Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 349 Sniper
When Masaharu Honma's insane and ultimate "suicide" order reached the ears of every Japanese soldier on the Panlongling front through hoarse radio waves and the desperate roars of messengers, the 27th Division, a top-tier second-class division known for its discipline and resilience, suddenly unleashed an astonishing, almost pathological, extreme execution force, like a war machine fueled by violent energy.

It must be said that the Japanese army in 1940 was at its peak in terms of both combat effectiveness and willpower. Such a desperate situation did not make them feel hopeless, but instead aroused their ferocity.

With the order issued by Masaharu Homma, the entire 27th Division began to move into action.

The supply soldiers sheltering from the rain in the rear tents, the drivers who had just finished feeding the mules and horses, the engineers repairing the jammed machine gun in the mud, and even the orderly silently boiling water and cooking in the corner of the command post... Under the beast-like shouts and urging of their respective sergeants, sergeants, or corporals, everyone almost instinctively threw away everything they were doing.

With expressionless faces, they took their Type 38 rifles from the mud-filled boxes and attached their gleaming bayonets.

Amidst the officers' hoarse and stern commands, they quickly rallied and assembled in squads and companies, forming formations ready to charge to their deaths.

There was no commotion, no lamentation.

The only sounds in the air were the monotonous "click" of metal guns clashing against bayonet mounts, the sticky stomping of leather boots on muddy ground, and the officers' hoarse but emotionally restrained commands.

Meanwhile, on a winding country road more than 30 miles away from the brutal killing center of Panlongling, an armored unit was rapidly approaching Panlongling.

John, the commander of the 1st Armored Regiment, was leaning out of the commander's cupola of his M4 Sherman command tank, which was spewing hot, oily fumes.

The icy rain relentlessly lashed his face and neck, soaking his collar, but he remained oblivious. His only concern was anxiously scanning the road and hills ahead through the misty rain via his high-powered binoculars.

Through the slightly blurred vision of the binoculars, more than twenty relatively light and agile M24 Chaffee tanks, tasked with clearing the way, were making their difficult progress.

These "little elephants" were no longer as light and agile as usual; instead, they looked more like trapped beasts stuck in the mud.

The wide tracks spun wildly in the brown mud that reached the rims, kicking up waves of filthy mud that splashed into the air with a crackling sound. Under such conditions, no infantryman would dare to stand around them unless he was prepared to be bruised and battered by the flying gravel and mud.

The 44T24V8 engine roared deafeningly due to overload, struggling to plow a path through the "muddy river" that had been soaked by countless wheels, hooves, and rainwater for the following troops to advance.

Following closely behind these Chaffee tanks were more than seventy larger and more imposing M4 Sherman tanks (mixed with 75mm and a small number of 76mm gun variants). These behemoths, weighing more than thirty tons, had even more difficulty moving, their engines were louder, and the tank crews' curses were interspersed throughout.

This steel behemoth, consisting of nearly a hundred tanks, may seem invincible, but the terrible, muddy roads have limited its progress.

The tank's tracks frequently slipped violently, causing the tank to drift left and right in the mud and become difficult to control.

More than one Chaffee or unfortunate Sherman, due to oversteering or misjudging the edge, had its heavy body tilted and plunged into the bottomless mud of the roadside paddy field. The steel behemoths instantly became helpless sculptures, relying only on the thick steel cables thrown by their companions and the extreme struggle of their own engines to slowly break free from the mud's grip amidst the tooth-grinding metallic friction and the shrill sound of the chains tightening.

For more than two days, they trudged forward, stumbling and struggling, each step a severe test of the armored soldiers' will.

The team continued on in these terrible road conditions until the next morning, when the vast, undulating mountain outline of "Panlongling" finally emerged faintly in the rain and mist!
"Sir, Panlong Ridge is just three kilometers ahead! We've finally fucking made it here!"

The barely suppressed excitement and exhausted panting of the commander of a Chaffee tank, who was tasked with clearing the way, could be heard through the headset.

John abruptly put down the binoculars, and a relieved smile finally flickered in his bloodshot blue eyes.

