Chapter 931: Taking Old Street

In this counter-ambush battle, if Wang Yan had not been present, it would inevitably have become an ambush by the Vietnamese army. The troops advancing along the main road into Old Street would certainly have suffered heavy casualties.

In fact, even with Wang Yan joining the fight, the losses were heavy. This was despite him discovering the enemy first and calling in artillery fire support. However, the results after an hour of intense exchange were not ideal.

One tank was in a pit, one was disabled by a landmine, two were destroyed by Vietnamese monkey suicide squads sacrificing their lives, and the other tanks were damaged to varying degrees, having been hit hard by mortar fire.

Regarding personnel, the infantry following the tanks suffered over twenty casualties, and Wang Yan's own soldiers suffered eighteen. The entire force currently advancing on Old Street was left with only six tanks, thirty-two armored crew members, and one hundred and eighteen infantrymen—this count included Wang Yan's company.

Twelve tanks had been paired with two platoons of infantry; basically, one platoon was wiped out. Wang Yan's unit was not at full strength to begin with, and previous battles had already thinned their ranks without any reinforcements, and this time they lost over ten more.

Of course, the so-called "casualties" were still not all deaths; they were just injuries of varying severity that affected mobility. Those directly killed by gunfire or explosions, including the armored crew, numbered less than twenty.

This was only because Wang Yan led the charge up the hill, clearing out the high-ground fire points. If not for that, this battle would likely have left them crippled, forcing a retreat, and the plan to assault Old Street would have failed, leaving them to find other ways.

"Wang Yan, what do we do?" Watching from afar as Wang Yan walked over with a cigarette in his mouth, the tank battalion deputy commander, who was also a company commander, asked.

Wang Yan didn't stop his movements; he casually took the cigarette he had puffed on twice and stuck it into the mouth of a soldier whose leg had been severed by machine-gun fire, helping to treat the wound. He replied, "What does the higher-up say?"

"They asked for your opinion."

"Do it!" Wang Yan didn't hesitate at all. He explained, "The defenses of Old Street must be empty. The Vietnamese monkeys fighting so desperately to block us proves this point. I think the resistance we encounter next will certainly not be as fierce as that last battle. You armored crew members without tanks to drive, don't force it; there are many wounded, stay behind and take care of them. Wounded brothers, don't tough it out; affecting mobility is just asking for death. Don't hide any injuries."

After saying this, Wang Yan called over the communications soldier: "Contact the battalion commander, have him send people to pick up the wounded. Also, tell him we have enough strength; we will take Old Street tonight."

"Yes! Company Commander!" The communications soldier called out "Company Commander" the most naturally.

In fact, the soldiers under Wang Yan all called him Company Commander very naturally.

For a time, it became bustling and lively, with no fear of exposing their tracks. In the previous battle, the enemy did not use artillery, which meant our army had already destroyed the Vietnamese monkeys' artillery positions. The fierce resistance of the Vietnamese monkeys just now proved that their effective strength was scattered outside fighting our army, and the rear was empty; this was the largest force they could quickly mobilize nearby.

Therefore, Wang Yan concluded that while there might be more resistance ahead, it would absolutely not be as fierce as the previous two battles. Tonight, or at the latest tomorrow morning, Old Street would be taken.

Cao was not very far from Old Street, only about six kilometers. The tank unit could stomp on the gas and get there in just over ten minutes. Now they had walked half the distance, but it was already nearly midnight; the journey had not been easy.

The two battles combined took no more than two hours, but gathering the wounded, clearing the battlefield, replenishing ammunition, treating wounds, drinking water, and resting had taken quite a bit of time.

Six kilometers...

"Wang Yan, these Vietnamese monkeys dug the road all the way to the foot of the mountain. There's a trench in the middle, the mountain is on this side, and the river is on that side. Damn it, the tanks can't get across."

The tank deputy battalion commander walked over, cursing with a cigarette in his mouth.

"Wait for me to go take a look with you. No need to rush. If I remember correctly, your name is Zheng Zhongliang, right? From Henan?" Wang Yan didn't even lift his head, continuing to treat the wounded soldiers' injuries.

Leg wraps played the biggest role because they were long and the fabric was very breathable. Even at the widest part of the chest or abdomen, they could be wrapped twice, making them very useful. The only drawback was the poor conditions, making it impossible to treat with medicine immediately; nine out of ten would get infected and inflamed, and the prognosis was not ideal—it was truly a struggle for life at the gates of hell. It was either amputation or death.

