Chapter 30: Striking the Enemy Mid-Crossing

This was, without a doubt, a massive upgrade in equipment for them. The snipers felt significantly more confident taking shots at targets two hundred meters away. Their position on the northern slope of the riverside heights was excellent, providing coverage over the village on the southern slope, the southwestern heights, the flanks of the riverside heights, and the valley floor.

The battle had barely begun, yet over a hundred enemies had already fallen to their rifles.

Bai Jiasheng’s attempts to break out in multiple directions had all been intercepted. He realized the situation was dire; the enemy had cast a wide net and was simply waiting for him and his men to walk into it.

"Commander, we’ve suffered over twenty-five percent casualties. If this continues, the men are going to break," reported his adjutant, Bai San, running over with a shout.

Hiding on a small rise, Bai Jiasheng knew the enemy’s firepower was too overwhelming and that they were being squeezed from three sides. If things went on like this, they wouldn’t even last until nightfall. Once casualties exceeded one-third, the group of wretches under his command would likely scatter on their own. He knew he had to break through, and the Qingshui River ahead was his only chance.

"Cross the river. Once we’re across, they won’t be able to touch us," Bai Jiasheng declared.

At this point, the Qingshui River was only about a hundred meters wide, and the current was gentle. Many of his soldiers could swim across directly.

"But the enemy is on the heights and has firepower in the southern village too. Won't we be sitting ducks?" Bai San asked.

"Don't be a fool. We aren't crossing now; we'll wait until dark," Bai Jiasheng replied. For the first time, he found himself eagerly anticipating the arrival of night. He abandoned his breakout attempts and chose not to head toward Taijiang County, as the rear pass had long been sealed off by the heavy machine-gun fire of the Red 18th Regiment. Trying to break out there would be no different from suicide.

The battlefield fell quiet, save for the occasional moan of a wounded soldier echoing through the long, desolate valley.

"The enemy has stopped moving, Regiment Commander," Little Stone said, peering through his binoculars at the men below.

An occasional gunshot rang out—the snipers from the Basha Miao Village picking off any enemy soldiers who exposed themselves. Long Wencheng was doing the same, using his Enfield rifle to fire down upon the enemy from his superior vantage point. However, his accuracy had dropped significantly; the distance was now over three hundred meters. At such a range, targets were no more than tiny black specks, and the slightest tremor would cause a bullet to miss its mark.

"They’re waiting for nightfall," Long Wencheng said, adjusting his rear sight before pulling the trigger on another target below.

"Bang!"

This time, the bullet did not veer off course; it struck the man squarely in the head.

As darkness began to fall, Bai Jiasheng split his force into two groups. One group of over two hundred men headed toward Taijiang, intended primarily to mislead Long Wencheng. The main force, meanwhile, sprinted toward the Qingshui River. They were only seven or eight hundred meters from the bank, and most of the soldiers were decent swimmers who could reach the other side in minutes. As for those who couldn't swim, they were treated as expendable decoys to be sent toward the pass at Taijiang.

Though called a "breakout," it was effectively a death march. As expected, as soon as those two hundred men neared the rear pass, the machine guns on the heights erupted, and flares shot into the sky. Through his binoculars, Bai Jiasheng watched clearly as those men were mowed down like wheat by the Red Army's machine-gun fire.

"Charge!" he roared.

His remaining soldiers rushed headlong toward the Qingshui River. Flares illuminated the sky, exposing their positions. Seeing the white light of the flares, the retreating security brigade soldiers were struck with terror, as if they had been caught red-handed in the act of theft.

"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Machine guns and rifles on the heights roared in unison. Under the relentless deluge of fire from above, the sprinting soldiers fell to the ground one by one. Yet more kept charging, heads down, as if they could outrun the bullets by sheer speed.

After paying the price of several hundred casualties, the first group of soldiers reached the bank of the Qingshui River and plunged into the icy water without hesitation. Having some swimming ability, they flailed their arms, using all manner of awkward strokes to scramble toward the opposite bank.

On the other side, Tian Lixin was stationed with two companies of soldiers. Flares continued to rise, revealing shadows bobbing and sinking in the shimmering river—the retreating enemy soldiers. Qi Delong’s machine-gun position in the southern village began to roar, firing wildly at the enemies on the riverbank. Still, many soldiers managed to jump into the freezing water and began their crossing.

A young Red Army recruit was trembling so violently that his rifle shook with him. Just then, a rough hand rested on the barrel. The recruit looked to the side to see his squad leader, an old Red Army veteran, staring ahead with eyes as steady as torches. His breathing was calm, showing no signs of the tension that usually preceded a major battle.

"Deep breaths. It’s nothing to worry about. Once you pull that trigger, the shaking will stop," the veteran said in a low voice.

The recruit nodded heavily, took a deep breath, and his trembling finally subsided. Two-thirds of these two companies were new recruits, organized into teams of one veteran to two fresh soldiers. Although they had fired their weapons during training, the battlefield was entirely different from the range. Many were so nervous they were shaking or even vomiting. The veterans, however, remained silent, their eyes as cold as the river, fixed on the front.

Tian Lixin wiped his glasses and rested his fingers on his Lee-Enfield rifle. Finally, he noticed the enemy’s vanguard had reached the middle of the river.

"Flares!"

The order was given, and two flares whistled into the sky, illuminating the enemy in the center of the river.

"Fire!"

Before the command had even fully left his lips, the soldiers on the opposite bank had already begun pulling their triggers. At first, it was mostly the veterans firing, as many of the new recruits had forgotten to disengage their safeties, or were pulling their fingers repeatedly only to realize they hadn't even touched the trigger. Some were shaking so hard they couldn't hold their rifles, and a few had even started to cry aloud.

"A bunch of greenhorns! Everyone, fire your damn weapons! If anyone doesn't fire a single shot, I’ll lock you in the brig!"

The usually refined and scholarly Tian Lixin seemed like a different man in the heat of battle, barking orders and cursing at the top of his lungs. Whether it was his roar or the example set by the veterans, the new recruits finally seemed to awaken the muscle memory they had practiced so often on the training grounds.

More and more recruits began pulling their triggers.

"Bang! Bang!"