Chapter 21: The Ambush at Five Finger Ridge

Large numbers of troops were concealed on the other four mountain peaks as well. The muzzles of light and heavy machine guns, Hanyang rifles, and even 37mm cannons were all aimed at the 189th Regiment’s troops marching below, watching as they stepped deeper into the prepared trap.

Beyond the main forces deployed on the peaks, there was a fifty-man assault team led personally by Yang Gang, all armed with submachine guns and "box cannon" pistols.

The two cannons were positioned on the rearmost peak. Little Stone was in charge of operating the Schneider 37mm direct-fire gun, while Wen Song was responsible for the 81mm mortar. The entire Five-Finger Ridge fell within the firing range of these two pieces of artillery. The two men were not far apart, allowing Little Stone to consult Wen Song whenever he ran into trouble. At that moment, Little Stone was staring at a chart in his hands, reciting the formulas Wen Song had summarized over and over in his mind.

Ten minutes later, over a thousand soldiers of the 189th Regiment finally followed the road into the heart of Five-Finger Ridge. Long Wencheng had staked everything on this ambush, using all the explosives they had previously captured to rig the sides of the road. Long Wencheng aimed his rifle at an officer on a jujube-red horse, though he could not be certain if the man was "Old Dog" Lei.

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out. The officer on the jujube-red horse tumbled from his saddle, a bloody hole already gaping in his head. Almost the instant Long Wencheng fired, the firepower from all other positions began to roar.

The light and heavy machine guns were the loudest, especially the Hotchkiss heavy machine gun. Its 13.7mm large-caliber rounds hit human bodies like the claws of a ferocious beast, tearing them directly to shreds. An officer on horseback was struck by a 13.7mm bullet, which sheared off half his body; the spraying blood and fragments of the corpse showered the soldiers nearby.

The Czech light machine guns, Hotchkiss light machine guns, and Maxim heavy machine guns also roared to life. The five mountain peaks had become five impregnable bunkers. From their commanding heights, the firing points unleashed a torrent of bullets, opening wide, bloodthirsty maws toward the 189th Regiment soldiers on the road below, tearing into their flesh, organs, throats, and skulls.

"Pfft! Pfft!"

The crisp sound of bullets piercing through bodies echoed across Five-Finger Ridge. In the blink of an eye, the ground was littered with the corpses of men and pack animals. Screams and roars intertwined, only to be abruptly silenced by incoming fire, like squawking ducks throttled by a giant hand, rendered incapable of making a sound.

The rifles were not idle either; Hanyang rifles, Lee-Enfields, and box cannons all spat tongues of flame.

"Bang! Click-clack!"

A bullet would fire, followed immediately by the sound of a bolt being cycled. The soldiers were intimately familiar with this motion: a cartridge was pushed from the magazine, and as the firing pin struck the primer, another bullet went flying. They no longer spared their ammunition; once the five rounds in the magazine were spent, they would quickly strip in another clip and repeat the process.

Wen Song operated the 81mm mortar, aiming it at an enemy machine gun position being set up below.

"One round, load!"

He shouted, taking a mortar shell from his assistant gunner and dropping it into the barrel.

"Swish!"

The sound of the shell casing scraping against the inner wall of the barrel was clearly audible. As the primer hit the firing pin, the propellant ignited, the resulting force launching the shell into the air. The moment the shell exited the muzzle, a dull "thud" could be heard—similar to pulling a wine cork, only amplified many times over.

The mortar shell traced a cruel arc through the air before slamming into the heavy machine gun position being deployed. The gun had only just been assembled by the Guangxi soldiers, and before they could even adjust the elevation, it was struck squarely by the shell. The explosion turned the soldiers into a bloody mist, their mangled bodies scattered everywhere.

Little Stone was also tensely adjusting his firing coordinates, repeatedly extending his thumb and reciting the formulas to calculate the relative distance to his target. The assistant gunner behind him waited for a long time holding a 37mm shell, growing impatient.

"Little Stone, can you do it or not?"

"Shut up, don't disturb me!"

He said this while lowering his head again to look at the chart, which contained the data he had recorded: distance, azimuth, horizontal angles, and more. Finally, Little Stone settled on the final values and made rapid adjustments. Only after finishing did he let out a long breath.

"Shell!"

Little Stone shouted with great flair, and the shell was passed to him. He shoved it in and fired decisively.

"Boom!"

The shot rang out. The shell flew toward the enemy mortar position being set up. Just as Little Stone was filled with anticipation, expecting a direct hit, the shell failed to cooperate; it flew slightly off-course and struck a horse-drawn wagon behind the mortar position. However, four or five Guangxi soldiers were hiding beneath that very wagon, so the shot accidentally killed them all the same.

"Good hit, Little Stone!" the assistant gunner cheered.

But Little Stone smacked his own helmet.

"Damn it, I missed! I was aiming for the mortar position!"

As he spoke, the enemy’s mortar had finished its baseplate installation. Little Stone even saw one of them giving him a thumbs-up. It certainly wasn't a compliment; they were measuring the distance.

Just then, a calm voice came from the side.

"Elevation too high, adjust down by two mils!"

It was Wen Song.

"Yes!" Little Stone replied instinctively, immediately adjusting the firing mils.

At that moment, the enemy mortar crew was already leaning down to adjust their own firing coordinates, while the assistant gunner held a shell, ready to drop it into the breech. But just then, Little Stone completed his adjustments and shoved another 37mm shell into his gun.

"One round, load!" He mimicked Wen Song, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Fire!"

With another shout that bordered on a scream, Little Stone moved his hand. The 37mm cannon roared again, and a shell whistled through the air, hurtling toward the enemy mortar position.