Chapter 32: Failed Offensive
Dense bullets poured down like raindrops, and the Japanese troops exposed in the open ground suffered heavy casualties. Under such terrain, all the three-man squads and alternating cover became useless.
A Japanese squad lost more than half its men in less than three minutes, and the remaining dozen or so saw the situation was bad and could only retreat in disarray.
Seeing the Japanese attack repelled so easily, the morale of the defenders on the wall soared, and bursts of mocking and cursing laughter rang out, even including quite a few dialects unique to the three eastern provinces.
“Baka yarou…”
Morimura Juroku roared in anger while continuously slapping the retreating squad leader more than a dozen times.
“You’re just a stupid pig… You’ve lost all the face of the Imperial Japanese Army!”
Having witnessed all this with his own eyes, Morimura Juroku was nearly driven mad with rage. In just over ten minutes, a squad had lost more than half its men, and they hadn’t even been able to retrieve the bodies—this was simply the greatest shame.
What hurt him most was still the unit’s casualties; the Third Battalion had already suffered considerable losses when attacking Nanjing.
After the two or three attacks just now, they had lost nearly half a company, leaving the already understrength battalion even more short-handed, how could this not enrage him.
The company commander stepped forward to advise: “Battalion Commander, the Chinese firepower is simply too fierce, and the Chinese defenders opposite are especially cunning. They hide their machine gun fire very concealed.
They only use infantry to entangle with us, often firing a magazine and then quickly shifting, making it hard for our grenade launchers to find targets. Plus, the terrain opposite is open with no cover, forcing our soldiers to charge at the risk of exposure—this is the most deadly part.”
Morimura Juroku said coldly: “My eyes aren’t blind. I just want to ask you, is there any way to quickly rush to that church and occupy it?”
“This subordinate believes that, apart from using artillery cover or requesting tank unit support, there is no other way.”
“Tank support… artillery cover?”
Nagano Yuichiro looked at Morimura Juroku in front of him as if looking at a fool.
“Have you thought about it? If even attacking a small church requires deploying tank units and an artillery regiment, how would the general view me… view our 11th Regiment?”
“This subordinate knows, but for the lives of the 11th Regiment’s soldiers, please, Colonel, reconsider this subordinate’s request.” Morimura Juroku’s waist nearly snapped as he bowed again.
“That’s impossible!”
Nagano Yuichiro considered for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
Ignoring Morimura Juroku’s anxious gaze, he pointed to a house over a hundred meters behind and slowly said: “Do you see? The deputy brigade commander is watching us from back there. If the prolonged combat goes unfavorably, you know what the consequences will be, right?”
At this point, even the proud Nagano Yuichiro felt some regret. If he hadn’t been so arrogant earlier and shown off to Hasegawa, perhaps the other would have given him face.
But now… he was certain that if he really failed to attack effectively, he wouldn’t mind personally reporting to Major General Kunizaki.
Thinking of this, he took a deep breath and said to the signalman: “Call Major Onishi Ayano here.”
Soon, a short and stocky major with a sword at his side strode over, saluted Nagano Yuichiro crisply, and said loudly: “Regiment commander, what are your orders?”
Nagano Yuichiro said with a gloomy face: “You saw the situation with the Third Battalion just now. The intensity of the Chinese defense was beyond our expectations.
So I’ve decided: from now on, your battalion and the Third Battalion will attack the church together, without distinguishing main and secondary. Your two battalions will attack separately from the main gate and the side rear.
I’ll have the artillery company fully support you. You must take the church! If you still can’t take it, then commit seppuku together!”
“Hai!”
The Japanese were anxious; three Type 92 infantry guns and four mortars began a frenzied bombardment of the church. In an instant, the small church was shrouded in smoke, and even the main church hall took several shells.
“Quick… gauze…”
“Alcohol… forceps…”
The air in the basement was stifling and damp, the surrounding walls wrapped in thick stone bricks. Dim light filtered through the sparse gaps in the wooden planks above, casting mottled shadows.
The ground was a turbid mix of dirt and bloodstains, as if bearing witness to the misfortunes that had occurred here.
Each rumbling cannon blast caused the ground to tremble slightly, as if even the walls were whimpering softly, in stark contrast to the noisy chaos outside.
Song Mei stood focused beside the wounded man, the scalpel in her hand glinting coldly. With a gentle stroke, the blade sliced open the wounded man’s abdomen.
Blood surged out like a tide, glaringly vivid in the dimness. Without hesitation, she grabbed the forceps and clamped firmly at one spot. Her mind was wholly absorbed; she could only hear her own rapid and heavy heartbeat amid the shocking cannon booms.
With her deft clamp, a shrapnel fragment fell out with a clear “clink,” piercingly sharp in this oppressive and dangerous environment.
The surroundings were still filled with incessant artillery fire and panicked shouts, but at this moment Song Mei seemed in another world, with only the brief and urgent connection between her and the wounded.
In three quick moves, she finished processing the wound in just over ten minutes and had the wounded man carried away.
Due to the shortage of manpower, all able-bodied men had gone to fight, so carrying the wounded and transporting ammo had to be handled by women like Yu Mo and Shu Juan.
Wounded kept arriving nonstop; from morning until now, Song Mei had performed seven or eight surgeries in a row, so exhausted her arms could barely lift, but she gritted her teeth and persisted.
After the last wounded man was carried away, the relaxing Song Mei staggered and nearly collapsed to the ground.
“Sister Song Mei!”
Xiao Lu, who had been assisting her at the side, quickly supported her.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just a bit exhausted.”
Song Mei slowly shook her head. By now, the hair on her forehead was soaked with sweat, and her pretty face had turned somewhat pale.
“Xiao Lu… trouble you to open a bottle of glucose for me.”
“Oh… oh…”
Xiao Lu didn’t ask much and quickly opened a bottle of glucose and handed it to her.
Song Mei took the glucose, brought it to her mouth, and drank more than half the bottle in one go.
After downing more than half the bottle of glucose, Song Mei’s complexion finally regained a bit of color.
She turned her head to look around. “Xiao Lu… any more wounded?”
“Not for now.” Xiao Lu shook her head.
“Okay… you all go count the medicine now, see how much stock is left…”
“Boom…”
Just as Song Mei finished speaking, a massive blast came from overhead…
