Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 346 The Gate of Hell

The rain at Panlongling showed no signs of stopping, and the world seemed to be nothing but gray and white.

In the mud, the soldiers were almost completely soaked by the rain, their faces so dirty that their features were indistinguishable.

Li Yunlong's eyes turned bloodshot from the whistling fire of the Type 92 machine gun to his right. The flames seemed to be nailed to the Independent Regiment's position, pressing down on the soldiers so they couldn't lift their heads. Occasionally, an unlucky soldier would slip and fall face-first into the mud, never to rise again.

"Pillar... Pillar..." Li Yunlong shouted so loudly his voice almost cracked.

"Commander... I'm here!" A solid voice came from behind him.

Li Yunlong turned his head sharply and almost fell down on his backside: in front of him was a "mud man" covered from head to toe in mud, squatting by the edge of the trench, with only his eyes moving on his face.

"You little brat!" Li Yunlong's eyes widened; he almost didn't recognize him.

This "mud figure" is none other than Wang Chengzhu, the famous artillery platoon leader of the Independent Regiment.

This sharpshooter, who should have sacrificed himself in the battle of Cangyun Ridge, is still alive and kicking today because of the exception that is Su Yaoyang.

"Commander, what brings you here?" Wang Chengzhu chuckled, revealing a set of snow-white teeth.

Li Yunlong pointed to the front line 400 meters away and gritted his teeth: "Look closely, that damn Type 92 machine gun is pointing its light right at our brothers' scalps! If you hesitate any longer, the whole platoon will be wiped out here. Bomb it!"

Wang Chengzhu poked his head out, raindrops slapping his face. He grimaced, "Commander, you have to look at the weather! This damn rain has filled the gun barrels with water; how can we fire them? Even if we do, it'll just be a bunch of duds that explode!"

Li Yunlong had a curse in his throat, but he swallowed it back with a "pfft".

He'd fought half his life; he couldn't possibly be ignorant of reason. Firing mortars in the rain wasn't fighting the Japanese; it was sending himself to his death.

So he grabbed Wang Chengzhu's mud-covered arm and, with a patient, half-lowered voice, said, "Zhuzi, I know you're a top-notch gunner, but the brothers are almost at their breaking point, they can't take it anymore!"

Changing the subject abruptly, Li Yunlong's face twitched, and he gritted his teeth: "Zhu Zi, don't be so stubborn. If you can take down that Type 92 machine gun for me, I'll give you a major commendation! And I'll reward you with... two catties of sweet potato liquor, two cans of American food, and two boxes of biscuits!"

Upon hearing this, Wang Chengzhu's eyes lit up. He licked his lips, which were white from the rain, and swallowed hard.

Although he was still shivering, those words burned directly into his heart like flames: "Two jin of liquor... American canned goods... biscuits..."

"Fine!" His eyes narrowed, and he grinned, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth. "Commander, just you wait and see. If I can't take down that machine gun, I'll fucking come down here and drink the mud myself!"

As he spoke, he dragged out an 82mm mortar with a clang, slammed it into the mud, and turned to shout, "Comrades, come and lend a hand, help me cover it up."

As soon as he finished speaking, several gunners rushed over. Two of them pulled out a large oilcloth and spread it out to cover the mortar. The other gunners also protected the mortar and quickly wiped the barrel with two dry cloths, especially the bottom of the barrel.

Wang Chengzhu, like a hardened ox, covered in mud, carried a heavy shell back to his position.

He slipped and nearly fell into a mud pit, cursing under his breath, "Damn it!" He managed to steady himself by bracing himself with his knees and shoulders.

He had been carefully protecting the 82mm high-explosive shell hidden in his sleeve, but now he pulled it out from his chest and weighed it as if he were holding a child.

In this kind of weather, aiming devices are useless; the only option is to use the most primitive method—measuring distances with the eyes.

Zhu Zi squinted, raised his thick thumb to shield his eyes, and muttered, "420 meters, light wind, southeast wind, hold on tight..."

The artillerymen gasped in shock, rain streaming down their faces and necks as they held their breath.

"Alright, all of you step back!" Wang Chengzhu shouted. The two soldiers hurriedly pulled off the tarpaulin and scrambled to the side.

Zhu Zi deftly removed the safety, and the shell in his arms was shoved into the cannon barrel in the blink of an eye. His movements were as fast as a swordplay.

"Boom..."

The dull thud of cannon fire tore through the sound of rain.

The cannon spewed out dim flames, and the splashed mud and water poured all over his face, but he didn't blink, staring intently at the lonely and dim arc that traced across the sky.

After a few seconds of silence, the Type 92 heavy machine gun in front, which was spitting fire, suddenly roared as if struck by lightning.

The shockwave whipped up a cloud of mud and sparks, and the two machine gunners were thrown several meters away, their limbs stiff as they rolled into the ditch.

The machine gun mount was blown to pieces, and the flames could no longer be lit.

"Hit."

A deafening roar erupted from the trenches, and the soldiers were overjoyed at the sight before them.

