Chapter 3: Who's Tougher

  On a small sand dune two miles away from Chen Haisong, there was a felt mat spread out, and at this moment, a big man with a thick beard sat on it.

  Under the sheepskin hat, a pair of yellowish-brown eyes in deep sockets kept rolling around, and the whip in his hand was restlessly lashing at his boots. "Is there still no news about the Red Bandits?" he asked loudly. "Is there any new message from Commander Ma?"

  Nearby, not far away, stood many team leaders holding horses, with mixed and disorderly attire. Some were propping up guns, some were carrying knives, some were shouldering long spears, and some were grabbing handfuls of black beans from the horse's saddle bag to feed the horse. They seemed to be accustomed to the old man's frenzy, yet also seemed to think it was none of their business, so no one answered.

  These Han Hui Salar farmers from Huangzhong, Qinghai, under the strong mobilization of Ma Bufang and the spiritual control of Ahong, formed the Huangzhong Upper Four District Militia, underwent simple training, and were ready to go into battle at any time.

  This time, with the religious frenzy of "killing to protect the faith", they brought their own horses and guns, crossed the Qilian Mountains to Hexi, drove out the atheist infidels for the true God Allah, and killed those "communist bandits" who shared wives.

  They belonged to Ma Lun's troops under the command of General Ma Yuanhai, and this big beard was Han Zhongliang, a Salar ethnic minority, who was the commander of the Huaizu Fourth Workers' Militia in Xunhua.

  The sound of horseshoes grew louder, drawing everyone's attention. A horse from Hezhou galloped swiftly towards them and came to an abrupt stop in front of the big-bearded man. Before it had even stopped moving, a figure leapt off its back and landed in front of him without breaking stride: "Commander, the Red Bandits have retreated."

  "Ma Mingxue, you look carefully at the melons, how many were taken away? How many were left?"

  "They moved the wounded away from the position, down the riverbank, and many had already reached the opposite bank."

  Han Zhongliang heard this and turned around twice, shouting loudly: "E Hu, take your men over to test the waters. If the firepower is strong, scatter back."

  A big-bearded man whistled and mounted his horse, brandishing a knife as he charged out, followed by more than 300 horses.

  A minute or two later, sparse gunfire was heard, followed by the strange howls of Ma's cavalry charging like wolves and the firing of machine guns and rifles.

  Han Zhong listened quietly, the sound was coming from due south, the enemy's defensive front line was no more than 300 meters away, and the firepower was weak, with no machine guns and fewer than 100 rifles. My battalion has a thousand men, in three minutes we can scatter to your face, even just relying on horse hooves can trample you to death.

  He loudly ordered: "Mount up, let's go and kill the Red Bandits." The militiamen immediately mounted their horses, some holding guns horizontally, others waving willow-leaf knives, shouting excitedly as if they had been given chicken blood.

  It turned out that Ma Bufang had an order: the militia would not be paid when they went on expeditions, and they would use human heads to exchange for rewards. They relied on looting to get some small wealth, and the spoils of war, except for weapons, were handed over to their superiors, with the rest belonging to themselves. Therefore, among Ma's troops, the militia was the most active and brutal.

  Han Zhongliang led the crowd to rush to the battlefield, but saw a strange scene. The tiger that should have occupied the enemy's position was running back and forth 150 meters away from the enemy's position, but couldn't charge onto the position.

  One hundred meters away from the front of the camp, many bodies of Tongding were added, and many war horses were injured and fell to the ground, twisting their bodies or turning their heads to make a mournful cry. On both sides of the defensive camp, many ownerless war horses ran aimlessly back and forth on the empty land.

  He looked intently and saw that although the enemy's gunfire was sparse, every shot hit its mark. As long as they entered within a distance of 150 meters, no matter how the soldiers dodged, with each gunshot, either a horse fell or a man dropped.

  One of the bandits hid behind a dead war horse, cautiously poked his head out, and before he could even raise his gun, was hit by a bullet that shattered his skull.

  The tiger was left with only a hundred or so men, waving their knives and guns from afar, retreating back.

  In the distance, on the opposite bank of the river, there were Red Guards supporting each other, stepping onto the land on the opposite shore.

  This is a true retreat, and there are indeed not many troops covering it.

  He gritted his teeth and shouted loudly: "The Red Bandits are few in number, let's go up together, trample the bastards to death."

  Then the militia came together, riding horses and wielding swords, rushing over with great momentum. Seeing the commander coming to reinforce, Tiger also called on his own troops to join forces with the large team of cavalry to charge towards the battlefield.

  A burst of gunfire erupted, followed by another, and the outer guards were constantly thrown into chaos. The guards with guns rushed to the front, relying on their skilled horse-riding techniques, holding guns in both hands, firing back at the source of the bullets, not seeking to hit, but just momentarily suppressing the enemy, the cavalry would charge onto the battlefield, relying on the impact force of the horses and the sharpness of the sabers to resolve the battle.

  The enemy's position was pummeled by bullets, with shells bursting everywhere and shrapnel flying wildly, the sounds growing chaotic, drawing closer and closer.

