Chapter 69

The fat man had someone open the gate of the stronghold, welcoming Colonel Ma and his men inside. Seeing the five brand new Maxim guns and the five boxes of ammunition, he had a bad feeling. Weren’t they supposed to exchange old for new?

The Eighth Route Army themselves were short of guns and ammunition. Being so generous was unusual. Wasn’t the political commissar the one who haggled over every detail? Something was fishy.

"Big brother, what are the leaders Sai and Yang doing?" Colonel Ma was curious about how the fat man was dealing with Sai and Yang, so he asked.

"Fixing them up," the fat man said indifferently.

Colonel Ma deeply regretted leaving the fat man alone in this bandit stronghold. Now, the fat man was treating Sai and Yang like his own men, clearly indicating his intention to settle down on Tiger Mouth Mountain.

Leading Colonel Ma and his men into the stronghold, they arrived at the main hall. The soldiers put down the Maxim guns and the ammunition boxes. Then, the nine soldiers personally selected by the division commander stood forward, allowing the fat man to inspect them. If he didn’t like them, they could be replaced. In any case, this mission to bring back the medicine couldn’t fail.

"How’s it going?" Seeing the fat man’s lack of interest, Colonel Ma became a bit nervous and asked.

"Ask these soldiers if they have any special skills. If they do, they’re qualified. If not, send them back where they came from, OK?" the fat man said with a roll of his eyes.

Just being good at fighting was useless. Special operations required a variety of talents. At the very least, you needed a couple of drivers, a couple of demolition experts, a couple of sharpshooters, and a couple of assassins, right?

In any case, this small team wasn’t selected for fighting but for the ultimate goal of bringing back the medicine, not for a suicidal mission.

"What’s OK?" Colonel Ma understood; the fat man liked soldiers with special skills.

"OK, did you understand what I just said?" The fat man cursed “country bumpkin” in his heart and went to fiddle with the Maxim machine guns.

In history, General Wei Lihuang, the commander of the Second War Zone, had always treated the Eighth Route Army under his command well, never treating them as outsiders. He provided them with a lot of equipment and supplies, once even supplying a million rounds of ammunition to the Eighth Route Army in the Second War Zone.

So, seeing these brand new Maxim guns, the fat man wasn’t surprised at all.

"Did you all understand what I just said?" Colonel Ma, the country bumpkin, stared at the soldiers, trying to sound sophisticated.

The Eighth Route Army soldiers looked at each other, unsure of what special skills they had. Being brave in fighting the Japanese, being the vanguard and heroes of their units, did that count?

"Fine, you’re not talking, are you? You’ll all go back to your units. Damn, you can’t even fart when hit with a stick. Do you still want to follow me to complete the mission?" Colonel Ma cursed, being a troublemaker himself and not having much faith in these quiet soldiers.

"Send them back," the fat man said without even looking up. He had already guessed that the Eighth Route Army would send their best fighters, but in his eyes, they were useless. He would rather have soldiers with special skills.

This made the nine Eighth Route Army soldiers unhappy. A few of the bolder ones even muttered, "Why?"

"Because he made a bottle of liquid bomb by himself and blew up the Japanese No. 1 warehouse in the county. Are you not convinced?" Little Li immediately spoke up, defending the fat man.

In fact, the entire independent regiment revered this man who could make the Japanese howl with just his own strength, a god of war.

The underground party leader in the county, Mr. Huang, had sent a telegram clearly describing the fat man’s abilities. Little Li had heard about it by chance at a meeting with Colonel Ma at the division headquarters.

The fat man was busy fiddling with the Maxim, a water-cooled antique machine gun. It was good, but damn heavy, over a hundred pounds with the tripod and ammunition. The fat man had never thought about carrying such a heavy thing with a dozen men for rapid mobility.

Soldiers were addicted to guns, just like opium addicts to their pipes.

The fat man got excited, ignoring the Eighth Route Army’s dissatisfaction. He didn’t care what others thought of him. The only way to shut them up was to show them his skills.

He loaded a round of ammunition, inserted the belt into the machine gun’s feed, pulled the bolt, and held the grips of the Maxim, aiming at the rainwater drainage沟槽 on the wall. He pulled the trigger.

"Rat-tat-tat..." The spent shells were ejected from the feed, and the bullets hit the drainage沟槽 in a straight line, sending up a cloud of dust.

The sound of the machine gun echoed throughout the stronghold, startling the bandits on the walls, including Sai and Yang, who were doing push-ups.

The Eighth Route Army soldiers outside the hall were also startled by the gunfire. When they saw what had happened, they were even more surprised and chose to remain silent.

The houses in the stronghold had a drainage沟槽 about ten centimeters wide along the walls to prevent water from seeping in. The fat man’s machine gun sweep hit the沟槽 in a straight line, a feat that required great skill.

The fat man released the trigger, and over ten bullets were fired, none of them missing the沟槽. This showed that the Maxim was quite controllable, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to achieve such results on his first try.

Turning around, he saw Colonel Ma and the Eighth Route Army soldiers staring at him in shock. He rolled his eyes, thinking, "A bunch of country bumpkins." In his time, well-trained machine gunners could easily shoot in a straight line.

However, he overlooked the fact that in this era, both the Nationalist and Eighth Route Army were short of supplies, with very few live-fire drills. They were rushed into battle, and only through combat did they mature, at a great cost.

The nine Eighth Route Army soldiers were silent. The fat man indeed had skills, and his arrogance was justified.

"Fat Lord doesn’t want to waste time with you. When you go back to the division headquarters, find someone who can drive, knows about explosives, physics, mechanics, can run, shoot, draw maps, and is educated... If there aren’t enough people, Fat Lord and Monkey will fill in the numbers. Go back and have your division commander send them to me immediately," the fat man rattled off a dozen requirements, not caring whether the Eighth Route Army could find such people.

He absolutely didn’t want combat heroes. They were all high and mighty, thinking they were the only ones who could fight the Japanese, occasionally saying, "You retreat, I’ll cover the rear," making themselves seem like Wang Cheng from "Heroic Sons and Daughters." Such people often lacked coordination.

Moreover, after getting the medicine, they would need to drive, wouldn’t they? After the vehicles passed, they would need to blow up bridges to prevent pursuit. They would occasionally need to make some timed bombs. If the vehicle broke down, who would fix it? There were too many potential problems, and the fat man needed soldiers who could not only fight but also create special operational effects.

To achieve these special operational effects, given the limitations of this era, he envisioned a special operations team filled with all kinds of people, as long as they weren’t traitors or collaborators.