Chapter 67: Brother, Use Mine!

...In anti-Japanese war television dramas, we often see soldiers using wet towels to cover their noses and mouths when facing poison gas shells fired by the Japanese, continuing to fight until they finally repel the enemy's attack.

It is fine for directors to film it that way.

However, what I want to point out is that the actual process is neither that simple nor that easy.

Because the Japanese used many different types of poison gas, and only against a small amount of choking agents could such a method achieve good results; for most poison gases, covering the nose and mouth with a wet towel merely allows one to die a little more slowly.

Especially when encountering blistering agents, prolonged skin contact results in pain and ugliness resembling immersion in sulfuric acid.

Persisting in combat under such an environment involves hardships that simply cannot be clearly described with a pen...

...Excerpt from Hu Biao's diary collection "Biao's Truth"...

Upon hurriedly shouting the warning "Poison gas!", Uncle Biao held his breath while instantly tearing off a towel around his neck, the original color of which had long since vanished.

After hastily dampening it with water from his canteen, he covered his nose and mouth, only then daring to resume breathing.

Even so, when the pale yellow mist made contact with his exposed skin, he still felt a stinging pain in his eyes and streaming tears, his vision blurred, and his exposed skin began to itch intensely.

As a professional and proper soldier, Uncle Biao had naturally undergone relevant chemical defense professional training. He also knew that throughout the history of World War II, the inhumane Japanese devils frequently used demon weapons like poison gas shells.

He could even distinguish from the pale yellow color of the gas that this should be the infamous "mustard gas."

The chemical name for this substance is bis(2-chloroethyl) sulfide, which belongs to the category of blistering agents. It can be absorbed through the skin, respiratory tract, and digestive tract, leading to systemic poisoning.

Its toxicity is mainly manifested in damage to the skin, respiratory tract, and digestive systems.

Having been used extensively during World War I, it was dubbed the King of Poison Gases due to its astonishing lethality. In short, this stuff was extremely formidable.

When Uncle Biao saw the poison gas, he failed to react immediately, remaining stunned for a second or two. Yet he could hardly be blamed for being slow.

To put it bluntly, his mindset had fallen into a common misconception shared by modern people:

He had still somewhat regarded these Japanese devils as human beings, assuming they retained a shred of shame.

He thought that at the present time, before the Japanese had completely torn off their masks and broken with the Westerners, they would still hold some reservations out of fear of negative international repercussions.

They wouldn't dare to use such evil weapons as poison gas shells outside the urban area of Shanghai, right under the noses of numerous Westerners living in the foreign concessions.

The reality? Uncle Biao had thought too much. The Japanese truly used poison gas extensively throughout the entire Battle of Shanghai.

For instance, previously during urban combat in the Zhabei district against our armed forces, they suffered heavy losses and failed to advance due to our army's resolute resistance.

Disregarding the fact that they were still within the urban area, they resorted to poison gas shells.

It was simply because information was scarce in this era, and Uncle Biao and his comrades had far too many pressing matters to attend to after crossing over, leaving this competent soldier oblivious to the fact...

By the time Uncle Biao's warning of "Poison gas!" reached the ears of the others, seven or eight poison gas shells had already landed upon the position.

The pale yellow gas began to spread across multiple sectors, including the area right around Dachammer.

Instinctively, Dachammer pulled a dirty towel from his kit, but as one hand groped for the canteen at his waist, his heart skipped a heavy beat.

There was no water! Just a few days ago, he had merely been an ordinary gas-station delivery worker.

His living environment had been in the safest country on the planet; hurled abruptly into such a fierce battlefield, even though he had prepared himself to fight the Japanese to the death, it was inevitable that his heart would be exceptionally tense.

What to do? Drink deeply to ease the tense emotions in his chest, of course.

Consequently, by this time, the water in Dachammer's canteen had long since been completely drained. How could there possibly be any water left to wet his towel?

It is worth noting that the canteens used by Dachammer and the others were Type 94 field canteens captured from the Japanese, entirely different from the standard-issue ones distributed to the Sichuan army.

The canteens issued to the Sichuan army were ceramic vessels produced by the Rongchang Ceramic Factory in Shuangqing.

Porcelain was inherently heavy, and filled with water, it became quite a burden. If one was even slightly careless, it would shatter, making it a truly indescribable ordeal to use.

Faced with an empty canteen, Dachammer, who usually enjoyed watching anti-Japanese fantasy dramas and had thus picked up all sorts of bizarre knowledge, found that this information played a vital role at this very moment.

An instant later, Dachammer reacted: "No water? Urine works just as well."

