Chapter 308: A Tattered Flag

Zhuge Mingliang did not leave.

Although that arrogant loud laugh had already faded into the wind, it was a heartfelt laugh after his revenge; he finally avenged his family, and with an entire regiment of the Japanese Army—Zhuge Mingliang did not know how many soldiers a regiment of the Japanese Army had, but at least two or three thousand perished in this bombing.

Zhuge Mingliang still roamed this battlefield like a ghost.

He kept his body low, crouching, moving cautiously among the scorched earth and craters. The hellish scene all around kept him on high alert; he feared the still‑breathing Little Devils might suddenly leap out for revenge, and he feared the tireless iron birds in the sky might drop bombs on his head again.

On this ruined battlefield, discarded weapons and gear of the Japanese Army lay everywhere in their panic: crooked submachine guns, boxes of ammunition, and even intact Grenade Launchers. In normal times these would be valuable for selling or for survival. But now he was alone; his two fists could not match four hands, and he could not take on more than he could chew.

He rummaged through the pile of corpses for a while and finally made a choice. He tucked two Turtle Boxes at his waist for close‑range protection. On his back he slung two heavy Type 38 rifles, and he also grabbed seven or eight ammo bags from the dead Little Devils, gathering roughly two hundred plus Machine Gun Bullets.

This gear, for the under‑powered Zhuge Mingliang, already counted as heavy armor.

"I really want to take this to fight the devils, but…" he touched the cold barrel and sighed.

The strange meaty scent still lingered in the air, and Zhuge Mingliang's stomach rumbled twice, a physiological hunger response after extreme tension. Immediately after, a wave of nausea churned in his gut. Reason told him it was the smell of charred human flesh, the scent of the beasts he had just sent to the afterlife. He dry‑vomited, forced himself to endure the discomfort, and kept scanning the surroundings.

Suddenly, a pile of corpses ahead caught his attention.

It was dozens of Japanese Army corpses haphazardly stacked together, looking oddly discordant. Upon closer inspection, something seemed to be pressed beneath the lowest, and the four or five bodies on top assumed a strange posture, as if using their bodies to shield whatever lay below.

"What treasure are these devils still hiding even in death?"

Zhuge Mingliang lifted a Type 38 rifle and slowly approached. He had never used this long gun before, but he was too familiar with the thing. So many Chinese compatriots had died at its muzzle; countless times he had watched the Bayonet lift the bodies of his fellow villagers. His hand trembled as he mimicked the Japanese soldiers from memory, and he jammed the long 30th‑model Bayonet into the muzzle.

After a few attempts.

"Ka‑da" a crisp sound, the Bayonet locked.

This gun with the Bayonet was taller than he was. Zhuge Mingliang looked down at his short stature and self‑mockingly grinned, "In height, we really embarrass our ancestors."

He inhaled deeply, used the tip of the Bayonet to pry up the topmost Devil's corpse, and with force flipped it. The charred body rolled aside. Then another followed. The Devils on top all bore obvious shrapnel wounds and blood, clearly struck by bomb fragments, then died.

When he reached the last one, his motion halted.

This corpse didn't look so terrible, or rather, wasn't completely dead.

Just as Zhuge Mingliang was about to move it, the person underneath shifted, emitting a muffled croak from his throat.

Zhuge Mingliang's gaze hardened; without a word, he gave no chance for a reply. He clenched the rifle stock with both hands, aimed at the corpse's back, and thrust hard.

"Poo‑zi!"

The sound of the blade entering flesh was dull and sticky.

The Devil underneath twitched violently, letting out a piercing wail, trying to turn his head. His face twisted in pain, bloodshot eyes stared dead at Zhuge Mingliang, full of resentment and anger.

"What are you looking at! I'll send you on your way!"

Zhuge Mingliang's heart bristled at that gaze, but his hand movement didn't stop. He clenched his teeth, withdrew the Bayonet, and drove it down again fiercely.

"Poo‑zi Poo‑zi!"

A few more thrusts, blood splattered across Zhuge Mingliang's face. The Devil struggled a few times, then finally breathed his last, his body collapsing limp.

It was only then that Zhuge Mingliang saw clearly what the guy was pressing down so hard beneath him.

It was a flag. A rolled‑up military flag.

"A tattered flag, worth so many lives to protect?" Zhuge Mingliang was puzzled. In his view, these Devils usually treated human lives like grass, so why were they so attached to a piece of cloth?

But on second thought, since these Devils guarded it as if it were an eyeball before death, it must be important. Perhaps it was a command flag; bringing it back to the Huaxia Army could count as a great merit!

Zhuge Mingliang reached for the flag, only to find that although the Devil was dead, his hand still clutched the flagpole tightly, as rigid as iron tongs.

"Damn it, even in death he won't let go!"

Zhuge Mingliang strained hard to pry it off; the Devil's fingers wouldn't budge.

From afar, a garbled chatter suddenly rose.

Zhuge Mingliang's heart tightened, he whirled around sharply. It seemed there were still stragglers gathering forces; he couldn't linger here!

However this time the Little Devils wouldn't dare be so brazen; the unit that had just been reorganized under the 116th Regiment's Captain and Er Jilong, was bombed by a second wave of P-38 fighter aircraft, which also altered the soil's nutrients.

Along with Er Jilong, who was also killed by the P-38 fighter aircraft's bombs, this wave of P-38 fighter aircraft carried 500‑pound high‑explosive bombs.

Zhuge Mingliang no longer hesitated, glanced quickly left and right, confirmed no one nearby, then picked up another Bayonet discarded by the Devils on the ground, and slammed it hard into the rigid fingers.

"Ka‑cha!"

The sound of broken finger bones made his teeth ache.

Finally, the flag was ripped away by force.

Zhuge Mingliang dared not examine closely; he only saw that the flag had tassels, red and white alternating, and the lower right corner bore some golden characters, unlike ordinary Japanese army ointment flags.

"Whatever it is, take it away first!"

Voices from afar grew nearer.

Zhuge Mingliang grabbed a blood‑stained army‑green backpack nearby, shoved the heavy Japanese Army flag haphazardly inside, then slung the pack on his back, cradled the two rifles, and like a startled hare, plunged into the dense depths of the Jingmen Mountains, disappearing without a trace.

The searching Little Devils numbered only about three hundred, and after the bombing they were bewildered; many soldiers needed medical aid and had no mind to deal with this one person.

At this point the entire 116th Regiment, including its Captain and Er Jilong, suffered ten‑to‑nine losses.

A force of nearly four thousand, on the way to support Xiaoting, was hit by the Huaxia Army's P-38 fighter aircraft in a devastating strike; not only the bombs, but the high‑capacity Machine Gun Bullets of the P-38 also inflicted massive damage on the Japanese Army on the ground.

The entire regiment lost combat capability, or rather, was about to be disbanded!