42: Meat grinder

"The breach has been blown open!"

Before the roar, mixed with the echoes of the explosion, had even dissipated, the Japanese Soldiers had already rushed in.

They weren't walking; they were surging. Like muddy water from an opened sluice gate, they poured in, carrying the cold glint of bayonets.

Shangguan Zhibiao's eyes instantly turned bloodshot.

"Reserve unit!" he roared, drawing his Mauser pistol and pointing the muzzle upward. "Follow me and fill the gap!"

Men lunged forward after him. They weren't running; they were lunging. Their feet slipped on broken bricks and shell casings. Someone fell, and when he climbed back up, shards of porcelain were embedded in his face.

Hand-to-hand combat.

There was no preparation. No buffer. When the two groups collided, it was flesh against flesh, iron against iron.

The first Japanese Soldier lunged with his bayonet. Shangguan Zhibiao sidestepped and smashed his gun stock into the man's jaw. The sound of bone cracking was crisp, like a branch snapping. Blood spray splattered across his face.

The second one followed immediately.

Chen Shusheng's legs were weak when he was pushed to the front by his Squad Leader.

He saw bayonets. Many bayonets. They stabbed in from the bright light of the breach, gleaming and dazzling. His hands holding the rifle were trembling, his knuckles a bluish-white.

"Fix bayonets!" the Squad Leader roared in his ear, spit splattering onto his neck.

Trembling, Chen Shusheng pulled his bayonet from his waist and clicked it onto the muzzle. His movements were slow; it took two tries to lock it in.

A Japanese Soldier had already rushed within three paces of him.

The face was very young, with a beard that hadn't yet coarsened. His eyes were wide and round, his mouth open, emitting a beast-like howl. He lunged his bayonet straight at Chen Shusheng's chest.

Chen Shusheng forgot to dodge.

His mind went blank, seeing only the tip of the bayonet getting closer and closer.

A gun stock reached in from the side.

With a "clang," the bayonet was knocked aside. The Squad Leader's face squeezed into his vision, cursing with a distorted expression, "What are you dazing off for! Do you want to die?!"

The bayonet grazed Chen Shusheng's ribs, slicing through his padded coat and taking a layer of skin with it. It was a searing pain.

This pain, however, woke him up.

A strange cry rolled out of Chen Shusheng's throat, like a dog driven into a corner. He charged forward, thrusting his rifle wildly.

He didn't hit anyone. The Japanese Soldier sidestepped and smashed the stock of his rifle into Chen Shusheng's shoulder with a backhand strike.

Chen Shusheng stumbled, nearly falling to his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Squad Leader being impaled by two bayonets simultaneously.

One stabbed into his stomach, the other into his neck.

A "he-he" sound came from the Squad Leader's throat, and blood gushed from the corners of his mouth like a bubbling spring. As he fell, his eyes were still fixed on Chen Shusheng.

Chen Shusheng's head buzzed.

He was afraid. Still afraid. But when fear reaches its peak, it burns into something else.

He let out a howl and charged forward recklessly, leveling his rifle.

The bayonet sank into a Japanese Soldier's stomach. The sensation was strange—first tight, then a sudden release, like piercing through a layer of thick cloth. The resistance vanished, the blade slid in, and warm liquid gushed out along the fuller.

The Japanese Soldier looked down at his own stomach, then up at Chen Shusheng. His gaze was vacant, as if he didn't understand what had happened.

Chen Shusheng pulled the rifle back.

It wouldn't move. It was stuck.

Another bayonet lunged from the side, piercing his left arm. It was a piercing, agonizing pain. He released the rifle with his right hand, grabbed the barrel of that Type 38 rifle, and pushed it down.

The two of them grappled and fell to the ground.

The ground was covered in broken bricks, digging into his back. The Japanese Soldier pinned him down, reaching for his throat. Fingernails dug into his flesh.

Chen Shusheng couldn't use his left hand; his right hand groped around on the ground and found half a brick.

He swung it and smashed.

Once. Twice. Three times.

It hit the other man's temple with a dull thud. Blood splattered onto his face, warm and metallic-smelling.

The Japanese Soldier's grip loosened, and his body went limp.

Chen Shusheng pushed the corpse aside and climbed up. Blood welled from the wound on his left arm, soaking his padded sleeve until it felt heavy. He picked up his rifle; the bayonet was still lodged in the dead Japanese Soldier's stomach.

He stepped on the corpse's stomach and pulled hard.

The bayonet came out with a length of intestine, slimy and slick.

Chen Shusheng panted heavily, looking around.

It was full of people. People entangled with each other. It was impossible to tell who was who; one could only see bayonets rising and falling, and rifle stocks swinging. Someone was impaled but still lunged forward, grabbing an enemy and slamming them to the ground. Someone else had a broken arm and was using their teeth to bite the opponent's ear.

