Chapter 344: Yichang, the People's War

Yao Quanyi has already seen the city walls bombed and collapsed.

He quickly made a decision, personally leading his troops through the dock ruins, pressing toward Yichang's South Gate.

"Regiment Commander! Look at the sky!" a warrior shouted, pointing upward.

The P-38 formation, after dropping its bombs, did not depart but instead circled low, the machine guns on its wings beginning to sweep the fleeing Japanese Army.

Bullets wove a silver net, striking the enemy forces attempting a counter‑attack, sending them sprawling.

Nick's unit had no second wave mission; when Nick flew over Huyashan, he asked the forward battalion commander William whether to bomb the Japanese troops on the ground, but William refused.

The two bombing waves were half an hour apart because of their staggered take‑offs.

William left the P-38's ammunition untouched so he could turn back to deal with the Japanese at Huyashan, easing the pressure on the ground brothers.

"Good! The air force brothers are impressive!" Yao Quanyi laughed. "Relay orders! Second Battalion, frontal assault; rd Battalion, swing in from the east! While the devils are in chaos, tear open a breach for me!"

Yichang's South Wall and East Wall both showed varying degrees of collapse.

"Kill—!"

The warriors, like tigers released from their cages, used shell craters and broken walls for cover, swiftly closing in on the city wall.

And at that moment, the familiar drumbeats sounded again.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

Faster and fiercer than before.

The drum corps, having landed with the second wave, formed on the riverbank heights and beat drums. The drum sounds pierced the smoke, crossed the broken wall, and reached every assault warrior's ears.

"Fire suppression."

"Yes."

The MG42 General Machine Gun roared, its dense rain of bullets like a silver reaper sweeping across the Japanese on the city wall, pressing them so they dared not lift their heads.

A charging soldier took a shoulder wound, yet gritted his teeth and pressed forward, muttering, "Kill Little Devil… charge…"

On the wall, the last Japanese troops clung to the ruins, making a desperate stand.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The Type 92 heavy machine gun spewed fire at the ground, but was quickly suppressed by the Independent Regiment's machine guns on the ground.

It gave you no chance to fire at all; this attack on Yichang, in Jiang Anguo's words, is fire suppression, unlimited bullets.

The demolition team crawled forward, stuffing explosives into the wall foundation; snipers took the high ground, precisely picking off fire points.

"Boom!"

Another section of the wall collapsed from internal blasting.

The breach finally opened!

"Charge—!" Yao Quanyi leapt up, his MP40 Submachine Gun in hand, pulling the trigger for a sweep at the counterattacking Japanese, leading the charge into the gate opening.

Behind him, the Second Battalion's six hundred warriors surged like a breached dam into Yichang's city district.

The Blue Sky with a White Sun flag rose slowly in the sunset, once again hoisted on a broken wall of Yichang.

High above, Nick of Ghost Second Squad pulled up the nose, taking one last dive over the burning city.

He saw the floating bridge on the River Surface completed, infantry pouring into the gate like a tide, and the flag flapping in the wind.

"Mission accomplished," he whispered, turning the course, "Home."

On the ground, Nei Shan Ying Tailang stood on the command post roof, watching the enemy flag rise toward the South Gate, his southern pistol slowly hanging down.

He knew the moment of shattered jade had arrived.

Yao Quanyi kicked the sunrise flag in front of the sandbag at the South Gate, leading his troops into Yichang.

Streets were littered with rubble, broken walls blackened, the air thick with smoke, blood, and the acrid smell of burnt wood.

He knew the real battle had only just begun.

He abruptly detached a big iron horn from his waist, a piece of "psychological warfare equipment" the commander had prepared before departure. He inhaled deeply and roared with all his might:

"People of Yichang! The Huaxia Army has returned! Take up your hoes! Lift bricks! Grab your kitchen knives! Follow us and kill the Little Devils—!"

The voice thundered, piercing the ruins, echoing through the narrow alleys.

