Chapter 298: Mi Long: The Scrawny Brat's Toy

"You scrawny brat! Want some face and give none? Then taste grandpa's gear!"

Mi Long jerked his head back, ducked into a dead corner of the rocks, and shouted with a hoarse voice toward his rear: "Mortar! Pull it up for me quickly! Don't you damn stall!"

A frenzy seeped through that shout.

The Little Devils opposite reacted swiftly; bullets splashed against the stones like water, shattering them into flying shards, and a few stray rounds whizzed past his head.

If it were anyone else, they'd have wet their pants long ago, but Mi Long not only didn't duck—he seemed even more excited, as if provoked. Mi Long is different; he'll fire back harder than the enemy, especially since they're Little Devils who previously lacked this gear. Now it's different; the artillery can be used at will.

Machine Gun Bullets are also sufficient..

Soon, several burly soldiers lugged the mortar base and barrel, huffing and panting as they rushed forward. It was the mortar squad; the moment they heard the Company Commander shout, they knew it was time to show off their gear.

Jiang Anguo's entire unit, most of whom were exchanged within the system, were therefore extremely elite. As for this mortar thing, it's simple to operate but hard to fire accurately.

Even the ragtag troops of Chanda, only a few could handle it.

It was Shi Xiaomao, who was recruited at Lashu, a cannon‑playing prodigy.

The mortar team moved briskly, without any hesitation.

A few of them quickly found positions, knelt on the mud‑slick ground, and their hands moved swiftly—setting up the mount, securing the base, adjusting the level bubble—all in one seamless flow, as if they'd rehearsed it a thousand times.

The cold steel seemed to come alive at that moment.

"Shells ready!" the mortar squad leader whispered, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

"Shells ready!"

A few gunners cradled the dark‑green shells, waiting for the final order.

The mortar squad leader turned his head toward Mi Long, who was hidden behind the rocks, and said, "Company Commander, the mortar is in position and ready to fire at any moment!"

Mi Long listened coldly to the dense gunfire opposite, a cruel smile curling his lips. These Little Devils actually dared to wait for grandpa in the death‑trap of Wang Family Chong—what courtesy is that? Since they're ambushing, they'll all be buried right here!

It was just unlucky for this bunch of Little Devils to run into soldiers from the Independent Regiment who had returned from Myanmar; most of that regiment's core had spent time in Myanmar's rainforests.

Thus, in this hill warfare, the forward scouts, seeing not even a bird, sensed something odd.

In reality, the two sides were still three to four hundred meters apart.

The Little Devils' commander, Company Captain Song Jing Wu Zhi, intended to bring the opposing Chinese forces within two hundred meters for a killing blow, but he never expected the enemy to spot him early, so Song Jing Wu Zhi could only order fire.

"Alright! Since the guests have arrived, don't go back empty‑handed. Fire for me! Fire hard!"

"Fire!"

The moment the order was given, the squad leader's arm swung down hard.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Deep, powerful thuds echoed through the valley. Though not loud, they made hearts tremble, especially the sound of the 81mm mortar.

White smoke puffed from the mortar barrel as shells screamed with a sharp whine, cutting the dim morning sky, tracing deadly arcs that rose high before slamming into the Japanese positions opposite.

The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.

Then—

Boom—boom—boom!

In the distant woods and Japanese lines, sudden bursts of fire rose. Explosions roared together, shaking the earth. Mud was hurled meters high, mingling with broken branches, human limbs, and weapon fragments, scattering in the billowing smoke.

The Japanese line, which had been firing wildly, was instantly engulfed in fire and wails. The meticulously arranged ambush circle shattered under the sudden barrage.

On the Japanese line, Company Captain Song Jing Wu Zhi, though his ears rang from the sudden blast, was a professionally trained officer and reacted instantly.

Before the smoke cleared, he scrambled up from the mud, brandishing his saber and shouting hoarsely, "Counterattack! Don't panic! Grenade Launcher, prepare it, fire!"

With a few crisp "bang, bang" sounds, several black grenades were lobbed from the rear of the Japanese line, tracing short parabolic arcs toward Mi Long and his men.

However, this "infantry artillery" that once swaggered before Chinese troops now resembled a toothless tiger. With both sides separated by several hundred meters and tangled underbrush, the grenade launcher's pitiful range couldn't reach Mi Long's group. A few grenades detonated tens of meters ahead, raising only mud puddles and making no distinct sound.

The range gap infuriated Song Jing Wu Zhi, who stamped his foot, forced to watch the Chinese forces grow bolder.

In theory, an infantry company of a Class A Division would field a Type 97 90mm mortar, or a Type 92 infantry gun, in combat.

But yesterday, the Ghost Battalion's bombing of Yidu and Xiao Ting inflicted heavy losses on the Japanese heavy fire at Xiao Ting; the regiment's artillery suffered severe losses.

Thus, Battalion Commander Sen Xie Kangyan, who guarded Xiao Ting, could only concentrate the remaining artillery; without clear intel on the enemy, he dared not fire recklessly, thereby exposing his position early.

Japanese officers would never have imagined that after ruling over Huaxia for so long, they would one day lose air superiority, and even ground superiority was about to fade.

If it had been earlier, Song Jing Wu Zhi would have been certain that his three to four hundred men could take on a whole division opposite, but now the numbers are equal, and his forces are being pressed by the Huaxia army.

Mi Long's company, and Luo Daxian's battalion, seemed to have more troops than Song Jing Wu Zhi, but in fact they were about the same, because the front line didn't open all at once; not all forces advanced—some stayed behind as reserves, transporting supplies behind the main force.

Mi Long was pleased with the bombardment, "Keep the mortar firing, keep pounding."

"Machine Gunners, watch out, the Little Devils may charge," Mi Long said, fully aware of Japanese tactics: infantry charges after artillery, then artillery follows.

If they couldn't fight, they'd call for tactical support, i. e., aircraft artillery.

Now, both advantages of aircraft and artillery are entirely on Mi Long's side.

The tactics are old‑fashioned, yet on Huaxia soil they're highly effective—not just because of individual soldier quality, but because the Huaxia army lacks bullets, shells, and everything—a lament of an agricultural nation without a complete industrial system.

Even if the Little Devils have been waging total war for three years, they can still find a solution!