Chapter 192: Bu La Slays the 144th Regiment Commander

"Damn it, this is definitely an officer." Bu La Deng Bao cursed in his heart.

He recalled the earlier scene where Jiang Anguo held a book for everyone's lesson, which depicted those crooked little Japanese beans and bars.

"Look closely: this one is a Second Lieutenant, this one is a First Lieutenant… If the rank has an extra big star, that's a Regiment Commander, a Brigade Commander! Kill one, and you'll be bragging about it for a whole lifetime!"

Regiment Commander?

Bu La's heart sank sharply. He strained his eyes wide, trying to see the rank. But the smoke drifted over again, like a curtain, obscuring the group. He could only see a vague silhouette, the officer still brandishing a sword.

Can't see clearly… If I wait any longer, I might lose the chance entirely.

Bu La's mind was racing.

Those people surrounded him with utmost respect, that guy's bearing, and his relatively clean uniform… Damn it, I'll bet everything!

With that thought, he stopped worrying about the unclear rank; all his attention focused on the figure brandishing the military sword.

In Bu La's Sniper Scope, the figure was locked firmly.

"Go back to your grandma's house, damn it." Bu La muttered low, as if seeing off the enemy he'd never met.

He took a deep breath; the air was thick with gunpowder smoke and the scent of death.

Then, he exhaled slowly, and in that instant, he steadily pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

That gunshot rang oddly abrupt on the just‑calmed battlefield, even a bit thin.

Bu La was slammed by the recoil into his shoulder, his eyes glued to the scope.

In the lens, the figure swinging the sword seemed shoved by an invisible giant hand, its body flung backward, the command sword slipping from its hand, tracing a silver arc in the air before silently embedding in the mud.

A cloud of blood mist appeared in the view.

He fell straight down.

The Japanese soldiers surrounding him froze as if struck by a petrification spell.

One or two seconds later, they scrambled like ants in a boiling pot—some panicked and fell, others rushed recklessly toward the fallen figure.

Success?

Bu La hadn't time to celebrate when a screaming artillery shell whizzed past his scalp, exploding nearby, the kicked‑up earth burying him halfway.

"Fuck!"

He rolled and crawled back into the cover, his heart pounding as if it would burst out of his throat.

He didn't know who he had killed—whether it was the Regiment Commander or just an unlucky Captain—but he knew he had taken down a "big fish".

He leaned against the cold earthen wall, grinned, exposing a soot‑blackened tooth, and laughed.

It seemed successful; otherwise the Japanese wouldn't counter‑attack against Bu La in such extreme conditions.

Know that, as a competent sniper, Bu La immediately changed position, staying hidden from the Japanese.

On the opposite trench, the command hub of the Japanese 144th Regiment fell into unprecedented chaos and panic as Nanase Masao collapsed.

The Regiment Commander who moments ago had been shouting with Bushido Spirit to 'shatter like jade' now bore a clean, neat blood hole in his forehead, his eyes wide open, seemingly unable to believe he didn't die from enemy artillery but from a "crooked‑neck" bullet fired by a Chinese soldier he never even noticed.

"Don't act rashly." Song Jing Xiu Zhi once again became Tonggu's supreme commander; now no one looked down on him.

Ding.

Four thousand points credited.

Jiang Anguo knew that the opposing Tonggu commander had been killed, i. e., the enemy Regiment Commander, and he saw the kill record—it turned out Bu La had slain him.

Jiang Anguo kept the telescope in his hand, never putting it down, staring intently at everything on the battlefield. His fingers subtly adjusted the focus, as if trying to locate Bu La on the field, but after a long search he still found no trace of Bu La.

Meng Fanle crouched beside him, about to pull out a water bottle for a sip; he wasn't on the battlefield, so the spot was safe. The ringing of the previous artillery barrage still lingered in his ears, like a thousand cicadas buzzing nonstop in his head.

"Nanase Masao is dead!" Jiang Anguo said slowly.

He didn't turn around, his eyes still fixed on the telescope's eyepiece.

Meng Fanle was about to lift the water bottle when his motion halted.

He looked up, staring at the back of the Regiment Commander's silhouette, a bewildered expression. Those few words pierced his buzzing ears but failed to form any meaning in his mind.

"Regiment Commander, what did you say?" he shouted, fearing his voice would be swallowed by the ringing, "The artillery is too loud, can't hear! Did something happen?"

Jiang Anguo finally set the telescope down. He turned, his face expressionless—neither joy nor excitement, only the cold calm a hunter feels when prey steps into a trap.

He didn't answer Meng Fanle's question, but briskly walked to the map spread on a wooden crate.

His finger jabbed heavily on the map at the spot marked "Tonggu."

"Messenger!" his voice rose sharply, instantly cutting through the command post's stale air.

A Messenger immediately ran over, standing before Jiang Anguo.

"Order the 600th Regiment," Jiang Anguo said at breakneck speed, without a hint of warmth, "launch a decisive strike on Tonggu, commit all reserve units. Within one hour, you must capture Tonggu for me!"

The Messenger understood the all‑out assault was about to begin, but he merely repeated the order, then turned and rushed out like a fired bullet.

Meng Fanle was completely stunned.

One hour? Capture Tonggu? Those Japanese just a moment ago were charging forward under artillery like mad dogs, now they're meat on a cutting board? Just because the Regiment Commander said that line earlier?

He looked at the distorted place name on the map, then at the Regiment Commander's cold face.

Meng Fanle wasn't a battlefield commander, nor did he have Jiang Anguo's system, so he didn't grasp Jiang Anguo's plan.

He recalled that oddly abrupt gunshot earlier on the battlefield, and the instant explosion of the Japanese trench across the river.

He understood—that the Japanese mortar counter‑attack earlier was because an important figure had been killed, prompting a retaliation against the Independent Regiment.

"Seizing your illness to claim lives."

Meng Fanle silently recited that hackneyed maxim in his mind, this time feeling it was sharper than any military jargon.

Nanase Masao, the name suddenly came to mind; just now, Instructor Dai Anlan had also mentioned it—he was the Regiment Commander of the Japanese 144th Regiment, the head of the Japanese forces at Tonggu.

When the head dies, the snake falls into chaos.

But those madmen indoctrinated with Bushido Spirit won't surrender immediately; they'll continue carrying out their 'shatter like jade' orders amid chaos, confusion, and panic, like a swarm of headless flies, making a final, meaningless resistance.

Such a stubbornness that clings to pride even unto death, such a lunatic who still fights desperately for a goal already dead, is the most lethal.

And Jiang Anguo, what he intends to do is, in this brief moment when the enemy is most vulnerable, use the fiercest fist to smash their spines completely.

This moment is also when the Japanese Army's command system is at its most chaotic.

Meng Fanle watches the commander of the 448th Regiment pick up the telescope again, and looks once more toward that battlefield bristling with killing intent.

He suddenly feels that this commander of the 448th Regiment, who usually seems a bit scholarly, is now more terrifying than any cannon on the battlefield.