There were only a few kilometers left. Once they crossed this last stretch, they would be able to rendezvous with the Eighth Route Army at Panlong Ridge. At that point, once the main force arrived, their mission would be complete.

"Chirp..."

Just then, a sharp, high-pitched, short, and distinctive tearing sound, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, suddenly pierced through the enormous noise woven from the sound of rain and the continuous roar of hundreds of engines!

John's pupils suddenly contracted, and his binoculars instinctively swept towards the right front of the convoy, following the sound and his intuition. About five hundred meters away, the hatch of the commander's cupola of a Chaffee tank acting as the scout was just opened, and the commander, who had been wearing a leather tank helmet and leaning out of the vehicle to excitedly report the situation, suddenly stiffened.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

The next moment!

"Oh!"

A dull yet unusually crisp cracking sound rang out!

Through the eyepiece of the telescope, a brutal scene was presented with crystal clarity: the young tank commander's head, wearing a tank helmet, seemed to explode the moment it was about to emerge from the hatch, like a ripe watermelon being smashed by an invisible giant hammer.

Bright red, scalding blood mixed with viscous, grayish-white brain matter and shattered, deformed helmet fragments sprayed backward in a fan shape, like raindrops scattered by a gale.

The headless body jerked violently, then slumped back into the turret like a puppet with its strings cut, the dark brown mud quickly swallowing the bloodstains that had dripped onto the vehicle.

"Sniper! Enemy Sniper! High ground!"

John's voice, filled with shock and anger, rang out almost simultaneously: "Sniper! Enemy sniper! The hillside at 11 o'clock! Everyone stop the car and close the hatches! Machine gunners, cover the suspicious area and suppress him!"

The command was instantly transmitted across the entire convoy's radio channels along with the electrical current.

But at the very instant the order was given, before the machine guns on the front M24 turrets could even turn their muzzles, a second piercing whistle that tore through the air struck again!
This time, it went straight to the core of the command!

"clang!"

A loud metallic thud made John's eardrums ring!

A deadly bullet struck with perfect accuracy the observation window directly in front of John's commander's cupola in his Sherman tank.

There was a thick piece of bulletproof glass embedded there.

The violent impact instantly covered the entire glass with dense, deep-centered spiderweb-like cracks, as if it had been suddenly covered by a terrifying white spiderweb. The enormous kinetic energy was transmitted to the turret structure, causing John's hand holding the microphone to go numb, and his head to buzz as if a giant bell had been struck!
The adrenaline surge fueled his fighting instincts, completely overriding his thoughts. John jerked his neck back, his body flashing back into the relatively safer cockpit with lightning speed. At the same time, with all his might, he slammed the cold, heavy hatch shut with a loud bang, shutting out the terrifying outside world. Only his own heavy breathing and the engine's uneasy growl filled the cramped command bay.

The crew inside the turret fell silent instantly, cold sweat trickling down their foreheads.

The loud banging sound just now clearly reached everyone's ears.

The steel behemoth that had been crushing the mud and was unstoppable just moments before was now pinned to the spot by a sniper, or perhaps several cunning ones, who were hidden behind the rain and vegetation in the distant hills.

"Damn it, we've been spotted by a Japanese sniper!"

In the driver's seat, Qiao Erdan's hoarse voice trembled with relief after surviving the ordeal. He subconsciously wiped the fine white sweat mixed with oil from his forehead, feeling his throat dry as if he had just swallowed a handful of sand.

I felt a sense of relief, like cold rain seeping into my neck. Thankfully, that shot wasn't aimed at my exposed head.

Having witnessed the horrific death of the train commander in front of him, he felt as if a hand was gripping his heart.

The Japanese gunman hiding in the shadows was frighteningly ruthless. If it had been him who opened the hatch just now… Qiao Erdan didn’t dare to think about it. His back instantly turned cold again.

The turret was filled with the stuffy smell of engine oil, gunpowder residue, and sweat.

Gunner Zhuang Xiaoman was also pale. He exhaled a deep breath, as if to expel the fear in his chest, and turned to John Miller, who was gripping the microphone tightly. His voice was urgent, barely perceptible: "Sir, what should we do? Should we stop and deal with these bastards who are shooting from the side, or... just step on the gas and drive straight through?"

