Chapter 163: Cannon Fire
The night was as dark as ink, enveloping the undulating mountains. The artillery positions were concealed at the edge of the dense forest, under camouflage nets, the barrels of the M1 155mm howitzers gleaming coldly.
One by one, the gunners crouched tensely beside the gun positions, watching the front, with opened ammunition crates behind them.
“Ding ling ling…”
The piercing phone ring shattered the silent night sky, and a large hand grabbed the receiver first.
“This is the artillery regiment, I’m Regiment Commander Zhang Zhihao, speak!”
“Sir… Crow One reports, Japanese vanguard has reached Valley One.”
“Good… continue observation!”
“Sir, Japanese have exited the valley…”
“Good…”
Zhang Zhihao turned around, picked up the loudspeaker, and shouted loudly: “All units, listen to my command, load one round!”
The hoarse roar pierced the silence, and amid the metallic clank of the breech closing, a 43-kilogram shell was shoved into the chamber by two gunners working together.
As the shell was loaded into the 155mm howitzer chamber, Zhang Zhihao’s hand holding the small red flag stiffened for a moment, then he swung it down forcefully. Accompanied by a deafening roar, thirty-six M1 155mm howitzers and twelve M2 105mm howitzers roared in unison.
Amid the earth-shaking roar, gun smoke condensed into iron-gray clouds above the artillery position, and everyone’s eardrums buzzed from the shock.
The first shell had just been fired from the chamber when the second wave of loaders rushed forward, bent at the waist, their camouflage uniforms soaked dark with sweat on the back.
“Clang…”
The breech was pulled open, and a choking smell of gun smoke wafted out from the chamber.
Before the smoke had cleared, another shell was stuffed in, followed by a long rammer pushing it home, and then the breech was securely closed.
“Fire!”
Accompanied by another roar, dozens more shells flew out.
………..
In the sedan
The mixed smell of leather and tobacco in the sedan suddenly became particularly pungent.
Ushijima Jitsuo abruptly opened his eyes, his temples throbbing, his fingertips unconsciously digging into the genuine leather seat beneath him.
In the distance, the originally pitch-black clouds split open with a pale white light streak, like a blade slashed by a god.
The screech of shells tearing through the air made one’s teeth ache.
“Boom…”
The first shell landed over two hundred meters ahead of the convoy, the rugged dirt road exploding like a fragile eggshell, flying debris pattering on the car roof.
In the rearview mirror, the second truck was instantly engulfed by an orange-red fireball, the windshield suddenly splattered with viscous red droplets.
“Artillery strike!”
The adjutant in the passenger seat had just managed to shout when his voice was crushed by successive explosions, the dark road lit snow-bright by bursts of blast light.
Ushijima Jitsuo clearly saw a soldier clutching his right arm severed by shrapnel roll into the roadside ditch, his shrill screams echoing nearby.
Soon, gusts of gun smoke carrying the smell of charred flesh poured into the car, making eyes water.
“Clang!”
A piece of shrapnel suddenly embedded in the car door, only three finger-widths from his knee.
“Division Commander, get out of the car!”
The adjutant finally reacted, jumped out, yanked open the rear door, pulled Ushijima Jitsuo out, and the two leaped into the roadside ditch in double time.
Although the above scene seemed long in description, it actually lasted less than thirty seconds.
After the sudden artillery strike, the entire convoy fell into chaos, the last tank in the convoy hurriedly turning around, its tracks crushing scattered ammunition crates in the panic.
Nearby, a startled packhorse dragged half a reins and galloped along the road, flames still burning on its mane.
“Quick… quick order the troops to disperse… disperse…”
Ushijima Jitsuo shouted while instinctively reaching for his command sword, only realizing when he touched his waist that his palm was already lacerated by broken glass, warm blood beads trickling down the sword hilt grooves.
“Baka…”
Ushijima Jitsuo cursed while ordering the troops to withdraw, but under such intense artillery fire, withdrawing was easier said than done?
At the artillery position, the gun barrels glowed dull red from continuous firing, the gunners drenched in sweat, the loaders stripped off their upper garments, working in pairs with tongs to clamp and shove shells into the chambers.
Loading was strenuous work; they had to rotate every fifteen minutes, or exhaustion would spell trouble.
On a half-slope not far from the valley, two observers lay on a charred earth bank, the edges of their binoculars smeared with sweat and dirt; one pressed the communicator and shouted: “Azimuth 173, range three thousand eight hundred meters, one rapid fire… fire!”
Dozens of seconds later, the screech of shells tearing air whistled over their heads, and they reflexively shrank their necks, letting pebbles trickle down their collars.
“Boom boom boom…”
The blast waves from the explosions shook the binocular view violently, hot winds whipping sand and dust across their faces like sandpaper scrapes.
He didn’t bother wiping his face and continued: “Japanese are withdrawing, correct azimuth 175!”
With the observers’ reports, shells fell like they had eyes right among the Japanese in the valley, trucks blown into the air, wreckage everywhere, flames from ruptured fuel tanks snaking along the gasoline to engulf rolling Japanese figures into fireballs.
One by one, Japanese soldiers were blasted into bloody pulp, the valley filled with explosions and screams…
Dawn finally broke
Morning light like blood spilled over the shattered mountain ridges.
Gray mist condensed from dew and gun smoke slowly settled in the light beams, revealing twisted steel wreckage everywhere… blown-off truck tires still smoking, gasoline from leaked tanks pooling into rainbow swirls in the craters.
When daylight fully broke, a force of several hundred men arrived at the valley.
The soldiers trudged deep and shallow, and after just dozens of meters, their boots were caked with a mix of minced flesh and mud.
“Clang!”
A soldier stepped on a steel helmet; looking down, his face turned ashen—it was filled with half-congealed brain matter, like spilled tofu pudding.
Terrified, he ran to a nearby tree half-blown away, and before he could catch his breath, he saw a length of intestine hanging from a branch; a breeze passed, making the gut sway gently on the treetop, flinging down dark red blood droplets.
“Urp urp…”
The soldier couldn’t hold back, propping one hand on the tree and vomiting heavily, but after retching for ages, having skipped breakfast, he only brought up sour bile, nearly hacking up his gall bladder.
The leading captain seemed oblivious and ordered the surrounding soldiers: “Hurry up… tally the battle results and body count, then report to the regiment commander and army commander!”
“Yes!”
The soldiers responded in unison and scattered out…
