Chapter 24: Torrential Rain

On the night of the 28th, the Oguri Battalion failed to break through the left flank of the Luodian defensive line and outflank the Nationalist forces. This was primarily due to a sudden and torrential downpour.

The Nationalist troops defending the position, whose unit designation remained unknown, were quite amateurish in their military tactics. Judging by their marksmanship, most of them were little more than farmers who had only recently picked up rifles. Yet, their fighting spirit was incredibly resolute, and they employed a brand of madness that even the warriors of the Empire found daunting.

— Excerpt from the "Detailed Report on the Battle of Luodian, 22nd Infantry Regiment, August 28th–29th, 12th Year of Showa" —

For some unknown reason, after the Japanese offensive troops withdrew, they did not continue to shell Position No. 7. Perhaps their heavy artillery had shifted its focus toward the main battlefield at Luodian.

Strictly speaking, this was a stroke of luck for Hu Biao and his men, allowing them to bandage their wounded, reinforce their fortifications, and clear the battlefield with relative ease. This was especially true for Wang Peng and the others, who returned to the position after their scavenge, their haul quite impressive under the moonlight filtering through the storm clouds.

A rough count revealed they had brought back eight Arisaka rifles, over twenty ammunition pouches, more than sixty "melon" hand grenades, and even three pistols. The pistols included a Browning M1900 belonging to Young Master Feng and two knock-off Mauser C96s of unknown origin. Although ammunition for these was scarce, they provided Hu Biao, Wang Peng, and Zhou Kun with much-needed sidearms for close-quarters combat. As for the Nambu pistol they had recovered, Wang Peng had tossed it aside with disdain the moment he touched it.

As the squad leader, Hu Biao naturally claimed Young Master Feng’s Browning. In addition to the weapons, they had also found some Nationalist currency, silver dollars, Japanese yen, gold and silver jewelry, and wristwatches—an unexpected windfall.

As Hu Biao tucked the small pistol into his waistband, his stomach let out a loud growl, reminding him that they had only had a bit of thin porridge that morning. Ten hours had passed since then, and their bodies were long empty.

What was for dinner? Naturally, it was the oil-splashed noodles and meat-filled buns they had prepared themselves. After lighting three cigarettes as an offering to their fallen brothers from the Special Service Company, the men hunkered down in the trenches or squeezed into the cramped, foul-smelling tankette. With a bowl of noodles in one hand and a cold meat bun in the other, they began to eat ravenously. Perhaps the presence of the Japanese corpses nearby served as a grim seasoning, but to Hu Biao and his men, the meal tasted incredibly sweet.

Yet, as he ate, large tears rolled down Hu Biao’s cheeks and splashed silently into his bowl. Those brothers from the Special Service Company had gone to their graves on empty stomachs.

***

At that same moment, while Hu Biao ate in silence, he was unaware of what was transpiring on the Japanese lines less than a mile away. Had he known, he might have ordered Zhang Wei to open fire with the heavy machine gun, hoping that a stroke of luck might yield a massive surprise.

With a sharp shout of "Baka!", Lieutenant Colonel Sasaki Oguri, commander of the Oguri Battalion of the 22nd Infantry Regiment, 11th Division, struck his subordinate, Captain Kuki, across the face, knocking him to the ground.

A moment later, Kuki, his face already visibly swelling, scrambled to his feet. He stood at perfect attention before Oguri, head bowed, waiting for further blows or reprimands with an attitude of absolute submission. Yet, even this did not soothe Oguri’s fury. The Imperial warriors had long proven that a single company could defeat a Nationalist regiment, and a battalion could take on a whole division. Yet here, a tiny position supposedly guarded by only a single Nationalist company had held them back for so long, preventing them from flanking the main force at Luodian.

The commander of the 22nd Regiment, Colonel Morita, was under immense pressure from the Nationalist counter-attacks at Luodian and had just sent a scathing order via radio. If the Oguri Battalion did not seize this damned position and outflank the enemy within two hours, they would be replaced by the Iwayama Battalion, and Oguri’s men would be relegated to defensive duties in Luodian.

*May the Sun Goddess rain down divine punishment and strike down that pig-headed fool Morita,* Oguri thought bitterly. *Could that Hokkaido farmer’s son, Iwayama, possibly know how to command Imperial warriors better than he, the eldest son of a samurai lineage?* The very suggestion was an insult.

He could not kill Kuki, nor could he lead the charge himself. Containing his rage, he checked his watch and issued an ultimatum to the captain:

"It is 7:15 PM. I am giving you one hour, and you are to take command of the artillery platoon as well. If you and your company have not taken this position by 8:15 PM, Kuki, you will perform seppuku to wash away your shame. Then, I will lead the Kuroguchi Company to take it myself."

"Hai!" Kuki bowed nearly ninety degrees, accepting the order. He had already realized during his beating why the previous assault had failed. Their tactics were sound—they only needed to destroy the tankette at the core of the defense. The issue was whether his men had the courage to endure the heavy losses required to do so.

Wiping the blood from his nose, Kuki turned to his men. Nearly two hundred soldiers, including the artillery platoon, stood stiffly in the rain. Kuki began to scream "Baka!" at the top of his lungs, raining blows upon his platoon leaders just as he had been beaten by his commander. He was particularly brutal with Second Lieutenant Yamashita, the artillery platoon leader, knocking two teeth out of his mouth.

Kuki was furious because, in the previous engagement, Zhang Wei’s machine-gun burst had missed a Type 92 artillery team by only a hair's breadth. The cowards had fled instead of firing; had they held their ground, they could have destroyed the tankette and secured the position.

The cycle of violence continued: officers struck their NCOs, and NCOs struck the soldiers. Each level was more ruthless than the last. Oguri watched from the sidelines without interference; this was the tradition of the Imperial Army—a way to instill courage. After the flurry of slaps, the soldiers' faces were swollen and bloodied, but their eyes had turned feral.

Kuki then seized the moment to emphasize the tactics for the next assault: how to suppress the enemy fire and how to operate the grenade launchers and Type 92 infantry guns. The priority was the immediate destruction of the tankette.

Just as the arrangements were finalized, a clap of thunder shook the sky, and torrential rain began to lash down, stinging the soldiers' exposed skin. This was the long-brewing storm of the Songhu battlefield. Attacking in such conditions would be infinitely more difficult, as the downpour made it impossible for the grenade launchers to lock onto their targets.

A lieutenant wiped the rain from his face and looked at Kuki, his eyes silently asking whether they should proceed. A surge of inexplicable rage flared in Kuki; he struck the officer to the ground and roared:

"Continue the attack! Imperial warriors never fear such trifles. Volunteers, step forward—I need men to blow up that tank!"

Under the cover of night and rain, half a company of Japanese troops launched their assault on the twenty-odd defenders of Position No. 7. Not far away, the roar of artillery on the main Luodian front intensified. From this moment on, driven by the commander's death order, Hu Biao and his men were plunged into a hellish, desperate battle.