A courtyard house; Li Yunlong, a subordinate of the deputy director of Harbin Military Engineering I

At dawn on the 26th, the Third Army Corps Command issued the order to fire artillery. As a series of red signals rose into the sky, the sound of artillery fire instantly tore through the quiet air.

The 107mm rocket launcher is already highly mobile, and with twelve rockets per launcher, firing hundreds of launchers simultaneously is equivalent to the effect of a thousand cannons firing at once.

With the addition of a special operations battalion mobile halfway up the mountain, each soldier had a weapon, creating a terrifying effect.

The shells streaked across the night sky, leaving trails of fire, like a rain of flames. As they fell into the valley, they exploded in bursts of light, illuminating the American positions as if it were daytime.

At 23:50 p.m. on the 25th, Colonel Thomas D. Gillis, commander of the 24th Regiment, led this all-Black infantry regiment. Their 25th Division was known as the "Tropical Lightning Division." He had just finished inspecting the defense line, and as a West Point graduate, he was quite proud.

He was waiting for the 35th Regiment, the "Cactus Regiment," on the east side to come over to discuss the arrangements for the US 3rd and 25th Divisions to provide support early the next morning.

Colonel Gillis saw Colonel Keller of the 35th Regiment, and the two hugged and teased each other.

Gillis patted Keller on the back, his tone carrying the arrogance typical of American officers: "Hey, these Chinese are damn tough, they won't let go. Luckily, their shells can't get through these mountains. Without strong artillery support, they have absolutely no chance of launching an effective attack on us on foot."

Keller shrugged helplessly, took out a cigar and put it in his mouth, saying indistinctly, "I heard our main enemy is the newly arrived Third Army Corps... But we have tanks leading the way. As long as the situation becomes clear, breaking out is no problem. Besides, General Van Fleet's nephew works in this regimental headquarters, so I believe he won't stand idly by. As soon as it's light, we can retreat south. Furthermore, Commander-in-Chief Matthew is not like that damned Mike."

Gillis laughed heartily upon hearing this. He understood that Ridgway had figured out the enemy's weaknesses, and as long as the Inchon Landing was replicated, the battle would be over.

Their current task is simply to fight and retreat. If they can hold out for a week until the Chinese run out of ammunition and food, that will be the time for their counterattack, and the Chinese will surely perish.

The two walked and talked, followed by officers from their respective regiments, all seasoned veterans.

At that moment, they had no idea that Death had already spread its black wings.

Keller stopped, took out a cigar, and was about to light it when he suddenly heard a strange whistling sound in the air, crossing the valley!

As professional soldiers, they naturally knew that the sound came from a high-speed artillery shell.

Keller dropped his lighter, and he shouted half of "Fuck, fire..."

Just as he was about to lie down, it was too late.

A 107mm rocket launched from the valley to the east hit him directly where he was.

Keller and the captain accompanying him were blown to bits, their unlit cigar tumbling through the air before landing in the scorched earth.

The shells fired from all around the valley seemed to have eyes.

Gillis and his deputy jumped up almost simultaneously and shouted into their walkie-talkies. Being well-trained American soldiers, they quickly organized effective firepower and launched a counterattack in the direction from which the shells came.

But they discovered that every time their artillery fired, they became targets the very next second, with such precision that it was as if someone on the ground was directing them.

Back at headquarters, Gillis received a series of reports—the Chinese People's Volunteer Army's shells were extremely accurate, some even hitting tanks directly and flying into their gun positions.

The most critical issue is that normally, as soon as the enemy fires, the artillery detection radar can immediately report the coordinates of the enemy's artillery position and quickly return fire. But today, after the shells were all fired, they disappeared without a trace, and the radar could not detect any continuous firing signals at all.

Gillis wasn't stupid; experience told him that the base had been infiltrated.

Meanwhile, news of Keller's death reached the regimental headquarters, whereupon a new commander took over and launched a counterattack.

Each side dispatched a company of infantry to conduct a thorough search of the defense zone.

Frustratingly, the Chinese People's Volunteer Army seemed to have no artillery positions. They could only see a ball of fire a few kilometers away—seven or eight men, one horse pulling one cannon. After firing, they would immediately move away and disappear into the forest.

The US military personnel who discovered this phenomenon were puzzled.

A soldier, lying prone behind cover, stared at the direction where the firelight on the distant hillside had disappeared. He turned to his comrade beside him and said, "What the hell was that? A mortar?"

Another glanced at it, spat, and said, "You son of a bitch, have you ever seen a mortar that can fire five kilometers?"

The shelling continued.

Among them, Wei Dayong, who was in charge of the 35th Regiment on the east side, led a group of 18 people, but only 6 of them survived the enemy's counterattack.

Wei Dayong lay prone behind a rock, calling out into the microphone while firing single shots to snipe the enemy.

The enemy skirmishers advanced in alternating cover, their various assault rifles sweeping across the rocks, sparks flying.

The tank cannon exploded on the rocks, and Wei Dayong's team used the advantageous terrain to retaliate.

Special forces soldiers are indeed exceptionally skilled.

