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

"Buzzing!"

"Buzzing!"

Four hundred and fifty T-34 main battle tanks, arranged in a wedge-shaped attack formation eight kilometers wide, accelerated simultaneously on the plains outside Liaoyang City.

The roar of hundreds of V12 diesel engines blended together, like muffled thunder coming from the depths of the earth.

The wall of light is moving.

The high beams and low beams of all 450 tanks were turned on, forming an unstoppable torrent of light eight kilometers wide.

The bright beam of light pierced the darkness, the smoke of battle, and the wide-open pupils of the Japanese soldiers, striking straight into the most vulnerable nerve in their eyes.

It was as if hundreds of Death's eyes had opened simultaneously, coldly watching these tiny humans in the train station.

Mitsuji Miyake stood on the platform, his hands gripping a Nambu pistol tightly, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

His military boots pounded on the gravel, and he could feel the vibrations from the ground growing stronger and stronger, traveling from the soles of his feet all the way to the top of his head, making his scalp tingle.

The wall of light drew closer, and he could now make out the outlines of those steel behemoths.

The massive, sloping armor plates gleamed with a cold, dark green luster under the lights, and the thick cannon barrels, like the fingers of death, pointed straight at his brow.

Those tanks were larger than any Japanese tank he had ever seen. The Type 97 light armored car looked like a Shiba Inu in front of a tiger compared to them, not even worthy of comparison.

"withstand!"

Mitsuharu Miyake turned around and roared at the soldiers behind him in a shrill voice.

"Reinforcements are on their way! The 4th Brigade is already en route!"

"Just hold on for another half hour... no, twenty minutes!"

"If we hold out for just twenty minutes, the Takeshita Brigade will flank us from the south and wipe out all these enemies who dare to surround us!"

He shouted until he was hoarse, spitting on the face of a young soldier in front of him.

The soldier's hands, holding the Type 38 rifle, were trembling violently. The bayonet dangled from the muzzle, reflecting the jagged spots of the tank lights.

His eyes were filled with fear; facing this unstoppable torrent of steel, an overwhelming sense of dread rose within him.

"Follow my orders!"

Mitsuji Miyake raised his pistol and fired a shot into the air. The sound of the gunshot seemed utterly powerless in the face of this torrent of steel.

"The Empire's military fortunes are prosperous! This battle will surely..."

"boom!"

Before he could finish speaking, a burst of intense heat exploded on the right side of his field of vision.

A 76mm high-explosive shell was fired from the T-34 main gun three kilometers away. The trajectory drew a dark red arc in the night and hit the sandbag fortifications temporarily piled up on the west side of the platform with precision.

"Boom!"

The warhead detonated the moment it hit the sandbag, creating a bright orange fireball with a diameter of over ten meters.

The shockwave, carrying sand, gravel, and human remains, spread in all directions, like an invisible giant hand pushing everyone on the platform to the ground.

What followed was like the end of the world.

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

The main guns of the four hundred and fifty tanks fired in succession, their muzzle flashes exploding in the darkness like hundreds of orange-red flowers blooming simultaneously in a sea of ​​light.

Before the deafening roar of the cannonball leaving the barrel could dissipate, the next salvo of fire followed in quick succession, the dense explosions deafening, as if the entire sky were collapsing.

Where the shells landed, train carriages were blown off the tracks and split in two in mid-air, with burning scraps of iron and wood falling like raindrops.

The wooden crates on the platform were blown to pieces, and the ammunition inside was detonated, causing an even more violent explosion. The chain reaction spread from the east side of the platform to the west side, and the entire train station was on fire.

The firelight illuminated half the sky.

From a distance, Liaoyang Railway Station looks like it has been swallowed by a giant furnace, with orange-red flames rolling and rising in the darkness.

Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, its reddish-brown hue appearing suffocating under the firelight.

The air was thick with the smells of gunpowder, burnt rubber, and an even more pungent smell of burnt meat, which whetted the appetite.

Miyake Mitsuji was thrown away by the shockwave.

His body tumbled twice in the air before his back slammed heavily onto a pile of rubble. His lungs felt like they had been crushed into a balloon, and he couldn't breathe for a long time.

