On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

"Division Commander, Fengcheng has tanks, the Northeast Army has tanks, I request an immediate retreat, immediately..."

Before Inoue could finish speaking, Mori Hisashi's question sent chills down his spine.

"Inoue-kun, how much alcohol did you drink?"

"The main force of the Northeast Army is in Fengtian (Shenyang), how come there are tanks in Fengcheng?"

"I didn't drink!"

Inoue was almost in tears. "Commander, please believe me, I saw it with my own eyes, it was right in front of me..."

That's enough.

Mori Hisashi's voice suddenly turned cold. "No matter what the other side is, the 37th Infantry Brigade has already deployed its assault formation. There is no precedent for the Imperial Army to retreat."

"Whether it's tanks, airplanes, or cannons, the bayonets of Imperial soldiers can pierce through anything."

"Inoue-kun, listen to me carefully..."

Mori Hisashi paused for a moment on the other end of the phone, then said the last sentence slowly and deliberately.

"Take Fengcheng or commit seppuku, there is no third way."

"Beep beep!"

Mori Hisashi hung up the phone.

At this moment, the Japanese soldiers had not yet experienced Nomonhan, nor had they experienced the terror of being crushed by a torrent of steel.

They have been brainwashed by Bushido and believe that courage can overcome everything.

Inoue held the receiver, his arm slowly hanging down. The receiver slipped from his hand, swaying back and forth on the telephone cord, and thumped against the table leg with a dull thud.

He stood there, silent, watching the steel torrent outside the window that was shifting from defense to offense, a deep, indescribable sorrow welling up in his eyes.

But he only gave himself five seconds to process that emotion.

Five seconds later, he straightened the collar of his uniform, fastened the top button, and then slowly drew the Taisho-style military sword that had been with him for twenty years from the scabbard at his waist.

The cold light from the blade reflected on his face, illuminating his bloodshot eyes.

"Pass on the order!"

His voice was filled with determination.

"37th Brigade, fix bayonets! Target: Fengcheng, full charge!"

"Today, it's either them who die, or us who perish."

"I will be with you!"

"Kill the chicken, sir!!"

The 37th Brigade consists of four infantry regiments, with a full strength of 11,000 men.

The elite of the Class A divisions, the best of the best among the Showa men.

Their bayonets gleamed coldly in the sunlight, their military boots pounded the earth, and like locusts swarming across the land, they faced the tanks without fear, and surged towards Fengcheng like a madman.

"Banzai! Banzai!"

Ten thousand people roared in unison, their voices shaking the heavens.

Inoue stood in the command post, his hands resting on his sword, staring intently at the charging troops.

He believed in Bushido, in close combat, and in the Yamato spirit that could crush everything.

Once they storm into the city and get mixed up in the chaos, those metal shells will be useless.

The T-34 tanks, which had been lined up outside Fengcheng, were amused to see that the Japanese soldiers were not afraid and even dared to fight back.

Chang Yuchun, the commander of the armored division, stood in the turret of the lead vehicle, half his body sticking out, his hand on the hatch, squinting at the dark mass of Japanese soldiers charging ahead. A grin spread across his face, revealing a set of white teeth.

"Those little Japanese devils are bold, fearless, and reckless! Give them a good slaughter!"

He reached out and patted the top of the turret.

"All personnel, high-explosive shells, load!"

T-34, a medium tank, with a 76mm main gun, sloped armor, a diesel engine, and a top speed of 55 km/h.

The steel beast that Zhang Xueming redeemed from the system showed its fangs for the first time in this time and space.

Fifty T-34s opened fire simultaneously.

Seventy-six millimeter high-explosive shells shot out of the gun barrel, drawing low trajectories in the air before slamming into the dense infantry charging formation.

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

The explosion sent sparks flying through the crowd, hurling dirt, steel fragments, and human debris into the air several meters high.

Black plumes of smoke shot into the sky, merging together and turning the sky grayish-black.

The Japanese soldiers' shouts of "Banzai" were drowned out by the sound of the explosion.

The front-line assault formation seemed to have been swept away by an invisible, gigantic scythe, vanishing instantly.

The soldiers who were just roaring and charging forward were instantly reduced to pieces of flesh and severed limbs.

A sergeant was thrown five or six meters by the shockwave and crashed to the ground. Half of his face was gone, but the remaining half of his mouth was still opening and closing unconsciously.

But this is only the beginning.

Chang Yuchun raised his right hand high and then swung it down sharply.

"Entire battalion, wedge formation, advance at a slow pace!"

Fifty T-34s began their charge.

The tracks kicked up large amounts of mud and grass, the steel chassis slowly accelerated, and the gun barrel continuously spewed fire as it moved.

The coaxial machine gun on the roof and the machine gun at the front of the vehicle fired simultaneously.

The 7.62mm bullets were thrown out like water, the spent cartridges clattering onto the vehicle, and the gun barrel was so hot it could light a cigarette.

When a bullet hits a person, it leaves a hole the size of a fist. If it hits the arm, the arm flies off; if it hits the leg, the leg is broken; and if it hits the torso, it leaves a clear hole.

A direct hit is fatal; a mere brush against it is an injury.

Japanese soldiers fell in droves, like harvested wheat.

The most terrifying thing is the tracks.

A Japanese platoon leader lay on the ground, holding a Type 96 machine gun, and fired wildly at the tank.

The bullets struck the sloping armor, sparks flying and clanging, but not even leaving a white mark.