  At this time, the enemy position sounded a loud charge, and a roar came from the side of the rear. A group of ragged Red Army soldiers climbed out from under the cliff and rushed to the rear of the cavalry. More than 200 people stood scattered, holding **shooting.

  Surrounded? But they were just a few, how dare they divide their troops to encircle us. Han Zhongliang had ordered Ma Mingxue to take some men to cut off the red bandits in the rear, while he led the main force to continue attacking.

  Gunfire rang out incessantly, comrades around me kept falling off their horses, those with guns became the dinner of death gods, all bullets were flying towards them, having just charged a hundred meters, there were hardly any cavalrymen left.

  Enraged Han Zhongliang saw a figure standing up in front of him, with a medium and slightly short stature, wearing a single garment that fluttered in the cold wind, his frozen red hands holding up a Hanyang-made rifle that seemed like a scythe in the devil's hand, with flames spewing out from the muzzle, taking down the charging devils at the front.

  And it's a shot in the head, five shots later, casually throwing away the gun, someone catches it on the side, another person hands over a rifle, flames flash again, still shooting heads.

  His marksmanship, which could almost instantly take lives without aiming, made all the survivors' hands and feet cold and their scalps numb. Another rifle was handed over to him, he raised the gun and pointed it to the left side.

  The team members who were pointing their guns in the direction of the enemy hastily hid themselves, and five more team members who were approaching the defensive position were blown off their horses.

  Is this still human? With such people around, how can we possibly win, or is it more important to stay alive.

  He was about to order a retreat when he saw the man drop his empty rifle and stretch out his hand, but no one handed him a rifle. The person next to him seemed extremely grieved and lowered his head.

  All that was seen was the man patting the shoulder of the person next to him, casually picking up a large knife, and stepping out of the formation. The gunfire on the enemy's formation also gradually disappeared, and many people held bayonets and raised long spears and knives like the man, walking out of the formation.

  Han Zhongliang burst out laughing: "You guys, those bastards have run out of bullets, let's chop them up."

  Gǎ Hǔ immediately rushed over with a team of excited Ding.

  Li Yi also led a dozen soldiers to raise their bayonets and protect the political commissar.

  But Chen Haisong let out a loud shout, took a step forward of several meters, and swung his sword to meet the charging war horse, rushing towards the big-bearded man in the front.

  The distance of 100 meters was reached in the blink of an eye, and the tiger stared intently at this godly shooter who dared to charge towards the cavalry, having killed countless Tibetans in Yushu, having killed countless soldiers under Sun Dianying in Ningxia, and just half a month ago in Zhangye Ganluo he had also beheaded several red bandits, now it was just adding another number to his list of red bandit kills.

  Come on, let you experience the invincible knife technique from Central Asia. The willow leaf knife is raised high and swung down fiercely towards the enemy three meters away...

  Huh? How did it get cut off? Where's the person?

  As he turned his face around, in front of him was a familiar face jumping up from the other side of the horse with a big knife and a gust of wind, a head flying into the sky.

  With fear and with reluctance, how did he manage to do it?

  The team leader who rushed up from behind chopped down at Chen Haisheng's back, but in the blink of an eye, the large knife that had just swept past the body without a single drop of blood had already reached his eyes and stabbed into his chest.

  Chen Haisong yanked down the headless corpse of the tiger, picked up his willow-leaf knife, flipped onto the horse, and with a backhand stroke, knocked away the steel knife that had been chopped off. With both legs exerting force, he made this fine horse from Hezhou submit to him and obey his control.

  Chen Haisong swept his horse's head, clamped his legs together, and chopped open the unarmed guards blocking his way. He charged into the enemy ranks, slashing left and right, parrying above and chopping below, cutting through the cavalry formation like a tiger bursting into a flock of sheep, leaving behind a trail of corpses and blood-soaked road.

  He killed several more ferocious old soldiers who were chasing after him, turned his horse's head again, and charged towards the enemy's left side where there were more people. Looking at Chen Haisheng, who was covered in blood and had a cold gaze, he danced with his knife and rushed over again.

  The terrified Tongzi scattered in all directions, desperately whipping their horses to escape the killing god's blade net.

  The Second Guard Regiment, led by Sun Fei, closely followed Chen Haisong into the battle array. The First Guard Regiment, which was behind the battlefield, eliminated Ma Mingxue's counterattack with guns and hand grenades, and then charged into the cavalry formation under the leadership of Wang Dayong.

  Chen Haisong's fearless and selfless actions infected the soldiers, no political propaganda was needed, they forgot about the cold and hunger, according to the pre-arranged plan of three to five people per group, surrounded the scattered team members who were dispersed by the political commissar, dodged or held up the swinging steel knives, stabbed bayonets and long spears into the enemy's body.

  Then surround the next one...

  The three guards under the organization of Cheng Wenjun controlled the outer battlefield, forming a tight encirclement with the soldiers of the third artillery company behind them. They slowly closed in, blocking the enemy's breakthrough and rounding up the ownerless horses that were running wildly.