Chapter 35: An Unacceptable Casualty Ratio

Chapter 35: An Unacceptable Casualty Ratio

(I)

Beneath the cliffs behind Chenjiayu, Yoshio Yamamoto checked his luminous watch: 4:50 AM.

The terrain was more complex than anticipated, and the special operations unit had to ensure they made no unnecessary noise that might lead to exposure. They had arrived at the assembly point nearly two hours behind the ideal time—this was inexcusable. Yamamoto was dissatisfied with his men’s performance. Though suboptimal, they were still forty minutes ahead of his absolute minimum requirement. They had completed the assembly silently without exposure, suffered no non-combat casualties like falls or sprains, and left no one behind. It was, at best, a passing grade.

In the darkness, Yamamoto ordered in a low voice, "First and second scout teams, move out! Other teams, maintain vigilance! Mortar team, select your positions!"

Two squads of Japanese soldiers, two men each, scaled the cliffs on either side with their bare hands. The pre-dawn darkness kept visibility low, but they climbed like apes, quickly reaching the top. Their movements were incredibly light, causing hardly a pebble to slide, and the valley remained deathly silent. After reaching the top, they scanned the terrain, then removed ropes from their waists and secured them to sturdy tree trunks. For added safety, they inserted expansion bolts into the rock crevices, their movements skillful and quiet.

"Combat teams one through three, move out! Security team, stand guard! The rest, follow!"

Following Yamamoto’s command, the soldiers ascended the cliffs using the ropes in an orderly fashion.

"To think they have sentries on both sides of such a cliff; the Eighth Route Army is truly cautious," Yamamoto mused to himself while peering through his binoculars. He watched as the scout team crouched and crept toward the sentry positions in the dark.

"Caw, caw-caw!"

The sentries were nowhere to be seen. The two crow calls were a warning to the rest of the unit: minefield ahead, be careful!

"They even set up a minefield..." Yamamoto frowned.

"Crack!" A crisp gunshot shattered the silence of the dawn.

"An ambush sentry!" Yamamoto felt a sinking sensation—his surprise attack might be ruined again. *Damn it!* How could a bunch of local Eighth Route soldiers be so difficult to deal with?

"Rat-tat!" A Japanese soldier fired a long burst, hitting the target based on the faint muzzle flash. The Eighth Route soldier who had fired the ambush shot died with his eyes wide open, twitching in anger—he knew he had hit his target!

(II)

"Machine gun team, fire!" Shen Quan roared.

Thanks to that ambush sentry, otherwise, the Japanese devils would have been right under their noses without anyone knowing! Zhao Gang broke into a cold sweat. Everything had been prepared so thoroughly, yet the Japanese had still reached their doorstep. Could those bastards fly?

"Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat!" Seven or eight light and heavy machine gun nests on the flanks and rear opened fire simultaneously. Dense bullets formed a crossfire, whistling and sweeping across the Japanese soldiers climbing the cliffs. To bolster the firepower here, Chen Bo had transferred an entire machine gun platoon—one heavy and two light—the previous night, greatly strengthening the Independent Regiment’s defensive layout. Additionally, Chen Bo and Zhao Gang had fortified the positions with specific attention to the flanks and rear.

"Grenade team, give them everything you’ve got in the valley!" 2nd Battalion Commander Shen Quan ordered.

"Whoosh! Whoosh!" Grenades, trailing wisps of smoke, were tossed out like raindrops. This was a tactic devised just the night before, for which the grenade team’s positions had been pushed forward to within thirty meters of the cliff edge.

"Boom! Boom!" Explosions erupted on the grenade team’s positions. These Japanese devils were cunning; even in such a situation, they could still implement precise counter-suppression! The first few Japanese to reach the cliff top rolled over, raising their submachine guns to suppress the firepower nests. Others threw rope-like charges into the minefield, kicking up clouds of dust with deafening blasts.

"Crack, crack, crack." The mortar teams—also reinforced from the Special Operations Regiment the night before—were manned by two veterans. Shen Quan raised his Mauser pistol, trying to aim, but the Japanese on the cliff top were rolling and moving so erratically he couldn't lock onto any single soldier.

"Boom!" The heavy machine gun nest exploded. Clearly, this was the Japanese counter-suppression fire!

"Political Commissar, watch out!" Guard Xiao Zhang lunged at Zhao Gang. A volley of gunfire erupted right by Zhao Gang’s ear; he felt a bullet pass by, the hot wind grazing his skin.

(III)

Shaking his head and rubbing his ringing ears, Zhao Gang realized Xiao Zhang, who had thrown himself over him, was covered in blood and motionless. "Medic! Medic!" Zhao Gang shouted.

"The devils are retreating, Commissar! We’ve pushed them back!" Shen Quan yelled.

"Throw the grenades! Keep throwing! Throw every last one! Fill that valley for me!" Zhao Gang roared at the top of his lungs. Another wave of grenades flew into the valley, the continuous explosions echoing like rolling spring thunder from the horizon.

"Report casualties!" After withdrawing a distance, Yamamoto regrouped his team. It was broad daylight now; the surprise attack could not continue. Yamamoto was conflicted. He didn’t know how to report this to Yasuji Okamura. Looking at the sky, the observation group of over two hundred officers was likely already on their way. If he reported that the surprise attack had failed so ignominiously, the future of his special forces unit was clear.

"Scout Team 1: one dead, body unrecovered; one lightly wounded. Hit four opponents, eliminated enemy grenadiers..."

"Damn it! What is there to brag about in killing a few local Eighth Route soldiers? No nonsense, give me the casualty count!"

"Scout Team 2: one lightly wounded, unfortunately in the leg."

"Team 2, withdraw from combat!"

"Yes!"

"Combat Team 1: one lightly wounded, left arm, already bandaged, does not affect combat."

"Combat Team 2: one dead, fell from a height after being hit, excessive blood loss, body retrieved."

"Combat Team 3: one dead, one lightly wounded..."

Yamamoto’s face turned ashen as he listened to the reports. In just a few minutes of exchange, three soldiers were dead, and seven were wounded—four of whom had to withdraw due to shrapnel wounds to their legs. This level of loss was, for Yamamoto, simply unacceptable.