The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 803: God bless you, there are tanks! Brother Xintian, you will win!
On the third day of the third month of the sixteenth year of the Tianli calendar, in the north of Memphis, Tennessee, the United States of America, the cold wind from the Mississippi River swept across the muddy land. Sherman, the commander-in-chief of the Northern Army, who was personally commanding the front line of the Western Front, stood on the oak observation tower, holding a monocular telescope and looking towards the Confederate positions in the south.

Through the telescope, he saw the smoke rising from the Confederate positions like twisted black dragons, rolling and entangled in the flames.

"Report to the general, the first round of calibration has been completed, accurately covering the Confederate positions."

The messenger's voice was barely audible amid the deafening roar of the cannons. Sherman nodded, his eyes sweeping across the neatly arranged artillery arrays on the riverbank. Six hundred 3-inch breech-loading guns were divided into three echelons, their barrels gleaming with metallic luster in the morning mist. These lethal weapons, forged by the northern arsenal with industrial efficiency, were now pouring death into the south at a rhythm of one round every two minutes.

"Switch to picric acid shells!" Sherman's order was quickly transmitted through flag signals. The artillerymen carefully took out shells from special ammunition boxes marked with yellow crosses and made of oak and copper corners. The shells of these shells were engraved with spiral grooves or diamond grids, which produced more uniform fragments when exploded. The killing radius was 30% larger than that of ordinary shells, and the power was extremely amazing.

When the first picric acid bomb exploded on the Confederate position, the dazzling yellow-green fire illuminated the entire battlefield. Sherman saw a section of the blown-off wooden stake drawing a parabola in the air, with half of the gray uniform hanging on it.

Secretary of War Stanton also went to the front line to supervise the battle this time - the Battle of Memphis was crucial to President Lincoln. If he lost, the Republican Party might collapse in this year's midterm elections. If the Northern Democrats were elected, the situation would be disastrous!
His eyes swept over the artillerymen who were loading, and noticed that the soldiers looked a little listless, just mechanically repeating the loading action.

"We should be able to beat Memphis this time, right?" Stanton asked uncertainly - his confidence was also wavering.

Sherman did not respond. Three days ago he had personally supervised the execution of seven deserters, including a 17-year-old Ohio boy who had lost an ear to a Confederate Mitellius multi-barreled rifle. The boy was still mumbling on the gallows, saying that "there are fire-breathing monsters in the bunker." Now, these nightmares are about to end. Ended by steam tanks!
"Send a signal to General Grant," Sherman said to the communications officer, "and tell him to keep an eye on the Yankees' retreat. Once these damned guys escape Memphis, attack them and don't let any of them go!"

Three miles behind the eastern front, in a white oak forest, eighty-eight steel behemoths were waking up in the morning mist. The Pennsylvania factory had manufactured a total of one hundred and twenty steam tanks, but these were the only ones that could be produced today, as the others were out of service for various reasons.

But eighty-eight are enough!

Yang Chengtian walked across the muddy ground, the gilded cross swaying on his chest. The hem of his golden dragon robe had long been stained dark brown by engine oil and mud, but it did not diminish his majesty at all. Behind him, a team of Japanese craftsmen were engraving the True Creed runes on the last tank, and the clanging sound of chisels hitting steel echoed in the forest.

"Iron bones and steel courage!" Yang Chengtian chanted loudly, his voice was particularly clear in the cold air, "Father and Brother Heaven grant me divine power, I am invulnerable to swords and guns and crush the southern barbarians!" He walked to each tank and touched the armor with a cross. It is said that his cross has divine power, and any steel armor touched by it will be invulnerable to swords and guns. If anyone does not believe it, they can test it on the spot. No matter what kind of sword or gun, it will not be able to cut or pierce the 25mm steel plate.
Then he would tie a red ribbon on the barrel of the cannon or gun himself. These ribbons were holy objects from Yang Xiuqing's East Palace, and they were said to increase the accuracy of cannonballs and bullets.

On a high platform not far away, Kusunoki Takako was praying her last prayer before the attack. Her scarlet furisode kimono was particularly eye-catching in the gray morning mist, and the copper tongue on the Kagura bell made a crisp sound as she moved. Twelve white-robed priestesses, holding peach wood swords, stood in a semicircle behind her. When the first ray of sunlight penetrated the clouds, Takako suddenly jumped up, her toes tapping over the wooden steps covered with talisman paper, and her singing voice penetrated the hustle and bustle of the battlefield: "Today is the day to become a god, and my soul will return to heaven to meet the gods. The iron armor rolls on the road to the kingdom of gods, and the father and brother in heaven will live forever together!"

Ten thousand elite infantrymen of the Union Army knelt on one knee, and the butts of their Spencer rifles slammed neatly on the soil, making a dull sound. The canvas ammunition bags on their chests were filled with Kitchum grenades, and the bullet belts around their waists were full of copper shell ammunition. These soldiers were all sharpshooters selected from various units. There were not only veterans of the Union Army, but also soldiers selected from the Korean Heavenly Soldiers and the European International Column. Each of them had experienced at least three major wars.

A bearded Korean sergeant who spoke Japanese was checking his men's equipment. "Remember," he said gruffly, "the safety pin on the grenade should not be pulled out until the last minute. Last month, a fool pulled it out in the trenches and sent himself and three of his comrades to the sky."

The Korean soldiers below nodded in unison: "Hi!"

