Comrade, your ingredients are too complicated.

9:12 AM, December 30, 1942, Dushikou, Chahar.

A cold wind, carrying sand and dust, howled across the ruins of the Great Wall. The biting north wind, whipping up sand and gravel, lashed against the sweat-soaked backs of the Japanese soldiers.

At this moment, the Japanese soldiers of the 16th Infantry Regiment of the 2nd Division were frantically moving sandbags, stones and other defensive building materials.

They were racing against time, because the Eighth Route Army's attack could come at any moment.

"Baka! Hurry up, move faster!"

Regimental Commander Horii Tomitaro's roar echoed on the city wall. His face was ashen, and he slammed his saber against the rammed earth wall, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The chief of staff, Saka Asahi, carefully handed over the defense deployment map he had just drawn, only to have it knocked to the ground by his superior.

"Those bunch of good-for-nothings in the North China Area Army! And that damned Eighth Division, why are there always so many useless pieces of trash in the Imperial Army!"

"If they hadn't suffered a crushing defeat in Shandong Province during the Republic of China era, how could we have been sent to garrison this godforsaken place, and how could we have faced a main force division of the Eighth Route Army!"

"Saka Asahi-kun, is fighting really unavoidable for our troops? Our regiment doesn't have any death orders. Even if we temporarily withdraw to the Rehe line, I'm sure the division commander won't pursue the matter, will he?"

After his defeat in the southward campaign, Yoshijiro Umezu immediately predicted the Eighth Route Army's next move: a northward advance.

In order to buy time to build a defensive line, knowing full well that the North China Area Army was unreliable, he decisively transferred a full-strength infantry regiment from the Sendai Division to reinforce the precarious Chahar.

In fact, this task should have fallen to the 5th Infantry Regiment of the 8th Division.

After all, this unit had captured Dushikou in 1933 and was extremely familiar with the local terrain, climate, and defensive weaknesses.

Having operated in frigid regions for a long time, coupled with their relatively close proximity to their bases and verifiable historical record, they seemed to be the perfect key for this mission.

Unfortunately, the 8th Division had already been reduced to ashes in the bloody battle of the Ludong Campaign.

The 5th Infantry Regiment was crushed to pieces by the North Sea Fleet's naval guns and the tracks of the 1st Armored Division.

Left with no other choice, Yoshijiro Umezu had to settle for second best and selected the 16th Infantry Regiment, which had experience in fighting in North China. This was the main reason why Tomotaro Horii was cursing throughout the entire operation.

Upon hearing his regimental commander's question, Chief of Staff Saka Asahi immediately wore a bitter expression. He didn't want to be cannon fodder either, but he was simply powerless to do so.

"Horii-kun, the division commander did not order us to hold Dushikou to the death. Theoretically speaking, the troops could indeed retreat along the Guyuan-Shandianhe highway to Duolun, or even move to Rehe."

"However, the Eighth Route Army had a whole division of armored troops. We were infantry, and the speed of human legs could not outrun the tracks of tanks or the attack aircraft in the sky."

"Fighting to the death might offer a sliver of hope. But abandoning Dushikou outright will only lead to certain death."

Upon hearing this, Horii Tomitaro's face immediately darkened. Running away meant certain death, and camping and defending meant a high probability of death; so it seemed like death was inevitable no matter what.

Just as the old Japanese soldier was harboring a grudge and worried about how to vent it,

At the breach in the city wall, a thin private's hand slipped, and the entire bag of sand he was holding rolled down the wall.

"Baka, you damned piece of trash!"

Horii pulled out his Mauser pistol and fired a shot. The bullet whizzed past the soldier's left cheek, nearly piercing his ear.

Seemingly unable to fully vent his frustration, he cursed angrily as he kicked the crumbling rampart, sending rubble tumbling down.

"I'm warning you, if you make another mistake, you'll be sent to the front-line defensive positions when the battle begins!"

"Damn those Republicans! The city walls they built are even more fragile than the shoddy tofu in Gunma Prefecture! If the Imperial Army's engineers had built them, I would have used reinforced concrete to make these walls stand for a hundred years!"

"Pass on my order! It must!"

Before the old Japanese soldier could finish speaking, the field telephone temporarily set up on the beacon tower suddenly rang, and the piercing ring immediately attracted everyone's attention.