Among the cheering crowd, Li Yunlong's voice was the loudest: "Good... Zhu Zi hit it so well."

He jumped up and down, slapping his thigh hard: "Damn it, you've got guts, kid."

That was a brilliant shot! As a reward... I keep my word, all the liquor, canned goods, and biscuits are yours to enjoy!

Wang Chengzhu was panting heavily, his face covered in cement mixed with sweat. He grinned, revealing his white teeth, and replied with a roguish smile, "Commander, I'll take the sweet potato liquor! But you have to leave me a bite of those two cans to taste, okay?"

The rain was still falling, but the excitement of blowing up the enemy's heavy machine gun quickly infected everyone on the front line.

The soldiers of the Independent Regiment straightened their backs again in the foxholes, gritted their teeth, and pressed their gun barrels forward.

Wang Chengzhu's shot not only destroyed a machine gun, but also broke the oppressive atmosphere, igniting the fighting spirit of the Independent Regiment in the torrential rain.

The raindrops had formed a torrential curtain of water, striking the soldiers' helmets like countless silver needles, making a crackling sound, so chaotic that the raindrops and heartbeats blended together.

Colonel Takeji Taura, commander of the 1st Infantry Regiment of the China Garrison Army, was soaked to the bone, mud and water seeping into his uniform from his collar. The cold made him shiver, but he still shouted, "Division Commander, my unit has been ambushed by the Chinese army. I am leading the regiment to attack them!"

Masaharu Honma sat sideways on his horse, his raincoat offering no protection against the torrential downpour. Water dripped from the brim of his military cap like a waterfall, and his face was etched with deep lines, yet his eyes remained cold and hard.

His voice was low and muffled, with a hint of angry hoarseness: "How's the fighting going? Have you figured out the unit number yet?"

Taura Takeji lowered his head in shame, forcing out a reply: "Your Excellency... due to the heavy rain, our artillery is completely ineffective, leaving us only able to send infantry on a direct assault, resulting in extremely slow progress..."

His face was grim, and his voice grew softer and softer as he spoke: "We didn't capture any prisoners, and we don't know which unit the enemy was from. But we estimate it to be about a regiment."

“Baka…” Honma Masaharu gripped the reins tightly, his hands trembling slightly under his leather gloves, and his teeth grinding together.

In this weather, it seemed as if even God was against him; everything the Japanese army had relied on until now was being washed into the mud and water.

More than a dozen artillery pieces lay quietly by the roadside, their muzzles filled with rainwater. The artillerymen hunched over, waiting for orders, none daring to risk firing them.

"Immediately!" He looked up abruptly at his adjutant, whose face was soaked with sweat. "Send a telegram to Datong! Report to Commander Tada and Commander Iwamatsu, requesting air support! As soon as the weather clears up, planes must be sent immediately!"

"Hai!" The adjutant immediately lifted his leg and staggered backward.

After reprimanding his subordinates, Honma Masaharu dismounted and stepped into the ankle-deep mud, his boots making a "plop" sound as he pulled them out.

He carried his binoculars and laboriously walked down the hillside to the high ground.

He was still a kilometer away from the front line of Panlongling. He wiped the water off the lens and held it to his eye socket. In the lens, hundreds of Japanese soldiers were struggling to climb the slope ahead, amidst the turbulent mud and rocks.

They wore raincoats that were already soaked through, their bayonets gleaming white in the rain, yet their feet kept slipping. Although the Japanese soldiers shouted "Kill!", their momentum was stifled by the harsh weather, and the entire offensive appeared slow and sluggish.

The defenders on the ridge had a clear advantage in the high ground, firing machine guns and rifles down at the enemy from above. The rain of bullets was interspersed with flashes of fire and bursts of blood mist.

A bullet flashed by, and with a "bang!" a Japanese soldier in the front row fell to the ground. His body rolled down the rain-soaked hillside, tumbling several meters, his body already covered in mud and water, making him look like a "mud monkey".

Masaharu Honma stared wide-eyed, feeling his heart pounding. He gripped the binoculars tightly, his breathing becoming rapid and labored.

Honma Masaharu stood on the hillside, watching the wounded soldiers roll around in the mud one after another, groaning and moaning incessantly. Their uniforms were so dirty that their original colors were unrecognizable, and they looked as wretched as mud monkeys. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

He wasn't heartbroken over the few lives lost; what he cared about was the actual results of the battle.

If the death of one soldier could save the lives of several or even more than ten enemy soldiers, he would certainly accept it gladly.

But sending soldiers charging forward with bayonets at their heels, only to be picked off like rabbits by the enemy, is a pointless and foolish death.

Through the binoculars, the Japanese soldiers who had no choice but to charge forward were seen slipping and falling on their backs on the muddy hillside, their eyes rolling back in their heads.

This kind of playing style really made him feel extremely depressed.

"A stupid way of playing..."

He sneered in a low voice, "For a garrison like this, the best course of action should be cannons and airplanes to send them down to be bombed first, and then soldiers to clear the battlefield! Now look what's happened, this rain has completely negated all the Imperial Army's advantages!"

