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

The battlefield was still shrouded in thick smoke. After a carpet bombing by dozens of bombers and fighters, nearly the entire position had been shattered and torn apart. Watching the planes in the sky turn their noses away, Luo Hanya wiped the dust from his face and remained prone, knowing full well that the enemy's artillery barrage was far from over—what awaited them next would be a storm of shells, relentless and unforgiving.

Sure enough, as the enemy aircraft retreated, the roar of artillery erupted all around. Luo Hanya couldn't distinguish the calibers or origins of the shells, but he could clearly sense that the enemy was going all in this time. He counted at least seven distinct types of artillery fire, and even suspected that small-caliber mortars were being brought into play—something the Japanese divisions normally scorned to use.

With shells exploding constantly nearby, Luo Hanya was drenched in sweat. This was the second time he'd felt such despair, his life utterly out of his own control—the last time was against the seemingly limitless might of the Black Crow, and now, the cruelty of the battlefield, where survival rested solely on luck, death possible at any moment from a stray bullet.

A thunderous blast shook the earth. Instinctively, Luo Hanya triggered his demonic transformation, but even then, the tremor forced him upward several centimeters before he crashed heavily back down. He spat blood, feeling the unnatural rhythm of his heart, jarred by the shockwave. Luo Hanya couldn't help but feel fortunate; had the shell landed any closer, not even his demonic form could have withstood such devastating force.

For the first time, Luo Hanya truly grasped the vast disparity in weaponry. As a mechanized elite regiment, to be forced into a direct confrontation with the enemy before their heavy weapons had arrived was an absurdity. He couldn't help but deeply question the intelligence of Commander Chiang at the time—this was nothing short of sending his own men into the fire. Such command incompetence easily explained the needless sacrifice of a hundred thousand soldiers in the expeditionary force.

Fu Guiyuan is dead.

Just as Luo Hanya was lamenting the ineptitude of the expeditionary command, a system voice abruptly sounded. Luo Hanya froze—he hadn’t expected the artillery officer to be the first casualty. Only then did he truly realize the horror of the enemy: their artillerymen had been wiped out entirely.

"Withdraw from the position! Withdraw from the position!" Several messengers rushed in from the rear, shouting loudly. But amid the thunder of the barrage, how many could actually hear them? Luo Hanya looked sorrowfully toward the front lines, realizing they were about to be abandoned.

Silently, Luo Hanya dispelled his demonic form and swiftly notified everyone in the guard platoon. Though their position wasn't the very front, the guard brothers had still suffered nearly a third in casualties, a testament to the ferocity of this battle.

He knew now was not the time for sentimentality. With a solemn expression, he saluted toward the forward positions, then quickly led the guard platoon, carrying all the wounded, through the shell-torn ground back to the trenches.

There, Deputy Commander Huang Jingsheng’s face was grim. "The enemy has deployed the Type Seven 305mm siege howitzers. To avoid catastrophic losses under their heavy fire, I’ve decided to yield the foremost positions. Do you all have the resolve to defend these trenches with me, to live and die with Tonggu City?" His words shifted, roaring out his determination to stand with the city.

"Well, I've already made my peace. If I can die alongside the commander, I won't regret it in this life."

"Shut your filthy mouth! We’ll definitely hold the line—stop talking about dying."

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

"Good! I knew our 598th Regiment had no cowards. Let’s slaughter those damn Japanese!" Huang Jingsheng’s eyes reddened as he grinned gratefully at the brothers willing to share life and death with him.

Luo Hanya stood quietly at Huang Jingsheng’s side, listening as Huang and his chief of staff discussed the enemy’s movements. "The Japanese are advancing," Huang said, his expression grave. His hands holding the binoculars began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Damn Japanese! Curse them!" Huang Jingsheng shouted in fury.

Luo Hanya quickly looked into the distance. Thanks to the system’s temporary Eagle Eye skill, he saw clearly—only a few hundred enemy soldiers emerged from the Japanese camp, advancing in a horizontal line by squads of ten. Apart from the squad leader wielding a light machine gun, the others carried only wooden sticks, their arms bound together by a rope like grasshoppers on a string.

Luo Hanya recognized their uniforms instantly—they were 598th Regiment soldiers captured in battle. They marched slowly toward the positions, and if any showed a hint of resistance, the squad leader would gun them down mercilessly. Behind them, a massed formation of Japanese troops followed closely.

"Don’t shoot, we’re your own! Don’t shoot, we’re your own!" These captives cried out in panic as they saw the rifles raised on the position ahead, unaware of the consequences their actions would bring.

Such tactics had been commonplace in ancient China—invading tribes would often use captured soldiers and civilians as human shields in assaults, forcing defenders into a terrible dilemma: hesitate, and the enemy would exploit the opening and seize the city; obey orders to massacre the captives, and morale would plummet, discipline would waver, and combat effectiveness would suffer greatly.

"These bastards! Why didn’t the Japanese just kill them?" Luo Hanya was furious, knowing full well what would happen if they were allowed to approach unchecked.

"Luo Hanya, bring your guard platoon and follow me!" After a moment of hesitation, Huang Jingsheng led the guard and special platoons—those best equipped with automatic weapons—charging forward like tigers to the front line.

Watching the captives, driven by the Japanese like livestock, crying and stumbling in despair, Luo Hanya felt nothing but disgust. Their ridiculous procession filled him with an urge to shoot them on the spot.

"Calm down, Luo," Wang Yibo said from behind, noticing Luo Hanya’s death grip on his weapon, hands trembling. He knew exactly what Luo was thinking, so he patted his shoulder. "Let Commander Huang decide. Luo, don’t act rashly."

Luo Hanya took a harsh breath and glared at Wang Yibo. "How did you know I was about to lose control?"

"Because I feel the same way. But if we fire on our own, the consequences will be even worse, right?" Wang Yibo replied with a bitter smile.

"Better wait," Li Song agreed.

Luo Hanya glanced at his two brothers behind him and fell silent. He admitted Wang Yibo was right, but he simply couldn’t swallow his anger. "You’re right. I was too impulsive," Luo Hanya sighed, loosening his finger from the trigger.