He watched helplessly as the tank rolled toward him, growing larger and closer, the mud and blood clots on its tracks clearly visible.

He wanted to run, but his legs were too weak, and he couldn't get up after two attempts.

Then he saw huge tracks descending from the sky.

When the tracks rolled over it, they made a muffled thud, like stepping on a water-filled leather bag.

The tank continued forward, leaving a trail of dark red blood and mud in its track tracks.

Inoue stood by the window, watching all of this.

He saw his most elite battalion commander, brandishing his command sword, leading a hundred or so soldiers charging toward a T-34.

The tank didn't even fire its cannon; it simply rotated its turret, and with a single sweep of its coaxial machine gun, the battalion commander and seven or eight men around him fell to the ground.

The remaining soldiers rushed forward, climbed onto the tank, pried open the hatch with bayonets, smashed it with their helmets, and stuffed grenades into the tracks.

The tank suddenly swerved, throwing the people on board like rag dolls before crushing them.

Inoue's lips trembled.

"Empire... Warrior... How could you... Baka yarou!"

He witnessed a Japanese private first class, whose legs had been broken by machine gun fire, crawling forward with a cluster of grenades in his arms.

The tank tracks were already there; he pulled the fuse and tried to roll under the vehicle.

But the T-34's chassis was high, and he rolled a beat slower. The tracks ran over his chest first, and the cluster grenade exploded in his arms, splattering blood and flesh all over the tank. The tank didn't even pause.

This was no longer a battle, but a massacre.

Inoue's eyes reddened.

Blood filled his pupils, and his teeth clenched so tightly they made a grinding sound.

He turned abruptly and roared in a hoarse voice:

"Suicide squad! Assemble a suicide squad immediately! All demolition experts, assemble! Grab your explosives and get out there!"

He drew his sword and pointed it directly at the torrent of steel ahead, the blade trembling.

"For the Emperor! For the Empire! Blow them up!!"

The messenger rushed out.

Soon, a group of Japanese soldiers were selected. Each of them carried a bundle of explosives or a cluster of grenades, and had a white cloth strip tied around their head with the words "Seven Lives to Serve the Country" written on it.

With fanatical eyes and chanting "Long live His Majesty the Emperor," they charged toward the tank formation.

The suicide squad of three hundred men spread out, using shell craters and corpses as cover, crawling forward on the battlefield like rats, their target being the flanks and rear of the tanks.

Chang Yuchun saw all of this from inside the turret and couldn't help but curse.

"Damn, a meat bomb."

He immediately grabbed the radio.

"Yuan Lang! Yuan Lang! The Japanese suicide squad is coming! I have blind spots! Where are your infantry?"

Yuan Lang's cold voice came through the radio:

"They're here, they're here! Don't worry, my people are already here."

The city gates of Fengcheng were suddenly flung open.

A thousand soldiers dressed in the new combat uniforms of the Northeast Army poured out from the hidden doors on both sides of the city gate.

Instead of charging in formation, they formed combat teams of three, taking turns providing cover and quickly infiltrating.

Their movements were swift and precise, and their formation was loose yet orderly, clearly showing that they were highly trained elites.

The one leading them was Yuan Lang.

As soon as Yuan Lang stepped out of the city gate, he saw three Japanese suicide squad members carrying explosive packs, using the shell craters as cover, rapidly approaching the leftmost T-34 tank.

The T-34 was suppressing frontal fire, its machine guns firing rapidly forward, without its turret turning to the side.

The three Japanese soldiers were positioned precisely in the blind spot of the driver and the commander.

Yuan Lang raised his hand, knelt on one knee, shouldered his rifle, and aimed the scope at the head of the Japanese soldier in front.

"Bang!"

One shot.

A burst of blood erupted from the back of the Japanese soldier's head, and he lunged forward, dropping the explosive charge.

Before the two Japanese soldiers next to him could react, the two soldiers next to Yuan Lang also opened fire.

Crossfire instantly turned it into a sieve.

"Attention everyone! Target the tanks carrying explosives! Clear the flanks of the tanks!"

Yuan Lang's voice echoed at the city gate.

The thousand assassins dispersed.

Instead of following the tanks, they moved faster than the tanks, quickly weaving through the battlefield ruins and shell craters.

The sound of M1 rifles firing was dense and crisp, completely different from the monotonous "click" of the Japanese Type 38 rifles.

A Japanese suicide squad of four men, carrying four bundles of explosives, lay prone in a dry drainage ditch, waiting for the tank to arrive.

The leading lieutenant, his face covered in blood, stared intently at the approaching tracks, counting in a low voice:

"Three...two..."

"Bang!"

A bullet entered his temple and exited through his left eye socket.

His mouth was still open; he hadn't had time to shout out the "one."

The other three Japanese soldiers in the drainage ditch looked up in horror and saw two Northeast Army soldiers crouching in a shell crater less than fifty meters to their side and rear, their guns pointed at them.

One of them even smiled at them.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

All three were killed; the explosives were never pulled.

Chang Yuchun slapped his thigh excitedly inside the tank:

"Brilliant! That's what you call combined arms warfare!"

He immediately adjusted the deployment.

"Attention all vehicles! Infantry have cleared the area. All tanks, halt regrouping and revert to wedge formation. Rush them down!"

"Heavy machine guns fire at strongpoints, main guns bombard assembly areas, and tracked vehicles crush trenches!"

"No prisoners! Repeat, no prisoners!"