The communications soldier frantically grabbed the receiver, but after only two sentences, he began to tremble violently as if he had been electrocuted.

His pale lips trembled, and he was completely unaware that cold sweat was dripping onto the ground.

"Report: The reconnaissance troops have discovered that the main force of the Eighth Route Army is gathering in Qingsanying Township. They have also spotted dozens of tanks and countless logistics convoys."

Upon hearing this, Horii's face instantly turned ashen. He ripped open his collar and roared at the officers and soldiers standing around in stunned silence:

"What are you all standing there for? Hurry up and pile up everything that's usable!"

Urged on by the old devil, the soldiers scurried around the city wall like ants.

No cement? Then use wet mud mixed with weeds to seal the cracks in the wall. No steel bars? Then dismantle the truck and stuff the frame beams, drive shaft, door panels, and engine guard plate into the gaps.

Several engineering squads frantically erected barbed wire, only to have it overturned and tangled by the sub-zero wind.

Not far away, a Type 11 light machine gun was hastily set up on a pile of bricks in the gap, with ammunition boxes scattered around. Several Japanese soldiers knelt on the wall, desperately chiseling at firing ports with their bayonets, ignoring the blood that flew from their faces as gravel slashed their cheeks.

Looking at the chaotic scene, Horii Tomitaro felt his future was bleak. He pulled out his pistol again and fired three shots into the air!

"I'm only giving you an hour and a half. If you can't fix this by then, everyone go and fill in the gaps in the wiring!"

······
In the suffocating wait, time slipped away like sand through an hourglass. Colonel Horii's pocket watch clicked in the dead silence, each tick like a hammer blow to the heart.

As the Eighth Route Army's armored forces approached, the Japanese soldier, seeing that his own anti-tank gun squad was still dawdling over adjusting their weapons, kicked one of the ammunition handlers to the ground.

"Why isn't the anti-tank gun ready yet!?"

"What use are you good-for-nothings to the Empire?!"

Suddenly, a muffled cannon shot rang out in the distance, causing all the Japanese soldiers to freeze in their tracks.

"It's a probing shell! Keep working!" the sergeant and lieutenant urged hoarsely.

Although they knew the Eighth Route Army was still some distance from the city wall, the soldiers found it difficult to remain calm. Someone accidentally knocked over the newly piled sandbags, triggering a chain reaction of collapses. Under the midday sun, this hastily deployed infantry regiment resembled a flock of frightened birds.

The makeshift barbed wire fence was crooked and the sandbag fortifications were uneven.

Even the most important machine gun and anti-tank gun positions were now nothing more than a few rusty steel plates pieced together as a fig leaf, unable to withstand even a single mortar shell.

This is hardly a defensive reinforcement.
It was clearly a desperate, last-ditch effort to patch up a leaky boat, like trying to delay its inevitable sinking by patching up a leaky cardboard box.

······
Meanwhile, just as the Japanese were putting all their strength into frantically repairing the breaches in the city wall and reinforcing their defenses, the BT-7 light tank battalion of the 2nd Armored Division, together with its brother units, had already adopted an offensive posture.

Yan Changzhi, the regimental commander of the 3rd Regiment of the 55th Division, was standing in front of the mottled ruins of the city wall. The midday sun, like a searchlight, illuminated the bullet holes and knife marks of varying depths with exquisite detail.

He slowly removed his military cap, revealing an old scar on his forehead that was as menacing as the scars on the city wall.

Suddenly, this veteran of the former 29th Army opened his hoarse voice and roared out the "March of the Big Swords," a song popular among anti-Japanese armed forces across the country:
"Swords! Down on the heads of those Japanese devils!"

"Brothers of the armed forces across the country!"

"The day of resistance has come!"

"The day of resistance has come!"

"Nine years ago, also at midday, our 29th Army soldiers were right here," Yan Changzhi said, his fingers tracing a deep knife mark on the city wall, a trace left from the hand-to-hand combat of that year. "With broadswords and grenades, we single-handedly held off the Japanese attack."

Seeing his regimental commander's dry lips, Political Commissar Li Rongfeng quickly handed him a water bottle. He suddenly noticed that his old partner's hand was trembling slightly.

This is not fear, but a kind of anger that has been suppressed for too long.

"Back then, we lacked guns and ammunition, and our fire support was severely insufficient. We could only watch helplessly as our comrades died under enemy fire."

