Chapter 323: Lieutenant Colonel's Sword

Mi Long still leads from the front, charging at the head of the column. He is shirtless, his bronze‑colored muscle flesh slick with sweat and mud, and somehow draws endless strength, never tiring.

Around his neck hangs a heavy ammunition chain—two belts of 200 7.92 mm machine‑gun rounds each, a considerable weight. And on his shoulder he is also shouldering an MG42 General Machine Gun!

It is the notorious "Demon's Chainsaw"; the gun alone weighs over ten kilograms, and with the two heavy ammo chains the total approaches twenty kilograms.

In marching, this gear is usually carried by two people or broken down; a single soldier can handle the machine gun, but the ammunition is also heavy. Typically, a platoon's machine‑gun team has the ammo bearer lugging two 300‑round ammo boxes, while the primary and secondary gunners each carry two hundred rounds.

But Mi Long simply hauls it alone and runs, his speed even surpassing that of a soldier carrying only a rifle.

If he didn't possess innate superhuman strength and a reckless drive for glory, an ordinary person trying to sprint through mountains with such a load would collapse, vomiting blood.

The road ahead grows ever more treacherous, the poisonous gas near Yunchi still lingers, and the pale yellow haze makes one's skin crawl.

"North! All north, skirt around! Don't take the gap at Yunchi; Little Devil gas still remains!" Mi Long swings his arms, commanding the troops to avoid the toxic zone, "Follow the direction of Third Platoon Xia Hou Ping and push through! Over this hill lies the bombing point!"

The main force has to alter its route, veering north along the rugged ridge, clinging tightly to the direction of Third Platoon Xia Hou Ping, pressing forward to chase the Japanese Army's march.

"Everyone, step on it! The Little Devils ahead were blown flat; let's go collect their bodies! That command sword is mine!"

This forest, just baptized by P‑38 Lightning fighters, now resembles a living hell.

The once‑dense underbrush was flattened by a massive shockwave, leaving charred trunks and upturned earth everywhere. The air is thick with the acrid smell of burning, gunpowder, and a nauseating stench of corpses.

The ground is littered with Japanese Army wreckage; severed limbs dangle from treetops, black‑red blood streams over the scorched earth, and hardly any whole bodies remain.

A 250‑pound aerial bomb packs astonishing power, capable of tearing any flesh into fragments, even vaporizing it into the air.

The mountain wind carries a sharp, burnt odor and the scent of blood, slamming into the face.

When Mi Long, panting, hoists the heavy MG42 and leads his men and horses over the ridge into the freshly bombed zone, the sight before him makes his eyes widen.

The battle is over.

The smoke still curls upward, but the gunfire has long ceased.

The 448th Regiment's First Battalion, led by Luo Daxian, has already surged into the wreckage, feverishly rummaging through the piles of corpses and scorched earth for loot.

Those once ferocious Japanese troops now lie as unrecognizable mush; only a handful of unlucky ones huddle trembling in craters or behind tree roots, but before they can raise a weapon, Luo Daxian's men arrive and, with overwhelming fire, turn them into a sieve.

Luo Daxian's troops, the squad equipped with a Czech‑style ZB26 light machine gun, 7.92 mm caliber, firepower slightly weaker than Mi Long's side, but still enough to deal with the Little Devils.

Mi Long slams the machine gun onto a large rock, wipes the sweat from his face, and strides away briskly.

Luo Daxian is pulling an ammo box from a charred Japanese corpse; when he looks up and sees Mi Long's black‑red face, he bursts into laughter, eyes hidden by his grin.

He leaps a few steps over a blown‑off trunk, shouting excitedly, "Damn it, Mi Long! How can this war be so easy? Our seats aren't even hot yet, and the planes above have already cleaned out those damned dogs!"

It truly was shocking. In past Sichuan Army battles, it was life for life; chewing on a hard bone often left a whole regiment reduced to a handful. Not to mention a division would be decimated. But today, Luo Daxian merely sent a few signal flares behind his men, alerting the iron birds above, and those over‑confident Little Devils were turned to ash.