The sounds blended into a chaotic mess. Roars, curses, screams, and the sound of bones snapping. The sound of a bayonet scraping against ribs was like a knife being sharpened.

A mist of blood floated in the air, dispersed by the wind blowing in from the breach, then gathering again. The air was thick with the smell of iron, as well as the stench of incontinence.

A defending Soldier was impaled by three bayonets at once. He sank to his knees, blood bubbling from his mouth, yet he grinned. He pulled a grenade from his chest and yanked the pin.

"Screw your ancestors—!"

Boom.

Shreds of flesh and cloth exploded, splattering the faces of those nearby.

Chen Xi was at a second-floor window, his fingers digging into the gaps between the bricks so hard his fingernails were peeling back.

He looked down, his eyes bloodshot.

He wanted to fire. His finger was already hooked on the leather pouch of the slingshot. But he didn't dare.

The people were too tightly entangled. The slingshot's stones could punch through steel helmets; hitting a person would leave a hole the size of a bowl. He couldn't distinguish friend from foe; one shot could easily take down one of his own.

He changed positions, running along the corridor to a spot above the breach. His feet felt sticky as they stepped on the floor. Looking down, he saw blood that hadn't yet dried.

He looked down from another window.

The angle was a bit better. He could see several Japanese Soldiers huddled together, back-to-back with bayonets pointing outward like a hedgehog. The Defenders surrounded them but couldn't break through.

Chen Xi drew his slingshot.

The rubber band tightened, emitting a faint hum. The system's aiming interface floated on his retina, a red circle locking onto the back of one Japanese Soldier's head.

He let go.

The stone vanished.

The Japanese Soldier's head jerked forward. The steel helmet didn't break, but a section at the back of his head caved in. The man collapsed forward, his rifle clattering to the ground.

The Japanese Soldier beside him frozen for a moment and turned to look.

The second stone arrived.

It hit his neck. The neck snapped at a strange angle, the head lolled to one side, and the man went limp.

The remaining two panicked, their back-to-back formation loosening.

The Defenders lunged. Bayonets stabbed, rifle stocks smashed. In a few seconds, the two Japanese Soldiers were turned into bloody pulps.

Chen Xi didn't stop; he continued to aim.

Outside the breach, more Japanese Soldiers were still squeezing in. One who looked like an officer was waving a saber and shouting something.

Chen Xi's red circle locked onto his forehead.

The stone flew out.

The officer's saber was halfway up when his movements froze. A tiny red dot appeared between his brows. He toppled backward, the saber slipping from his hand and sticking into the ground.

But it was useless.

There were too many people. Kill one, and two more would take his place. The breach was like an open mouth, incessantly spitting out enemies.

Chen Xi gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead. He reached behind his waist and gripped the wooden handle of the weeding sickle.

A cold sensation.

He wanted to jump down. To use this blade to carve through them like vegetables.

But he couldn't.

The sickle was extremely likely to cause friendly fire in a chaotic melee. The people below were tangled together; swinging the sickle might snap a bayonet, but it could also sever a comrade's arm.

He could only watch.

He watched a defending Soldier get impaled in the stomach by a bayonet, his intestines spilling out. The Soldier knelt on the ground, trying to shove his guts back into his belly with his hands. When he couldn't, he clutched his stomach and charged into the crowd of Japanese Soldiers, detonating a grenade.

He watched Shangguan Zhibiao take a blade to the left shoulder, blood spurting out. Shangguan Zhibiao didn't retreat; he swung his Mauser pistol with his right hand and smashed the bridge of the opponent's nose.

He watched Chen Shusheng.

The kid could no longer lift his left arm; he used his right hand to grip his bayonet, stabbing, pulling, and stabbing again. His face was covered in blood—some his own, some others'. His gaze was fixed and vacant, as if he had gone mad.

Chen Xi's fingers tightened, and the sickle's edge cut into his palm. Blood flowed down the wooden handle and dripped onto the floor.

He smelled it.

The smell of blood was so thick it wouldn't dissipate. It was mixed with gunpowder smoke, the stench of sweat, and the uniquely sweet, metallic scent of death. Inhaling it into his lungs was like swallowing razor blades.

His ears were filled with sounds.

Not specific words, but a mudslide of noise. Roars, wails, metal clashing, flesh tearing. And there was a sound even more terrifying—panting. Heavy, bellows-like panting squeezed from everyone's throats, like dying beasts.

Time became very slow.

Every second stretched out, filled with images and sounds. Yet it was also fast, so fast there was no time to react.

A Japanese Soldier lunged at Chen Shusheng from the side.

Chen Xi's pupils constricted, and he instantly drew his slingshot.

But someone was faster.

A veteran defender with a severed leg, lying on the ground, used his last bit of strength to grab the Japanese Soldier's leg. The Japanese Soldier fell, and his bayonet slipped from his hand. Chen Shusheng turned and plunged his blade into the man's chest.

The veteran looked up at Chen Shusheng and grinned. He had few teeth left in his mouth.

