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

Boom!

The shell flew out of the cannon, drew an arc in the air, and exploded a few seconds later in the middle of the dense infantry formation below the mountain.

A flash of light, and shrapnel and dirt were blasted high into the air.

He Dajun glanced at it from afar and saw that the explosion hit the densest part of the Japanese infantry, wiping out at least a platoon of Japanese soldiers.

He Dajun grinned, then pushed the second shell into the breech, adjusted the direction a few degrees, and fired the second shot in another direction down the mountain.

The shell struck the middle of the truck group on the right flank of the infantry formation, hitting one truck directly and overturning it. The flames from the exploding oil tank illuminated the surrounding area for dozens of meters.

Then came the third, the fourth, and the fifth shot.

He Dajun worked alone on the artillery position for more than half an hour, firing up all the remaining shells.

The cannon barrel was already hot and red-hot, and the paint on the gun carriage was bubbling from the heat, but he didn't stop.

He pushed the last shell into the breech and fired one last shot at the shattered infantry remnants below the mountain.

These cannons should have been decommissioned by now.

He stood on the position for a while, looking down at his Japanese military uniform, which was stained with gunpowder and blood, and felt an unusual sense of satisfaction.

He roughly estimated that there were two regiments preparing for a general offensive in the assembly area down the mountain, and he had killed or wounded at least a thousand men. Three tanks were destroyed, and most of the trucks were burned.

The Japanese attack tonight is most likely to fail.

He Dajun jumped down from the position and ran up the mountain along the route he had come from.

The artillery positions behind us were still burning, the flames turning half the sky red, and thick smoke billowed in the night sky like a black dragon.

The chaotic whistles and shouts of the Japanese soldiers could be heard from down the mountain, but no one came to chase him.

The Japanese command system was in complete chaos. Heavy artillery positions were destroyed, ammunition depots were detonated, and infantry assembly areas were bombarded by their own heavy artillery. Anyone in command would be bewildered by this.

He Dajun ran up the ridgeline, disappeared into the depths of the dense forest, and found the hiding spot he had previously scouted out, where he crouched down.

He leaned against the tree trunk, panting heavily. He opened the system panel and glanced at it. His defense penetration score had increased by several hundred thousand more. He had so many points in the system that he was too lazy to count them.

……

At this moment, chaos erupted in the Japanese command post attacking Jingzhou. Deputy Commander-in-Chief Matsushima Ai swept the teacup off the table, shattering it into pieces and splashing tea onto the map, spreading it widely.

The report he had just received almost made him vomit blood on the spot: the heavy artillery regiment had been attacked from behind, more than half of the twenty-odd heavy artillery pieces had been destroyed, and the remaining few had been turned around by the attackers and bombarded for a full half hour at the infantry assembly area below the mountain.

The infantry regiment waited for artillery support in the assembly area, but instead of artillery shells, they received shells fired by their own troops.

Three tanks were destroyed, and most of the troop transport trucks were burned. The number of infantry casualties continues to rise.

This is an extremely valuable heavy weapon.

How many attackers were there? We don't know.

But it is estimated that the number of people will be considerable, possibly a company, or even more.

Matsushima Ai slammed the report on the table, gritting her teeth as she squeezed out a few words: "Find them for me."

The Japanese immediately dispatched reconnaissance planes.

By this time, it was already quite dark. Two biplane reconnaissance planes took off from the makeshift airfield, the roar of their engines echoing through the valley.

The plane flew very low, almost skimming the treetops, and the Japanese flag under its wings was particularly glaring in the morning light.

The reconnaissance aircraft's flight path and altitude indicate that they are conducting a low-altitude search mission, and the propeller speed is relatively slow in order to prolong their loiter time.

The pods hanging under the fuselage were not bombs, but reconnaissance pods, indicating that they were not there to bomb, but to search for people.

He Dajun lay motionless under a protruding rock, his body covered with withered leaves and pine needles.

He held his breath as the reconnaissance plane flew overhead.

The plane flew three times, each time with a slightly different route, as if using a grid search method to divide the entire mountainous area into several small sections and examine them one by one.

But they found nothing.

Left with no other option, the Japanese had to send ground troops into the mountains.

A company of infantry was temporarily pulled from the assembly area and chased after He Dajun into the mountains, following the trails he left behind during his retreat.

They came with a death order; Matsushima Ai said they were not to return to camp until the attackers were found.

He Dajun weaved through the woods, nearly getting his tail caught several times.

As he crossed a dry ditch, his foot slipped on a rock, and the sound of the gravel rolling down the slope attracted the attention of his pursuers. Bullets from a Type 96 machine gun flew past him, almost grazing his scalp.

He lay prone in the ditch and fired two shots, taking down a Japanese soldier who was charging at the front. Then, while the enemy was looking for cover, he jumped over the ditch and continued running.

He ran in a calculated direction, on the reverse slope, using the ridgeline to block the Japanese direct fire.

In this terrain, the Japanese machine guns and rifles couldn't hit him, and the mortars were at too high an elevation angle, so the shells couldn't get over the ridge.

Before long, it became completely dark. The Japanese company, which had been chasing for over an hour, finally stopped and began to set up camp.

They set up tents on an open field that had been bombarded by artillery shells, lit a campfire, and cooked canned food on a tin stove.

Of course, a large number of sentries were also deployed.

He Dajun lay prone in a dense forest not far away, peering through the bushes toward the campsite, silently counting the number of campfires and tents, and estimating how many people were in the camp.

In the middle of the camp was the largest tent, with two sentries standing at the entrance. Inside, figures were moving about, probably spreading out a map.

Patrol teams were walking around the perimeter of the camp, and people were cleaning their guns and cooking around the campfire.

The group of just over two hundred men were exhausted, hungry, and demoralized.

Judging from the brightness of the campfire, they probably won't continue searching tonight and plan to spend the night here. Good.

He Dajun did not act immediately.

He was waiting, waiting for the campfire to dim a little more, waiting for the Japanese soldiers who were still smoking to crawl into their tents, waiting for the sentries to start to doze off, waiting for the entire camp to fall into a deep sleep.

In short, we waited until midnight.

He Dajun leaned against the tree trunk and closed his eyes for a while, but his ears were listening to the sounds coming from down the mountain.

It's late at night.

The campfire dimmed into a pile of dark red embers, and the tents were dark. The patrol team huddled in a corner of the camp, dozing off wrapped in military coats, and even the sentries were smoking against sandbags.

He Dajun used 10,000 points to redeem a Type 92 heavy machine gun from the system. The moment he blinked, the screen went blank.

He now has more points than he can use. After blowing up the heavy artillery position, he gained several million more points. Spending 10,000 points to exchange for a heavy machine gun is like spending a penny to buy a piece of candy.

The gun appeared out of thin air in front of him. It was made of dark gray metal with a thick barrel. The ammunition belt hung down from the side feed port. It was heavy, with the barrel alone weighing several tens of kilograms.

But He Dajun's strength now far exceeds that of ordinary people. Holding this heavy machine gun is no different from holding a rifle; his arm doesn't move at all.

He crouched low and crept down the mountain with his Type 92 heavy machine gun, finding a gentle slope about 500 meters from the camp to set up the gun.

This distance is no different from firing a gun at point-blank range for a Type 92 rifle.

The Japanese probably couldn't have hit that far.