Chapter 269: Pursuit
In the bell and drum tower of Yichang City, inside the temporarily set up division headquarters command post, perhaps due to the impending rain, the air was unusually humid and stuffy, mixed with smells of soil, tobacco, and various sweats.
A huge military map hung on the wall, marked with dense arrows and symbols in red and blue pencils, like a web crawling with colorful spiders.
Su Yaoyang’s gaze, however, fell on a monthly calendar on the wall nearby, torn to only a few pages left.
That monthly calendar featured a modern girl in a cheongsam with a sweet smile, but now it was somewhat yellowed by the smoke of gunfire. He stretched out his finger and lightly tapped on one of the dates circled in red pen.
“Tap, tap.”
The light sound of fingertip touching the rough paper surface, in this room filled with the ticking of the telegraph machine and the low voices of the staff officers, seemed insignificant, yet like a chess piece dropped, it determined the direction of the entire chess game.
He let out a long, satisfied breath, as if that breath carried away all the tension accumulated from days of fierce fighting, leaving only a sense of satisfaction and relaxation from the plan going as expected.
“It’s finally time.”
He turned his head, with a relaxed smile on his face, and said to a operations staff officer beside him who was staring intently at the map: “Order all units to begin withdrawal according to the original plan.”
That operations staff officer was suddenly stunned, he instinctively straightened his back and gave a standard salute: “Yes… Commander-in-Chief!”
The order, like an invisible electric current, instantly spread throughout the entire command system.
The telegraph operator’s fingers struck the telegraph key like rain hitting banana leaves, the telephone operators shouted the orders in hoarse voices, and messengers grabbed their helmets, rushed out of the command post, and headed to various positions.
The originally cruel front line like a meat grinder, the rhythm of attack and defense quietly changed.
The Shanxi Militia units that had previously attacked fiercely regardless of cost, like receding tides, began to disengage from the Japanese Sixth Division in an orderly manner.
A M2HB heavy machine gun responsible for rear guard issued a steady and rhythmic roar, its muzzle flame licking the Japanese positions ahead, tearing several charging Japanese soldiers into bloody flesh.
Under the cover of machine gun fire, the infantry alternated cover and withdrew rapidly and orderly toward the preset positions to the west. The entire process was smooth as flowing water, without the slightest panic, as if rehearsed thousands of times.
………..
At the same time, in the Japanese Sixth Division’s command post, the atmosphere was oppressively heavy, as if water was about to drip from it.
Division Commander Major General Machijiri Ryuki, his eyes bloodshot, was staring fixedly at the map.
His command sword lay on the table, the teacup beside his hand long cold, the ashtray stuffed full of cigarette butts, like a small grave mound.
These days, he felt not like he was commanding a war, but like being repeatedly hammered on the head by an invisible giant, leaving him distraught, with heavy pressure almost driving him mad.
Especially when the news came that the 13th Regiment was almost completely wiped out, with Regiment Commander Nakano Hideaki stabbed to death in the trench, Machijiri Ryuki was so angry that he smashed his favorite tea set on the spot.
He had long been holding back a belly full of rage, just waiting for an opportunity to tear that damned Su Yaoyang to pieces.
“Report!”
An intelligence staff officer rushed in, his face showing uncontrollable excitement and confusion, “Division Commander, sir! The Chinese troops opposite… they are withdrawing!”
“What? Withdrawing? Everyone?”
“Yes, all units withdrawing across the entire line!”
Machijiri Ryuki suddenly raised his head, and in those bloodshot eyes, a ferocious glint like a hungry wolf burst forth instantly. He pushed away the chair, rushed to the map in a few steps, and stared fixedly at the latest battlefield situation.
“Withdrawing?”
He muttered to himself, then a ferocious and ecstatic smile appeared on his face, “Hahaha… the Chinese finally can’t hold on! Their strength has finally reached its limit!”
Machijiri Ryuki took this withdrawal as the signal of the Shanxi Militia’s collapse! That long-suppressed rage finally found an outlet!
“Order!”
Machijiri Ryuki suddenly turned around and roared at all the officers in the command post, his voice hoarse from extreme excitement and anger, “Full army pursuit! Pursuit! Bite them for me! Don’t let them escape! I want to wash away the shame of the 13th Regiment with their blood!”
He grabbed the command sword from the table, drew it sharply, and the snow-bright blade flashed through the dim command post.
“I will personally chop off those Chinese heads!”
With the order issued, the entire Sixth Division’s camp instantly boiled over, countless soldiers rushed out from cover under the officers’ shouts, officers roared orders, and shrill charge bugles pierced the sky.
This elite unit suppressed for too long, like unleashed ferocious beasts carrying sky-high hatred, left only a small force to occupy Yichang, while the main force madly pursued in the direction of the Shanxi Militia’s withdrawal…
………..
If asked what is the biggest difference between the Shanxi Militia and the Eighth Route Army, National Revolutionary Army, and Jin-Sui Army?
Some say it’s weapons, others say command, or food and training, etc., but in Su Yaoyang’s view, the biggest difference between the Shanxi Militia and other domestic armies is transportation.
Yes, you read that right, transportation.
Perhaps because he transmigrated from modern times, from airplanes and high-speed rail far away, to cars, electric bikes, or bicycles nearby, such means of travel were already etched in his genes.
In his view, iron feet, No. 11 bus, etc., were not something worth being proud of.
Although commendable in spirit, it was merely a compromise under helpless conditions.
