World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Nakamura walked to the second company's position. The soldiers lay prone in the snow, their bodies shivering slightly, whether from the cold or from tension, it was hard to tell.

"Sakai," he called to a familiar corporal.

Corporal Sakai turned his head. He was a veteran who had served in the army during the Russo-Japanese War. He had a scar on his face, a memento from the Battle of Port Arthur.

"Major." Sakai's voice was calm.

"Are you nervous?" Nakamura asked.

Sakai laughed, revealing a tooth missing from his front: "It's a bit cold, but there's nothing to be nervous about. I've fought Russians before, in Fengtian. They're good marksmen, but not so good at bayonet fighting."

This veteran's experience reassured Nakamura somewhat. He patted Sakai on the shoulder: "Take good care of the new recruits."

"Don't worry, Major."

Nakamura continued his inspection, eventually arriving at the machine gun squad's location. Warrant Officer Yamada was directing his soldiers to set up two Type 96 machine guns and select firing positions.

"How's the shooting range?" Nakamura asked.

"Very good." Yamada pointed ahead. "From here, we can cover the entire front of the high ground. But the distance... about seven hundred meters, is a bit far for a machine gun."

"Once the feint begins, they will reveal their position," Nakamura said. "We'll seize the opportunity."

"Yes."

Everything was ready. Nakamura returned to his command post and glanced at his pocket watch—3:05 a.m.

He took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his lungs. Then he raised his hand and waved it forward.

The attack has begun.

The soldiers of the Second Company leaped from their concealed positions, spreading out in skirmish lines on the snow and beginning their advance toward the higher ground. They did not run, but maintained a steady pace, rifles held to their chests, bayonets gleaming coldly in the dim light of the day.

Initially, the Russian positions were silent. Nakamura observed through his binoculars and could occasionally see the outlines of steel helmets peeking out from the edge of the trenches, but no fire was made.

They are observing and judging.

500 meters away. 400 meters away. 300 meters away.

Suddenly, several tongues of fire erupted from the Russian positions—rifles were firing. Immediately afterwards, a more intense barrage of gunfire followed, interspersed with the distinctive "rat-a-tat-tat" of machine guns.

"Maxim," Hans whispered to Nakamura, "the standard heavy machine gun of the Russian army."

Nakamura saw soldiers from the Second Company begin to fall, like puppets pulled down by invisible strings, leaving bright red marks on the snow. But the others continued to advance, even quickening their pace.

"Fire!" Warrant Officer Yamada's voice rang out.

The sound of the Type 96 machine gun was completely different from that of the Russian Maxim gun—sharper, faster, like the sound of tearing cloth. Both machine guns spat fire, bullets streaking across the night sky towards the Russian positions.

Nakamura kept a close eye on the results. For the first few seconds, the Type 96's firing was steady, with clear trajectories, kicking up a cloud of snow in front of the Russian positions. He could see the Russian machine gunners forced to duck and take cover.

But soon, problems arose.

"It's jammed!" shouted the assistant gunner next to a machine gun.

Yamada rushed over, quickly pulled back the bolt, and removed the deformed cartridge case. His movements were fairly practiced, but they wasted a precious ten seconds.

The other machine gun continued firing, but the rate of fire dropped significantly—the barrel had overheated.

"Cool down! Cool down quickly!" Yamada shouted.

The assistant gunner grabbed some snow from beside him, intending to smear it on the barrel, but his gloves were too thick, making his movements clumsy. Yamada shoved him aside, grabbed the snow himself, and pressed it onto the barrel, producing a hissing sound and white smoke.

Just then, the outflanking force launched its attack.

Soldiers from the first and third companies burst out from their flanks, like two sharp knives piercing the Russian positions. They abandoned their formation and began running at full speed, firing as they ran, uttering primal roars.

The Russian troops were clearly thrown into disarray by this sudden pincer attack. The machine guns turned, but it was too late. The Japanese soldiers had already reached grenade throwing range.

Dozens of grenades arced through the air and landed in the Russian trenches. Explosions followed one after another, and flashes of light briefly illuminated the hill, revealing flying dirt and human remains.

"Charge! Charge!" the officers shouted.

Japanese soldiers, bayonets at the ready, leaped into the trenches. The battle then entered its most brutal phase—close-quarters combat.

Nakamura lowered his binoculars; he knew there was no need to look any further. A Russian company on guard duty had been ambushed by a battalion; the outcome was already decided.

"Very efficient," Hans commented, his tone tinged with admiration. "Your soldiers are brave, charging without hesitation."

"But they paid the price." Nakamura looked at the motionless figures on the snow, at least twenty or thirty of them.

"That's how war is," Hans shrugged. "And your tactics worked. You took a company-sized position in fifteen minutes with a very good casualty ratio."

Nakamura did not answer. He was calculating: How many were killed? How many were wounded? How much ammunition was used? These all needed to be recorded in detail and reported after the war—not only to the high command of the Japanese army, but also to Lanfang through special channels.

"Major!" Kobayashi ran over, his face beaming with excitement. "We've taken the position! We've captured over thirty Russian soldiers, and the rest... most of them have been wiped out."

"Our casualties?"

"According to preliminary statistics, there are 21 dead, 14 seriously wounded, and more than 30 slightly wounded." Kobayashi's voice lowered.

Nakamura closed his eyes. Forty-five men were incapacitated, representing seven and a half percent of the total force. The price of a small-scale battle.

"Collect the weapons, especially that Maxim machine gun," he ordered. "Hand the prisoners over to the Germans. We need to continue our advance in twenty minutes."

"yes!"

The soldiers began clearing the battlefield. Nakamura walked up to the high ground, stepping over the broken fortifications and congealed bloodstains. The scene in the trenches was horrific—the bodies of Russian and Japanese soldiers lay intertwined, some still in fighting positions.

Corporal Sakai sat in a trench, bandaging a wound on his arm. He saw Nakamura and grinned.

"Major, I told you, the Russians aren't good at bayonet fighting." He raised a bloodstained Type 30 bayonet. "I took on three of them, killed two, and the third got away."

"Well done," Nakamura said, then noticed a strange machine gun next to Sakai. "What's that?"

"A new Russian gadget." Sakai kicked the gun with his foot. "They call it 'Lewis,' a gift from the British. A light machine gun, you can carry it while running. It's better than our 'Type 96'."

Nakamura crouched down for a closer look. The machine gun was indeed ingeniously designed, with a cylindrical heat sink and a disc-shaped magazine on top. He remembered seeing it in an intelligence briefing; it was a British-made Lewis light machine gun, some of which the Russian army had acquired through aid.

"Take it," he said to the soldiers behind him. "This is an important trophy."

While continuing his patrol, Nakamura encountered Warrant Officer Yamada. The machine gun squad leader looked unwell and was squatting next to a Type 96 machine gun, inspecting it.

"A malfunction?" Nakamura asked.

"The gun jammed after firing 120 rounds in succession," Yamada reported. "The barrel is severely overheating; there may be a problem with the heat sink design. And..."

He picked up a magazine: "Loading ammunition is too much trouble. It's okay when training on the ship, but on the battlefield, your hands get frozen, making it difficult to load quickly."

Nakamura nodded. This is all valuable data; it needs to be recorded in detail.