CHAPTER 9: COMMANDER—GIMME A RIFLE! （2）

　　San-Shao laughed: "That's my Young Master! Why get jealous? Commander ordered you to load for me!"

　　Zhang Facai sighed, hands stopping.

　　San-Shao snapped: "Zhang Facai! Load rounds! Why stop?"

　　"Ammo's gone, damn you!"

　　Yaoting cut in: "Use mine!"

　　San-Shao grinned: "Sorry, Young Master—looks like you'll load after all!"

　　Yaoting kicked his buttocks: "Stop showing off! Shoot!"

　　BANG!

　　San-Shao fired just as Zhou roared: "You three stay put! San-Shao—target their officers! Others—charge with me!"

　　He leapt up, leading the charge. Zhang Degang and Zhong Fang's units had flanked the Japs—turtles in a jar now.

　　Suddenly—a full Jap company surged from gullies, encircling Zhou's men. Two heavy machine guns and four light ones THUD-THUD-RAT-TAT-TAT—dozens fell mid-charge.

　　Zhang Degang yelled: "Commander! Jap trap!"

　　Zhou's face hardened: "Break out! Now!"

　　From their position, the trio stared.

　　Zhang Facai’s raw, choking sob tore out: "Fuck their ancestral graves, these Jap devils! Commander’s done for!" Tears gouged canyons through the gunpowder caking his cheeks.

　　San-Shao hissed: "Young Master! Can't keep this up! Three ants won't clog a Jap's teeth!"

　　Yaoting snapped: "Find a way! Save the Commander!"

　　San-Shao gaped. "Sick in the head?"

　　"FUCK YOUR ASS!" Yaoting roared. "Why sick?"

　　San-Shao chuckled. "Dreaming! Three men saving an army?"

　　Yaoting’s face turned granite. "Listen: You right flank—snap their CO’s neck with a bullet. Zhang left flank—drown them in grenade blasts. I charge center with grenades. Draw fire—free our men!"

　　Zhang Facai recoiled. "Suicide! No fucking way!"

　　Yaoting grabbed his collar, eyes glacier-cold: "Battalion’s life hangs! Coward runs? I’ll plant you here!"

　　Zhang shivered-ghosting spine. This bookish boy turned demon? “Who fucking runs?! Your order—my deed!"

　　Yaoting shoved him toward corpses. “Scavenge grenades! Move!”

　　San-Shao trembled too. “Young Master... scared me.”

　　“Fuck fear! I’m your brother.” Yaoting thrust egg-shaped grenades at them. "Save one man? Still heroes. Not deserters. Remember—shame stains deserters!"

　　San-Shao crawled right. Bullets kicked dirt where his head just lay. “FUCK YOUR ANCESTORS TRYING TO GHOST ME?!” He spotted the Jap lieutenant’s insignia behind rocks.

　　BANG!

　　Sunflower hole bloomed on the officer’s temple. Slumped dead.

　　But Japs smelled the sniper. Ten shadows slithered toward San-Shao.

　　Yaoting bellowed: “MOVE OR DIE, San SHAO!”

　　San-Shao rolled after each shot. Mortar shells slammed into his vacated spot seconds later. "Fuck Grandma's bear!" he panted. "Young Master's brains saved my ass!" Respect for Yaoting flared hotter in his chest.

　　Zhang Facai bundled twenty grenades into a brick-like cluster. Belly-crawling toward boulders. Fifty meters to the trapped men. Grenades only bite within thirty. He paused—then crawled like hell, skin scraping rocks. Slow means death. Speed's his only bet.

　　At thirty meters, he rose to a crouch, yanked one grenade's pin—

　　WHUMP!

　　Three Japs peppering Zhong Fang's unit blew apart. Survivors swung machine guns toward Zhang.

　　Inside the kill zone, Zhou Zhidao saw Japs peeling left and right. "Yaoting's work!" he realized. If every greenhorn had his guts and San-Shao's aim—would these Japs shove us around?

　　"BREAK OUT! CENTER CHARGE!" Zhou roared.

　　Men pivoted, bayonets stabbing toward Yaoting's diversion. Japs scrambled to reset.

　　Meanwhile, San-Shao dropped the Jap lieutenant hiding in rocks. Ten riflemen charged his ditch.

　　CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

　　Four more crumpled—his rifle now empty. Survivors pancaked flat, piss soaking their pants.

　　San-Shao snatched Yaoting’s reloaded rifle. Belly-flat, he drilled five Japs hugging the dirt—impossible angles. The sixth scrambled, howling—

　　CRACK!

　　Spine shot.

　　Yaoting kept hurling grenades. Japs squeezing the cordon ignored the blasts.

　　Zhang Facai’s diversion? Same damn snub—they’d scented the trap and didn’t give a fuck.

　　San-Shao slid over: “Young Master! Fifty rounds—fifty Japs! Fair trade?”

　　“Fuck yes!” Tears streaked Yaoting’s grimy cheeks. “But Zhou’s not breaking loose!”

　　San-Shao’s own tears cut paths through grit.

　　Zhang Facai stumbled up, panting: “We bled enough! They’re ghost-meat now!”

　　Yaoting just stood. Stared. Silent tears falling.