Chapter 62: Artillery Fires! After the Artillery, the Infantry Charges!

Following Brigade Commander Li Jian’s orders, the artillery units of the 63rd Brigade swiftly entered battle readiness, focusing intently on precise ballistic calculations.

Just as the enemy artillery had unleashed its first barrage, the artillery staff of the 63rd Brigade had already seized pen and paper, calmly computing firing parameters—demonstrating their consummate professionalism in the face of crisis.

In less than two minutes, they had pinpointed the enemy’s position with exactitude and prepared to strike back.

“Fire!” At the artillery battalion commander’s thunderous command, eight 75mm field guns and six 35mm rapid-fire cannons shifted their barrels skyward, and then three specially dispatched 120mm light howitzers joined in with a deafening roar.

These gunners, rigorously trained to military standards, displayed a level of skill and accuracy in both weapon handling and firepower that set them distinctly apart from their adversaries.

From the outset, this engagement was never in doubt.

As the thunder of artillery resounded across the battlefield, a deluge of shells rained down like a summer storm, landing with precision on the enemy’s gun positions.

The shockwaves spread swiftly from the points of impact, catching the enemy gunners off guard—some were shattered instantly in a mist of blood, others hurled skyward by the force of the blasts, only to fall lifelessly to the earth.

Even their outdated equipment, such as several old Model 31 mountain guns, could not escape destruction beneath this furious bombardment, reduced to unrecognizable wreckage.

On the battlefield, even the timeworn iron gun barrels, scarred by countless engagements, were rendered unidentifiable under such intense fire.

The earth and air trembled with the violence of the explosions, smoke and flames mingled, and the 63rd Brigade began to reveal their absolute dominance.

A dust-covered, breathless enemy officer burst into the command tent, reporting, “Lieutenant General Amatani, we are in dire straits! Our artillery positions are under heavy attack by the Chengyun Army and are desperately attempting to withdraw!” His voice betrayed an unmistakable panic.

“The Chengyun Army’s firepower is simply too fierce—even the garrison regiment assigned to defend the artillery was not spared, suffering over five hundred casualties from the concentrated bombardment.”

Amatani’s expression froze, as cold and bleak as a winter lake, anger and frustration warring on his face. He clenched his fists and cursed furiously, “These damned Xin Dynasty troops—do their cannons all have eyes? How are they managing this?”

“Sir, the enemy has begun systematic artillery suppression. Our positions are in grave danger. What are your orders?” Another staff officer rushed in, his tone anxious, his eyes seeking guidance.

Lieutenant General Amatani was gripped by an unprecedented sense of defeat, as if all his plans and confidence had been devoured by the enemy’s fire and smoke.

Once, they looked down from on high, believing the Chengyun Army could be easily crushed. Now, the situation had been entirely reversed.

Yet Amatani’s instincts as a soldier and his battlefield ferocity quickly overshadowed his disappointment. A flash of grim resolve crossed his eyes. “Damn these Xin Dynasty soldiers. Today, I will make them all pay!”

He immediately swung his arm and issued a decisive order: “Inform the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Regiments at once—flank the Chengyun Army’s artillery zone and attack from both wings! We must break through their defenses before night fully fades!”

Though their artillery had suffered a mortal blow, Amatani remained full of confidence.

In his eyes, his rigorously trained, disciplined soldiers were invincible war gods, facing only weak adversaries—much as they had easily defeated the former dynasty’s General Batulu decades ago.

At his command, two elite regiments surged forward in a wave, forming a spearhead aimed at the Chengyun Army’s defensive line.

Under their regimental commanders’ meticulous direction, these soldiers moved like a sharpened blade, executing precise tactical maneuvers to rapidly approach the Chengyun Army’s rear trenches.

Though not tall, these enemy soldiers were robust, every man a product of superb logistics and rigorous training—sculpted warriors, all.

Their rifles, though long, looked light in their hands. On the rugged hillsides, they moved with the swiftness of tigers descending a mountain, their speed astonishing.

With a sudden cry of “For the Emperor of Tenhuan!” the infantry ripped away their last pretense. Bloodshot eyes blazing, they raised their weapons and unleashed a flood-like assault upon the 211th Regiment’s positions.

It was the 211th’s first encounter with this foe, but the steel-forged will they’d honed in previous fierce battles made them unyielding.

“Hold steady! Do not fire until the enemy is within two hundred meters!”

Their calm discipline reminded every soldier: the enemy was mortal too—one bullet to a vital spot, and death would claim them just as surely.

As the enemy surged to the two-hundred-meter mark, Colonel Wang Muzhi, who had been tracking every development through his field glasses, made a swift and resolute decision.

“All units, open fire immediately! Do not let the enemy close within fifty meters of our positions!”

This was not only a demonstration of overwhelming firepower, but a critical moment to assert their strength.

Wang Muzhi knew well the enemy’s gambler’s mentality—from top to bottom, they believed that, having won a handful of battles, their every tactic was correct.

They clung to the same old strategies, year after year.

Typically, the enemy relied on their artillery, coordinating infantry and gunners in time-tested fashion. If met head-on, their artillery would blast open the way, infantry following close behind to press the attack. If the defenders held, the enemy would adjust—leading with infantry assaults, then unleashing artillery to break the line.

In essence: first the artillery, then the infantry charge.

It was a simple method, but it had brought them repeated victories on the battlefield.

Yet this blind confidence in their tactics spelled disaster when faced with the 211th Regiment’s withering fire support.

The battlefield was engulfed in thunderous artillery, machine gun, and rifle fire—an impenetrable web of bullets and shells that annihilated any enemy attempting to breach the line.

Ammunition poured down like a torrential storm, sparing no one, enveloping every enemy soldier in its deadly embrace. The cacophony of explosions and gunfire was deafening.

This battlefield had become a stage for the one-sided slaughter of the enemy.