Some gritted their teeth and endured, eyes bulging, veins popping, sweat pouring down. Others trembled, unable to bear the excruciating pain, iron-willed men sobbing silently...

The tank deputy battalion commander couldn't bear to watch, his own face contorting. He took out a cigarette, didn't light it, and stuffed it into a soldier's mouth to chew on, which had some analgesic effect, though it was negligible. Minor injuries were all limb penetrations or skin and flesh being swept away, which couldn't be stopped; at this point, it would be better to just pass out from the pain.

"I didn't expect you, a big star, to remember me."

"Are you cursing me? What big star? I'm just here to serve the soldiers." Wang Yan didn't dwell on this topic. "How deep is that pit?"

"As deep as a man, and wide too. We don't have tools; otherwise, with so many people, we could fill it in a moment."

"If we fill it with a tank, is that enough?"

"Huh?" The tank deputy battalion commander was surprised. "It's doable, but is it appropriate?"

"Are you asking me? Ask the leadership! Ask if it's okay. If it is, fill it; if not, wait for the rear to bring tools to fill the pit, and we'll continue fighting."

"Good."

The tank deputy battalion commander didn't dawdle and went to find the communications soldier to make contact. Before long, he told Wang Yan "it's okay," and then had the soldiers transfer the shells and bullets from the disabled tanks to the others, replenishing the ammunition, and then used the tanks to push the disabled ones into the pit. The position wasn't easy to find; it was either tilted or stuck, and they had to push three tanks in before the problem was solved.

By this time, Wang Yan had finished treating the soldiers' wounds, and trucks from the rear had arrived to pick up the wounded. The soldiers had also rested for a while, and as the tanks started up with a rumble, they began moving toward Old Street once again.

The tanks still led the charge, with Wang Yan and the others following along the mountainside. They moved very slowly and very carefully. Everyone knew there would certainly be more ambushes.

But just as Wang Yan said, their ambushes were ultimately not as fierce. In the remaining three kilometers, they only encountered two more ambushes. Although they were also crazy and caused some casualties, they were ultimately not as intense as the first two.

This was because the Vietnamese monkeys were short-handed and couldn't mobilize enough troops.

Truth be told, the Vietnamese monkeys hadn't expected them to really attack. They thought a large army had been dispatched just to brandish weapons and scare them. Who would have thought it would be a force capable of sweeping everything away?

Three kilometers, walked for over four hours. Dimly seeing the buildings of Old Street in the distance, it was already the second half of the night.

"Company Commander, should we attack?" a soldier asked Wang Yan.

"No rush. Everyone disperse, find cover, don't get shot by them. I'll fire two shots first to see. Communications soldier, tell the battalion commander we've reached Old Street and are about to launch an attack. Also, tell Battalion Commander Zheng to fire the cannons—bomb the hell out of them."

Following Wang Yan's order, the units dispersed to both sides. Some ran to the hillside, some crouched by the river, and others went to the roadside. Wang Yan also found cover and set up his rifle.

At the same time, all six tanks shifted their barrels, aiming directly at the dimly visible buildings in the distance. *Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang*—the shells blasted toward the buildings.

Immediately after, fire erupted from the opposite side, and bullets swept over. The firepower was strong; it was a heavy machine gun. Its power went without saying—a light machine gun could sweep off a person's arm; if hit by a heavy machine gun, a person would be shattered.

Wang Yan lowered his camera, *bang*—a shot went over, the bullet spinning across a distance of over two hundred meters, carrying a small arc trajectory, and drilled into the chest of the machine gunner who was gritting his teeth while operating the machine gun.

Just like at the beginning of the war, the assistant dragged him away, took control of the machine gun, and then joined the previous machine gunner.

"Company Commander is a sharpshooter!" a soldier shouted, then laughed and fired his rifle.

The other infantrymen were the same, all firing at the opposite side, but with over a hundred people firing from all directions at one spot, even single shots kept the opposite side from raising their heads.

The armored crew members didn't need to be told; they tacitly stepped on the gas and launched a sprint toward the opposite side, ignoring the falling shells, firing their cannons rapidly as they sprinted.

A distance of just over two hundred meters—with the tanks at full throttle, it took no more than thirty seconds. In this time, a skilled loader could only fire three shells, but this already put great pressure on the opposite position.

At the same time, the anti-aircraft machine guns on the tanks were also pouring out bullets, the firepower extremely powerful. Wang Yan fired two shots, and the tanks had already rushed out dozens of meters. The soldiers crouched behind the tanks, and just like that, they began the assault on Old Street.

