Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 355 I'll Do It Myself
The pitch-black night, like an overturned giant bowl, firmly shrouded the entire Death Valley.

The biting mountain wind howled through the valley.

The 27th Division's "Gyokusai" charge, fueled by their final frenzy and despair, surged like a tidal wave crashing into the encirclement formed by the Shanxi militia and the Eighth Route Army.

In the darkness, countless gray-yellow figures, amidst the frenzied and hoarse shouts of "Banzai!" and "Yusui!", were as if suddenly pushed by an invisible force, forming several chaotic yet dense crowds, desperately rushing towards the layers of death-defying lines on the hillside!

The cold glint of bayonets flickered in the darkness, like a swarm of desperate fireflies rushing towards the raging flames.

Instead of gunfire, they were met with beams of light.

"Whoosh... Bang..."

The first flare, with a sharp whistle, suddenly shot up from a concealed gun barrel, piercing the thick night and streaking into the sky with a dazzling light.

Immediately afterwards, "Whoosh... Bang! Whoosh... Bang! Whoosh... Bang..."

The second, third, and dozens of flares rose up from all directions and exploded in the sky.

In an instant, it seemed as if the entire sky had been lit up.

Dozens of small, burning suns hovered above the valley, illuminating the entire dark canyon and ravine in a stark white light, revealing every detail.

It was as if the stage was suddenly lit up, but what was being performed was a real-life drama of death!
The Japanese soldiers who had just been charging through the darkness were instantly exposed to the bright light.

The ferocious, fanatical, confused, and fearful expressions on their faces became as stiff as oil paint under the blinding light.

The sprinting motion became clumsy, as if it had been slowed down!

But this deadly stillness lasted only a moment!
The true curtain of death was about to fall!

"Buzz... Buzz ga ga ga ga..."

"Boom...boom...boom..."

The encirclement, consisting of more than a hundred Sherman tanks, was positioned at the outermost edge of the encirclement. Like a group of sharks that had smelled blood, they suddenly opened their "eyes".

The headlights mounted on the front of the tank were suddenly turned on, and beams of bright light suddenly shone forward.

"Click...click click click...caw caw caw caw caw..."

The Browning 7.62mm coaxial machine gun, mounted coaxially with the turret, was the first to fire.

The crisp, rapid, and dense bursts of fire, like the tolling of death's bell, lashed out like whips at the Japanese soldiers charging at the forefront.

Immediately afterwards, the M2HB 12.7mm heavy machine gun mounted on top of the turret emitted a heavy, muffled, extremely penetrating and powerful roar, like tearing through thick canvas!
"Dong dong dong dong..."

The cauldron of boiling oil, like something out of hell, was completely overturned!
Countless thick, crimson bullet chains, visible to the naked eye and made of tracer bullet indicators, became even more dazzling and deadly under the intense light.

These bullets, forming a deadly hurricane, mercilessly swept over the Japanese soldiers exposed under the flares.

Under this indiscriminate and impenetrable barrage of fire, Japanese soldiers fell one after another like wheat being harvested.

"Puff puff puff puff puff... puff... sizzle..."

The dull thud of a bullet piercing flesh and bone, the crisp sound of bones being torn apart and snapped instantly—the fragile human body disintegrates and tears apart without any resistance under the impact of a large-caliber bullet.

Being hit by a 7.62mm bullet is somewhat better; at most, one will convulse violently as if electrocuted and fall down.

Targets hit by 12.7mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds or full metal jacket rounds present a different picture.

Once the torso is hit, a huge hole will instantly explode open, and the limbs will be torn off as if by an invisible force and thrown into the air.

If the head is hit, it's even more terrifying; the huge head will explode like a watermelon, with internal organs mixed with bone fragments, flesh and blood scattered everywhere.

Inside and outside the encirclement, the tanks were spaced about fifty meters apart, their lines of fire intersecting to form a crossfire zone covering the entire valley entrance. Infantry platoons positioned themselves in the rear trenches, using Czech-made and Browning machine guns to fill any remaining gaps. Explosions, gunfire, and screams mingled in the night air, causing rubble to fall from the valley walls.

Masaharu Honma was mixed in with the countless people charging forward. His officer's overcoat was already blackened by mud and blood, and his sword was hanging to one side.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face filled with madness and stubbornness, as he ran desperately while brandishing a military knife and shouting.

