Chapter 336: Surviving After the Calamity

With Mi Long's angry roar: "Skinny calf! Little Devil, damn your grandfather!"

The MG42 General Machine Gun in Mi Long's hands roared again, chillingly, its tongues of fire spitting, bullets pouring down like a rainstorm, once more crushing the Japanese Army troops that were charging at the front.

Company Commander Jiang Yuan, watching Mi Long's series of actions from the side, said, "He's literally a madman!"

Since yesterday, the first company under Mi Long has barely taken any rest at all.

Dense 7.92mm bullets, like the Grim Reaper's chainsaw, sliced the air wildly, weaving an impenetrable net of fire that mercilessly mowed down the soldiers of the Independent Mixed 17th Brigade as they surged forward in a frenzy.

Severed limbs flew, flesh and blood smeared, and the once ferocious Japanese Army assault was abruptly halted by this torrent of steel.

An unbelievable scene unfolded: the Huaxia Army once again launched a counter‑attack against the Japanese Army.

The Japanese troops that had just been ready to storm the hill for a death‑match with the Huaxia Army were driven back again.

"Nani!"

This startled, angry roar came from Major General Nanshan Xiuji.

He stared intently at the hill ahead, almost within sight yet like a sky trench, his face twisted in disbelief.

Clearly only one step away—just a few dozen meters more—and the Huyashan position would have been captured, a decisive blow for the whole battle.

Yet, at that hair‑trigger moment, the stubborn Chinese soldiers on the hill erupted with astonishing combat power, forcibly driving the Japanese troops that had already surged up back down.

The boiled duck actually flew away; this sudden reversal made him unable to believe his own eyes.

"Baka!"

A furious roar burst from Major General Nanshan Xiuji's mouth. The battlefield before him left him unsure whether the forces opposite were the Huaxia Army; the Japanese Army gave no intelligence about Yidu or Xiaoting.

How could they be so ferociously abnormal.

He gripped the hilt of his command sword tightly.

He even committed two squadrons, with victory within reach, yet at that critical moment the seemingly indestructible Chinese soldiers on the hill again displayed astonishing resilience, their numbers swelling, forcefully repelling the tide of Japanese troops surging forward.

This sense of hope shattered is more maddening than a outright defeat.

Nanshan Xiuji knew clearly that Chinese reinforcements had arrived.

The machine gun fire grew even fiercer, and mortar shells began falling more and more on his own troops.

"Messenger! Messenger!" Major General Nanshan Xiuji shouted hoarsely.

A blood‑splattered Messenger crawled and rolled over, shouting, "Sir!"

"Pull back the forward units! All of them, pull back!" Nanshan Xiuji gritted his teeth, the flesh on his cheek trembling, "Let them rest on the second line, reorganize, then launch another charge!"

He had to issue this humiliating order, fully aware that under such ferocious attack the assault troops would suffer intolerable casualties.

In reality, under the savage fire of Mi Long and Jiang Yuan's two units, the defenders holding the rugged terrain acted like a merciless meat grinder, leaving only a handful of Japanese soldiers able to withdraw alive.

The surviving, defeated troops could only retreat in disarray to a relatively safe distance beyond range, clutching their rifles and trembling, daring not to expose themselves again.

The Little Devils still holed up on the position, howling, were picked off one by one by soldiers of the first and third companies; no one would pity them. Because that's war!

A brief, suffocating silence fell over the battlefield.

In that fleeting interval, on the Huyashan position.

Mi Long leaned against a massive blue‑gray stone, gulping breath after breath. His uniform was drenched in sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

He trembled as he fished a pack of long‑squashed Camel Brand Cigarettes from his pocket, struggled to pull out a stick and jam it in his mouth. Then, habitually, he reached for a lighter in his pocket—left, right—only to find emptiness.

"Damn it, that's freaky!" Mi Long cursed, about to pull the cigarette out, when a faint spark of flame lit up before his eyes.

"Come, light it."

Jiang Yuan, having slipped in unnoticed, crouched beside him, holding a wind‑proof lighter steady, shielding the tiny flame from the draft with his body.

Mi Long didn't hold back, leaned over and inhaled deeply, "Sss—" the sound of tobacco igniting rang sharply in the silence.

"Huh......"

A thick plume of smoke burst from Mi Long's mouth, instantly clouding his dust‑covered face. His furrowed brows finally relaxed a bit, as if those deadly charges were merely a puff of irritating smoke.

"Skinny calf! Oh my mother, I almost gave myself up here just now." Mi Long patted his chest, glanced sideways at Jiang Yuan, grinned, flashing two rows of white teeth, "Brother, thanks! Without your timely support, I'd have met King Yan by now."

Jiang Yuan tucked away the lighter, wiped the oil from his hands, and said lightly, "We're brothers in life and death; no need to thank me. As long as the position holds, we're alive."

Mi Long fell silent for a moment, a flicker of complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

He took another deep drag, gazed at the rolling distant hills, and murmured, "But, fortunately, this is the homeland!"

For a moment, Mi Long even thought of his northeastern hometown and the dilapidated courtyard of his second home, Chanda.

He recalled the moment he first met the Regiment Commander, that pot of pork stewed with vermicelli.

Mi Long's Adam's apple twitched involuntarily.

Jiang Yuan was taken aback, not grasping the rambling remark, let alone the meaning behind Mi Long's emphasized "homeland." Was it a contrast to Myanmar's jungle? Or because the ground beneath his feet was his own native land?

Jiang Yuan stared at Mi Long, intending to ask, but saw his face covered in soot and smoke, his eyes fixed forward, staring intently at the Japanese Army's positions.

The cigarette in Mi Long's hand still burned, trembling, yet he seemed unaware. No, it was his hand that shook—a relaxation after successive brutal fights, muscles releasing after adrenaline faded.

"Homeland…" Jiang Yuan whispered, repeating it as if realizing something, then patted Mi Long's shoulder, "Don't shake. The Little Devils aren't wiped out yet; finish smoking and then get back to work!"

Mi Long crushed the cigarette butt under his boot with force, the ferocity returning to his face: "Damn it, bring it on! I'm not done living yet!"

Mi Long didn't dare glance at his own company, fearing one might lose composure!

A barely perceptible glint flashed in Mi Long's eyes!

Jiang Anguo originally intended to dispatch transport boats from the Yidu direction to assist the landing.

It's no longer needed; the front‑line losses have freed up the allocation—eight transport boats, each carrying two hundred men, can instantly move half of the Independent Regiment's forces to the Yichang dock.

Yao Quanyi, of the Independent 1st Regiment, publicly claims the title of Deputy Regiment Commander; specialty: urban warfare.

Jiang Anguo's mishap caused today's Yichang battle; the supreme commander is Yao Quanyi.