Chapter 330: Hold On? Hold On With What?

Deng Mao thought of approaching the Little Devil's machine‑gun position and then throwing a hand grenade; the risk was enormous.

"What are you touching! Do you think this is a market run?" Zhang Yi slammed his steel helmet, scolding irritably, "Just let the mortars behind blast the Little Devil's position! The current 150th Division is not like before; our equipment is superb, don't throw lives away!"

It isn't that Zhang Yi is cowardly; the 150th Division has already swapped rifles for artillery. For this battle, Jiang Anguo has taken out every good piece of equipment, and even a platoon‑level unit now has a 60 mm mortar. Such firepower was unimaginable before.

Before the words finished, Zhang Yi gave a hand signal behind him.

The mortar positions at the rear had long been ready; now that they called for artillery support, these veteran gunners could act with ease!

Dong!

A crisp firing sound rang out, and a 60 mm mortar shell traced a high arc toward the Japanese Army position.

The rear mortar crew squinted to gauge distance; this shot was a bit rushed, the shell whistled over the Japanese heads and landed a few meters behind them, exploding with a "Boom" that tossed up a clod of earth.

The artillerymen, who had only seven days of emergency training and no professional instruction, were lucky if the shells didn't land on their own troops.

"Off target! Adjust again!"

Immediately, the artillery squad behind readjusted parameters, and several shells were already loaded. With a series of "Dong dong dong" firing sounds, a volley of shells surged toward that Japanese machine‑gun position.

Boom boom boom!

A series of fierce explosions roared over the Japanese position on Gui Niu Po, fire leapt skyward, smoke billowed. The Japanese machine‑gunner, still in a frantic sweep, didn't have time to scream before he was blown into the air; the Type 92 heavy machine gun shattered into pieces, parts scattering. The once‑solid bunker was flattened, mud mixed with severed limbs splattered everywhere.

"Good! Well done!" Zhang Yi waved his hand excitedly, "Deng Mao, stop hesitating, charge!"

"Yes, Squad Leader!"

Deng Mao let out a roar, his voice brimming with a fervor never felt before. When had he and his comrades ever fought such a prosperous battle? Before, they counted bullets, trying to split each in half, and an attack often required months to gather ammunition.

Now they had mortars behind, guns in hand, confidence as stout as a miser with a belt of gold.

As the charge bugle sounded, the soldiers leapt out of the trench with excitement. In that instant they were no longer the mud‑cowering, straw‑shoe infantry; fear in their eyes had been replaced by raging battle spirit, leaving only merit and hatred of the enemy.

The First Battalion's soldiers launched the final charge, and the machine gunners behind them frantically pulled the triggers, spitting fire, building iron firewalls for their brothers.

Mi Long ran at the front, his robust body on the battlefield like a tiger descending a mountain. Bullets whizzed past his ears and sides, raising heat waves, yet his eyelids never fluttered; his eyes held only a fierce light to tear the Little Devils before him to pieces.

The MG42 in his hands instantly fired toward the incoming bullets, directly suppressing the opposite side.

A short distance of a hundred or two hundred meters, for the wind‑riding Huaxia soldiers, was only a few breaths. They surged like a broken dam, killing the Japanese front line in an instant.

"Kill!"

The deafening shouts of killing drowned out the gunfire.

The Japanese position was now a wreck; the precise mortar barrage moments ago had already destroyed most of the defenses. Facing this wolf‑like, tiger‑like Huaxia army howling as they surged, the remaining Japanese soldiers had no means to resist.

Their prized Type 38 rifle now seemed laughably powerless, because the enemy's machine guns were simply too many!

First to meet them was the MG42 General Machine Gun, tearing the air like a chainsaw, its dense hail of bullets capable of shredding a person; next came the massive numbers of Czech light machine guns, forming an impenetrable crossfire network.

Under this terrifying crossfire cover, Japanese soldiers dared not even lift their heads. Anyone who dared to stick out and return fire was instantly raked by several machine guns, blown to pieces.

"Bayonet? Forget it."

Whether it was Mi Long or Luo Dashan's Sichuan troops, none intended to bayonet the Little Devils; the MP40 Submachine Gun in the Squad Leader's hand would spray any living Little Devil it saw.

The soldiers following behind vented their fury upon the Japanese corpses.

As for the Little Devils' once‑proud, most troublesome grenade launcher, at this moment it was completely silenced.

Why? Because the Huaxia Army was truly "well‑armed" this time. They fielded enough mortars and fired with precision. If they spotted the flash of a grenade launcher in any corner, there was no need for a commander's order; the rear mortar unit would react instantly.

Dong dong dong!

More than ten mortar shells would, as if they had eyes, precisely blanket that Little Devil's head.

This is a dimensional‑reduction strike! Previously the Little Devils would spot Chinese machine‑gun positions and use grenade launchers for pinpoint bombardment, forcing the gunners to stay hidden; now the tables have turned. The feeling is truly exhilarating.

In a concealed bunker on the side rear of Gui Niu Po, Battalion Commander Da Ye Xiu, his face smeared with blood, looked through a telescope at the tragic, desperate scene, his heart filled with bitterness and confusion.

"Baka, why is the China Army's firepower so strong!"

Just a second earlier, Da Ye Xiu's adjutant had also been killed by the China Army's fire, a bullet piercing his brain; he instantly realized there were snipers in the China Army, and Da Ye Xiu instantly became a turtle withdrawing into his shell, daring not to expose himself!

At this moment, he really wanted to ask the Division Commander Nei Shan Yingtang, who sat in the command post, whether he could retreat.

His regiment was nearly out of ammunition; this is not a battle, it's clearly a one‑sided massacre!

Da Ye Xiu felt what was happening on the battlefield: previously the Imperial Japan pressed the China Army, but now he saw the war had turned overwhelmingly the other way.

The China Army not only had fighter aircraft support, but its ground artillery was also extremely fierce.

Just as he heard the artillery, there were the sounds of at least ten 75mm mountain guns, more than the artillery of an entire regiment.

The crucial point was that most of the 104th Regiment's mountain and field guns had been taken away by transport ships, sinking with Regiment Commander Hai Fu Sanqianxiong into the Yangtze River.

But the cold‑blooded Nei Shan Yingtang had just issued a death order: hold Xiao Ting to the last, not a step back!

At this moment Da Ye Xiu no longer cared about rank; he just wanted to survive.

Moreover, Nei Shan Yingtang informed him by phone that the Independent Mixed 17th Brigade arriving from the Yichang direction, with three battalions, would be there soon, urging him to hold on.

Hold on? Hold on with what?

Da Ye Xiu still doesn't understand how this battle is being fought. Why did the reinforcements from the Zhijiang direction disappear as if into thin air, never engaging the Huaxia troops? And the 116th Regiment north at Dangyang, not far at all, why hasn't a single soldier been sent yet?

This battle made him feel like a blind man, and like an abandoned orphan, alone on this unfamiliar land, confronting a nightmare whose outcome he cannot know.