One by one, his personal guards fell around him, and in the light of the lamps and flares, his figure appeared particularly short and lonely.

The shadow abruptly stopped, its body stiffening, as a blast of fire from a vehicle-mounted machine gun streaked past.

Bright red blood sprayed onto the face of a soldier behind him. Before the military sword in Honma Masaharu's hand could fall, he was overthrown to the ground by the torrent following behind and submerged in the carnage.

The desperate charge launched by thousands of Japanese remnants seemed overwhelming and unstoppable, but in reality, they were decimated by firepower before they even touched the outer defenses.

Some people fell and were unable to get up, while others, having lost half an arm, still managed to shuffle a few steps forward only to be swept down again.

A layer of bodies gradually appeared at the bottom of the valley, and blood flowed down the ground to the bottom of the hillside, staining the muddy water in the low-lying areas red.

The carnage in the valley lasted for more than an hour that night.

The "Gyokusai Charge," revered by the Japanese, was extinguished silently, like moths drawn to a flame, under modern firepower and sophisticated defenses.

When the last flare went out, the white light was blown away by the wind, and the valley returned to darkness.

In the darkness, the only sounds from the bottom of the valley were intermittent groans and howls, and the stench of blood wafted on the wind, so strong it was nauseating.

As dawn broke and the morning mist was gradually peeled away by the sunlight, the canyon at the foot of Panlong Ridge was finally fully revealed to everyone.

The smell of gunpowder and blood from last night mingled together, and the air still carried a scorching heat and the metallic sweetness of rust.

The Eighth Route Army soldiers and the Shanxi militia soldiers carefully stepped into the valley. The ground under their feet was soft, a mixture of blood and mud. With each step, they could feel something sticky on the soles of their shoes, and they could hear a sticky "squeak" sound when they lifted their feet.

Li Yunlong, supporting his bandaged wounded arm with one hand and waving with the other, led the Independent Regiment in pursuit.

The position they held firm last night is now a valley littered with mangled flesh. Many soldiers advance while keeping their eyes fixed on the scattered limbs and severed bodies.

Some of these corpses hung from the cracks in the blasted rocks, their intestines spilling out of the fissures, their red, sticky entrails lying on the grayish-white stone ground.

A soldier poked at it with his bayonet, and the fishy, ​​sour smell instantly became even stronger, forcing him to immediately cover his mouth and nose and gag.

Li Yunlong frowned and cursed, "Damn it, those Japanese devils were really reckless last night! They're lying all over the ground like this, my eyes are spinning!"

Zhao Gang, standing behind him, was a veteran who had fought for several years, but looking at the dense piles of corpses before him, he couldn't help but sigh softly, "This is truly a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood, a living hell..."

Zhang Dabiao led several soldiers to the forefront, moving faster than anyone else, searching everywhere like a locust swarm.

Any Type 38 rifles, Type 96 light machine guns, and Type 92 heavy machine guns still emitting black smoke scattered on the ground would be immediately dragged away and loaded onto carts if they saw them.

One by one, the grenade launchers were thrown onto the cart. Next to them were several unexploded mortar shells, which the soldiers carefully wrapped in burlap sacks, afraid they would explode.

That's why they say cleaning up the battlefield is addictive. Many Eighth Route Army soldiers' eyes began to burn with fervor, and they became more and more addicted to the search.

The Eighth Route Army today lacks almost everything, especially weapons and equipment.

Last night, the 27th Division launched a full-scale attack, and now the entire army has perished in the valley. These weapons scattered all over the ground have naturally become their best spoils of war.

The Eighth Route Army soldiers cleaned up very carefully. Some even stripped the clothes off the Japanese soldiers' corpses, and found everything, including bullet belts, bayonets, binoculars, and even the military rations in their arms.

As the mountain wind blew, the corpses, which already had little clothing to cover them, were exposed in large numbers. Those bodies that had been stripped naked were left with only a strip of cloth around their waists, looking both wretched and tragic.

Zhang Dabiao already had three Type 38 rifles strapped to his back, a torn Japanese sword around his neck, and a grenade launcher slung over his shoulder. He grinned and shouted to Li Yunlong, "Commander, luckily we acted quickly, otherwise there wouldn't be a single hair left!"

