Manual of Space-Time Interference

A steady stream of soldiers rushed up from the positions behind, constantly filling the gap in the weak line of defense. After the devils stabilized their positions, the speed of breaking through began to slow down.

Now, the question is who has more patience and perseverance.

Dialect fired a shot at the devil showing his head in front of him, then quickly shot down, and several bullets hit the sandbag in front of him instantly.

"Boom!"

A mortar shell hit the fortifications aside, two soldiers were lifted up, the sandbags were torn apart, and yellow sand was sprinkled on the dialect. past.

"Boom!"

Another mortar shell landed at the location just now. The air wave pushed Dialect aside and hit the sandbag.

"Brother, what's the matter." A soldier ran to the dialect and squatted down, and fired a shot at the Japanese army's position before turning the dialect over and slapping his cheek.

"Huh!"

Dialect's eyes refocused, he took a deep breath, waved to the soldier, pointed to his ear, and picked up his Type 95 rifle again.

After the shell explodes at close range, even if the person is not hit by shrapnel, the shock wave formed by the explosion will still cause huge damage to the person's body. Fortunately, in winter, the clothes are thick, so the dialect only feels dizzy and tinnitus.

The soldier pulled the bolt of the three-eighth cover in his hand and fired another shot at the opposite position, "Brother, how many devils have you killed?"

How many were killed?

Dialect also became confused. He didn't know how many he had killed. He only knew that he kept running and shooting...

"perhaps…"

"Snapped!"

The soldier who was squatting and shooting fell straight down, and a bullet hit him in the head.

"I'll take care of your mother!"

With a loud roar, the dialect stood up and shot at the devils. The 95-type rifle's 650-round rate of fire completely reflected its horror, and it directly overwhelmed the Japanese army on the opposite side.

"Card, card."

It wasn't until the sound of the thimble colliding with the gun in his hand that the **** color in Dialect's eyes began to dissipate, and he finally sat down.

Looking at the corpse lying on the ground next to him, Dialect smoothed his eyes with his hands, sighed, took out a cigarette, and put it back. Smoking on the battlefield is a taboo, and it is absolutely an act of seeking death.

He took out his water bottle and took a sip. Dialect took out the few rifle drums that were left in his backpack. Although he saved using his own ammunition, he usually used the scope to shoot single-shot. 4 left.

The National Security Bureau prepared 10 drum cartridges for him, that is, 750 rounds of bullets. Now he has one on his body and four in his backpack. He has already used half of it.

Looking at the corpse lying on the ground, Dialect put the drum back on, and pulled the bolt again.

…

The troops charged forward again, and the dialect also followed behind, constantly taking advantage of the advantages and accuracy of modern rifles to cover, but in the end, it was unsuccessful.

"Captain, withdraw! If you fight again, the brothers will be gone!" The staff officer beside the regiment commander shouted in tears.

"My mother who lost mine! Do you want to be a bad boy? You are not!" The regimental commander grabbed the collar of his staff officer and shouted with blood-red eyes, "Brothers, do you want to be a bad boy? !"

No one answered him, because everyone told him with actual actions, that is,

Hold on tight!

Dialect is also like this, aiming at a devil, with a slight movement of his right hand, the devil falls down.

The staff officer looked at the people around him, wiped away tears, picked up the three-eighth cover on the sandbag, and continued to shoot.

…

"Captain Lin, I was sent to reinforce by the superior." A major ran to the commander's side and said.

Captain Lin tilted his head and glanced at it, and after taking a shot with the 38 big cover, he retracted his body behind the sandbag.

"Are you afraid of death?" Chief Lin asked with a blank expression, and by the way, he pressed a bullet into his rifle.

"None of them are afraid of death!" The battalion commander fired a few shots at the Guizi's position, and then shrank back and shouted loudly.

"Then charge again!" Chief Lin roared, "Everyone, get the bayonet, the trumpeter, blow the horn!"

"The trumpeter is dead," the staff officer said, then stood on the top of the sandbag, raised his body, and blew the horn of the attack.

Beep, beep, beep!

"Kill!"

All the soldiers roared and launched an impact on the opposite Guizi's position. Dialect moved forward quickly, and made tactical evasive actions on the way, looking for the fire-intensive points on the opposite side to shoot.

If there is anyone who the dialect is most grateful for now, then it is definitely Yan Zhendong. If it wasn't for his oppressive training, then at this time he would no longer have any physical strength to fight.

The soldiers of the national army began to approach the second position of the devils, and there were people falling down and people rushing up. The anti-Japanese war in this era is like this. Almost every victory is built with the flesh and blood of the Chinese people. to make.

The tug-of-war of the positions began again.

After Dialect killed a devil who was trying to shoot with his rifle, he quickly moved to the outermost sandbag fortification and squatted down.

The hand-to-hand battle began. Since the Type 95 rifle was not equipped with a bayonet, its close-range penetrating power was too strong. To join the battlefield, dialects could only use pistols.

One shot collapsed a devil who was screaming and rushing towards him, and the dialect did not dare to shoot at will. After all, it is still night. Although there is a little fire, but if you don't get close, you can't tell who is among the scufflers. devil. UU Reading www.uukanshu.com

"boom!"

There was a gunshot behind Dialect. He quickly turned his head and pointed the gun to the side. Then he moved to the side and looked at the ground. It was a devil, who was probably preparing to attack from behind.

Dialect was afraid for a while, and nodded to Head Lin, but he didn't dare to relax any more, and looked around more vigilantly.

The national army and the devils were fighting together, and the dialect only needed to take a chance to fire a shot. After the second pistol was empty, the position calmed down.

Dialect suddenly sat on the ground, and the long-term high-intensity battle made him a little unable to hold on, and he was physically and mentally exhausted.

"Pujiezi, you played well." Head Lin walked over and sat down beside Dialect and said.

"Where's the staff officer?" Fang Yan took out the kettle and took a sip, asked Head Lin, and handed over his own kettle by the way.

Head Lin took a sip from the kettle and replied, "Dead, maybe the next trumpeter will be me."

Dialect didn't know what to say. At this time, the major also came over, gave a military salute to the commander Lin, and said with a crying voice: "The commander, 172 casualties, are waiting for the next battle order."

"How many people do we have?" Head Lin asked, his voice was hoarse and choked.

The major was silent for a while and said, "There are 146 brothers."

"Clean the position and wait for the superior's order." Head Lin said hoarsely, handed the kettle back to Dialect, picked up his gun, and walked towards the front of the position. He needed to observe the enemy's movements and then make arrangements. .

This team, or in other words, this regiment has been crippled, and this is only a corner of the position, not far away, the gunshots are still colliding fiercely...