Chapter 333: The Brave Triumph

With its firepower at full, the MG42 General Machine Gun swept the Japanese Army's positions.

Those Japanese Grenade Launcher troops who had just fired their shells and hadn't had time to relocate didn't even get a chance to find cover. Under the sweep of 7.92 mm heavy rounds, they were shredded like rag dolls, and together with the Grenade Launcher in their hands, they were slammed hard into the mud.

"Well shot! That's how it should be! Little Devil (Japanese soldier), go die!"

Mi Long looked at the fallen Japanese below, excitedly planted a foot on a large stone, spat a mouthful of blood‑scented saliva onto the ground, his face full of feral delight.

However, after that brief excitement, a cruel practical problem rose again before him.

Platoon Leader Xia Hou Ping of the third platoon hunched over, braving the hail of bullets, scrambled to Mi Long's side, looked at the endless flow of Japanese below, and shouted with a grim face, "Company Commander! We can't hold! Our ammunition is really low! At this rate, we can only last ten more minutes at most, then we'll have to resort to bayonets!"

"You skinny calf! I know even without you saying it!"

Mi Long, irritated, raked his dust‑covered hair, glanced at the empty mountain path behind him, furrowed his brows, and with obvious anxiety said, "Did the units behind us get any notice? How the hell haven't they arrived yet!"

Mi Long may be a fierce man, but he's not a fool. Sending a single platoon to hard‑press a whole regiment is something even a deity couldn't manage; his only hope now is the reinforcements behind him.

Before setting out, he had used the field telephone to contact the rear, but fate played tricks; he couldn't reach Battalion Commander Quanzong at all, and only after much effort got through to Company Commander Jiang Yuan of the third company. At the time, Jiang Yuan swore solemnly that he would follow up from behind, but how long has that been, not even a ghostly trace has been seen.

Time ticked by second by second, and the Japanese below had already begun to organize more forces to charge up the mountain; fine beads of sweat seeped onto Mi Long's forehead in urgent haste.

"Damn it, what the hell is Jiang Yuan doing! How come he still hasn't arrived! If he doesn't come soon, I'm going to feed these few hundred men to the Little Devil (Japanese soldier) as an Extra Meal!"

The battle was stalemated, and Mi Long had no time to think of anything else.

"Mortar, give me two rounds first!" Mi Long shouted hoarsely, his voice laced with ferocity, "Don't hold back the ammo for me; today the Little Devil (Japanese soldier) will know how fierce we are!"

The Mortar Squad behind them had been holding a fuse of fire; upon hearing the order, several men deftly and swiftly adjusted the angle. The mortar operator quickly aimed, and the loader snapped the shell into the barrel with a crack, moving with fluid precision, clearly a hard‑trained skill.

"Dong! Dong!"

After the two muffled discharge sounds, several shells, screaming sharply, tore through the sky, carving arcs of death.

On the Japanese positions, a few sentries who were about to sound the alarm were stunned by the whistling from above. Immediately, a series of "Boom—" explosions sent black smoke billowing, and the blast wave mixed with mud and debris instantly flipped over a dozen Little Devils. Screams and curses erupted in a clamor, and the once orderly line turned into utter chaos.

"Well shot! Keep hitting me like that, don't stop!" Mi Long stood behind a cover, squinting at the rising flames ahead, a hint of satisfaction on his face. He glanced back at the Ammo Box beside the Mortar Squad, mentally calculating: although the shells were indeed few, this was a critical moment and he couldn't be soft.

"Sir, ammo is low," a mortar operator wiped his sweat and reminded.

"Cut the chatter! Keep going, fire more for me!" Mi Long glared, cursing as he said, "As long as we daze these Little Devils, our men behind can charge up easily. Aim at the crowded spots, don't waste!"

"Yes, Company Commander!"

The mortar crew didn't dare delay, and another two rapid rounds were fired. Over ten shells whistled out again, landing precisely on the Japanese heads.

In this narrow stretch, the Japanese truly suffered. The terrain was like a natural pocket, high on one side and the Yangtze River on the other; on the ancient road in the middle, the Japanese had nowhere to hide.

They had originally relied on the terrain, setting up a few machine guns to block the front, forming a crossfire with Mi Long, but before they could even fire, they were blindsided by the sudden barrage.

In front of the position, a few Japanese still breathing struggled in the mud, trying to crawl back to cover, but another shell landed immediately, erasing their last chance of survival.

Amidst the flying dust, the Japanese machine guns fell silent; those soldiers who usually boasted Bushido Spirit were now blown sideways by the blasts, a scene of death and injury.

Some had their legs blown off, others were blood‑splattered, and cries for medics rang everywhere, a chaotic mess.

"That's right, that's right!" Mi Long looked at the chaotic scene ahead, spat a mouthful of saliva, "In this damned terrain, no angle adjustment is needed; just fire the shells into the Japanese positions, the Little Devils become live targets, certain death!"

"Company Commander, if we keep firing we'll truly run out of ammo," the mortar operator shouted again, his tone urgent.

Mi Long stared at the Japanese position that had been almost leveled, glanced at the sparse gunfire still popping up there, and knew the timing was about right.

"Enough, keep the remaining shells for me as a reserve, tell the brothers to get ready to charge up!" Mi Long waved his hand, his gaze turning fierce, "While the Little Devils are still stunned, send me forward, cut them down! Machine Gunners, hold the line!"

Mi Long placed the heavy MG42 General Machine Gun onto the earthen platform, lifted the barrel, and without a word pulled the trigger.

"Da da da—!"

The muzzle spat a long tongue of fire, bullets rained out like water being poured, the metallic clatter crisp and piercing, making one's scalp tingle.

On the Japanese positions, those soldiers who had just been shouting to organize a counterattack were instantly suppressed by the dense fire.

The few at the front didn't even have time to react; their bodies jolted violently, then, like harvested scarecrows, they fell piece by piece.

Mi Long kept firing while cursing, "You bunch of damn Little Devils, be arrogant! Fall down for me! All of you, go die!"

He didn't even know how many Little Devils he had killed. From the start until now, the barrel in his hand was almost glowing red, yet he felt no fatigue, only an indescribable thrill.

Each bullet that left the barrel seemed to vent the long‑suppressed rage in his heart. Watching the fallen figures ahead, Mi Long grinned, a feral smile on his face, "Fuck, that's really satisfying!"

Despite being outnumbered, Mi Long still dared a counter‑charge; one must admit, his guts were truly huge.

Zhao Zilong was no different!