Chapter 876: The Pitiful Clown

The once-orderly retreating column had devolved into utter chaos. They pushed and shoved, even trampled each other, desperate to escape this land of death. The Chinese soldiers across from them, once considered no match, had now become an unbeatable enemy. No, at this moment, the Chinese Expeditionary Force was a catastrophe for these Japanese soldiers, the grim reapers come to harvest their lives.

“Damn it! These Japanese bastards are scatterin’ like shrimp!” a soldier from the Chinese Expeditionary Force with a thick Sichuan accent shouted, having emptied his rifle. As he slammed a new clip into the chamber, he yelled to his comrade beside him.

“Charge! Let’s see how arrogant these devils are now! I’ve been waiting to give ’em a good thrashing for a long time!” the company commander shouted from the side. All the Chinese soldiers had fixed bayonets to their rifles, preparing for the final charge against their enemy.

In the past, fixing bayonets had been an act of desperation. It usually meant they were out of ammunition again, forced into a bayonet fight with the charging devils. Back then, their hearts were full of helplessness, of frustration at their country’s inferior industrial capacity. How many times, if only they had a few dozen more bullets, a few more grenades, could the Chinese soldiers have held their positions? How many times could they have avoided raising their hands in surrender to these Japanese soldiers?

Now, this time, it was different. The soldiers of the Expeditionary Force still had ammunition. They were not passively taking a beating on their positions but were on the offensive, blocking the path of these devils. This time, they fixed their bayonets with brimming confidence, to show these devils that the land of China also had men who could fight. When everyone was starving and out of bullets, it was the Chinese soldier who could fight harder!

“Kill!” A Chinese soldier, holding his rifle, charged out of the ambush position. The sound of “Kill!” was all around him, in all the different accents of the country. Besides the sound of killing, there was the whistling of the wind, and in the past, the cries of their fallen comrades.

“I’m gonna settle this with these bastards!” There were many from the Expeditionary Force with Sichuan accents. These Sichuan troops were exceptionally brave in combat and were a unit that the commanders in the Expeditionary Force trusted completely. With the war having reached this point, and the Japanese army opposite them clearly beginning to rout, everyone felt there was no more need to restrain the troops, whose eyes were already red with killing intent.

Thinking of the atrocities committed by the Japanese army on Chinese soil, thinking of their desolate hometowns and their scattered wives and children—how could they let these bastards go? A foul anger had been simmering in everyone’s hearts. At this moment, it burst forth, transforming into an unstoppable momentum, charging towards the once-ferocious, seemingly invincible enemy.

The Japanese return fire was completely disorganized. After a few rounds of gunshots, the Chinese Expeditionary Force began its charge. On the Japanese side, very few were fixing their bayonets or continuing to return fire. These Japanese soldiers, who had been so arrogant in the past, either ran for their lives if they had the strength, or, if they didn’t, couldn’t even be bothered to shout “surrender.” They just sat on the ground numbly, waiting for death.

Nakamura protected his subordinate Koike. The two of them watched as the Chinese army charged into the Japanese lines, like two ancient phalanxes crashing into each other, a collision that sent blood flying everywhere. In that instant, the war transformed from bloody to barbaric, its face becoming ferocious.

A bayonet fight, cold steel meeting flesh. The Chinese army, with fixed bayonets, was like a wolf among sheep. The sharp, and not-so-sharp, bayonets plunged into the exposed bodies of the Japanese soldiers, making a crunching sound—the sound of steel hitting bone, which made everyone’s hair stand on end.

The scene before him reminded Nakamura of when his unit had just entered Nanking. He, with Koike and Yoshitake, had driven their tank through the streets of Nanking, swaggering. They had indiscriminately strafed the crowds with their machine guns, turning the unarmed, bound Chinese prisoners into sieves.

That feeling of being the master of life and death, that feeling of being superior to other lives, had truly intoxicated the three of them. They had even watched with great interest as some officers held killing competitions, applauding and cheering, praising the officers’ sharp officer’s swords, and lamenting that the victory of the Great Japanese Imperial Army would continue forever.

God knew how many Chinese soldiers and civilians he had killed. Ten? Twenty? In any case, it was a lot. But he felt that it was not a violation of international conventions, nor was it an act of inhumanity. Those Chinese soldiers were in rags. Who knew if they were really civilians or guerrilla saboteurs hiding among the populace? So he had simply killed them all. And the security in the occupied territories had indeed improved a lot, hadn’t it?

