Courtyard House: I only wiped out 30,000 Japanese pirates

These Japanese soldiers were waiting to be sent to the front lines immediately.

They also have high expectations for this, because only by fighting can one earn military merit and be promoted.

They probably felt safe in the stubble fields outside the city. The Great Xia resistance army was causing trouble in the city, so who would come to the wilderness to set up a temporary camp?

He Dajun squatted behind the ridge of the field for a long time, counting the cycles of the searchlight scan, confirming the blind spots of the heavy machine gun's firing range, and also noting the location of the alarm on the barbed wire.

Then he opened the system panel and started exchanging grenades.

I exchanged nearly a hundred of them in one go.

The hand grenades were piled up behind the field ridge, some with wooden handles and others with black iron shells, forming a small hill.

He picked up the first one, pulled the fuse, waited two seconds, and then threw it out forcefully.

The grenade tumbled through the air a few times before crashing into the sandbag fortifications next to the camp gate.

With a loud bang, a piece of sandbag was blown away, and the heavy machine gun tilted slightly.

Two Japanese soldiers crouching behind sandbags were knocked over by shrapnel.

Then He Dajun picked up the second, third, and fourth pills.

One grenade after another flew out, drawing countless arcs in the air, crashing into the camp, onto the tents, and onto the truck beds parked in the middle of the camp.

The explosions were as frequent as firecrackers during Chinese New Year, but with each explosion, someone died. The Japanese soldiers in the camp were stunned by the blasts.

Someone rushed out of the tent and, before he could even put on his pants, was struck down by shrapnel.

Some people ran towards the camp gate with their guns, but halfway there they saw explosions happening in the direction of the camp gate, and they didn't know where to go.

Officers were shouting and whistles were sounding, but the explosions drowned out all the commands.

He Dajun did not stop.

He crouched behind the edge of the field, and of course, he was also running quickly.

Hand grenades were thrown out one after another.

He can throw accurately at close range, and he can throw even more at far range.

One person seemed to unleash the firepower of more than ten people in a surprise attack.

Flames lit up one after another in the camp, illuminating the figures of people running frantically amidst the explosions.

The first wave of explosions was concentrated at the camp gate and the guard tower. Two searchlights were extinguished, the heavy machine gun on the left side of the camp gate was blown over, and the sentry on the guard tower was thrown from a height by the shock wave and fell into the stubble field.

The second wave of explosions hit the barracks tents, setting five tents ablaze. Flames shot into the air, and Japanese soldiers who hadn't managed to escape screamed in agony within the flames.

Those who managed to escape were chased and shot by shrapnel.

The third wave of explosions focused on trucks and supplies. Three trucks were overturned, their fuel tanks caught fire, and flames shot up from under the trucks, burning the cabs into a metal shell.

From the moment the first grenade was thrown to the moment the last one landed, it took less than half an hour.

The Japanese soldiers in the camp did retaliate, but they had no idea where the attackers were.

He Dajun lay prone behind the ridge of the field, his position still nearly two hundred meters away from the outermost edge of the camp.

The Japanese soldiers fired wildly into the darkness from all directions, the bullets hitting the stubble fields and distant woods, with the closest bullet impact point to He Dajun being dozens of meters away.

The gunfire gradually subsided after half an hour.

He Dajun squatted behind the ridge of the field, holding a Type 96 light machine gun, and used the firelight in the camp to search for survivors.

A figure moved in the firelight. He pulled the trigger, and the spurred gun bounced.

A few short bursts of fire swept through, and the swaying shadow fell down.

Another person crawled up from behind the truck wreckage and tried to run away, but he fired another short burst, and the figure swayed and fell into the stubble field.

The system notification sound has been playing in my head for a long time.

After the first grenade exploded, the system started ticking down the defense points, five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand, the numbers kept rising.

Each grenade that lands earns new defense penetration points. The Japanese soldiers who were killed in their sleep no longer have a chance to break through the defenses. Each soldier earns 1,000 defense penetration points.

Those who were injured by the explosion and screamed on the ground, those who were terrified by the firelight, and those who ran wildly in the darkness without finding their way—their fear was constantly converted into He Dajun's points through the system.

Of course, this score is relatively low, but once these injured people die again, He Dajun will be given another thousand points.

He Dajun didn't calculate it in detail, but after this battle, the total number of points broken through the defenses increased by at least several hundred thousand.

He's rolling in money now, enough to buy tens of thousands of hand grenades.

He emerged from behind the field ridge, carrying a crooked-handled hoe, and slowly walked around the barbed wire fence of the camp.

Two searchlights went out, leaving two. One of the lamps had a crooked stand, and the bulb was pointing upwards at an angle, illuminating the night sky like a dying firefly blinking at the heavens.

The camp was littered with shell craters and charred tent remains, with corpses lying haphazardly on the stubble field.

Some people were lying behind sandbags, some were curled up at the entrance of tents, and some were trapped under the wreckage of trucks with only one foot sticking out.

He counted silently in his mind; it was more than five hundred.

Old Yang's intelligence might have missed some information, or he might have been exceptionally lucky tonight; the number of Japanese soldiers killed in this bombing was definitely over five hundred.

He Dajun walked to the broken stake of the camp gate, took out a piece of paper from his pocket, and nailed it to the stake with a dagger.

The words on the note were written by him beforehand, in pencil, and the handwriting was crooked and messy, exactly the same as when he drew the simple search map in front of Sasaki:

"If you dare to slaughter the people of Great Xia again, your family quarters will be the next camp."

Afterwards, He Dajun stood in front of the broken stakes of the camp gate and looked at the words on the note.

Then he exchanged a shovel from the system, cut a section of the barbed wire next to the camp gate, and moved the note to a more conspicuous place, right in the middle of the remaining camp gate post, facing the road.

He put away the hoe, dusted off his hands, and turned to disappear into the darkness.

The fires still burning in the camp behind us illuminated half the sky, and thick smoke billowed in the night sky like a black dragon circling above the stubble field.

The faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance, and Japanese soldiers from nearby strongholds were rushing towards the scene after hearing the explosion.

He Dajun didn't look back. He ran quickly along the route he had come from towards the city gate, his feet on the wet stubble field and his head under a sky full of stars.

The stars are exceptionally bright tonight, as if God had specially lit extra lights for him.

……

The contents of the note were transmitted to the Japanese Army Headquarters in Beijing that same evening.

It wasn't Sasaki who reported it; Sasaki only received the news the next morning.

The first to arrive at the scene were the patrol team from the outpost outside the city. By the time they heard the explosion and rushed over, He Dajun had already gone far away.

The patrol leader, a lieutenant, led more than thirty men into the camp expecting an ambush by resistance fighters, only to find that the entire camp was deserted.

All the tents were burned to ashes, the truck wreckage was still smoking, and the bodies stretched from the camp gate to the deepest part of the camp.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and burnt flesh. Stepping on the stubble, you could feel the stickiness under your shoes, and when you looked down, they were covered in blood.

The lieutenant found the note on the broken stake at the camp gate.

He took the note off the dagger, read it in the light of the flashlight, and then his expression changed.

Without delay, they immediately dispatched a car to deliver the note to the nearest regimental command post.

After reading the note, the regimental commander relayed the message to the headquarters of the Beijing Front Army overnight.