Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 59 The Final Showdown (Part 9)

early morning of December 15th
The temperature dropped sharply after nightfall, and heavy snow began to fall.

Night had fallen, and the snow on the road shimmered with a bluish hue. All 328 pairs of leather shoes had their soles wrapped with three layers of cloth. Su Yaoyang gazed at the long, winding column of soldiers, almost every one of them with a thick layer of snow on their shoulders.

"Tick tock..."

A low chirping sound suddenly came from ahead, which was the scout giving a signal.

The entire group stopped abruptly, resembling a group of ice sculptures from a distance, causing Su Yaoyang's heart to skip a beat. Thirty meters away, amidst the ruins of Gulou Hospital, several flashlight beams were sweeping across the road.

"Take a detour!" Su Yaoyang gave the order without hesitation. It was at least two kilometers away from Zhongshan Wharf. If they were exposed now, their trip tonight would have been in vain.

Soon, the team stealthily moved along the broken wall on the west side of Zhonghua Road. Su Yaoyang could even see the fragments of bone embedded in the bullet holes remaining on the wall.

Suddenly, a muffled groan came from the ranks. It turned out that a soldier had stumbled and stepped on a pile of things. Looking down, he saw half of a woman's face emerging from the broken ice, with frost still clinging to her eyelashes.

Seeing this half-face, the young soldier was so frightened that he was about to scream, but fortunately a large hand reached out and covered his mouth.

"Erwazi, if you dare to make a sound, I'll stab you to death!" came the deep voice of Company Commander Lu Shaobin.

"What's going on?" Su Yaoyang's low voice rang out.

"Commander," Lu Shaobin quickly released his hand from the soldier's mouth and explained, "This kid accidentally stepped on a dead person and almost screamed. I've already reprimanded him."

Su Yaoyang frowned, looked down and saw the female corpse on the ground. He found that the female corpse was disheveled, covered in wounds, and had no pants. Even after death, her face still had a look of despair and terror.

One can imagine the cruel humiliation she suffered during her lifetime.

The soldiers surrounded the woman's body, none of them speaking, all feeling a surge of anger rising within them.

"Damn Japanese devils!" someone growled in a low voice.

"Two people, come and straighten her clothes, then cover her up with something," Su Yaoyang said in a low voice after a moment of silence.

"Yes!"

Two soldiers stepped forward, straightened her clothes a little, and then carried her aside, preparing to find something to cover her up.

"Thud." At that moment, something fell from the stiff body of the female corpse.

Su Yaoyang bent down and picked up the item; it was a rather exquisitely crafted photo album.

Opening the photo album, the first picture shows a group of girls in blue clothes and black long skirts standing on the steps, smiling at him. On the right side of the photo is the words "Jinling Girls' School Choir". Under the snow-covered steps, thirty-eight pairs of black cloth shoes are neatly arranged.

Su Yaoyang carefully put the photo album into his pocket, turned to Lu Shaobin and the soldiers around him and said, "Remember this scene. Only blood can wash away blood debts."

"Yes!" the soldiers responded in unison, but the anger in their eyes sent chills down one's spine.

"Correspondent... tell John that if he doesn't get to Zhongshan Wharf in half an hour, he can forget about getting his commission!"

"Understood!" The communications soldier, who had been closely following Su Yaoyang, adjusted the radio frequency and began making contact...

The roar of the diesel engine shattered the icicles on the half-broken window, and John Miller tapped the inside of the M24 tank's turret with his frozen fingers. Snowflakes were seeping in through the cracks in the observation windows, forming frost on the commander's periscope.

"Maintain a gear ratio of 3:1!"

He yelled at the driver's seat, and Qiao Erdan frantically pushed and pulled the control lever. The Chaffee tank began to move slowly, but it wobbled like a toddler just learning to walk.

"Joe... steady your hand! I don't want to crash into the rubble with you!" John yelled at the driver's cab as he shrunk back into the tank and closed the hatch. Joe didn't say a word, but gripped the control lever even tighter, while John's curses echoed from behind.

"Joe... remember, you are the pilot. Whether we go to heaven or hell is entirely in your hands!"

Qiao Erdan's face tightened even more, and although John was nagging, he still kept a close eye on him.

Although he cursed from time to time, he knew that Qiao Erdan, who had only been in contact with the tank for less than two days, had already done a good job.

But he still had to harden his heart and curse. The Japanese wouldn't show him any pity just because he was a newcomer; they would only pour more ammunition at him.

Sitting in the tank, John listened to the roar of the engine in his ears, picked up the wrench under his feet and knocked it on his head, and shouted: "Boys, my boss, your regimental commander, has ordered us to get to Zhongshan Wharf within half an hour, or he will make me regret it. Now let me see the results of your training these past few days."

"Joe... accelerate! Head to Zhongshan Wharf!"

"understand!"

"Keep in third gear... step on the gas!"

Under John's command, the Chaffee tank, like a cripple, wobbled yet stubbornly sped along the road toward Zhongshan Wharf.

The roar of the diesel engine shattered the snowflakes in the air, and John Miller pressed his stiff hand on the engine cover.

Under the blue light of the dashboard, four young men had beads of sweat on their faces—this was their first time operating a tank in actual combat. Just a few days ago, they were just a group of cheap, unskilled soldiers carrying old-fashioned rifles, but now they could drive a tank worth $55,000 on the road.

The rumble of the tanks was quite loud and attracted the attention of many people in the city.

Because the tanks were moving very fast, and the weather was too cold, the Japanese soldiers on guard duty didn't bother to come and check. After all, in their eyes, besides the Imperial Japanese Army, who else would dare to drive a tank around Nanjing at this time?

“Turn left…turn left!” John suddenly shouted in broken Chinese, but in his panic, Qiao Erdan pushed the steering wheel too far.

The tank crashed headfirst into a large stone block by the roadside.

With a dull thud, chunks of snow fell from the top of the turret, revealing the Kuomintang emblem hastily painted over in white.

At the same time, the violent impact caused the loader, Wu Agui, to suddenly vomit, and the sour smell mixed with the buttery smell of 75mm shells filled the cabin.

"Mr. John, oil pressure..."

The co-pilot glanced at the pressure gauge as the temperature plummeted.

"Damn it!"

John pulled down his leather goggles, his azure eyes reflecting the red light of the dashboard.

He grabbed a large wrench and pressed it against the back of Qiao Erdan's head, roaring, "If you can't get the tank moving in three minutes, I'll smash your head in!"

At this moment, Qiao Erdan's face was ashen, and his mind was somewhat dazed. He could only mechanically turn the key.

Fortunately, the brand-new tank was in decent condition, and soon it was started up again with a low rumble.

"Turn on the headlights!"

After the collision, John realized that it was really too much for Joe, a novice, to drive a tank in the dark on the streets. He made a bold decision.

Soon, both the refugees hiding in the corner and the sentries saw a tank with its headlights on, openly speeding along the road.

(End of this chapter)