MM Racing Chapter 78 Rescue
Chapter 78 Rescue
He crouched low and slipped inside, leaning against the mottled brick wall. He quickly took off his dark suit jacket, put on a gray cloth long gown, and then pulled out an old felt hat, a wig, and a wrinkled imitation human skin mask.
In less than half a minute, he transformed from a dashing financial officer of a foreign firm into a down-on-his-luck old man in his fifties.
After adjusting his disguise, Yan Shuo crept along the base of the wall toward the direction of the dense gunfire.
The further they went, the clearer the gunshots became, with crisp "bang bang!" "bang bang!" sounds rising and falling, mixed with the shouts of Japanese soldiers and the clamor of secret agents.
He hid behind an old locust tree and peeked out to observe carefully.
At the street corner ahead, agents from No. 76, members of the Special Higher Police, and several Japanese soldiers carrying Type 38 rifles had completely surrounded an alley.
In the crowd, a familiar figure came into view: Zheng Hai, deputy director of the intelligence department of the 76th Special Agent Headquarters.
This guy and Zhang Lin, the captain of the first team of the action department, are inseparable. How come he's the only one here today?
Yan Shuo's gaze shifted to a black car at the alley entrance. A short, stout man in a Japanese sergeant's uniform was pointing and shouting orders through binoculars. Who else could it be but Masataka Kameda?
This guy is a military police advisor at the 76th Special Agent Headquarters. To put it bluntly, he's a sergeant who extorts money and kickbacks. He's not even a warrant officer. Only traitors like Li Qun and Ding Mo take him seriously. They bow and scrape to him every day, thinking they're something special.
"Who has such influence that they can get Masataka Kameda to personally come forward?" Yan Shuo muttered to himself, his mind racing.
He took out a substitute doll, quickly pasted on a familiar face of a Japanese soldier on guard duty that he had used before, and then dressed the doll in a Japanese military uniform.
Having done all this, he chuckled, crouched down, and quietly slipped to a corner near Masataka Kameda. He had the stand-in doll assume a standard guard stance, while he hid not far from the doll, listening intently.
Anyway, I'll only listen for a little while. So what if I get caught? At worst, I'll just kill and take Masataka Kameda with me. There's no need to keep such a nobody around.
"Kameda-kun! You see, my intelligence this time is absolutely accurate!" Zheng Hai stood next to Kameda Masataka, his back bent like a shrimp, his face full of fawning smiles, his bowing and scraping revealing the true face of a traitor.
Masataka Kameda lowered his binoculars, glanced sideways at Zheng Hai, and a smug smile crept onto his lips. He said in broken Chinese, "Yoshi! Your loyalty to the Imperial Army will be reported to Section Chief Sato and Director Li! Once the communists are captured, you'll definitely receive a major commendation!"
He knew in his heart that dealing with these traitors required a combination of kindness and severity. He needed to both squeeze every last penny out of them and make them willingly risk their lives—this was the survival strategy taught to him by Colonel Yuichi Sato, head of the Special Higher Police, and Saburo Miura, commander of the military police.
If he didn't even understand this much, he would have been shot long ago in the den of tigers and wolves that is No. 76. He still wants to make money in this lucrative position? He's dreaming.
Masataka Kameda turned to look at the surrounding Japanese soldiers and secret agents, pointed at several squad leaders, and loudly ordered, "You, take five men and flank them from the left!"
"You, take five men and attack at close range! Remember, try to capture them alive!"
"You take ten men and block the breach over there. Don't let a single prisoner escape!"
"You, take the people from Unit 76 in and search/attack!"
He studied the terrain and directed the Japanese troops and Zheng Hai's men to gradually tighten the encirclement.
Judging from the location of the gunshots, Yan Shuo believed there were three Communists inside. The simultaneous gunshots from different locations, though overlapping, indicated that the three were coordinating with each other.
Taking advantage of a lull in the Japanese army's actions, Yan Shuo left the substitute doll behind while he quietly circled around to the side of the attacking force and crept into the depths of the alley.
Sure enough, in an abandoned house deep in the alley, three figures were stubbornly resisting, leaning against obstacles.
A middle-aged man was curled up on the ground with a bloody hole punched in his abdomen. Blood was gushing out, and he was spitting out bloody foam. He was clearly dying.
A young woman was shaking him desperately, her eyes red-rimmed, her voice trembling with tears: "Honggang! Honggang! Wake up! Look at me! Don't die! Waaah—"
The woman's eyes were red and swollen, and tears streamed down her face like a burst dam, wetting her slightly haggard appearance.
Her short, ear-length hair was a little messy, with a few strands sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks.
On her oval face, her eyes were filled with fear and despair. She bit her lower lip so hard that it turned white and even bled slightly.
She was wearing a faded blue cloth shirt, the hem of which was still stained with Honggang's blood. She gripped Honggang's shoulders tightly with both hands and shook him desperately, as if she could wake him up as he gradually lost consciousness.
Her body trembled slightly from excessive grief, and she was immersed in the immense pain of losing her comrades. Yet, amidst this despair, there was a tenacity that showed she would never give up, even in the face of dire straits.
It turns out this middle-aged man is called Honggang.
Honggang's face was ashen, and large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, mingling with the blood foam overflowing from the corner of his mouth, making him look extremely disheveled.
His eyes were slightly open, revealing resentment and weakness, and his breathing was rapid and weak.
His disheveled hair, soaked with sweat, clung to his blood-stained face.
His tattered gray robe was already stained crimson with blood, and the bloody hole in his abdomen was constantly devouring his life.
His hands hung limply at his sides, his fingers twitching slightly from the pain, and his legs were curled up, as if trying to alleviate the excruciating pain in his abdomen.
Life was slowly fading away with the flow of blood, yet one could still see in his lingering gaze the worry he had for his comrades in the face of death.
Yan Shuo memorized the name.
"Yingzi! Run!" Another young man, not yet thirty, with a strong build and sharp eyes, shouted urgently while returning fire, "If we don't leave, we'll all die here!"
The young man was well-built, his muscles faintly visible beneath his worn black shirt.
Beneath his thick eyebrows were a pair of sharp, eagle-like eyes, revealing courage and determination, fixed on the enemy ahead, his gaze burning with anger and an indomitable spirit.
Beneath his high, straight nose, his lips were pressed tightly together in a straight line, revealing his tension and focus at that moment.
His hair was somewhat disheveled, veins bulged on his forehead, and large beads of sweat slid down his cheeks. He held the Nambu Type 94 pistol steadily in both hands, his movements skillful and composed. With each shot, his body would sway slightly from the recoil, but he would quickly adjust his posture and continue aiming and firing.
Despite the critical situation and the imminent depletion of ammunition, there was no sign of retreat in his eyes. He remained steadfast in protecting his comrades, ready to fight with all his might for the last hope.
Yan Shuo watched his precise marksmanship; after a few shots, two agents from the 76th Division fell to the ground. He nodded inwardly.
Unfortunately, they were using the Japanese Nambu Type 94 pistol, a broken gun that could only hold 6 rounds, had an effective range of no more than 30 meters, and was prone to jamming.
Tiger and Yingzi's magazines were mostly empty, and the two were subconsciously counting the remaining bullets, their faces filled with despair.
If this continues, they will run out of ammunition and supplies in less than five minutes and be shot to death by the secret agents.