

He turned his head, a relaxed smile on his face, and said to a combat staff officer beside him who was intently staring at the map, "Give orders to all units to begin the withdrawal according to the original plan."

The operations staff officer was startled. Almost instinctively, he straightened his back and gave a perfect salute: "Yes, Commander!"

The command, like an invisible current, instantly spread throughout the entire command system.

The telegraph operator's fingers tapped on the key like raindrops on banana leaves, the telephone operator shouted orders in a hoarse voice, and messengers grabbed their helmets, rushed out of the command post, and headed to their respective positions.

The rhythm of offense and defense on the front lines, which were originally as brutal as a meat grinder, has quietly changed.

The Shanxi militia units, which had been charging forward relentlessly regardless of the cost, began to systematically disengage from the Japanese 6th Division, much like the receding tide.

An M2HB heavy machine gun, responsible for covering the rear, roared steadily and rhythmically, its flames licking the Japanese positions ahead, tearing several Japanese soldiers who tried to charge into pieces.

Under the cover of machine gun fire, the infantrymen took turns providing cover, retreating swiftly and orderly to their pre-arranged positions to the west. The entire process was smooth and seamless, without the slightest hint of panic, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times.

…………

Meanwhile, in the headquarters of the Japanese 6th Division, the atmosphere was so oppressive it seemed like water was about to drip from it.

Division Commander Lieutenant General Ryoki Machijiri, his eyes bloodshot, was staring intently at the map.

His sword lay on the table, his teacup beside him was already cold, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts, like a small grave.

These days, he feels like he's not commanding a war, but being repeatedly hammered on the head by an invisible giant, leaving him overwhelmed and the immense pressure almost driving him mad.

In particular, when the news came that the 13th Regiment had been almost completely wiped out and that its commander, Nakano Hidemitsu, had been stabbed to death in the trench, Machijiri Ryoki was so angry that he smashed his most beloved tea set on the spot.

He had been holding back his anger for a long time, just waiting for an opportunity to tear that damned Su Yaoyang to pieces.

"report!"

An intelligence officer rushed in, his face filled with barely suppressed excitement and confusion. "Division Commander! The Chinese troops facing us... they're retreating!"

"What?! Retreat? Everyone?"

"Yes, everyone retreat!"

Machijiri Ryoki abruptly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes flashing with a wolf-like ferocity. He pushed back his chair, rushed to the map, and stared intently at the latest battlefield situation.

"retreat?"

He muttered to himself, then a ferocious and ecstatic smile spread across his face, "Hahaha... The Chinese have finally given in! They've finally reached their limit!"

Machijiri Ryoki took this retreat as a signal of the Shanxi militia's defeat! The pent-up anger he had been holding in for so long finally found an outlet!

"Order!"

Machijiri Ryoki whirled around and roared at all the officers in the command post. His voice was hoarse with extreme excitement and anger, "Pursue them! Pursue them! Hold them fast! Don't let them escape! I will wash away the shame of the 13th Regiment with their blood!"

He grabbed the command sword from the table and yanked it out, the gleaming blade flashing briefly in the dimly lit command post.

"I want to personally cut off the heads of those Chinese!"

As soon as the order was given, the entire camp of the 6th Division erupted in a frenzy. Countless soldiers rushed out of their bunkers at the officers' shouts, while the officers roared out commands, and the piercing bugle call to charge echoed through the sky.

This elite force, suppressed for far too long, was like a beast released from its cage, filled with boundless hatred. Except for a small contingent left to occupy Yichang, the main force relentlessly pursued the retreating Shanxi militia...

…………

What is the biggest difference between the Shanxi militia and the Eighth Route Army, the Central Army, and the Jin-Sui Army?

Some say it's the weapons, others say it's the command, or even the food and training, but in Su Yaoyang's view, the biggest difference between the Shanxi militia and other domestic armies is their means of transportation.

Yes, you read that right, it's a means of transportation.

Perhaps because he came from the modern era, he is accustomed to traveling by plane or high-speed rail for long distances, and by car, electric vehicle or bicycle for short distances. This mode of transportation is already ingrained in his genes.

In his view, walking or taking the No. 11 bus is not a mode of transportation to be proud of.

While it is commendable in spirit, it was merely a compromise made under unavoidable circumstances.

Thanks to his efforts, by 1940, the Shanxi militia had more than 3,000 trucks, meaning that on average, there was one truck for every ten soldiers.

In those three years, he trained tens of thousands of drivers, and it was precisely because of the large number of trucks and drivers that the Shanxi militia had such high mobility.

In contrast, the Japanese army still relied heavily on mules and horses for transportation until 1940.

A standard Class A division (such as a standing division) is usually equipped with about five to eight thousand horses for pulling artillery, transporting ammunition and supplies, and even the baggage of infantry units is mainly carried by horses or manpower.

Due to a severe shortage of trucks for the Japanese army, and the variety of models (such as Toyota KC, Nissan 180, etc.).