He looked at the Chinese soldiers before him, holding their sharp bayonets, plunging the blades into the soft chests of the Japanese soldiers. The dark red blood gushed from the blood grooves on the bayonets, spraying in all directions. He felt a discomfort in his stomach, but there was nothing left in it to vomit.

The spattering blood was just like when the Chinese civilians in the occupied territories had been hit by machine guns, flying everywhere. Nakamura’s fear also spread with the red liquid. He didn’t want to die here. He wanted to go home and see his parents.

Koike followed behind Nakamura, even more terrified by the scene before him. He saw the Chinese army shouting in all sorts of strange tones, like a group of savages, charging through the Japanese ranks. These Chinese soldiers were still as sallow and thin as before, still wore their thick puttees, still wore their tattered clothes… but now they seemed incredibly tall, completely unbeatable.

If my tank were still here, these Chinese soldiers would have to die by the dozens, even hundreds, just to get close, right? They really know how to kick a man when he’s down, to actually pick a time when our Great Japanese Imperial Army is at its weakest to attack. Despicable, shameless, vile… bastards!

He did not have a single shred of self-awareness, did not think that China had been strong for thousands of years before Japan, and that Japan had only managed to surpass it by taking advantage of China’s brief, hundred-year period of darkness, and had attacked when China was at its weakest—also despicable, shameless, vile… bastards.

The vicious nature of humanity was on full display in Koike. When he cursed his opponent, he did not think of himself at all. In any case, the enemy was always despicable, shameless, and evil, and he was always the righteous good guy. If “good guy” could be defined this way, then there were really too many good guys in the world, so many that they were worthless.

Koike didn’t want to die, so he raised his hands to a Chinese Expeditionary Force soldier who was charging towards him. The other man didn’t look very old, maybe only in his teens. But on that youthful face was written the unique hardship of the war years. Koike watched as the other lowered the weapon he was holding and felt as if he could continue to live. He breathed a sigh of relief and, looking at Nakamura, who had also raised his hands, even felt a hint of good fortune.

Unfortunately, at the other end, a Chinese soldier had already raised his rifle. No one had said how many prisoners were to be taken in this battle, so the Chinese soldiers, who had never had a good impression of these beasts, had at this moment temporarily forgotten the battlefield rule of “don’t kill those who surrender.” He calmly pulled the trigger, and a bullet flew from his muzzle.

The bullet had no thoughts or feelings. When it hit the head of a bad person, it would shatter bone. It would not go easy on the chest of a good person either. So just as Koike was thinking that the Chinese army were all bastards, a flying bullet did not spare him just because he thought he was a good person, but flew directly into his head.

The huge kinetic energy did not weaken in the slightest just because he felt he shouldn’t die. After tumbling sufficiently, the bullet, along with his eyeball and some shattered bone, landed on the ground in the distance. Koike, like a sandbag that had lost its balance, fell face-first into the mud.

Nakamura watched as Koike’s head was shattered by the bullet, watched as Koike’s blood splattered onto his own face and clothes. This inexplicable terror suddenly made his hair stand on end. When he had slaughtered the prisoners, he had also been so blinded by bloodlust, so disregardful of morality…

“I surrender! Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” he suddenly dropped his hands, drew the officer’s sword he had inherited from his father from his waist, the one that had been through the First Sino-Japanese War and represented the glory of the Japanese army of that era.

Only when he gripped the hilt of the sword did Nakamura find a little bit of a sense of security. At least he knew he was not unarmed. At least he felt that by doing so, he would not be slaughtered like Koike.

He waved the officer’s sword while screaming, “I’ve already surrendered! Koike-kun also surrendered! Why are you still shooting? Why don’t you even spare the prisoners? You are…”

Crack! A Chinese officer, holding a German-made Mauser pistol in his hand, had no patience for this resistor who was waving a long sword and shouting gibberish in Japanese. He opened fire without a second thought. The bullet struck Nakamura in the chest, immediately shutting his noisy mouth.

“What are you screaming about? When you were winning, you were screaming with your officer’s sword, I couldn’t do anything about it… Now you’ve lost, and you’re still making such a fuss,” this officer said, stepping over Koike’s body and continuing forward, while looking at the blood-spitting, fallen Nakamura and cursing.

Nakamura clearly did not understand the Chinese officer’s words either. He just felt his soul begin to burn, his strength draining away. And the Japanese army before him seemed no longer to be that invincible Great Japanese Imperial Army, but just a group of kneeling prisoners—a group of pitiful clowns about to be mocked.

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