After a brief hush, a broken window "creaked" open, an elderly white‑haired man peered out, tears in his eyes; then a youth crawled from a cellar, clutching an iron shovel; next, women emerged with kitchen knives, sickles, even rolling pins hidden for three years… the silent citizens finally awoke.

More and more Yichang residents grabbed whatever they held, following the Independent Regiment's warriors, killing the Little Devils.

Their long‑suppressed hatred erupted now, their grievances exploding as they furiously killed the devils.

Yao Quanyi tossed the horn back, "Little Li! Keep shouting! Over and over! Shout until the whole city hears!"

"Yes!" communicator Xiao Li took the horn, immediately stood on the broken wall, hoarsely repeating, "People of the countryside! The Huaxia Army is back! Follow us and kill the Little Devils!"

Yao Quanyi said no more, turned and barked, "Sniper team! Seize the highest point of the wall immediately, charge up the end wall! I want to overlook the whole city, lock onto every devil!"

The so‑called "end wall" is a protruding arrow‑tower ruin at the southwest corner of Yichang's old city, over ten meters high, offering superb visibility. In the age of cold weapons it was a decisive fort; today it will be the "eyes" of the street fight.

Eight snipers, shouldering Mauser Sniper Rifles with optics, climbed the broken walls like raccoons.

Within five minutes, the first crisp gunshot split the sky; a Japanese sergeant trying to rally a counterattack fell, a red spot at his brow.

"Target eliminated." the radio reported coolly.

Yao Quanyi's mouth twitched upward. He never believed in melee combat. To him, street fighting is not about who fears death less, but who can better use fire suppression, division, and annihilation.

Thus, before the campaign, Yao Quanyi specifically requested the commander: more submachine guns, more hand grenades, more ammo drums.

Bayonets would only be used in necessary situations.

"The soldiers at the front of the unit each carry an MP40 Submachine Gun! Six hand grenades per person! MG42 machine gun team forward!" This was his combat creed.

And now, the cost was evident.

The first wave's strong assault tore through the Japanese defenses but nearly exhausted 70% of the ammunition of the Second Battalion and rd Battalion.

Especially the twenty‑odd German‑made MG42 General Machine Guns, firing up to 1,200 rounds per minute, their fire as fierce as a "demon's chainsaw," yet ammo consumption was a bottomless pit.

In just twenty minutes of street fighting, all Ammo Boxes of every squad and platoon were emptied, the assistant gunners sweating, their throats hoarse, shouting, "Regiment Commander! No more ammo, the machine gun will become a burning stick!"

Yao Quanyi gritted his teeth: "Hold on! The Commander's second transport convoy is arriving right away!"

Before the words finished, engine roars came from the River Surface direction, and the second batch of LCI landing craft had docked!

Jiang Anguo, unable to wait for the ramp, was the first to leap over the ship's side, stepping shallow then deep through the Yangtze River water. He scanned the battlefield, his gaze sweeping. No small talk, no pause; he directly ordered the Guard Company: "Xiao Si, take people to block the east side of the dock! Jiang Xingxue, you take the others and follow me!"

Jiang Xingxue, Jiang Anguo's newly appointed Guard Company Commander, succeeded Jiang Fei's former position.

He hurried toward a temporary cover, with no one on either side, even his most trusted Xiao Si was sent away. After confirming all around was safe, he silently thought: "System, retrieve ammunition—one million rounds, 5,000 60mm mortar shells, 3,000 80mm mortar shells."

In an instant, over a thousand wooden crates marked "U. S. aid supplies" materialized on the open ground behind the dock, stacked neatly as if by miracle.

Jiang Anguo dared not take more; he knew that extracting too much at once on this war front—whether for his side or the enemy—was risky. If Japanese Army artillery struck, even a single bullet could turn the entire dock into a sea of fire.

One million rounds—that is already cautious to the extreme.

Most crucially, Jiang Anguo, as a mobile arsenal, has already advanced his front line, and his command post has also moved to Yichang dock.