While speaking, Luo Daxian hands over what he holds—a finely crafted Japanese command sword. Though the scabbard is blackened in spots by the blast, the cherry‑blossom motif on the grip remains clearly visible.

"Here!" Luo Daxian lifts the sword before Mi Long's eyes, his tone sincere yet tinged with a barely hidden sting, "Mi Long, this is a Little Devil staff officer's sword. I found it while turning bodies; it must have belonged to their commander. This battle was coordinated with your air force, so the sword rightfully belongs to you."

Luo Daxian's words sound polished, but inside he feels a mix of emotions. On the battlefield, such a sword is hard currency—a true badge of slaughtered glory. In the past, capturing a staff officer's sword was as hard as climbing to heaven. Yet the Little Devils' strength was evident. In earlier years, a single Little Devil squad could stand up to an entire Nationalist Army regiment, and a regiment could chase a whole division to the ground. It was sheer firepower and tactical superiority crushing the enemy.

Those Little Devil bastards!

Grenade launchers, crooked light machine guns, and that old Type 92 heavy machine gun are merely token firepower on an Ouzhou battlefield, their output ordinary. Yet on Asian soil, this pile of scrap becomes an unstoppable killing machine, crushing the Chinese Army's morale. Hence, eliminating a full Japanese formation, capturing a commander alive, or seizing an officer's sword is a monumental achievement.

Mi Long looks at the sword, his eyes indeed flash, but he does not reach out to take it.

He stares at the sword for a while, a hint of doubt and loss flickering in his gaze.

"Luo Daxian, you idiot, you really think I can't tell?" Mi Long glances at him, curls his lip, "This sword is too short, meant for a Lieutenant Colonel. I want the regimental commander's command sword! That's the real treasure!"

Mi Long's current assessment is simple: the bomb was so fierce that the dead must have been a high‑ranking officer. He stubbornly believes there must be at least a Colonel inside, perhaps even the regimental commander's officer's sword.

Luo Daxian pauses, scratches his head, "Ah, whatever the rank, seizing a Little Devil's sword is already hard. I've combed the whole site and haven't found any larger sword."

In fact, neither Mi Long nor Luo Daxian knows that the actual commander of the Japanese 104th Regiment, Colonel Hai Fu Sanqianxiong, never set foot in these mountains. That colonel was extremely unlucky; on a transport ship heading to reinforce Yueyang, he was 'taken care of' by William's air squadron. At that time, he, his entire first battalion, the transport ship, and its escort gunboat were blown to pieces, sinking into the raging Yangtze River to feed the fish.

Now, the officer who is stubbornly resisting the Japanese in the direction of Xiaoting and ordering the release of poison‑gas shells is actually the commander of the 104th Regiment's Second Battalion, Lieutenant Colonel Sen Xie Kangyan.

Lieutenant Colonel Sen Xie Kangyan is equally unlucky. He foolishly moved his command post forward, only to run straight into William's line of fire. When those 250‑pound aerial bombs fell, he didn't even have time to scream; his body was blown to fragments, and the possibly fine command sword he held was also vaporized, leaving only the blade Luo Daxian picked up—or perhaps his aide's spare—lying on the scorched earth.

Mi Long takes the staff officer's sword from Luo Daxian, admires it briefly, then reluctantly hands it back, "On the battlefield, whoever captures it keeps it; you found it first, and you, Luo Daxian, used a signal flare to alert the brothers in the sky, so this staff officer's sword is your loot."

Though a bit reluctant, Mi Long still passes the staff officer's sword to Luo Daxian.

"Here." Luo Daxian feels a bit embarrassed, admitting his unit didn't accomplish much.

Mi Long thrusts it into Luo Daxian's chest and snarls, "You limp bastard! If you want to keep it, keep it, you wimpy coward!"