He slammed the binoculars shut, rainwater dripping down his gloves and into the soft, wet mud.

"We can't keep fighting like this!"

He pointed at Takeharu Taura: "Taura-kun, immediately issue the order for the regiment to cease attacking. All soldiers must immediately withdraw from the mountain and hold their positions. Once the tank battalion arrives, the tanks and infantry will launch a renewed attack!"

"Hai!"

Upon hearing this, Taura Takeji was overjoyed, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He quickly turned around and ran off to relay the order.

In an instant, a series of sharp whistles suddenly came from behind the Japanese soldiers who were desperately attacking in the mud. Upon hearing the whistles, rows of soldiers began to stagger backward.

A sharp command suddenly drowned out the sound of rain, urging the soldiers to retreat down the slope.

With Masaharu Honma ordering a retreat, Panlong Ridge fell into an eerie silence.

The gunfire began to subside, leaving only the continuous patter of raindrops hitting helmets, mud, and corpses.

Masaharu Honma stood on the slope behind him, rainwater streaming down his stiff cheeks, cold and piercing.

He didn't return to the command tent, but stared intently at the distant mountains shrouded in night and rain, which resembled a lurking beast.

The order to halt the attack had been given, but his anxiety only grew.

"Reporting to the Division Commander, the tank battalion reports that due to muddy roads, the tracks have repeatedly gotten stuck in the mud, and the advance speed is extremely slow."

It is estimated that it will take at least another two hours to reach Panlongling!

A communications soldier, dripping wet, staggered in to report.

"Two hours?" Honma Masaharu's eye twitched.

He turned around abruptly and shouted angrily, "Two hours? By the time they crawl over, it will be dark. Do you think the Chinese army will just sit and wait to die?"

But his roar sounded so powerless in the rain.

He knew very well that it was a pipe dream to force the tanks to advance quickly under such terrain and weather conditions.

The tanks that usually look so imposing are now in a sorry state.

Their heavy weight turned them into iron coffins that were difficult to move on the soft mud.

The scene he envisioned of crushing enemy lines with tanks now seemed far beyond his reach.

"Order the troops to construct temporary defensive fortifications on the spot and strengthen vigilance!" As a seasoned general, Honma Masaharu regained his cold demeanor after realizing there was no immediate solution. "Tell Taura-kun to remove the wounded and reorganize the troops. We cannot afford any more unnecessary losses before the tanks arrive."

He knew very well that the commander on the other side was not a fool.

This brief period of calm gave the enemy an excellent opportunity to regroup and recover.

He could even imagine those cunning Chinese soldiers on the mountain ridges frantically digging anti-tank ditches with entrenching tools, or burying bundles of grenades along the paths that tanks were bound to take.

Thinking of this, Masaharu Honma felt a chill rise up his spine, a chill that even surpassed the coldness of his soaked military uniform.

For the first time in this obscure mountain valley, he sensed the dangerous atmosphere of prey turning into hunter.

Meanwhile, on the Panlongling front, the soldiers of the Independent Regiment were making the most of this precious lull in the fighting.

"Quickly... carry the fallen brothers down! Wounded soldiers, get the wounded to the tunnels at the back!"

Li Yunlong's voice echoed across the battlefield as he trudged through the mud, his face wet with a mixture of rain and sweat.

Despite their exhaustion, the soldiers, in twos and threes, dragged the bodies of their fallen comrades out of the mud and carried them with great difficulty to the rear.

More soldiers were tending to the wounded. Medics hastily bandaged wounds with mud-covered bandages, and the wounded gritted their teeth, trying not to utter a painful groan so as not to affect morale.

"Old Zhao, do we have enough ammunition?" Li Yunlong asked Zhao Gang, who was counting supplies.

Zhao Gang wiped the rain off his face, his eyes quite serious: "We still have plenty of rifle bullets, but we've used up nearly half of our heavy machine gun ammunition, and we don't have many grenades left either. Especially after you ordered Zhu Zi to fire freely, we only have thirty mortar shells left!"

"Damn it!" Li Yunlong slammed his fist on the sandbag next to him, sending mud and water flying everywhere.

"The Japanese are definitely waiting for their iron turtle! Thirty shells are simply not enough."

He pondered for a moment, a ruthless glint in his eyes: "Tell the brothers to gather all the grenades together for me."

Divide into several groups and bury yourselves on the hillside along the routes where the Japanese tanks are most likely to come up! Dig more foxholes, and make them deep! When the Japanese tanks come up, engage them in close combat! Use grenades to blow up their tracks!

“This is paying with human lives…” Zhao Gang’s voice was heavy.

"If you don't fill it out, you'll all die here!" Li Yunlong's tone left no room for doubt. "This is our only chance! Tell the brothers that if they want to live, they have to be even more ruthless than the Japanese devils."

Today, Panlong Ridge is a damn gate to hell; either we send the Japanese devils in, or the Japanese devils send us in!

(End of this chapter)