"Now! It's time for the Japanese devils to taste what it's like to be killed by artillery fire!"

"Pass on my order! This afternoon at three o'clock, I will complete the feat that the 29th Army failed to accomplish back then, witnessed by the ancient city wall of Dushikou!"

No sooner had they finished speaking than a deafening cannon blast suddenly erupted from the ravine behind them.

The regimental artillery company's 75mm field guns spat out orange-red flames, and shells whistled through the sky, exploding into plumes of black smoke on the distant Japanese positions.

Just as plumes of smoke rose from the impact points of Miss 75's shells, the battalion commander of the light tank battalion of the 2nd Armored Division walked up from the rear. He patted Yan Changzhi on the shoulder and said with some regret:

"Oh, what a beautiful city wall! I really can't bear to part with it!"

Unlike the Japanese army in those years, which bombarded the Great Wall with heavy artillery, leaving it riddled with holes.

Even at the most dangerous moment, the anti-Japanese armed forces in 1933 never actively destroyed the Great Wall structure; they only relied on the wall and beacon towers to build a defensive line.

Now, watching the advance troops' shells blast new breaches in the city wall, the light tank battalion commander felt an indescribable pang of sorrow.

Seemingly sensing the somewhat tense atmosphere, Political Commissar Li Rongfeng immediately broke the silence, jokingly saying:

"I remember your hometown is near Yinshan. According to the Ming Dynasty, your ancestors were 'Xiongnu'. Don't you have any idea why the Great Wall was built?"

Seeing the smiles return to his two comrades' faces, the political commissar nodded with satisfaction. But considering the deep affection his comrades held for the Great Wall, he added softly:

"Every person, thing, and event has its own mission. The ancient Great Wall has successfully completed its historical mission of guarding for thousands of years, and it is time for it to enjoy the glory of time."

"Now, the brand-new Great Wall of Steel stands tall and will continue to protect this beautiful land and write a new chapter in the history of defending our homeland."

When the light tank battalion commander heard the words "Iron Great Wall," a surge of patriotic fervor welled up within him. He longed to immediately lead the charge in his BT-7 and wipe out the Japanese infantry regiment blocking his advance.

Either he's a political officer, or he's speaking with great skill.

"Good! The political commissar is right! That's what I think too!"

"However, our old Great Wall cannot be sacrificed in vain. I will go to Dushikou in a while and capture a few hundred Japanese slave laborers to make them obediently repair the ruins!"

"They send prisoners of war to Siberia to grow potatoes in the north, and we send them to repair the city walls. Makes perfect sense, absolutely perfect!"

"Director Huang said: Protecting cultural relics is everyone's responsibility!"

Yan Changzhi was taken aback upon hearing this. The melancholy in his eyes had not yet faded, but the corners of his mouth had involuntarily turned up, eventually turning into a soft chuckle he couldn't help.

He first patted the light tank battalion commander on the shoulder, then joined his political commissar in joking:

"We are a team led by the CCP, how can we learn the imperialist practices of enslaving prisoners of war?"

“You should have used another term from Director Huang: ‘Let Japanese prisoners of war repair the Great Wall through labor reform.’ That would not only comply with international conventions, but also allow them to reflect on their crimes of aggression through labor. That’s called ‘labor dispatch’!”

······
After the chat, "Iron Great Wall" returned to the attack position where the light tank battalion was located, and continued to watch the artillery fire from its brother units.

For a moment, he found himself with nothing to do.

Unfortunately, Dushikou is located at a strategic point on the Great Wall, surrounded by mountains and valleys with narrow roads. Even a light tank like the BT-7, with its incredible mobility, would find it difficult to maneuver.

If they want to launch an attack, they must coordinate with infantry and engineers, and use the terrain to maneuver around them.

Blindly charging forward would only turn tanks into stationary targets, which the Japanese infantry regiments would then try to destroy.

Just as the light tank battalion commander was idly observing the enemy's positions again and again, the battalion's communications officer suddenly jogged over to deliver some good news.

"Battalion Commander! A call from division headquarters!"

"Considering that our battalion lacks equipment for attacking fortified positions and needs to quickly break through Dushikou, the division commander specially sent a batch of self-propelled artillery pieces modified from new chassis."

"The reinforcements have arrived at Wanglizhuang and are expected to reach the battlefield in about twenty minutes!" (End of Chapter)