Chapter 134: A Critical Moment!

Although Huzi was a formidable fighter, his background was limited to the broadsword squads. His expertise lay in bayonet combat; he had little experience commanding troops in large-scale, head-on battles against the Japanese Imperial Army. While he could handle stalemates or skirmishes, the appearance of enemy tanks left him at a complete loss.

Chen Qingzhi, however, was different. In Huzi’s eyes, Chen was a military talent educated abroad who surely possessed the knowledge to counter the Japanese tanks. Thus, he pinned all his hopes on him.

Just as a soldier rushed off to summon Chen, the Japanese tanks began their advance, their massive turrets rotating slowly to aim directly at the city walls.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

With violent roars, thick plumes of smoke erupted from the tank cannons. Shells streaked through the air, slamming into the ramparts and detonating instantly, sending a dozen soldiers flying and carving jagged breaches into the masonry. Simultaneously, the machine guns mounted atop the tanks unleashed torrents of fire. Dense rain of bullets pelted the walls, striking bricks with a rhythmic, percussive clatter and leaving a constellation of pockmarks.

"Machine guns, return fire! Suppress them! Hold them back!" Huzi bellowed.

The soldiers opened fire, but their bullets merely pinged harmlessly against the steel hulls of the Japanese tanks. Though these light tanks were not heavily armored, they were still tanks, impervious to infantry small arms. Known colloquially as "bean tanks," these vehicles were dismissed by Western powers, but on the battlefields of the Republic, they were instruments of unstoppable destruction.

Japan’s reliance on these light tanks was born of necessity. Their limited territory and scarce resources made the production of heavy, multi-ton main battle tanks—like those favored by Western powers—a prohibitive burden. Furthermore, the underdeveloped infrastructure of the Republic, with its poor roads and bridges, made heavy armor difficult to maneuver. Thus, the "bean tank" became the mainstay of the Japanese military, perfectly suited to the terrain and the logistical limitations of the time.

Yet for the Chinese forces, these tanks were a nightmare, often requiring human lives to neutralize. Soldiers would bundle grenades together and charge into a hail of gunfire, hoping to get close enough to destroy them. Even then, such tactics usually only crippled the tracks, rendering the tanks immobile rather than destroying them entirely. For the Japanese, the aggressors who controlled the pace of the battle, this was a minor setback. Consequently, disabling a single tank often required the sacrificial lives of an entire platoon, company, or even a battalion.

Seeing the machine gun fire fail, Huzi’s expression darkened. "Quick! Ready the grenade launchers! Target those tanks! Take them out!"

Soldiers scrambled to load the launchers, firing shells at the advancing armor. Several dull thuds echoed as the projectiles impacted, kicking up clouds of dust. Everyone watched with bated breath as the smoke cleared, only to see that the tanks had sustained nothing more than blackened scorch marks. Unfazed, the vehicles shuddered for a moment before resuming their advance. Seemingly enraged by the resistance, the tanks swiveled their turrets and unleashed a shell that obliterated the grenade launchers, killing the crew instantly.

Despair swept through the ranks. If the launchers were useless and their own artillery was already locked in a desperate struggle elsewhere, what hope remained? Was the defense of Dingyuan destined to fail?

The soldiers’ morale plummeted. They did not fear dying in combat, but they were crushed by the futility of their efforts. They felt the bitter sting of their nation’s weakness—a lack of advanced weaponry forcing them to trade lives for steel. They were haunted by the realization that no matter how hard they fought, they were powerless against the invaders' mechanized might.

"Prepare the suicide squad!" Huzi shouted, his voice laced with grim resignation as the tanks tore a gaping hole in the wall. "Once they breach the gate, destroy them at any cost!"

"Understood!"

A dozen soldiers responded in unison. Each clutched a satchel charge, crouching by the city gate and waiting for the moment the tanks rolled through. Their eyes burned with resolve. They knew that a satchel charge alone was not enough; to truly destroy a tank, they would have to strap the explosives to their own bodies, climb onto the iron beasts, and perish alongside them.

Every unit had such a suicide squad, composed of men who had long since accepted their fate. For them, sacrificing their lives in a final, brilliant flash of defiance was their ultimate duty and their final destination.