At 9:00 a.m., the armored steel on the front of all the tanks was "enchanted with an invulnerable spell," and the Northern Army's artillery preparations came to an abrupt halt. Yang Chengtian suddenly raised the cross, and the sunlight reflected a dazzling light on the gilded surface. "The auspicious time has arrived!" His roar made the nearest soldiers unconsciously step back half a step.

In an instant, eighty-eight steam tanks activated their pressure relief valves at the same time, and the white steam that spewed out instantly submerged half of the forest. The Gatling gun of tank No. 1 began to rotate slowly, and the ten barrels were as frightening as a venomous snake spitting out its tongue. The gunners of tank No. 2 were making the final aiming, and the crosshairs of the short-barreled gun were firmly locked on the Confederate fortress in the distance. The saber of Major General James Wilson, commander of the st Tank Division of the United States, drew a silver arc in the sun: "God bless America! Forward!"

The steel behemoth made a deafening roar and advanced towards the Confederate positions at a speed of five kilometers per hour. The logs in the trailer at the rear of the vehicle collided with each other in the bumps, making a dull thumping sound. The front row of tank blades were tied with thick iron chains, which were specially used to hook the barbed wire and then tear them apart.

Behind these 88 steam tanks were a full 10,000 infantrymen arranged in dense horizontal formations - behind the tanks were infantrymen who were lined up to be shot. This tactic was truly advanced.

The first thing the Confederate sentries saw was a rolling and moving "black cloud". An Alabama boy who was chewing hard biscuits rubbed his eyes and threw away his food in fear. "New weapons of the Yankees!" He screamed and sounded the alarm. The shooters of the Mitellius multi-barreled guns desperately cranked the cranks, and the heavy rain of bullets hit the tank armor, but only splashed a series of weak sparks.

That’s an “enchanted” 25mm steel plate!

Flames suddenly spurted out of the muzzle of the No. 2 tank, and the 3-inch blasting shell accurately hit a gun bunker. Sandbags, wood chips and human body parts were blown up to meters in the air and fell into the trenches like a bloody rain.

The 1-barrel Gatling gun of the No. 10 tank was also a deadly weapon, spitting out flames and rolling through the trenches of the Confederate Army. In the past, a Union infantry company only had two Gatling guns, six-barreled ones, and because they were too heavy, they were difficult to maneuver, so they were usually placed in machine gun bunkers as fixed firepower. But now 2 6-barrel Gatling guns and 80 10-inch guns were directly facing the Confederate Army. This battle was impossible to fight!

And behind the 88 tanks, there are a full elite Northern Army infantrymen lined up in dense formations!
"Keep in formation!" The Union officers' shouts were barely audible amid the roar of the tanks. Ten thousand Spencer repeating rifles formed fifty neat columns, and the soldiers marched to the beat of Yankee Doodle. The seven-round magazine of this new rifle gave them an astonishing firepower density.

The barbed wire was shattered like thin paper under the crush of the tank. A Confederate engineer jumped out of the trench holding a burning gunpowder barrel, but was shot into a sieve by the Gatling gun before he could run three steps. The gunpowder barrel in his arms exploded, leaving a charred mark on the tank armor, but it failed to stop the advance of the steel behemoth.

"Trenching team! Forward!" Following the order, the engineers behind the tanks worked together to push the logs in the trailer into the trenches. These pine logs from the Michigan forests quickly paved a path. Then, Kitchum grenades rained down into the Confederate foxholes, and the spiral grooves on the cast iron shells allowed the fragments to harvest lives with terrifying efficiency.

A Union captain was leading his company across a trench when he noticed a log beneath his feet trembling slightly. He looked down and saw a Confederate soldier who was still alive trying to push the log away with his last bit of strength. The captain hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his revolver and ended the man's suffering. "God bless you, Southerner," he whispered, and continued on his way.

When the first tank ran over the breastwork of the Confederate second line of defense, Major Brand's telescope fell into the mud. He saw with his own eyes that the solid bullet of the 12-pound field gun hit the front of a tank, but only left a large dent in the armor. The monster just trembled heavily and then lay down, but the 3-inch short-barreled breech-loading gun was still usable, and a shrapnel shell turned his artillery position into a slaughterhouse.

"Hell Chariot!" The screams of the fleeing soldiers echoed throughout the battle line. A lame Confederate drummer was still beating the drum mechanically, not noticing that he was out of tune. The Mississippi militiamen on the second line of defense threw down their rifles and ran towards the city. Behind them were the approaching steel monsters and the extremely fast-firing Spencer repeating rifles.

Sherman checked his pocket watch: 10:22. He turned to the telegraph operator and said, "Send a telegram to New York: Memphis East Line is broken. It is recommended that Congress designate today as National Steam Engine Day." He sneered and glanced at the church bell tower that was collapsing in the distance.

In the center of the battlefield, the barrel of the last No. 2 tank slowly raised and aimed at the Southern Stars and Stripes flying on the state capitol. The gunner was an Irish immigrant from Brooklyn. He spit out the tobacco residue in his mouth, whispered: "This is for Davis," and then pulled the trigger cord.

With a loud bang, the outcome of the Battle of Memphis was sealed. When the Union infantry poured into the city like a tide, Kusunoki Takako's singing voice had long been drowned out by the sound of gunfire. But the red ribbons of the True Covenant sect still fluttered in the wind on the barrels of the tanks, like flags of victory, and at the same time spread the belief in the Heavenly Father, Heavenly Brother, and Heavenly King.
(End of this chapter)