Wang Yan, however, did not advance with the soldiers; he remained in the rear, setting up his rifle and sniping the machine gunners. The power of a heavy machine gun was indeed great; it could paralyze a tank, and if lucky, it might even penetrate the tank's steel plate.

Dozens of seconds passed in the blink of an eye. The tanks fiercely crushed over the opponent's trenches, even crushing a Vietnamese monkey who couldn't dodge in time. Without slowing down at all, they rushed straight through.

The soldiers behind fired frantically, stopping the Vietnamese monkeys who wanted to sacrifice themselves to blow up the tanks.

"Go to hell!"

A soldier gave a loud shout, closed in, and with a combination of stabbing and shooting, killed a Vietnamese monkey holding an explosive pack.

Wang Yan chased over, kicked away the Vietnamese monkey hanging on the bayonet, and didn't forget to slap the soldier on the back of the head: "Are you looking for death? If you had set off the explosive pack, you wouldn't even have a whole corpse left."

The soldier chuckled, didn't reply, and charged forward with a roar.

At this moment, a *whoosh* sound of breaking air rang out in the sky. Wang Yan didn't even think, took a few steps forward, grabbed the soldier, and hid. Shells smashed down densely, regardless of friend or foe, a round of bombing.

In fact, it was bombing Wang Yan and the others. The blocking Vietnamese army saw the tanks charging at full speed, and many ran away; those left behind were all suicide squads trying to blow up the tanks.

"Communications soldier!"

After the artillery fire, a dust-covered Wang Yan emerged from the trench, solving the Vietnamese army who were taking advantage of the situation to run out one by one, calling for the communications soldier.

"Company Commander!" The communications soldier had been stunned by the bombing, shaking his head as he ran over; fortunately, he wasn't injured.

Wang Yan reported another string of coordinates, telling the communications soldier to contact the artillery to bomb the hell out of them.

Although it was dark, the trajectory wasn't hard to calculate. As long as Wang Yan knew the direction they came from and estimated a rough angle, he could work backward. It might not be accurate, but bombing a few more rounds was never wrong.

The artillery had specifically split off a portion to support Wang Yan from behind, and the distance wasn't very far. This time, Wang Yan was very certain the Vietnamese artillery fire was coming from across the Honghe.

Before long, the *whoosh* sound of breaking air rang out in the sky again, but this time it was our army's artillery fire. After this round, sure enough, there was no more artillery fire for a long time—they had hit the right place.

At this time, the battle had shifted from the previous ambush and counter-ambush into street fighting once again.

How the tanks were driven and how the matching infantry acted was not Wang Yan's concern; he took the lead, bringing his soldiers to begin the work of clearing house by house, purging the remaining enemies in the city—this was a very arduous assault battle.

In the original battle, our army truly entered Old Street on the noon of the 19th. The current time, however, was past four o'clock on the 18th. This day and a half of advancement was Wang Yan's contribution.

And in fact, the enemy forces he encountered along the way and inside Old Street were stronger than the original ones; it was just that he was more fierce, pushing too fast.

This was even after he had rested for a long time along the way and taken care of the wounded. If not for that, why would it take seven or eight hours to cover six kilometers? They would have broken in long ago.

Seeing someone flash by in the alley ahead, Wang Yan's hand was faster than his eyes, *bang*—a shot, and the shifting Vietnamese soldier was killed.

"Damn it, the Vietnamese monkeys are still trying to scare people." The startled soldier cursed, continued to hold his rifle, and paced carefully.

Unlike the soldiers following behind, Wang Yan was much more composed, carrying his rifle and walking swaggeringly.

Suddenly, he waved his hand. The soldiers all stopped, seeing Wang Yan point to the second floor. Without needing Wang Yan to say more, a soldier deliberately made a sound, smashed the glass with his rifle butt, observed carefully, and flipped inside.

At the same time, two soldiers stacked a human ladder, directly lifting one person up. That soldier used his finger strength and arm strength to climb directly to the second floor, holding his rifle, taking out the pistol at his waist, standing by the wall, carefully moving his body, aiming at the Vietnamese soldier guarding the stairs, and fired a shot, directly killing one person.

This shot startled the other two Vietnamese soldiers standing in the corner of the second floor, who opened fire toward the window without a word. It was also at this time that the soldier who had flipped into the room moved at lightning speed up the stairs, *bang, bang*—two shots solved the battle.

