Chapter 297: The Battle of Xiao Ting (Part 1)

Wang Jia Chong.

The name sounds a bit rustic, but in fact it is a treacherous dead end. The so‑called "Chong" is a narrow, flat valley embraced by mountains.

Fortunately, the landing route to Xiao Ting passes through the Riverbank mountains, which are not very high, mostly just small hills.

But the dense vegetation also blocks the view.

May 31, 5:02 a. m.

The east just began to show a hint of fish‑belly white, and a thin morning mist shrouded the mountains and forest. The air was slightly damp and cold, and inhaled carried a whiff of fishy smell.

The First Battalion commander of the 448th Regiment, Luo Dushan, was wiping the dew off his face, listening to the constant urging in his ears—that was the death‑order just issued by Regiment Commander Xie Boluan: accelerate, must push forward at full speed!

That really is a higher‑ranking official crushing people.

Luo Dushan felt such anger that his cheek muscles ached from clenching.

The tone in the Telegram was rigid, leaving no room for negotiation: "Luo Dushan, your troops must enter Xiao Ting before the Independent Regiment!"

The Independent Regiment, Jiang Anguo's Independent Regiment.

Luo Dushan looked up at the group marching on the far flank of the column, feeling even more choked. It wasn't that he didn't want to be fast; he simply couldn't speed up.

The guy at the front, Mi Long, was literally a head‑strong ox.

Mi Long also counted as someone who crawled out of the pile of dead in Myanmar; that wild vigor and ferocity have not faded. Mainly in Myanmar, he hasn't had his fill of killing, but he did accomplish a big deed: he bombed Tonggu's airport during the Tonggu counter‑attack.

After the war, every officer who had fought in Myanmar was treated as a prized nugget and was asked to lecture those greenhorns who had never seen blood.

What did Mi Long lecture about? It made the big‑yellow girl's head spin for the first time, her face flushed, stammering without any sense.

At this moment, Mi Long, a Northeastern Han, his massive build was there, his sturdy frame like a moving wall. Heavy machine‑gun ammunition belts hung on both sides of his neck, clinking metal with each step.

The MG42 General Machine Gun in his hands was held as lightly as a feathered rifle.

Jiang Anguo sometimes asked Mi Long how his strength could be so great.

Jiang Anguo had already fully replenished the First Battalion that had suffered losses, and also assigned a Guard Company from the whole regiment to deal with the Little Devil reinforcements coming from Zhi Jiang.

Now Mi Long is a proper Company Commander, but his soldier‑rascal vibe hasn't changed; he's like Zhang Fei—coarse yet refined.

He placed the Third Company on the far right flank, taking a mountain path, fearing the Little Devils might break out from the right‑hand forest. He himself led the First and Second Companies along the winding, rugged Small Road by the Yangtze River, pushing northward hard.

Mi Long's First Company, which had lost some brothers in the battle at Yidu, has now been fully replenished.

Mi Long! He's just afraid of losing, but ever since following his own regiment commander, they've kept winning battles, big and small, always victorious!

Now they've won a battle!

A person's morale changes.

Moreover, they're using the best weapons and gear.

Suddenly, the scout at the front of the column crouched low, moving back silently like a raccoon.

"Company Commander."

The scout lowered his voice, pointing at the dense thicket ahead, his face somewhat grim: "Something's off up front, looks like there are Japanese."

When Mi Long heard that, his perpetually half‑open eyes instantly lit up, the hunter's gleam upon spotting prey.

"Stop!"

He thrust his hand sharply; the first row of well‑trained soldiers behind him instantly dropped into a crouch, the whole unit as if a pause button had been pressed, even their breathing deliberately hushed, making no sound.

"Skinny calf!"

Mi Long crouched behind a moss‑covered boulder, peered forward, and spat: "I also sense someone up ahead. This forest is too quiet, quiet as a damn grave. Since the Little Devils at Xiao Ting are holding the key road, how could there be no movement? It must be a bunch of damned ambushers!"

He turned and shouted toward the rear: "Duan Qiang! Stop playing dead, roll over here!"

A line of tall Duan Qiang rushed over, crouching, pulling a sweat‑soaked, crumpled map from his chest, squinting in the weak light: "Company Commander, the map marks this place as Wang Jia Chong."

"Wang Jia Chong? Hmph, no matter what 'Chong' it is, once it's in my hands it becomes a gateway to the underworld."

Mi Long grinned, flashing a set of white teeth. He surveyed the narrow terrain, snorted coldly: "Alright, no need to think about a sneak attack; this terrain is made for an ambush. Since the Little Devils want to play, I'll play a big one with them."

In fact there was no need for a sneak attack; the commander of the 104th Regiment, Sen Xie Kangyan, who guarded Xiao Ting, had endured an air raid yesterday and the loss of Yidu across the river, and had already set up three Defensive Lines south of Xiao Ting, each staffed with several squadrons ranging from two to four.

The purpose was to delay time.

Sen Xie Kangyan dared not over‑commit; if he concentrated all forces at Xiao Ting, a single aerial bomb from the Huaxia Army's aircraft would wipe out more than half of the two battalions under his command.

Speaking, Mi Long no longer hesitated, bracing the MG42 on the large stone before him. The cold machine gun leaned on the rock, steady as Mount Tai. Mi Long deftly pulled the bolt, finger on the trigger, his gaze fierce.

"Since they're hiding there, let them all go to hell!" Mi Long wasn't even sure if there were enemies opposite, but he'd fire anyway.

Dada—!

The MG42's distinctive, cloth‑ripping roar erupted instantly.

This killing machine, firing up to 1,200 rounds per minute, sounded as shrill as a chainsaw sawing wood. Dense streams of fire spewed out, bullets like a raging storm, carrying the grim reaper's roar, mercilessly sweeping toward the seemingly calm forest opposite.

Good fellow, Mi Long's burst was like stabbing a wasp's nest, even a devil's nest.

The forest opposite, previously deathly silent, instantly erupted like a boiling pot.

Pa‑gou—

Immediately followed by a crisp, rhythmic bolt‑pull sound. That's the distinctive sound of the Type 38 rifle, like some teeth‑aching tune.

The Guard Japanese Company Commander Matsui Takeshi brandished his command saber, "Baka! The Chinese have spotted us, counterattack, counterattack."

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Dense bullets whistled from the opposite side, striking the boulder where Mi Long was hidden, sparks scattering, fragments of stone flying.

Sure enough there was an ambush! And judging by the density of gunfire, the numbers weren't small!

"What the hell!" Mi Long instantly dove with the machine gun, good fellow, the Little Devil's bullets were truly accurate.

At this moment in the Pacific War, the advantage still lay with the Japanese; these elite units had not been redeployed, so they were all veteran Little Devils, and their marksmanship was naturally razor‑sharp.