"Baka!"
Seeing a chance for total annihilation vanish, only to have so many men blasted away by mortar fire, Matsushita Kimura slammed his fist into the ground with all his might. His eyes were wide with fury, and shrapnel had torn through the back of his heel.
"Matsushita-kun, the enemy's firepower is too intense! We must retreat! If we don't, we will likely be surrounded and wiped out!" the Japanese sergeant, lying beside him, roared at Matsushita Kimura.
The full-strength platoon was now decimated; excluding the wounded, only about twenty men remained with any combat capability. Losing nearly half his force struck terror into the sergeant. Since landing, their platoon had never suffered such casualties!
"Bakayaro! Chinese, I will not let you off! Retreat! The entire unit, retreat!"
The pain shooting from his foot filled Matsushita Kimura with uncontrollable rage, yet he had no choice but to issue the order. The platoon’s grenade discharger team had been completely baffled throughout the engagement, unable to fire a single round from start to finish. Upon hearing the order to retreat, they scrambled to their feet, ready to provide covering fire.
*Bang!*
Lin Feng, not far away, was not about to let them have their way. The report of a Chiang Kai-shek rifle rang out, and a Japanese grenadier collapsed, dead.
On the high ground, Hu Youming saw that the Japanese were planning to bolt. Without a second thought, he signaled his men to charge down. Along the mountain path, the three-man squads that had already moved up, prepared to engage in bayonet combat, had their bayonets fixed. Those without rifles gripped their broadswords tightly.
"Brothers, charge! Kill these goddamn little Japanese!"
War cries shook the heavens. Lin Feng led his men out as well, colliding with the enemy alongside the others.
The remaining twenty-odd Japanese soldiers, though in the midst of a retreat and clearly rattled, fought like cornered beasts, each one unafraid of death. They drew their bayonets, ready for a life-or-death struggle against the Chinese soldiers.
"Baka! Kill them all!" Matsushita Kimura roared, limping forward.
"Kill these mother-fucking Japanese! Wipe them out!" Hu Youming charged down, holding his broadsword high. Sharp-eyed, he had long since spotted the Japanese platoon leader, and his eyes burned with murderous intent. He swung his broadsword, the blade slicing through the air with a heavy, whistling sound.
Lin Feng, leading several soldiers, hunted down straggling Japanese, skewering them or taking their heads with every strike. The remaining twenty-some Japanese were soon tangled in a brutal melee with the Chinese soldiers. It was a chaotic affair of bayonets drawing blood and broadswords becoming notched from the carnage.
The battle was fierce, but it ended with remarkable speed. Every one of the twenty-plus Japanese soldiers was cut down; not a single one was taken prisoner.
"That's refreshing! Truly refreshing! Death to those bastards!" Hu Youming gripped his broadsword in one hand, while his other hand dragged Matsushita Kimura’s severed head. His already filthy uniform was soaked in blood, and he had sustained a few gashes himself.
"Old Hu, stop grinning like a fool. Clean up the battlefield quickly—getting the wounded to the hospital is what's important!"
As the battle concluded, Lin Feng was also covered in bloodstains, his body heavy with fatigue. This vicious fight had finally completed his transformation into a true soldier. Having witnessed the bloodshed and cruelty of the battlefield, he finally understood why the Battle of Shanghai was known as a "meat grinder."
"Right, right! The Battalion Commander has spoken, men, dig in!"
Hu Youming tossed the head aside and hurried to rally his brothers to collect the spoils. Those Type 38 rifles were like beauties stripped of their clothes—incredibly precious!
"Little Xingguo, you've already got a machine gun. You've got to leave this one for us."
The men were swift and efficient at collecting weapons and ammunition; in a flash, the cleanup was mostly done. They had seized fifty-six Type 38 rifles, two Type 11 Light Machine Guns, and two Type 89 grenade dischargers. They estimated there were four to five thousand rounds of ammunition and four sets of basic loads for the grenade dischargers. It had to be said, the Type A divisions were the elite of the Japanese army; every single infantryman carried at least one basic load of ammunition—nearly one hundred and twenty rounds.
When Hu Youming heard these numbers, he stood there, stunned. The sheer volume of it was shocking, a stinging reminder of his days as a leader in a ragtag unit.
"Can't do it, we've got to ask the Battalion Commander first."
Zhang Xingguo held the machine gun to his chest. In front of him stood an old man, his face covered in scruffy, unkempt stubble; he was at least fifty or sixty years old.
"Young lad, then you've got to put in a good word for me with the Battalion Commander." The old man stroked the Type 11 Light Machine Gun in his arms, handing it over with great reluctance.
Seeing this, Hu Youming walked over. "Old Wang, this is a fine gun! It’s my fault—as the company commander, I haven't been able to give you a decent weapon to use." He patted the old man on the shoulder, brushing off the dust.
"No matter, no matter! At least we ran into Battalion Commander Lin. Commander, this is all thanks to Battalion Commander Lin!"
The old man wasn't being coy. He had lived long enough to know how things worked. They had annihilated a whole Japanese platoon; he knew perfectly well under whose leadership such a feat had been accomplished. Most of the men in the unit knew it, too. If it weren't for Lin Feng’s command, they would never have been able to wipe out that Japanese platoon.
"That's right! If it weren't for Battalion Commander Lin, we might have run right into these Japanese ourselves!" Zhang Xingguo chimed in, his respect reaching a new peak.
"Commander, it’s not just us. Everyone in the company knows it. We respect Battalion Commander Lin from the bottom of our hearts!" Old Wang added.
Hu Youming had heard these words more than once, but reflecting on them now, his admiration for Lin Feng grew even deeper. This was no longer just about Lin Feng being from the 88th Division; it was an admiration for the man himself. To earn the respect of an entire company in such a short time—that was something not just anyone could do.
"Hey! What are you all gossiping about? Old Hu, hurry up and pack up, we're moving out!"
After the battle, Lin Feng had been busy cleaning up the field with a few soldiers, while keeping a close eye on the Simulator in his mind.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for gaining Killing Value!]
[Current Killing Value: 56]
[Simulation attempts available for redemption]
Looking at the Killing Value in his mind, Lin Feng made a new discovery. Beyond the enemies he killed with his own hands, the enemies killed by the unit he led also counted toward his Killing Value. With this realization, Lin Feng felt that perhaps a "color simulation" was not so far away after all!
Of course, these pleasant fantasies lasted only a moment. The most important thing now was to get the wounded to the field hospital. Seeing Hu Youming and the others standing there chatting—which he mistook for laziness—Lin Feng hurried over to call them to action.
"Battalion Commander, you truly are my Sun Wukong, absolutely amazing!"
Lin Feng heard the old man’s words, but didn't quite understand, assuming it was some local dialect.
"Battalion Commander, this is Old Wang, our company’s machine gunner! Back then, we were just too poor to have a machine gun. Look at this, hehe!" Hu Youming held up the Type 11 Light Machine Gun and beamed at Lin Feng, the meaning in his smile self-evident.