With life on the line, he could no longer care about the decency or indecency of excreting in public, and immediately pulled down his pants.

The next second, however, Dachammer panicked. Whether it was due to sweating profusely in the intense combat or something else, he found himself completely unable to produce a single drop right now.

Instead, the poison gas lingering in the air grew increasingly dense. When it came into contact with the anatomy he had just exposed, waves of stinging pain and itching struck him, making him even less able to function.

Instantly, the poor delivery worker fell into a terrible dilemma.

If he continued to expose himself and tried hard to squeeze something out, he ran the risk of having his vital parts permanently ruined by the poison gas. If a real man had that part destroyed, what meaning was there in living?

If he didn't pull it out, he would be choked directly to death by the poison gas.

Caught in such a catch-22, the poor delivery worker nearly lost his mind.

At this critical juncture, a damp rag reeking of a pungent odor was pressed firmly over Dachammer's nose and mouth. Turning his head, the delivery worker saw that it was Huang Aidi, his companion weighing over two hundred catties.

Because his mouth was covered, Huang Aidi could not speak easily, but his resolute gaze conveyed a clear message:

"Brother, use mine. My output is larger."

Using a damp cloth to cover the nose and mouth could not completely defend against mustard gas, but it could filter out the greatest respiratory threat posed by the substance.

As for the damage to the eyes and skin, at least it would prevent them from dying instantly.

Thus, after covering his nose and mouth, Dachammer immediately felt much better.

The only problem was that not only did the rag reek strongly of urine, but when the tip of Dachammer's tongue accidentally touched a bit of it, there was actually a faint hint of sweetness.

"Damn it! I'll have to remind Huang Aidi to see a doctor later; his diabetes is getting a bit serious."

Finding a moment of levity amidst suffering, Dachammer silently grumbled in his heart.

Otherwise? This was the cruel battlefield of defending the country and fighting a life-and-death struggle against the little Japanese devils. To survive and to wipe out more of the enemy, no measure was too extreme.

Tasting a little something sweet on his tongue was merely a trivial matter not worth mentioning...

******

Hu Biao was completely unaware of the minor awkwardness that had befell Dachammer.

Even had he known, he certainly wouldn't have cared, for the position was facing the greatest crisis since the outbreak of the battle.

Once the poison gas began to drift across the trenches, the squad-sized unit of Japanese attacking troops, who had previously been advancing with hesitation, immediately changed entirely.

Donning gas masks and gloves, and tightly securing their sleeves and trouser legs, they fixed their bayonets and charged rapidly toward the position, proving that this poison gas attack had indeed been premeditated.

Nor was this situation discovered by Hu Biao alone.

Black Star, who had just managed to cover his nose and mouth with a wet towel, dared not delay for a single moment. Operating a Czech light machine gun with one hand, he opened fire on the Japanese.

Firing with only one hand was troublesome enough, and compounded by the interference of the poison gas, the accuracy of the bullets he sprayed out plummeted dramatically.

More crucially, a magazine was quickly emptied, and reloading the weapon with a single hand proved exceptionally cumbersome.

Instinctively, he let out a muffled shout: "Piglet!"

Piglet was Black Star's assistant gunner, or more accurately, the youngest soldier in the Third Company. He was not even seventeen years old today, but due to malnutrition, he looked barely fifteen.

Once they had taken up positions, Dachammer, who had originally been Black Star's assistant gunner, was assigned other tasks.

Out of a desire to look after the youngest soldier in the company, Black Star had kept him by his side to serve as his assistant gunner.

After shouting out, Black Star received no response. Taking advantage of the lull while changing magazines, he turned his head, only to see that just three or four meters away,

Piglet had collapsed onto the ground with a grayish-blue complexion, white foam bubbling from his mouth as he coughed incessantly, clearly beyond saving.

Perhaps driven by a primal yearning for life, his eyes were filled with desperate entreaty as he looked at Black Star; yet at this moment, Black Star did not even have the time to save him.

Having inhaled so much poison gas, there was simply no way to save him.

The thought that this child, who in the modern era would merely be a high school student, was dying in such agonizing fashion during the prime of his youth nearly drove Black Star mad.

After hastily firing off another magazine, realizing the suppression effect was far too weak, he grabbed a wooden-handled grenade.

Only then did it dawn on him that previously, even with one hand, he could easily use his teeth to pull the fuse string of a wooden-handled grenade.

Now that his nose and mouth were covered, how was he supposed to bite it?

Presumably, the others on the position fighting with one hand would encounter the exact same predicament.

Then the crucial question arose: under such dire circumstances, could they still manage to stop these Japanese?