His military cap flew off, and he didn't know where his pistol had fallen to.

A buzzing sound filled my eardrums, as if ten thousand bees were building a nest in my ear canal.

His vision blurred for several seconds, and when he could see clearly again, he wished he could see everything.

The train station is no longer a train station.

The rails were blasted and twisted like pretzels, the sleepers were burning fiercely, and the flames spread along the railway line, forming a winding fire dragon in the darkness.

Half of the waiting shed on the platform had collapsed, and the remaining half was crackling and popping in the flames, on the verge of collapsing completely at any moment.

Some of the carriages that were used as shelters were blown into open metal boxes, filled with charred corpses.

Some were still burning, with flames leaping out of the windows as if the carriages were spitting out tongues of fire.

The ground was covered with craters, densely packed together, one after another, like meteorite craters.

Limbs and severed bodies were scattered among the shell craters.

A hand, blown off by the explosion, dangled from a crooked utility pole, its fingers still twitching slightly. A leg lay forlornly across the rubble, the military boot still on its foot, but the part above the knee was nowhere to be found.

The elite soldiers of the 3rd Battalion of the 2nd Division, these veterans whom Honjo Shigeru brought all the way from Lushun and who were known as the most capable fighters in the Kwantung Army, were now like being dumped into a giant meat grinder.

They lay prone in the shell craters, behind the burning carriages, and on the collapsed sandbag fortifications, desperately firing at the wall of light.

The bullets from the Type 38 rifle struck the frontal armor of the T-34 with a crisp clanging sound, sparks flying, but not even a white mark was left.

The light machine gun was mounted on a sandbag, and the gunner frantically pulled the trigger, with spent cartridges clattering to the ground.

The 6.5mm bullets emptied the entire magazine, leaving only a few almost invisible scratches on the lead tank.

The barrel of the Type 11 light machine gun was red-hot, but it had no effect whatsoever; instead, it attracted the attention of a tank.

"boom!"

A high-explosive shell landed on his sandbag fortification, blowing him and his gun to pieces.

"Anti-tank!"

Mitsuji Miyake lay sprawled on the ground, blood and foam at the corner of his mouth, roaring with all his might, "Use anti-tank mines! Use cluster grenades!"

"Whoever manages to destroy a tank, I'll personally recommend him for credit! A reward of 100,000 yen!"

One hundred thousand yen.

This amount is enough for an ordinary soldier's family to live comfortably for ten years under normal circumstances.

A generous reward will surely attract brave men!

Someone heard it and started to respond.

From the burning ruins, from the still-smoking bomb craters, from behind the wreckage of overturned train carriages, one Japanese soldier after another staggered to his feet.

Their faces were covered in soot and blood, and the fear in their eyes was replaced by a mad light.

That was a stress response produced by a mind repeatedly steeped in the spirit of Bushido in a desperate situation.

Since we can't live together, let's die together.

One, five, twenty, fifty...

More and more Japanese soldiers picked up explosive packs, gripped cluster grenades, and rushed out of their bunkers, launching a suicidal charge towards the oncoming wall of light and steel behemoth.

"Onboard!"

I don't know who shouted it first.

The hoarse shouts sounded thin and desolate amidst the roar of artillery fire.

But more voices joined in.

"Onboard!"

"Onboard!"

"Onboard!"

Dozens, even hundreds of voices merged together, forming a mournful howl.

These Japanese soldiers, dressed in yellow uniforms, carrying explosive packs and clutching grenades, rushed towards the steel torrent like a swarm of wasps whose nest had been burned.

Passion, bonds, and the thrill of turning defeat into victory—they're fired up!

With everyone convinced they were going to die, they ran faster and faster.

A young soldier running at the front, his military cap already gone, his expression somewhere between fanaticism and madness, was carrying a ten-kilogram explosive charge in his hands, charging ahead of everyone else.

His eyes were fixed on the nearest T-34, and he let out a muffled roar.

"Heavy Black Card Server!!"

"Onboard!"

He had already detonated the explosives; just two more steps forward and he would be close to that damned tank.

But at that moment, something unexpected happened.