Through his efforts, by 1940, the Shanxi Militia had over three thousand trucks, meaning on average one truck per ten soldiers.
And in these three years, the number of drivers he trained alone reached over ten thousand. It was precisely because of such a large number of trucks and drivers that the Shanxi Militia possessed super high mobility.
In contrast, the Japanese Army was different; by 1940, it still heavily relied on mule and horse transport.
A standard Type A division like a standing division usually had about five to eight thousand military horses for towing artillery, transporting ammunition and supplies; even infantry units’ baggage mainly relied on horses or manpower.
Due to severe shortage of Japanese trucks and miscellaneous models like Toyota KC, Nissan 180, etc.
Only a few elite units like certain mechanized brigades or Kwantung Army units were assigned motorized transport, but in extremely low proportion.
Therefore, each Japanese division averaged only 100-200 trucks, far below contemporary Western armies’ levels.
Under such circumstances, relying solely on scarce vehicles and mules and horses to catch up with the fully motorized Shanxi Militia was nothing but a pipe dream.
Six hours later
Machijiri Ryuki rode on a tall Japanese horse, the horse’s hooves sinking deep into the muddy dirt road, each step splashing black mud mixed with blood and rainwater.
His bloodshot eyes stared fixedly ahead; on the horizon, the dust raised by the Shanxi Militia rearguard during withdrawal could still faintly be seen.
“Faster! A bit faster! Don’t let them escape!”
He whipped his mount hard with the horsewhip, roaring at the equally panting messengers and guards beside him.
Behind him stretched a pursuit column several kilometers long.
The soldiers of the entire Sixth Division, like hornets from a poked nest, charged forward desperately.
Their grass-green uniforms long soaked by sweat and mud, clinging tightly to their bodies, outlining hunched backs from exhaustion.
Heavy Type 38 rifles, Type 99 light machine guns, grenade launchers had now become the last straws crushing their stamina.
The soldiers’ chests heaved violently, like broken bellows, the white breath and gasps from their mouths merging into a dull symphony.
Their legs felt like they were filled with lead, mechanically trudging through the mud.
What sustained their advance was only that long-suppressed fury and thirst for “revenge.”
“Baka! Those damned Chinese pigs run really fast!”
A corporal named Sasaki ran while wiping sweat and mud from his face with his sleeve, cursing through gritted teeth.
“No more talk! Chase them, kill them all, avenge the 13th Regiment and Regiment Commander Nakano!”
His companion roared beside him, but his voice was already hoarse from lack of oxygen.
They saw the enemies ahead, but that distance was like a chasm; no matter how desperately they tried, they couldn’t close it.
At the end of the Japanese line of sight, soldiers of the Shanxi Militia 1st Regiment 1st Battalion were completing the last alternating cover.
A M1919 Browning machine gun mounted on a small dirt hill fired the last belt at the pursuing Japanese behind, sweeping down several Japanese soldiers at the forefront.
“Withdraw!”
With the company commander’s order, the machine gunner and assistant gunner deftly dismantled the barrel and tripod, shouldered them, and ran back.
Their movements showed no panic, even having time to turn back and flash an internationally recognized insulting gesture at the distant Japanese.
When they crested that small hill, the scene before them suddenly opened up.
It was a sight shocking enough to stun all Japanese commanders.
On a simply leveled open ground, dozens of army-green Dodge ten-wheel trucks were quietly lined up.
All the trucks’ engines emitted uniform, low idling roars, like hibernating steel behemoths.
In the window of every truck sat a driver.
This was Su Yaoyang’s biggest trump card, the true reliance that allowed him to play extreme cat-and-mouse with the Sixth Division… a fully motorized army!
“Move faster… get on the trucks… get on!”
The battalion commander stood on a jeep, shouting loudly through a tin megaphone.
Soldiers just withdrawn from the front line quickly ran to assigned trucks by squad and platoon formations.
They slung rifles on their backs, pulled each other, and nimbly jumped into the truck beds.
Heavy machine guns, mortars, and other equipment were also hastily lifted aboard and securely fixed in the truck beds.
The entire process was smooth and efficient, without any crowding or chaos.
A young soldier jumped onto a truck, found a seat, pulled out half a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and distributed them to comrades beside him.
“Damn it, those little Japs with two legs still want to catch our four wheels? Dream on!”
He lit a cigarette, took a satisfying puff, and the smoke rings he exhaled drifted backward, full of contempt.
Laughter erupted in the truck bed. They looked at those ant-sized black dots still striving to catch up on the distant horizon, their eyes full of mockery.
With the lead command vehicle sounding three long whistles, this steel serpent began to awaken.
“Rumble… rumble rumble…”
Dozens of engines simultaneously revved up, converging into a deafening thunder! The trucks kicked up clouds of dust, forming a yellow barrier that isolated the entire world.
The convoy began to accelerate slowly, churning up mud and water, leaving two deep tread marks behind.
Distant Machijiri Ryuki watched dumbfounded as that dragon of smoke and steel rapidly receded from his view, finally disappearing at the horizon’s end.
He and his over ten thousand soldiers, already run to exhaustion, could only stop, stand in place, futilely breathing the foul air mixed with truck exhaust and dust.
Those two deep tread marks seemed like a huge, silent mockery painted on the muddy ground.
Machijiri Ryuki trembled with rage, whipping the ground hard with the horsewhip in his hand, letting out a desperate and furious roar.
“Baka yaro…”