Only a few elite units (such as some mechanized brigades or Kwantung Army units) were equipped with motorized transport, but the proportion was extremely low.

Therefore, each Japanese division had an average of only 100-200 trucks, far fewer than the level of European and American armies at the time. Under such circumstances, it was nothing short of a pipe dream to catch up with the fully motorized Shanxi militia with only a small number of vehicles and mules.

Six hours later

Machijiri Ryoki rode a tall Japanese horse, its hooves sinking deep into the muddy dirt road, each step splashing up black mud mixed with blood and rainwater.

His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the front, where the dust raised by the retreating Shanxi militia rearguard could still be faintly seen on the horizon.

"Faster! Faster! Don't let them get away!"

He lashed his horse with his whip and roared at the messengers and guards around him, who were also panting heavily.

Behind him was a pursuit team stretching for several kilometers.

The soldiers of the entire 6th Division, like wasps whose swarm had been disturbed, were rushing forward recklessly.

Their grass-green military uniforms were already soaked with sweat and mud, clinging tightly to their bodies and outlining their hunched backs from exhaustion.

The heavy Type 38 rifle, the Type 91 machine gun, and the grenade launcher became the final straws that broke their physical strength.

The soldiers' chests heaved violently, like broken bellows, and the white breaths and panting from their mouths blended into a dull symphony.

Their legs felt like they were made of lead, mechanically trudging through the mud.

What propelled them forward was only their long-suppressed anger and their desire for "revenge".

"Baka! Those damned Chinese pigs, they're really fast!"

As he ran, Corporal Sasaki wiped the sweat and mud from his face with his sleeve, cursing through gritted teeth.

"Stop talking nonsense! Chase after them and kill them all to avenge the 13th Regiment and Commander Nakano!"

His companions beside him were screaming, but their voices had become hoarse from lack of oxygen.

They could see the enemy ahead, but the distance was like an insurmountable chasm, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't close it.

At the edge of the Japanese army's line of sight, the soldiers of the 1st Battalion of the 1st Regiment of the Shanxi Militia were completing their final alternation of cover.

An M1919 Browning machine gun mounted on a small hill fired its last belt of ammunition at the pursuing Japanese troops, mowing down several Japanese soldiers at the forefront.

"withdraw!"

At the company commander's command, the machine gunner and assistant gunner skillfully disassembled the gun barrels and tripods, hoisted them up, and ran back.

Their movements were completely calm; they even had time to turn around and make an internationally recognized insulting gesture towards the Japanese soldiers in the distance.

After they climbed over the small hill, the view suddenly opened up before them.

It was a scene that would shock all Japanese commanders.

On a simply leveled open field, dozens of military green Dodge 10-wheel trucks were lined up quietly.

All the truck engines emitted a uniform, deep idling roar, like lurking steel behemoths.

A driver sat in the window of each truck.

This is Su Yaoyang's biggest trump card, and the real reason he dared to engage in a protracted struggle with the Sixth Division... a fully motorized army!
"Hurry up...get in the car...get in the car!"

The battalion commander stood on a jeep and shouted loudly through a tin megaphone.

The soldiers, who had just been withdrawn from the front lines, quickly ran to their designated trucks according to their platoon and squad formations.

They slung their rifles over their backs, pulled each other along, and skillfully flipped themselves onto the train carriage.

Heavy equipment such as machine guns and mortars were also carried up by hand and secured firmly inside the carriage.

The entire process was smooth and efficient, without any crowding or chaos.

A young soldier jumped into the vehicle, found a seat, took out half a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and distributed them to his comrades next to him.

"Damn it, those little devils think they can catch up with our four wheels with those two legs? Dream on!"

He lit a cigarette, took a satisfying drag, and exhaled a smoke ring that drifted behind him, filled with disdain.

The soldiers in the carriage burst into laughter. They looked at the tiny black dots, like ants, still struggling to catch up on the distant horizon, their eyes filled with mockery.

As the lead command vehicle sounded its horn three times, the long steel dragon began to awaken.

"Boom...boom..."

Dozens of engines floored their throttles simultaneously, creating a deafening roar! The trucks kicked up clouds of dust, forming a yellow barrier that isolated the entire world.

The convoy began to accelerate slowly, kicking up mud and leaving two deep ruts behind it.

Machijiri Ryoki, standing in the distance, stared in disbelief as the giant dragon made of smoke and steel rapidly receded from his sight, finally disappearing at the edge of the horizon.

He and his tens of thousands of soldiers, who were already exhausted from running, could only stop and stand still, futilely breathing in the polluted air mixed with truck exhaust and dust.

Those two deep ruts seemed to have drawn a huge, silent mockery on the muddy earth.

Machijiri Ryoki trembled with rage. He lashed his riding whip hard against the ground and let out a desperate and furious roar.

"Bagaya Road..."

(End of this chapter)