Although their firing did not form a fire network, their accuracy was quite outrageous—any soldier in an entire enemy company who showed their head would inevitably be shot.

The enemy commander was a lieutenant, and he was quite angry.

Less than half an hour after the engagement began, the American side had lost 55 men. Meanwhile, the Chinese People's Volunteer Army assault troops were in extremely difficult positions. They hid in blind spots and fired at anyone they saw, with almost no shots missing their mark.

This is a veteran!

The deputy team leader, "Little Whirlwind," shouted: "South 14, I'm at corner 4b on the sand table, fire around me... give those sons of bitches a good beating..."

More than a dozen rockets were fired from several kilometers away, exploding on the rocks around Wei Dayong, and dozens of American soldiers were blown to pieces.

Amidst the gunfire, Wei Dayong roared with laughter: "Hahaha, well done! That was exhilarating! Again! Extend it another twenty meters!"

Zhang Shuo, nicknamed "White Streak in the Waves," dragged his broken leg to Wei Dayong's side.

His left leg was gone below the knee, the bloody wound haphazardly bandaged with a first-aid kit, but his voice remained steady: "Monk Hua, we're running low on ammunition. I've counted, and each of us only has twenty rounds left. The five of us discussed it, and since you're the only one uninjured, we'll each take ten rounds, and the rest are for you. You can break through; we're not going anywhere anyway."

Wei Dayong flew into a rage: "Bullshit! Let me tell you, I'm in charge of this group. Who are you to discuss this with? I'm the representative of the Central Guard Regiment, I..." He cursed fiercely, but his voice was already trembling.

Zhang Shuo was thoroughly berated, but he wasn't having any of it: "I know you're in charge, and I know you're a company commander in the Central Garrison Regiment! You son of a bitch! You're so rich now, why the hell did you come back? You're really out of your mind! Such a temper, such a foul mouth! Don't think you're so great just because you were Commander Zhang's bodyguard. Let me tell you, we guys haven't done badly these past few years!"

Wei Dayong sneered, "I may not have the ability to break through on my own, but I have the ability to stay and keep you company! We'll live together, we'll die together."

Lin Heng, nicknamed "Leopard Head," raised his gun and fired three shots, and three American soldiers fell to the ground fifty meters away.

Lin Heng struggled to load the magazine, and when he pulled the bolt, the bandage on his abdomen burst open, and his intestines spilled out.

He glanced down at the blood-stained mass, a bitter smile spreading across his face: "Heh... The old commander used to say he had a comrade-in-arms surnamed Chen who took special care of him... After being captured by the Red Army's rear guard division, he ripped out his intestines... Sigh, I thought he was just bragging, but today my intestines are spilling out, and I can't even feel the pain... Flower Monk?"

Wei Dayong chimed in, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping sheet metal: "Hey, it's just intestines..."

As he said this, tears streamed down Wei Dayong's face, falling onto the front of his military uniform and staining it with dark dots. "Well, so what if they're flowing..."

Zhang Renfeng was standing in front of the sand table at this moment.

The special forces reconnaissance team created a sand table of the valley and marked the corresponding locations in just one hour.

He couldn't hear the situation of all the team members, but he could communicate with the group leaders.

Wei Dayong's voice came through the walkie-talkie, intermittent, mixed with gunshots and explosions:

"Commander! I won't live to see the prosperous era you spoke of... My ammunition is exhausted, it's time to say goodbye. I bid farewell to my comrades, to my superiors and my fellow soldiers. Artillery, concentrate fire on area four, this is the enemy's ammunition depot... Fire... Fire..."

A muffled thud came from the walkie-talkie, followed by static and hissing.

Zhang Renfeng gripped the microphone, gritted his teeth, and waved to the staff officer in charge of liaising with the artillery at the front line: "Order the artillery to launch a saturation attack on area four!"

The staff officer responded and turned to run towards the communications station.

Zhang Renfeng stood still, staring at the small flag marked "Area Four" on the sand table, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down twice.

Wei Dayong's face flashed through his mind—back when he was rescued from Yamamoto Ichiki's special forces, that kid was a greenhorn with a shaved head, said to be from Shaolin Temple, and said he could break three bricks with one punch.

Later, he followed him from the Taihang Mountains to the Central Plains, and was recommended to the Yan'an Short Gun Team. We didn't see each other for several years. The next time we met was before he went to Korea. At that time, he was a company commander in the Central Guard Regiment and was doing quite well.

Then he insisted on coming back, saying something like, "I have to be there when my old unit is fighting."

Now look what's happened, damn it, they're yelling "Fire!" over the walkie-talkie.

"That foreigner is awesome, he's got a lot of nerve!!!"

Zhang Renfeng took a deep breath, forcing down the surging bitterness.

He had his chief of staff connect Li Yunlong's and Qin Jiwei's units by phone, and only after the connection was established did he pick up the phone himself.

"I am Zhang Renfeng, the all-out offensive begins!"

"From now on, I don't care about any casualty figures, I just want to annihilate the US 25th Division!!!"