Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Brave Heart (Part Four)

The battlefield was still shrouded in dense smoke. After a relentless carpet bombing by dozens of bombers and fighters, nearly the entire position had been blasted to shreds. Glancing at the planes now turning their noses away, Luo Hanya wiped the dust from his face, remaining prone. He knew well that the enemy's artillery barrage was far from over; what awaited them next would likely be a storm of shellfire.

Sure enough, once the enemy aircraft had departed, a cacophony of thunderous explosions erupted around them. Luo Hanya could not discern the exact calibers or types of the artillery, but he could tell the enemy had staked everything on this assault. He recognized at least seven distinct cannon reports, and perhaps even small-caliber mortars, which Japanese divisions typically disdained to use. The fact that these were now deployed spoke volumes.

With shells bursting ceaselessly nearby, sweat streamed down Luo Hanya’s face. This was the second time he had felt such utter despair, his life completely beyond his own control—the first was against the overwhelmingly powerful Black Crow; now, it was the merciless battlefield, where under artillery fire, one could only pray for luck, knowing death might come at any moment from a random fragment.

A thunderous explosion shook the ground. Instinctively, Luo Hanya activated his demonic transformation, but even so, the shockwave hurled him several centimeters into the air before he crashed back down. Blood spurted from his mouth as he felt his heart skip in a painful, unnatural rhythm from the aftershock. He could only be grateful the shell hadn’t landed closer—otherwise, not even his demonic form could have withstood such destruction.

Only now did Luo Hanya truly grasp the gulf in weaponry. As an elite mechanized division, they were forced into a direct defensive battle before their heavy weapons had even arrived. He couldn’t help but deeply question the intelligence of Commander-in-Chief Chiang at that time—this was nothing short of throwing their own men into the fire. With command like this, it was no wonder that a hundred thousand Expeditionary Force soldiers had died in vain.

Fugui Yuanren is dead.

As Luo Hanya was lamenting the incompetence of the Expeditionary Force’s high command, a system voice abruptly sounded. He froze—he hadn’t expected the artillery officer to be the first casualty. Only now did he truly realize the enemy’s might; their artillery had clearly been wiped out in one fell swoop.

"Retreat from the positions! Retreat!" Several messengers rushed from the rear, shouting loudly, but amid the deafening bombardment, how many would really hear? Luo Hanya looked sorrowfully at the positions ahead—those men were doomed to be abandoned.

Silently, he released his demonic transformation and swiftly notified everyone in the guards platoon. Though they weren’t at the very front, nearly a third of the guards had become casualties, testament to the battle’s brutality.

Luo Hanya knew this was no time for sentiment. With a grave expression, he saluted the front-line positions, then quickly led the guards platoon to gather the wounded and traverse the roaring battlefield, finally returning to the trenches.

In the trench, Deputy Battalion Commander Huang Jingsheng’s face was grim. “The enemy has deployed Type Seven 305mm siege howitzers. To avoid catastrophic losses under their heavy fire, I’ve decided to yield the forward positions! Do you have the resolve to hold the next line with me, to live and die with the fortress of Tonggu?” Huang Jingsheng’s voice shifted, roaring out his determination to defend the city to the last.

“I’ve already earned my keep in this life. To die alongside the commander—well, I can die with no regrets.”

“Shut your foul mouth! We’ll hold the line. Enough talk of dying.”

Laughter and banter rippled through the trench. The soldiers here seemed nothing like men about to face mortal peril. Whether new recruits, veterans, or wounded lying on stretchers, each fixed Huang Jingsheng with a resolute gaze.

“Good! I knew not a single coward would be found in the 598th Regiment! Let’s slaughter these devils!” Huang Jingsheng’s eyes reddened as he looked at the brothers willing to live and die with him, grinning broadly.

Luo Hanya stood quietly beside Huang Jingsheng, listening as he and the chief of staff discussed enemy movements. “The devils are on the move,” Huang Jingsheng said, his expression darkening as his hands holding the binoculars began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Damn devils! Curse their ancestors!” Huang Jingsheng shouted in fury.

Luo Hanya quickly looked into the distance. Thanks to the Eagle Eye skill temporarily granted by the system, he could see clearly: the “enemy” emerging from the Japanese camp numbered only a few hundred. They advanced in horizontal ranks, ten men to a squad. Except for the squad leader, who carried a light machine gun, the rest were armed only with wooden sticks, their arms roped together like grasshoppers.

Luo Hanya recognized their uniforms—they were clearly men from the 598th Regiment, captured during battle. As they trudged toward the positions, anyone who so much as hinted at defiance was gunned down by the squad leader’s machine gun. Behind them, masses of Japanese soldiers formed up in tight columns, following closely.

“Don’t shoot, we’re friends! Don’t shoot, we’re our own!” the captives shouted desperately, seeing the rifles aimed at them from the positions ahead, blind to the consequences their actions might bring.

Such tactics were commonplace in ancient China; invaders from the north would use captured soldiers and civilians as human shields in sieges. If the defenders hesitated, the enemy would exploit the gap and seize the city. Even if a commander ordered his men to massacre the captives, the loss of morale and unity would cripple the defenders’ fighting strength.

“Those bastards! Why didn’t the devils just shoot them?” Luo Hanya cursed bitterly, knowing full well the disaster that would follow if they were allowed to approach.

“Luo Hanya, bring your guards platoon and come with me!” After a moment’s hesitation, Huang Jingsheng called for the guards and the best-equipped commando platoon, rushing forward like tigers to the frontline.

Watching the prisoners being herded forward like pigs and dogs, wailing in despair, Luo Hanya was filled with disgust. Their ludicrous, shuffling line made him want to shoot them on the spot.

“Calm down, Brother Luo,” Wang Yibo whispered from behind, seeing how tightly Luo Hanya gripped his weapon, hands trembling. He knew what Luo Hanya was thinking and patted him on the shoulder. “The commander will make the call. Hold on, Brother Luo.”

Luo Hanya took a ragged breath and shot Wang Yibo a murderous glare. “How do you know I’m about to lose it?”

“Because I feel the same way. But if we fire without orders, the consequences will be far worse, right?” Wang Yibo forced a wry smile.

“Let’s wait,” Li Song echoed.

Luo Hanya glanced at his two brothers, falling silent. Wang Yibo was right, but the anger still burned in his chest. “You’re right. I was too impulsive.” With a heavy sigh, Luo Hanya loosened his finger from the trigger.