Courtyard House: I only wiped out 30,000 Japanese pirates

The soldier sat under a locust tree that had been cut in half by a shell, leaning against the trunk.

His military uniform was torn in several places, and his left leg was wrapped in a dirty bandage. The blood that had seeped out of the bandage had dried and turned into a dark red lump.

He had no gun, only an empty water bottle, its spout facing down, so not a drop of water could be poured out.

He Dajun stopped the car, took out a water bottle from his bundle, and handed it to the soldier. The soldier took the bottle, took two gulps, glanced at He Dajun, and then leaned against the tree trunk and let out a long sigh.

"Brother, don't go south." The soldier's voice was hoarse. "The fighting in Jingzhou has gone completely mad. I retreated from Suzhou. Our company had over 120 men when we went up, and only 11 of us came back."

"Eleven. The rest all died on the riverbank outside Suzhou. Waaah."

He paused here, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times, "The Japanese have tanks, planes, and heavy artillery. What do we have? We have rifles, grenades, and our lives."

He Dajun squatted down in front of him and remained silent for a while. Then he took out two cornbreads from his bundle and stuffed them into his hands, saying, "Take these and eat them on the way."

They then asked him about his unit's designation and the direction of his retreat.

The veteran gave the unit number; it was a division of the Sichuan Army. They marched from Sichuan to Shanghai, where they were wiped out. The remnants retreated to Suzhou and fought another battle. They are now gathering their forces towards Jingzhou, but it is unknown how many are left.

He Dajun memorized the unit number, stood up, and patted the dirt off his knees. The old soldier looked up and asked him if he was going to Jingzhou.

He Dajun nodded.

The old soldier said Jingzhou couldn't be defended. He Dajun didn't say anything, turned around and continued walking south. The old soldier behind him was still shouting that Jingzhou really couldn't be defended.

He Dajun didn't even turn his head.

After walking for about half an hour, he saw a wall that had been blown up by the roadside, with a line of crooked characters painted on it with white lime.

The handwriting was messy but powerful, as if the writer had used all their strength to write those words: "Long live the Great Xia!"

Several corpses lay at the base of the wall, dressed in gray military uniforms. They were all quite young, the youngest looking only sixteen or seventeen, with a fine layer of downy hair on his face.

Scattered around them were several empty old barrels and a few grenades that hadn't been thrown yet, the fuses still attached to their wooden handles.

It seems they used up their last bullets under this wall and then saved the last grenade for themselves.

He Dajun stood beside the corpse for a long time, then bent down, picked up the grenades, tucked them into his waistband, turned around, and continued walking south.

He was a little faster than before.

The further south you go, the more corpses you see along the roadside. Some were hastily buried in shallow pits by the roadside, covered with very thin soil, leaving only a section of an arm or a pair of feet exposed.

Some were simply left on the ridges of the fields, their military uniforms faded from the rain, their faces covered with rags or a few withered leaves.

The stench of decay in the air grew stronger, and the number of crows increased. They perched in flocks on the withered trees, a dark mass like black fruit hanging from the branches.

……

Two hours later, He Dajun arrived at the outskirts of Jingzhou.

He stood atop a small hill that had been partially destroyed by bombing, looking south. Jingzhou City lay there.

The capital of the Great Xia Dynasty is currently shrouded in thick smoke.

The city wall is still standing, but several sections of the gate towers on it have been destroyed. Piles of broken bricks and tiles lie on the wall, gleaming pale in the sunlight.

The water in the moat was diverted by the shells, and the river water, mixed with mud and blood, flowed into the low-lying areas, carving out dark red ditches in the fields.

The villages outside the city were all burned to ashes, the fields were riddled with craters, and the wreckage of cannons and trucks was scattered on both sides of the road. One truck was blown upside down, with several charred corpses still lying in the cargo bed.

The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder, burnt charcoal, and rotting corpses, so strong that it was hard to open one's eyes.

The Japanese troops are gathering, preparing to launch a new general offensive.

He Dajun lay on the hilltop, looking down. Even from a great distance, he could clearly see the Japanese troops' deployment.

On the open ground below the mountain, at least two regiments of Japanese soldiers were lined up.

The infantry were divided into more than a dozen columns, with each column spaced several tens of meters apart, in order to prevent them from being wiped out by the artillery fire of the Great Xia garrison.

Armored vehicles were parked on both flanks of the infantry formation, their turrets slowly rotating, the gun barrels gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

Further away were the Japanese artillery positions, with at least twenty heavy cannons lined up in a low-lying area, their muzzles pointing upwards.

Ammunition boxes were piled up to the side, stacked like a wall, and the artillerymen were loading shells into the gun barrels, their movements unhurried, as if they were conducting a routine training exercise.

There was also movement inside Jingzhou City.

He Dajun could see people running around on the city wall; some were carrying ammunition boxes, some were setting up machine guns, and some were piling sandbags into the breach in the wall. They were moving very quickly.

But there were too few people. There were only one or two figures every few dozen meters on the city wall, as sparse as chess pieces left over from being captured on a chessboard.

They were still defending, still fighting, still piling sandbags at the breach, and still setting up machine guns on the city walls.

The attack began around 3 p.m.

First came the heavy artillery. More than twenty heavy cannons fired simultaneously, and the shells pounded the city walls and the urban area behind them. The explosions were so loud that the air trembled even from a great distance.

Another section of the city wall collapsed, and broken bricks and tiles rolled down the wall, splashing high into the moat.

More than a dozen plumes of black smoke rose from the urban area behind the city wall. Some were houses, some were warehouses, and some were of unknown origin, but they were all on fire.

Black smoke billowed into the sky, obscuring half of it.

After the heavy artillery finished bombarding the area, the infantry began their charge.

He Dajun saw that the Japanese had mobilized at least two battalions, which were divided into three groups and rushed towards the city wall.

Armored vehicles were at the forefront, followed by infantry. The heavy machine guns on the roofs of the vehicles had already begun firing, and bullets hit the city walls, sending up sparks.

Following the engineers were the infantry, armed with Type 38 rifles with bayonets fixed, spreading out in skirmish lines and advancing while providing mutual cover.

They retaliated from the city walls.

Machine guns emerged from behind the battlements and opened fire on the Japanese soldiers below. Several Japanese engineers at the forefront fell to the ground, their explosive charges rolling twice before being picked up by the engineers behind them who continued charging forward.

The riflemen lay prone behind the battlements, firing shot after shot. The gunfire was intermittent, but with each shot someone fell.

Someone threw a grenade from the city wall. The grenade exploded in the air, and shrapnel rained down, knocking down several Japanese soldiers who were climbing over the breach in the city wall.

But there were too many Japanese soldiers; for every one who fell, ten more would charge forward.

The firepower on the city wall was waning; some fell, some were carried off the walls, and some continued to fight.

Throw the last grenade down, then pick up the gun and keep firing.

He Dajun lay on the hilltop, his fingers digging into the frozen soil.

He's preparing a surprise attack; he's going to become the King of Hell.