A very simple way to attract attention, but it worked every time; this was a slap in the face to the stupid.

Although the Vietnamese soldiers at this time were indeed not weak and had all fought in wars, they were not that strong either, just like these three Vietnamese monkeys hiding together. Hearing the movement downstairs, they all guarded downstairs; when shots were fired upstairs, they all turned toward upstairs—if they didn't die, who would?

Street fighting is not easy to fight.

When it comes down to it, war is actually an economic account. Like the battle of Bakhmut, although there was the intention of the Russian army to contain and consume, removing extra factors, if they really fought to the death, they would still have to let soldiers fight street battles, searching every corner of the city. Because the cost of pensions for fallen soldiers is relatively a small part.

Flattening a city, the Russian army could certainly do it; their military equipment was sufficient. But the shells to flatten a city are too expensive! It's not that they can't, it's that they really can't.

A city piled up with reinforced concrete, monotonous and not aesthetically pleasing, must eventually be filled with flesh and blood...

Li Jianguo suppressed his pounding heart, controlled his breathing, held his Type 56 semi-automatic rifle steadily, and moved step by step against the wall. Holding his breath, he listened to the movement around him.

Suddenly, he felt something drop over, and in a reflex reaction, he kicked it, kicking the thing back.

Only then did he realize that it was a damn grenade.

"Get down!"

He gave a loud roar, hugging the two people following behind him as they fell backward. Their nerves were highly tense, and falling backward didn't stop their movements. Instead, they rolled and crawled into the alley, quickly setting up their rifles and aiming at both ends.

"Jianguo, that kick was really damn good." Zhao Zhenbang praised, speaking while moving forward.

"It's okay, just a little worse than our Company Commander."

"You're acting tough again."

Chen Xiaoguo laughed and cursed, taking a grenade from his back waist and throwing it to where they had just been attacked.

While they were talking, Vietnamese soldiers had already flashed out to spray fire, but they happened to run into the grenade Chen Xiaoguo threw back. Everything happened in a flash; Wang Yan's three soldiers chatted and laughed, launching a counterattack.

Zhao Zhenbang threw a grenade from the other side, *clang*—without a word, he aimed his rifle and charged up. He was holding a Type 56 assault rifle, and before he even saw anyone, he had already opened fire, blasting his way through.

In gaming terms, this is called pre-aiming, called suppressing the fire line. It was indeed useful; bullets whizzed by, and the Vietnamese monkeys didn't dare to show their heads.

At this time, Chen Xiaoguo and Li Jianguo returned to the place where they had just been bombed, advancing rapidly, also suppressing with shot after shot, making the Vietnamese monkeys afraid to show their heads. They kept pressing like this until the corner, throwing a grenade inside.

Two Vietnamese monkeys were seen shouting "Ah" and running out, toward Zhao Zhenbang's side.

Zhao Zhenbang was nonchalant, *rat-tat-tat-tat*. The two Vietnamese monkeys holding rifles, eyes wide, wanting to fight to the death, also lost their lives, and only then did the grenade explode.

Watching Chen Xiaoguo and Li Jianguo walk over, Zhao Zhenbang, who was using his bayonet to stab the throats of the two Vietnamese monkeys who weren't quite dead to send them to their deaths, laughed: "I've killed four now."

"Humph, why compare with us brothers? You have to compare with our Company Commander."

"Exactly, what are you showing off for."

"Hey, are you being sour? It's fine, there's still more fighting to do. I've only killed two more than you two."

Zhao Zhenbang chuckled, then sighed again, "But our Company Commander is really damn amazing. He must have killed over a hundred people, right? Is that even human? Just hearing it is scary."

The three of them sighed while continuing to disperse in combat formation, taking care of all directions...

Wang Yan didn't know others were talking about him, and even if he did, he wouldn't care.

At this time, the sky was already bright, and the battle had been going on for over two hours. He found a six-story building, climbed to the roof, set up his rifle, and sniped enemies he saw from a distance.

The soldiers didn't feel tired, sweeping house by house, and the tanks had also driven to the Honghe, occupying advantageous positions. At this point, Old Street was basically considered taken.

Purging the remaining enemies was just a matter of time, and Company Commander Wang's merit book had added another fierce stroke.

The east was already white; the morning breeze in February was not so gentle, but it made people clear-headed. The Honghe flowed slowly, raising waves in the wind—it could be considered a beautiful morning... ===== CHAPTER 932 =====