Los Angeles defector

The clever fool

Among the fleeing soldiers, there were scattered individuals, small groups of three to five, alliances formed, as well as intact platoons and companies. Some were helping the wounded, others were moving wearily due to fatigue and hunger, while some were marching hastily, resembling a river strewn with rocks, flowing with both calmness and turbulence.

The foolish lad marched along with the crowd, keeping an eye on three individuals ahead. The person in the middle seemed to be injured, with both arms draped over the necks of two comrades who were supporting him, moving forward slowly. Suddenly, he felt a strong push on his back, causing all three of them to stumble and fall to the ground. The injured person let out a groan, while the two supporting individuals, without even getting up, turned around and cursed, "Which blind fool pushed us...!" Behind them, a half-sized lad stood there dumbfounded, then suddenly plopped down in the muddy ground, wailing loudly, "The dollars on the ground are mine! Don't take my dollars! They're mine, don't pick them up! My dollars, wuwu...!"

The three individuals were immediately stunned on the ground, even the injured person stopped groaning and turned to look around, uh... what's going on? People in front, behind, and on both sides stopped in their tracks upon hearing the commotion, and several figures hurried over, pulling the fallen trio apart to investigate. A few more figures approached, opening their mouths to curse, "You sons of bitches, you were cowards when fighting vampires, but now you suddenly have the guts to snatch dollars."

"What's it to you? Which faction are you from?"

"I'm from the 48th Army, and f**k your mother, we lost because of scum like you."

"f**k Your grandmother, you're a hero, yet you're running west with the rest. If you want to be a hero, go back to Los Angeles."

"My fists can fight vampires and they can also fight you, believe it or not."

"If you dare touch me, you piece of trash from the 48th Army, give it a try. I'm not afraid of vampires, let alone you..."

In the darkness, it was hard to distinguish who was who, who was with whom. But finally, the fists started flying. It began with small groups of three, five, and seven exchanging greetings of blows. Then it escalated to tens of people grappling and pulling each other. Soon, it grew into a brawl involving dozens of combatants, as comrades from respective units joined in. It evolved into a full-scale melee with hundreds of fighters on each side. Though no real weapons were used, it resembled a battlefield. There was little room for words, only heavy panting and low growls, as chaos intertwined, as if defending the last stronghold. The emotions of these broken soldiers were like a powder keg. They had been grieving for too long, suppressed for too long. Once ignited by a random, trivial factor, they exploded like a bursting flood, unleashing their pent-up frustrations without restraint.

The foolish lad remained seated on the ground, still not fully comprehending the situation. He had indeed orchestrated the initial push, intending to create a small chaos and seize an opportunity to steal a g*n. Back when he used to be a beggar, he often resorted to such tricks of opportunism. However, now... as he found himself in the eye of the storm, he was startled by the overwhelming scene. Oh, merciful God of compassion, I'm just a little beggar. I didn't mean it, truly, it wasn't intentional!

Four individuals formed a semicircle, staring at the foolish lad squatting against the wall. The tallest one wiped his drool and fixed his gaze on the object the lad was holding in his arms, muttering, "Wow, a Czech-style! A machine g*n!"

Brown raised his thumb towards the foolish lad and exclaimed, "You're something, kid! If I had known you could acquire this stuff just by taking a leak, I would have joined you. Who knows, we might have even gotten ourselves a mortar!"

Jason didn't expect this foolish lad to pull off such a feat. Although he was still just a child, Jason couldn't help but admire him in his heart. It takes courage and cunning to accomplish something like this. Well done.

Old Blackskin cleared his throat and said, "Ahem, you troublesome glutton. Tell me, why did you bring back this thing?"

"I noticed that Jason bro didn't have a g*n, and you were worried about it, so I wanted to help. But in the dark and confusion, I couldn't see clearly, and I didn't know which one was better, so I just picked up the biggest one," the foolish lad explained, wiping his already cold snot with his sleeve and looking up at the platoon leader.

Looking at the foolish lad's clueless expression, Old Blackskin didn't know what to say for a moment. However, his thoughts were clear: this g*n couldn't be kept. Regardless of whether the platoon leader would allow the machine g*n to stay with the third platoon after finding out, Old Blackskin didn't want to keep it either. The stronger the mule, the heavier the load it pulls. With a machine g*n in the third platoon, it wouldn't be the same damn third platoon anymore!

Old Blackskin was curious about Jason's thoughts because he had just joined the group and his personality and temperament were still unknown. It wouldn't hurt to take this opportunity to find out. After all, a soldier's attitude towards a g*n often determines their behavior on the battlefield. While the opinions of the big guys and Brown could be ignored, Old Blackskin wanted to know what Jason's stance was.

Old Blackskin took a step forward and lifted the machine g*n from the Foolish Lad's arms. He gave it a brief inspection and then handed it over to Jason, who was standing beside him. "The Foolish Lad said this g*n was meant for you. What are your thoughts on it?"

Upon seeing this situation, Big Guy grew a bit anxious. "Hey, Squad Leader, I think it's most suitable for me to use this g*n in our squad. It's heavy, and marching with it is no joke. Look, which machine gunner doesn't have a physique like mine? I'll just take this g*n and give him mine," he said, taking off his rifle from his shoulder and reaching out to exchange it with the machine g*n in Jason's hands.

Old Blackskin raised his hand and pushed Big Guy, who was trying to approach. "You big oaf, step aside. Jason is the expert when it comes to handling machine guns. It's not your turn."

Big Guy was still reluctant and wanted to continue arguing. "What? He's the expert? Why is he the expert? I..."

Old Blackskin interrupted Big Guy directly, saying, "Just because I'm the squad leader!"

As Jason's hand touched the machine g*n, his heart skipped a beat. A long-forgotten sensation tingled through the g*n's body, causing his hands to tremble slightly as he gripped it. Ignoring everyone around him, Jason sat down against the wall, crossed his legs, and swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, laying it flat on the damp ground. He placed the machine g*n flat on his thigh, removed the magazine, pressed down on the cartridge stop with his left hand, lifted the trigger housing with his right hand, rotated the g*n body, and lifted the barrel carrying handle with his left hand. Simultaneously, he pulled the g*n body backward, depressed the locking piece at the bottom of the stock, rotated the baseplate cover, and removed the accessory box and cleaning rod. He manipulated the handle behind the sight base, opened the feed cover, flipped open the feed tray, pushed out the barrel locking pin, grabbed the barrel carrying handle, and pulled the barrel forward. Using the hammer and punch from the accessory box, he struck the connecting pin at the rear of the receiver, removed the buttstock, and took out the recoil spring. With the charging handle, he pulled back the receiver and bolt assembly, separating them from the g*n frame. He removed the bipod from the barrel, flipped the g*n mount, removed the opening pin from the pintle nut, unscrewed the pintle nut, loosened the traversing and elevating mechanism, and separated the upper and lower mounts. Finally, he carefully extracted the twenty rounds of Mauser rifle ammunition from the magazine, lining them up in order beside him. Only then did he take a deep breath.

For some reason, Jason's skilled and seamless movements left the four of them dumbfounded. In just a short period of time, it felt as if they had witnessed a three-day-long spectacle from the backstage of a theater. The Three Links had a Czech-style machine g*n lined up, and they had seen a machine gunner in their ranks disassemble and clean it before, but it was just a matter of removing the magazine, taking off the barrel, and simple disassembly of the bolt. It was nothing compared to the meticulous disassembly Jason was performing, especially in the dimly lit corner of the room!