Then his head lolled to the side, and he stopped moving.

Chen Shusheng stood there, staring at the veteran's corpse, dazed for about half a second.

In that half-second, another bayonet lunged toward his back.

"Duck!" Chen Xi roared.

Chen Shusheng instinctively crouched down.

The bayonet passed over his head. Chen Xi's stone arrived, hitting the Japanese Soldier in the eye socket. The eyeball burst, splattering blood and vitreous humor.

Chen Shusheng turned back and saw Chen Xi at the second-floor window.

Chen Xi roared at him, "Don't daze off! Move!"

Most of the sound was swallowed by the battlefield, but Chen Shusheng understood the mouth movements. He nodded, turned, and lunged back into the crowd.

The battle lasted for an unknown amount of time.

Maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour. In the flesh and blood grinder, time had no meaning.

Shangguan Zhibiao led his men, using piles of corpses and filling the gap with their lives, managed to push the breach back five meters.

Five meters, the ground was covered in a thick layer. It was impossible to tell whose arm or leg belonged to whom; they were all soaked in blood, feeling soft and spongy underfoot like mud.

The Japanese Soldiers' offensive finally slowed down.

They hadn't retreated; rather, the corpses were blocking the way. Those behind had to climb over the bodies of their comrades to enter, slowing their pace.

Shangguan Zhibiao seized this moment of respite and roared, "Block it! Sandbags! Bricks!"

The Defenders who could still move rushed forward, dragging nearby sandbags to stack in front of the corpses. Those without sandbags tore out wall bricks, carrying them by hand or in their clothes.

The breach narrowed slightly.

But the Defenders were also nearly exhausted.

Shangguan Zhibiao leaned against a section of broken wall, his breathing sounding like a broken bellows. The blade wound on his left shoulder was still bleeding, his entire sleeve soaked through. He glanced around.

There were fewer than thirty men left standing.

In the pile of corpses at the breach, more than half wore their own army's uniforms.

Chen Shusheng sat next to a corpse, his gaze vacant. The wound on his left arm was haphazardly wrapped with a rag, blood seeping out and dripping onto his knee. He still held his rifle; the bayonet was bent, its edge chipped in several places.

Chen Xi came down from the second floor, walking through the pools of blood.

Shangguan Zhibiao looked up at him, opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words. He simply nodded.

Chen Xi nodded as well. He knelt down, pulled the last few rolls of bandages from his system warehouse—which he had bought on a whim when exchanging for [anti-smog masks]—and tossed them to the nearest lightly wounded Soldier.

"Wrap it up." His voice was incredibly hoarse.

He walked over to Chen Shusheng and knelt.

Chen Shusheng didn't react, his eyes still staring forward, empty.

Chen Xi reached out and patted his face.

"Little Chen."

Chen Shusheng trembled, and his eyes slowly turned, focusing on Chen Xi's face.

"Chen... Brother Chen," his voice quivered.

"Let me see your arm." Chen Xi pulled away the rag.

The wound was deep, the flesh torn open, revealing the bone. Blood was still seeping out.

Chen Xi took out the last roll of bandages and poured on the cheapest hemostatic powder from the system—which was actually just kaolin clay plus antibiotics, but it was better than nothing. He moved quickly, wrapping it tight.

"Tell me if it hurts."

Chen Shusheng shook his head, gritting his teeth, his forehead covered in cold sweat. But he didn't make a sound.

Once finished wrapping, Chen Xi stood up and looked toward the breach.

Sandbags and bricks had formed a low wall, less than half a man high. Behind it, the figures of Japanese Soldiers were moving; they weren't charging again, but they were rallying.

A temporary calm.

The smell of blood in the air grew heavier. It was also mixed with a strange sweetness, like burnt sugar. Chen Xi knew what that was—the smell of internal organs exposed to the air starting to decay.

He heard the sound of flies.

Greenbottle flies, appearing from nowhere, buzzed around the corpses, landing on wounds and eyeballs.

Shangguan Zhibiao leaned against the wall to stand up and walked to Chen Xi's side.

"The wall won't hold anymore." He said in a low voice, pointing to the wall on both sides of the breach. "The cracks have reached the top. For the next wave, they won't even need explosives; they can just push it down."

Chen Xi followed his gaze.

On the wall, cracks like spiderwebs climbed up from the breach to the second-floor windows. The bricks were loose and could collapse at any time.

"How much longer can we hold?" Chen Xi asked.

Shangguan Zhibiao was silent for a few seconds.

"One wave," he said. "One more wave at most."

After speaking, he turned and roared at the Defenders who could still move: "Check your ammunition! If you're not dead, get the hell up!"

The voice echoed in the empty warehouse, hitting the walls and bouncing back, carrying the scent of blood.

Chen Xi stood where he was, looking at the low wall.

Behind the wall, the sound of Japanese boots stepping on broken bricks was dense and frequent, like raindrops.