"Clean it up properly, don't leave a single thing behind!" Li Yunlong shouted, waving his right hand. Although his arm was wrapped in blood-stained cloth, his ruthlessness remained undiminished.

A soldier squatted down and pried out the pocket watch and supply bag from the Japanese soldier's body.

Some people even slapped their blood-stained military caps directly onto their heads.

Even more outrageous, someone even carried away the military boots from a relatively intact corpse, cursing as they took them off: "The Japanese shoes are quite sturdy, much easier to walk in than our straw sandals!"

The cleanup operation was in full swing, yet it was governed by unspoken rules.

The soldiers of the Shanxi militia tacitly chose to "turn a blind eye" to the actions of the Eighth Route Army soldiers who stripped them of their weapons, equipment, supplies, and even clothing.

Before the operation, the officers had already conveyed the orders from above: all firearms, ammunition, clothing, and supplies should be prioritized for the Eighth Route Army brothers who needed these supplies more for survival and development.

Moreover, these Japanese equipment were like a chicken rib to them, neither useful nor worth discarding, so they might as well leave them all to the Eighth Route Army as a favor.

They were more interested in small items that symbolized honor and intelligence.

For example, those finely crafted command swords, military flags stained with blood, officer's identification cards, and even soldiers' letters home.

In contrast, the Eighth Route Army soldiers, having discerned the intentions of the Shanxi militia, began to reciprocate.

Whenever the militia soldiers encountered something that interested them, they would silently look away, or even point at it with their fingers or kick it to the other person's feet.

Several oil lamps were lit in the tent of the temporary command post, casting shadows on several faces.

The table was made up of several overturned shell boxes, and the oil paper map was weighed down by a teacup, with the edges curled up from the heat.

Outside, shouts of people carrying corpses and moving weapons could still be heard, but inside the tent, all was silent.

Su Yaoyang calmly offered cigarettes to the officers, first lighting one for the deputy chief of staff, then handing a match to Commander Liu, and finally lighting one for himself, taking a deep drag.

The cigarette burned between my fingers, the flame flickering.

The deputy chief of staff shook his head repeatedly: "The Japanese have suffered such a great loss, the North China Area Army Command will certainly not let this go."

Reinforcements, retaliatory sweeps, and even tighter blockades will all follow... The First Army will inevitably launch a fierce counterattack against our base.

Our strategic depth and the stability of our guerrilla zones will face severe tests. At this critical moment, you still want to launch an offensive?

I don't think so.

Su Yaoyang tapped his finger hard on the Shanxi map on the table. "The Japanese Third Division was severely damaged, and the 27th Division was completely wiped out by us. It can be said that the backbone of the First Army has been broken by us!"

His tone gradually rose: "They've been running rampant in Shanxi for so long, and now we've crushed their arrogance. It's time for us to take the offensive."

"Now is the time for us to take the initiative and bring the war to the enemy's heartland. Therefore, my suggestion is..."

He paused, then continued, "My unit needs about three months of rest to recover its strength and replenish its losses."

Then, launch a large-scale, high-intensity offensive against the remaining main force of the First Army entrenched in Shanxi! Leveraging our mechanized forces and artillery superiority, concentrate superior troops, select several key nodes and transportation lines, and launch a thunderous campaign attack!

He swung his arm sharply, drawing an arc in the air: "There's only one objective... In the shortest time! With the most brutal blows! Drive the Japanese devils completely out of Shanxi! Give them no chance to catch their breath or reorganize!"

As soon as he finished speaking, it was as if all the air in the tent had been sucked out!
The deputy chief of staff gasped for breath, choking back the half-inhaled cigarette he had just taken in. He coughed repeatedly as he stared at Su Yaoyang, his eyes filled with disbelief and shock.

"Commander Su... I disagree. This is too risky. Neither I nor our deputy commander would agree to this battle plan."

"I know."

Su Yaoyang smiled faintly, "I never intended to work with you. After all, the Eighth Route Army's current strength does not allow for such reckless depletion of its own resources."

The deputy chief of staff looked at him suspiciously: "So you mean..."

"I mean, I'll do it myself."

(End of this chapter)