Chapter 113: Street Fighting
The night was as dark as ink, with the ruins of Tai’erzhuang filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Inside the dilapidated Guandi Temple, several oil lamps flickered with dim yellow light, illuminating the mottled statue now and then.
Scattered on the cracked green brick floor were bullet casings, the incense table long overturned by artillery fire, with half a broken incense stick slanted in the incense ash, still stubbornly emitting thin smoke.
Su Yaoyang leaned in front of the statue with his eyes slightly narrowed, looking as if he were meditating with eyes closed.
In front of him were more than ten company and battalion commanders who had just rushed back from the front lines for the meeting.
At this moment, these people were sitting nearby, wolfing down their food, next to them a large pot of sorghum rice mixed with Spam luncheon meat, dehydrated vegetables, and sugar-coated peanuts.
These company and battalion commanders now looked like starving ghosts reincarnated, some even making smacking sounds.
After about ten minutes, their eating speed finally slowed down gradually.
Lu Shaobin, who finished first, ladled a bowl of cabbage soup, leaned against the wall sipping it slowly, a look of satisfaction on his face.
After a few more minutes, seeing that everyone had almost finished eating, Su Yaoyang knocked on the table and said to the group, “All full? Then come over for the meeting.”
Once everyone was seated, Su Yaoyang pulled out a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes, drew one out and just tossed it on the table before it was snatched by those nearby, who divided them up one by one.
Su Yaoyang couldn’t help but laugh and curse, “You guys, doesn’t the logistics department give each of you a pack of cigarettes every week? Why are you still mooching mine?”
Li Gaoyuan grinned and said, “Who makes the regiment commander’s cigarettes taste so good? The Camels you give us are too strong, I don’t like them.”
Su Yaoyang shook his head helplessly, watching everyone take puffs one after another, filling the entire Guandi Temple with smoke like a smoke grenade had been thrown.
“Alright… everyone, share your thoughts on today’s battle.”
Hearing Su Yaoyang’s words, the previously relaxed expressions on everyone’s faces turned serious.
Third Battalion Commander Lu Shaobin said, “This new batch of Japs fights very slyly, advancing step by step, very steadily.”
Battalion Commander Wu Zefeng also said with a grim face, “The little Japs always shell our positions and fire points before every attack, our brothers suffer heavy casualties.”
Li Gaoyuan also said, “The most annoying are the Japanese planes; one heavy bomb can wipe out a squad or even a platoon.”
“Anything else?” Su Yaoyang asked impassively.
“The Japanese way of fighting is too suffocating; we have no choice but to retreat step by step,” another company commander chimed in.
Everyone chimed in one after another, describing the situations and difficulties encountered today.
Su Yaoyang also jotted them down one by one in his notebook.
After everyone had spoken, Su Yaoyang said, “I’ve noted down what everyone said. In summary, the Japanese are using their air superiority to advance step by step and steadily nibble at us, and we can only retreat step by step in the face of their strong air and artillery power, right?”
“Yes.” Everyone nodded in agreement.
“I noticed the situations everyone mentioned today as well,” Su Yaoyang said. “Does anyone have any countermeasures?”
“Regiment commander, I think we should use the complex terrain in the town, lay more mines, and blow the bastards up.”
“I think we should play to our advantage in automatic weapons, abandon positional warfare, and fight the little Japs house by house and street by street.”
Listening to everyone’s remarks one after another, Su Yaoyang and Li Gaoyuan exchanged a glance and nodded in satisfaction.
As the saying goes, three cobblers surpass Zhuge Liang; with the collective wisdom of the crowd, Su Yaoyang and the officers studied tactics…
The next day, before the morning mist had cleared, artillery fire had torn apart the dawn in Tai’erzhuang.
The roar of the Type 97 heavy bombers crushed the last bit of silence, the blast waves hurling remaining building debris, shattered tiles falling like black rain on the scorched earth.
After the bombing, the Japanese 39th Infantry Regiment launched its attack.
In the third courtyard of the east alley, the air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and dust.
A combat team of riflemen, submachine gunners, and grenadiers was holding its breath, quietly lurking inside.
The grenadier’s body trembled slightly, two MK2 defensive grenades lying quietly in his palms; he took deep breaths while staring intently at the courtyard gate.
Soon, the sound of boots approached from far to near, shattering the silence of the courtyard.
When the first khaki figure crossed the threshold into the courtyard, the grenadier yanked the pin, swung his arm, and the grenade arced into the yard.
A deafening explosion tore through the air, flames shooting skyward, shrapnel and debris flying everywhere, smoke and dust engulfing the entire courtyard.
After the explosion, the submachine gunner leaped out from behind cover, holding a Thompson M1928A1 submachine gun fitted with a 100-round drum magazine; he pulled the trigger toward the courtyard, the crisp gunshots accompanied by a blazing muzzle flash, bullets pouring like rain, casings clinking on the ground.
The scorching metal smell mixed with gunpowder hit his face, his vision blurred by smoke, but his finger remained clamped on the trigger until the drum clicked empty.
Then, the three didn’t even look, slipping out the pre-planned back door like startled rats; by the time nearby Japanese arrived, they only saw five or six comrades’ corpses lying in pools of blood.
On another street, a Japanese squad of three combat teams, armed with Type 38 rifles and a Type 11 light machine gun, advanced slowly and cautiously along the ruined street.
The lead sergeant had cold sweat beading on his forehead, finger tight on the trigger, eyes scanning the ruins on both sides.
Suddenly, a gunshot broke the dead silence.
The soldier in front fell backward, his steel helmet rolling to the ground.
The remaining Japanese immediately hit the dirt and sought cover, but a second shot soon followed, another soldier clutching his chest as he fell, blood gushing from between his fingers.
“Sniper!”
The sergeant roared loudly, his voice mixed with fear and anger.
They frantically sought cover, but the narrow street offered nowhere to hide; the machine gunner hurriedly set up his gun and pulled the trigger toward the approximate direction of the sound.
Soon a third bullet precisely pierced the shooting machine gunner’s forehead; his body crashed heavily onto the rubble, kicking up dust.
On a distant rooftop, Zhang Wenshan narrowed his eyes, the barrel of his Springfield sniper rifle gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
He slowly exhaled, his fingertip feeling the trigger’s coldness and tension.
By now the Japanese on the street were in total chaos; unable to find the attacker, they fired wildly in all directions, some running back, the scene extremely chaotic.
After two more died, the infantry squad finally collapsed completely, everyone fleeing madly back the way they came.