After a brief moment of shock and anger, John's face, washed by rain and cold, regained its composure.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead pressed his ear against the cold headphones, listening intently to the sounds around him.

He quickly realized that the Japanese snipers' objective wasn't to kill, but rather to use precise fire to slow down their armored unit, hoping to buy even half an hour of breathing room for their comrades trapped in Panlong Ridge!

Thinking this, John decisively pressed the microphone button, and his slightly broken Chinese instantly filled the entire channel:
"Attention all units! Leave three Chaffee tanks, two M3 armored vehicles, and a platoon of infantry to clear out the nearby snipers. All other units, continue advancing and do not stop!"

As the order was given, the steel torrent, frozen for a moment by the threat of death, roared again like a giant beast that had been whipped.

The roar of all the tank engines suddenly intensified, and thick black smoke billowed from their exhaust pipes.

The convoy, which had been hesitant and stalled, began to incline forward and accelerate again.

"understand!"

"Roger that!"

Concise and powerful responses came through the radio.

The sniper hidden in the unknown shadows was clearly angered, or rather, driven to desperation, by the relentless and aggressive stance of the armored forces!

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Four or five rapid gunshots rang out in succession through the rain, the bullets violently striking the steel shell of the convoy!
However, this time, the attack that had just been fatal to the personnel exposed outside the tanks, hitting the thick main armor plates of the Chaffee and Sherman tanks, had little effect whatsoever.

A few orange-yellow sparks suddenly appeared on the armor, making a short, sharp "clanging" sound before disappearing, leaving only a few shallow dents or insignificant scratches on the wet steel plate.

But those few gunshots, which revealed their location and were almost a form of venting, became a fatal mistake!
"Target! 11 o'clock! That biggest oak tree!"

The observer locked onto the suspicious dark green canopy shadow almost immediately after the second shot.

Location information was instantly shared via radio with the units left behind to carry out the cleanup!
At the very front of the convoy, an M24 Chaffee, tasked with clearing the way, suddenly turned its turret, and its 75mm main gun, like a beast that had caught the scent of its prey, instantly and steadily pointed its muzzle at the shadowy trees!
There was absolutely no need for further confirmation or requests.

"boom!"

A dull yet explosive roar tore through the rain! A fiery orange dragon, carrying an aura of destruction, hurtled straight towards the roots of the lush, leafy tree!
The high-explosive warhead detonated with unparalleled precision near the tree trunk! The massive fireball, carrying dirt, gravel, and shrapnel, expanded wildly, instantly engulfing the lower half of the entire tree! The thick trunk was blasted to shreds, sending wood chips flying everywhere, and thick smoke and flames soaring into the sky!

After the loud explosion and shockwave, the scene was one of utter devastation.

A chilling, brief, and piercing scream, like a wildcat having its throat choked, came from the smoke-filled treetop debris, then abruptly stopped.

Immediately afterwards, a distorted figure wearing a yellow-green camouflage raincoat plummeted from between the billowing smoke-filled tree branches like a tattered sack.

However, the expected "thud" sound of the tree falling to the ground did not come. Instead, a thick hemp rope was clearly tied high up on the charred and broken branch!

At the end of the rope, a sturdy climbing hook was firmly fastened to the tactical harness of the corpse.

The Japanese sniper who had just been causing death was now like a meticulously crafted, terrifying puppet, suspended in mid-air by the "safety rope" he had personally tied to it to restrict its movement or facilitate setting up its gun.

In the fine, cold rain, a faint, slow, and chilling stillness lingered.

The rain relentlessly lashed his charred, smoking body and mutilated lower limbs, the melting blood mixed with mud dripping onto the turned-up, acrid black soil below.

Then, the steel torrents indifferently rolled over, their tracks kicking up more mud, resolutely advancing deeper into Panlong Ridge where the sounds of gunfire grew increasingly intense.

The infantrymen left behind to carry out the clearing operation, rifles in hand, cautiously and ruthlessly moved to encircle the tree where the corpse was hanging.

(End of this chapter)