Chapter 80

"Old as I am, I don’t know if I have another three or five years left. If I kick the bucket, I really worry about how Stone will make a living. Sigh. I feel much better now that you’re taking him away." Old Lei escorted the fatty out of the village, watching as Stone ran around like a madman, his face filled with sorrow.

"Old man, with your physique, living another hundred years isn’t a problem. You could even sleep with two women a night, you’re still strong!" The fatty could only try to cheer the old man up.

"Go, that would make me an immortal old man? You little brat, you can’t even say a decent word!" Old Lei’s face turned red, and he pounded the ground with his cane, cursing.

"Alright, you have to hold on. Fat Master still needs your skills to make a lot of anti-Japanese gadgets. Besides, you have to see the day when the Japanese are driven out of China, right?" The fatty laughed.

In these tough times, having something to look forward to could give this lonely old man hope. The fatty knew he liked alcohol, but his suggestion wasn’t about the alcohol itself, but about the act of "preparing" it. He wanted the old man to be happy with his actions.

The group marched grandly toward Tiger Mouth Mountain. The only casualties in this battle were at the heavy machine gun position at the village entrance, with two dead and four injured. This was a miraculous casualty rate, but the fatty wasn’t entirely satisfied. After all, these were the men he had personally selected, with the talent for heavy machine guns. Now, two were dead and four were injured, which made him feel the pain. He had to speed up their training and teach them how to survive on the battlefield.

Everyone was elated because of the rich spoils. Besides the weapons of the puppet army’s elite company, the Black Wind Mountain bandits had over three hundred rifles, mostly Han Yang models, a dozen Mauser pistols, and three Czech machine guns. Along the way, Colonel Ma kept checking the weapons and ammunition, afraid of losing even one. These were treasures in his eyes, but to the fatty, they were trash.

Different pursuits, different levels. This was why Colonel Ma could only have millet and rifles, while the fatty’s "Flying Army" would eventually be equipped with American weapons, standing out with pride.

There was also a little brat who couldn’t take her eyes off the various guns. Everyone knew this little kid was with the fatty, so they treated her politely. She played around, touching the guns she was interested in, and the soldiers didn’t stop her.

"Hmm? Too heavy, I don’t like it."

"Hmm? The stock is taller than me, I don’t like it."

"This one is good, big and thick, just like the fatso’s on the cart, shooting at the Japanese bandits, it’s so cool and comfortable. But it’s too big, I can’t carry it or hold it, I’ll give up."

The little brat ran around but found no weapon that belonged to her. With a face full of resentment, she walked to the cart, tugging at the fatty’s sleeve, indicating that she was tired and wanted to get on the cart.

"Hey, you little brat, you’re actually bossing me around now?" The fatty glared at the little brat, but despite his harsh words, he reached out and lifted her onto the cart.

"Behave yourself, or Fat Master will spank your bottom!" The fatty grumbled, took out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket, lit one for himself, and leaned back comfortably.

The little brat stared at his waist for a long time, then suddenly reached out with both hands.

Special forces were always highly alert, even in normal times. The fatty’s big hand caught her before she could touch his waist.

"Let me go!" The little brat struggled.

The fatty had two Browning pistols at his waist, one very small, used by agents of the Central and Military Intelligence, and the other a large-caliber Browning. Both were from Commander Wu, given to him by Li Liuguan.

The smaller one was suitable for girls to use for self-defense, and the fatty planned to keep it to please Wang Yi. The large-caliber Browning was for his own use, and he had three spare magazines, which he loved.

"You’re not even as tall as the stock, and you want to grab it? Can you even lift it?" The fatty knew what the little brat was trying to do and decided to educate her properly, or she might start tearing off tiles from the roof.

"I can lift the small one at your waist, give it to me." The fatty loosened his grip, and the little brat broke free, saying angrily.

"Hah, you’re not shy at all? Fine, if you can grab it, the gun is yours. If you can’t, you stay here and behave!" The fatty rolled his eyes. A four- or five-year-old kid was determined to get a gun for revenge. Sigh, this damn war, these damn Japanese, had turned a four- or five-year-old child into nothing but hatred.

"Did you say that?" The little brat’s stubbornness was remarkable.

"Alright, Fat Master will teach you a song. Kids, what do you need a gun for?" The fatty rolled his eyes at the little brat, threw away the cigarette butt, and after a moment of preparation, cleared his throat and began to sing the song that had inspired countless people:

We are all sharpshooters,

Every bullet eliminates an enemy.

We are all flying troops,

Even if the mountains are high and the waters deep.

In the secret forest,

...

If the fatty’s singing voice was like a drake’s, it wouldn’t have become the anthem of the "Flying Team" composed of bandits. But his voice was surprisingly good, even surprising himself. He remembered that the original owner of this body was a pleasure-seeker who, during his studies in Japan, had developed a fondness for Western male singing and practiced it.

This time, the song’s melody was light, flowing, and vivid, and the lyrics were easy to remember. It described a life and battle almost identical to that of the Eighth Route Army and the Flying Army. These were originally mountain fighters and bandits, and the fatty led them against the Japanese and the puppet army, with weapons, ammunition, and food all coming from the Japanese and the puppet army. How fitting this song was!

As soon as the song started, the entire group fell silent, only the sound of footsteps remained. Everyone listened intently, becoming increasingly excited, and their steps became lighter and quicker.

The little brat, who had been demanding a gun, also fell silent, staring at the fatty with her big, watery eyes, her gaze sparkling.

"Tsk tsk, Captain Liu, you’re really talented!" The fatty was also proud of his singing voice.

"Brother-in-law, don’t stop, sing again, sing again!" Tiger Li urged impatiently.

"Brother, that’s not right, you can’t stop when we’re hooked. Sing another one, quickly!" Colonel Ma also rushed over, urging him.

"Son-in-law, sing one more." Even the usually quiet Yang Yun looked at the fatty with earnestness.

"Son-in-law, I think you’d be a waste if you didn’t go to the Shanghai Bund to sing." Monkey sighed, having been to Shanghai and knowing a lot. If the son-in-law stood on the Bund, with his voice and song, it would be amazing...

The surrounding brothers and Eighth Route Army soldiers also joined in, one saying, "Sing another one," another saying, "Sing another one, we’ll have more energy to fight the Japanese."

The fatty, feeling the pressure, cleared his throat and began to sing again: "We are all sharpshooters, every bullet eliminates an enemy..."