Chapter 43: Iron Blood Battle Banner (Part 1)

While resting, Zhan Xiaoge used his tiger-tooth combat saber to flatten the trunk of a white birch tree about four meters long and about the thickness of an egg, gradually peeling off its bark to reveal its pure white and hard trunk. He tightly tied a piece of white cloth he had somehow found back to the wooden pole. When he raised the flagpole, still scented with the natural wood, a strong mountain wind howled past, and the white flag fluttered fiercely.
Zhanxiage asked without even turning his head, "Curious?" ”
Zhao Haiping, standing silently behind Zhan Xiage, nodded gently. He didn't know why Zhan Xiagege would raise such a white flag, but he was certain that the flag was definitely not made to conveniently surrender to the enemy!
"We are not bandits, not bandits, not defeated and forced to retreat into the mountains to fight guerrilla warfare, doing what only terrorists do, shamelessly proclaiming that we are the fry of justice and truth!"
Zhan Xiagage held it up and gazed at the flag flying fiercely in his hand, carrying a strong wind and flowing flag, proudly declaring, "We are honorable Chinese soldiers!" It is the battle flag in our hands! This battle flag is still white now, but when we leave this jungle or fall into it, I want it to be red! The red !! of blood ”
The world's first pure white battle flag was raised in the mountains still occupied by Chechen rebel forces in Russia.
Zhanxiage raised the white battle flag high with his left hand, raised an AK automatic rifle with his right, and fired a barrage into the sky. The crisp gunfire echoed far and wide through the mountains. Watching the enemy, now only the size of ants, swarmed toward them in the midst of gunfire. Zhanxiage laughed heartily, hoisted his battle flag and seven or eight automatic rifles, and strode forward.
When Chechen anti-government militants, Afghan guerrillas, and "assassin organization" terrorists ran panting to the place where Zhanxiage had once rested, they saw an arrogant provocation on a birch tree with its bark scraped off: "Come on, come on, you weak bunch so weak you can't even knock my grandmother down. After just a few steps, you're gasping for breath and nearly dying. Even lying on top of a woman can't support those tattered toys, so you can only be eunuchs. Come chase me!" Come and kill me! Step over my brother's corpse to prove you're still men, and you have the damn ability to see a woman stand up straight!
This passage was written stroke by stroke with charred charcoal, each stroke powerful and vigorous, carrying a sharpness and mockery like a crossbow drawn forth, and a strong dominance: 'Though the world is great, who else but me?' At the end of this passage, the war hero left his signature: Chinese!
Listening carefully to a member of the "Assassin Organization" who could read Chinese characters and speak a few words of Afghan and Russian, the more than a hundred armed bandits gathered around the tree were breathing heavily. Suddenly, a Chechen guerrilla soldier flipped his AK47 automatic rifle and smashed it hard at a tree bearing the chivalrous song "Mobao."
"Fuck you, Chinese, go to hell!"
The butt slammed heavily into the birch tree, causing the entire tree to tremble violently. Amid the rustling of leaves and branches, suddenly a basketball-sized object fell from the already tightly fastened branch, landing squarely on the head of the Chechen partisan who had been smashing the tree trunk with an AK automatic rifle.
This Chechen guerrilla fighter was not wearing a helmet. Such a toy, weighing a full ten to twenty kilograms, fell from under a tree eight or nine meters high. The blow truly made him dizzy and dizzy. His eyes widened and he shouted angrily, "Damn ......it!"
The angry shout stopped halfway through, because at that moment, the Chechen guerrilla fighter finally saw clearly what had struck his noble head!
It was a strange toy made of strong tape, forcibly tying grenades, grenades, grenades, rifle grenades, several rifle magazines, and a whole roll of rifle bullets together. Just look at the whole plate of rifle shotgun shells thicker than hemp shells and wrapped in a red plastic jacket, the several dark magazines clearly filled with bullets, the grenade bundles tied together with five or six wooden handles, everyone knows this is definitely not some beautiful organization that benefits health or promotes social prosperity and people live and work in peace.
The worst part was that at least three wooden-handled grenades, their flaps already twisted open, were happily inhaling smoke and mist, generously delivering the familiar taste of brothers who often went to battle, right into everyone's nose. Above their heads, a hemp rope with three grenade pull rings was floating and swaying in the mountain breeze. The grenade pull rings were so small that they barely made any sound when they collided, otherwise they really had a bit of a wind chime charm!
A group stared at this absolutely shameless, despicable, and highly lethal weapon complex for two full seconds before some snapped out of it and shouted hoarsely, "Run......! ”
Run! Run! Run!
But......
"Boom!"
"Boom!!"
"Boom!!
In this world, who can run faster than the AK47 automatic rifle bullets that are detonated by grenades, grenades, or gun grenades? Six magazines with 180 rounds were released from the magazines. They jumped, rolled, and rolled, tracing all sorts of bizarre patterns in the air—yet some kind of physics that even Lord Newton would be left speechless. Along with their shattered bullet casings, they let out a shrill "Woliwara" screech, radiating outward in all directions. Some bullets were blasted into the air, and only after flipping seven or eight times and flying not far did they belatedly let out a "pop" sound in midair. From then on, in this black world that Grandpa Death had declared his absolute domain, there was yet another bullet head darting everywhere, and dozens of shell casing fragments that shattered to pieces but did not affect their actual lethal effect at all.
Those Chechen guerrillas who fled on the spot, the "assassin organization" terrorists, fell in huge numbers, wailing and screaming. Some were knocked down by grenade bars, some were pierced by flying bullets, and some had hundreds of fragments of shrapn embedded in their bodies, directly replenishing trace elements in their bodies, especially iron, zinc, calcium, copper, and tin...... These metal components!
Centered around that birch tree, a chorus of screams and groans echoed all around, mixed with large patches of blood and dismembered limbs.
A few terrorists who relied on their quickest reflexes, the sharpest minds, and the best physical fitness to run at the front were now feeling proud. They made you neglect physical training, gave birth to malnutrition with short legs, and liked to stand there staring blankly around a bundle of smoking grenades.
Are you an idiot now? Is this the end of the game? Now I can finally get reinstated and say "Sai You Nala" to the world, right?!
Before the joyful smiles of finally escaping life could even appear at the corners of their mouths, a series of bullets exploded in the air above their heads. Amid the "crack, crack" sounds, the two lucky ones running at the front felt as if someone had struck their foreheads hard. Before they could figure out what was happening, their heads were smashed into a bloody mess by the small, circular bullet heads, a mess of red and white sticky mixed together.
The entire jungle instantly turned into hell. More than twenty people who had narrowly escaped disaster standing there dumbfounded, facing hundreds of blood-stained, trembling hands reaching out together, hundreds of companions whose bodies were so blown apart they were neither human nor ghostly, and when their cries for help squeezed out from their throats sounded like ghosts, who would you ask them to save?
Without sufficient medical equipment, who else could they possibly save?!