Chapter 77
Chapter 77
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: Battle of the Yalu River (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Tatata! Bang! Bang! Tatatatatata───!!
"Don't those crazy bastards know when to quit?!"
Russian soldier Yuri huddled in the trench, clutching his head to shield himself from the Japanese bullets and shells raining down. He stared in horror at the enemy soldiers who kept surging forward, piling up corpses like mountains.
Yuri had come to the Far East like any other Russian, hoping to make a fortune in furs. But bad luck struck—he got drafted against his will when the Russian authorities decided to bolster the Far East forces in anticipation of friction with Japan.
Not only had he been forced into the army out of nowhere, but war had broken out, dragging him straight to the front lines. At this point, he couldn't help but wonder if the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord in heaven despised him.
At least the high-ranking General Kuropatkin had announced they wouldn't charge out to repel the attacking Japanese forces. Instead, they'd dig in here and meet the enemy on their terms.
Yuri figured that hunkering down in a trench offered better odds of survival than charging into a hail of shells and bullets.
Besides, if they just shot at the enemy every time they approached, they'd win. Even someone as dim as him could manage that.
But when the Japanese finally appeared and the real battle began, Yuri realized just how naive his thinking had been.
"Sukkaburut! Die! Dieee!!"
Tatatatatata────!
Ear-splitting gunfire, curses, and Japanese screams clashed in a discordant symphony across the battlefield.
The machine guns—supposedly made by the Germans—created a scene of apocalyptic horror and brutality.
Tatatatata───!
"Aaaagh!"
"Hngh!"
"M-Mother...!!"
With every burst of flame and ejected casings from the machine guns, more Japanese bodies piled up.
But the machine guns weren't the only killers.
Russian artillery kept pouring shells into the Japanese ranks, tearing their bodies to shreds. And the landmines, buried painstakingly for months, claimed any reckless Japanese soldier who stepped on them without a chance to escape.
Yet Yuri thought those who died instantly were the lucky ones.
Many Japanese survived the initial onslaught only to get tangled in the barbed wire the Germans had brought—another German invention. Limbs severed, guts spilling, they writhed in agony, dying slowly.
"Urk... Urgh!"
Yuri retched at the hellish sight unfolding before him.
The other Russian soldiers fared no better, their faces pale even as they mowed down the enemy.
This wasn't the war Yuri had imagined.
He'd pictured heroic battles like the Napoleonic Wars his grandfather used to tell him about.
Look at them now—like machines slaughtering the Japanese.
Even if they were the enemy, island monkeys, this felt... wrong.
There were no heroic clashes here, no romance.
Only death and the raw brutality of war.
"They're crossing the barbed wire!!"
The shout snapped Yuri back to reality. The Japanese had breached the wire and were heading for the trenches.
Any fleeting pity he'd felt for their inhuman deaths vanished.
These Japanese were charging to kill him and his comrades.
To survive, Yuri gripped his rifle tighter, fueling his killing intent, and poked his head out of the trench.
Somehow, impossibly, the Japanese had broken through and were rushing toward them.
Soon, Yuri understood how.
The Japanese were stacking their dead comrades' bodies and climbing over the wire on top of them!
"You devilish bastards...!"
The good Christian Yuri recoiled in disgust at their feral tactics.
Russian machine guns kept spitting fire to block them, but the Japanese pressed on, using their comrades' corpses as shields—just like with the wire.
At this rate, they'd reach Yuri's trench in no time.
"Damn it, if only we had real weapons!"
Yuri grumbled, eyeing the pipe-like gun in his hands.
It was another gift from the Germans, after the machine guns and barbed wire.
Submachine gun? Machine pistol? Something like that.
He'd never fired it before.
The officers had said it guzzled ammo, so live-fire training was too expensive.
Officers were all bastards anyway.
Whatever the reason, Yuri doubted this thing would even work properly.
And luck wasn't on his side.
The Germans called it a "prototype" or whatever and hadn't provided many.
Only the unlucky ones—like him, who drew the short straw—got them.
The lucky got hunting shotguns. The really lucky snagged American M1866 lever-action rifles.
Yuri envied them.
Their guns at least looked like guns.
Mine looks like a damn pipe!
Cursing inwardly, Yuri tried to recall what the Germans had said about it.
"How do you use the submachine gun? Pull the trigger when the enemy gets close. You'll figure it out."
"Fucking Prussian pigs."
That useless advice was all he could remember.
Yuri cursed the Germans and aimed at the oncoming Japanese.
"Sineee!!"
One Japanese who had somehow survived the machine-gun barrage screamed something incomprehensible and thrust his gleaming bayonet at Yuri.
Here goes nothing!
Praying it worked despite its looks, Yuri pulled the trigger.
And a miracle happened.
Tatata──!!
"Gaaah!!"
A burst of gunfire, and the Japanese turned into a beehive, collapsing instantly.
Yuri staggered from the recoil, staring in shock.
What the hell is this gun?!
A rapid-fire gun like this? He'd never heard of such a thing.
It was basically a portable machine gun.
Sure, weaker than the real deal, but that didn't matter.
What mattered was how badass it was—way beyond his expectations.
"Ha, haha! Eat this, you slant-eyed fucks!"
Adrenaline surging, Yuri excitedly hosed down the Japanese with the submachine gun.
And this was happening all along the Russian trench line.
Tatata!
Tatatatata!!
"What the hell is that?!"
"It's plumbing! The Russians are shooting with sewer pipes!"
"Those Ruskie bastards fight like total assholes!"
Stunned by the mystery weapon on top of machine guns, mines, and barbed wire, the Japanese cursed the world.
And the Russians weren't done.
Every time the Japanese reached the trenches, Russians shoved shotguns—the perfect close-range greeting—into their guts.
Rumor had it the officers had refused the German shotguns, whining they were for beasts, not men.
To the Russian grunts addicted to the shotgun's devastating blasts, that just sounded like bullshit from pampered nobles.
Bam-bam-bam~ Bam-bam~!
Thus, every Japanese who clawed their way to the trenches got shredded by submachine guns and shotguns. Then, a trumpet blared from afar.
Probably the retreat signal.
The Japanese bolted like they'd been waiting for it.
"The Japanese are retreating! We won!"
"Urah! Urah! Urah!"
Yuri and the Russians cheered wildly, celebrating their first victory.
"Hey, Yuri, I'll give you my hidden vodka if you trade guns."
"Shut up! Not even for a hundred bottles!"
The guy who'd mocked its looks earlier now grinned greedily. Yuri told him to fuck off.
He was head over heels for the submachine gun.
With this baby, he'd survive the war.
Meanwhile, Commander-in-Chief Kuropatkin and his officers, who had watched the entire battle, gazed at the hellscape with ashen faces.
They hadn't dreamed they could stop the Japanese so easily.
Or that it would be this horrific.
Like Yuri, they envisioned war as romantic Napoleonic clashes.
Who could call this romantic?
"...A win's a win, though."
Kuropatkin forced his eyes away from the field, relieved at the victory over Japan.
Winning mattered most now.
The German military observers hurriedly drafted reports for home.
The "trench warfare" combo of trenches, machine guns, and barbed wire. The submachine gun's performance. Stuff that would shock Chief of Staff Schlieffen and the General Staff.
But they couldn't shake a nagging unease.
The battlefield was brutal, but could they breach such a defensive line of wire, trenches, and machine guns?
The observers prayed the General Staff had answers.
While the Russians basked in triumph, the defeated Japanese army resembled a funeral parlor.
"......"
In the heavy silence, everyone avoiding each other's eyes, First Army Commander General Kuroki Tamemoto spoke first.
"...How bad are the casualties?"
His somber question was answered by Major General Inoue Hikaru, commander of the vanguard 12th Division, in a trembling voice that betrayed his shame before the other generals.
"The 12th Division alone suffered around 5,000 casualties."
Kuroki nearly blacked out at the staggering number.
5,000 from the vanguard alone.
Including other divisions, the assault cost nearly 10,000 lives.
With the First Army starting at 43,000, that was a quarter of their force gone in one fight.
In modern warfare, 30% losses meant annihilation. This was a catastrophic defeat.
How do I explain this disaster to Commander Oyama and Chief of Staff Kodama...?
Commander Oyama Iwao and Chief of Staff Kodama Gentaro were desperately awaiting First Army's victory.
Kuroki dreaded facing them.
Just imagining their rebukes made his head spin.
But he couldn't blame Inoue and his subordinates.
It wasn't that the Japanese fought poorly—the Russian defenses were impregnable.
Trenches, massed machine guns, mines, bizarre round barbed wire. Survivors even reported mystery new weapons—like sewer pipes.
"We can't retreat like this."
This was a war for the nation's fate.
Retreat wasn't an option.
To win, they had to breach Kuropatkin's hellgate, no matter what.
"Request reinforcements from HQ. Gather every gun we can. We must break through Antung!"
"Hai!"
The Japanese generals bowed in unison.
Thus, the First Army prepared to resume their assault on the Russians.
"They actually came, huh. Africa."
Meanwhile, our protagonist, Baron Hans von Choi, arrived in German South-West Africa with 10,000 German troops.