Changjin Lake: From Xinxingli to Seoul

Chapter 342 Wu Wanli's strategy of exhausting his troops and waiting to lure the US Second Division into the trap!

Fupingli, the headquarters of the Seventh Steel Corps

"Let Lei Gong's artillery detachment continue to bombard the area with large amounts of smoke shells, then continue to sound the charge, and let small groups of soldiers roar as they attack!"

Wu Wanli glanced at his watch and said.

"Wanli, according to the latest battle report, the US 2nd Division has broken through the ambush zone in Hanxi Canyon and is rushing towards us."

We've been using this strategy of wearing down our troops for so long, isn't it about time for a real all-out offensive?

Liu Hanqing handed the telegram to Wu Wanli and said.

"My brother and the other comrades from other units worked hard and greatly weakened the strength of the US 2nd Division..."

However, we must not rush things at times like these. We should exhaust our troops one last time and use up their ammunition one last time.

After all, judging from the last time, all they had left to do when facing the bugle call in the smoke was to use machine gun fire for reconnaissance.

The previous artillery barrage, rocket launchers, machine guns, and submachine gun fire are gone; this is a good sign.

Wu Wanli said.

"That's for sure!"
We completely surrounded Fupingli, preventing any logistical supplies from getting in.

In addition, every time they airdropped supplies, we would use smoke bombs to intercept them, and if they were recognized, we would use anti-aircraft artillery in conjunction with the Chinese Air Force to drive them away.

I reckon the US military ammunition depot in Fupingli is so poor right now that rats can run across it!

Upon hearing this, Yu Congrong immediately smiled and said...

"Commander-in-Chief, who should be sent on this feint attack mission?"

Gao Daxing scratched his head and asked.

"Pinghe, you take the reconnaissance team to do this. Take advantage of the smoke clearing up after the cleanup to snipe as many as possible."

Wu Wanli thought for a moment, then looked at Pinghe and said.

"Yes!"

Upon hearing this, Pinghe immediately agreed.

"Listen carefully to my plan: after this feigned attack to exhaust our troops, we will immediately launch another full-scale offensive!"

The feigned attack tactic was the same as before: Lei Gong's artillery detachment used smoke bombs and a small number of bombs for cover, while Ping He led the reconnaissance detachment to charge for a while and then withdrew.

The general offensive was to have Yu Congrong lead the fire support detachment to attack the west, Gao Daxing lead the assault detachment to attack the east, and Pinghe lead the reconnaissance detachment to attack the north.

I personally led the armored guard battalion to attack the south, while Lei Gong's artillery detachment switched to high-explosive shells and bombarded me relentlessly!
I've also contacted the Air Force; they'll be bombing to coordinate with our operation!
Remember, you must take Fupingli as quickly as possible!
I want the defenders of Fuping Village to only have time to send a telegram announcing the fierce attack, but not enough time to inform them of the fall of Fuping Village!

Wu Wanli looked at everyone and said seriously.

"Commander-in-Chief, you weakened the garrison of Fupingli for so long and used the siege and exhaustion tactics for so long, was it all for the sake of a quick victory today?"

Now, only a mixed force of British, French, and American troops, lacking food and ammunition, remain in Fupingli. They're easy to defeat!

Lei Gong took a puff of his pipe and seemed to realize something, then said...

"The garrison at Fuping Village was too close to report the loss of their position?"

Wanli, are you trying to use the information gap that Fupingli hasn't fallen to deal with the US Second Division?

Could it be... that they're trying to lure you into a trap?

Liu Hanqing's eyes lit up, and he suddenly realized what was going on.

"Hahahaha... Tactics are constantly adjusted according to the battlefield situation; this is just one of my plans."

"Go and carry out the orders. We don't have much time left."

Wu Wanli looked at the Heavenly Eye map in his mind and said.

"Yes!"

Upon hearing this, the officers and key personnel of the Seventh Steel Corps quickly responded.

..........................................

Ten minutes later, on the outskirts of Fupingli, at the artillery position of the 7th Steel Brigade
Lei Gong squatted next to an American-made howitzer, his rough fingers pinching two shells marked with white.

The artillerymen on all sides moved swiftly and silently.

The cannon barrel had long since cooled, and the soil was filled with a strong smell of gunpowder and engine oil.

Ahead, Fupingli was shrouded in the deepest inky blue of the pre-dawn sky, with only a few scattered searchlight beams listlessly sweeping across the barbed wire and paisley along the edge of the position.

"Captain Lei, it's time."

A Chinese volunteer soldier with his face covered in gunpowder reported in a low voice.

Lei Gong did not answer immediately. He looked up at the hillside where the command post was located, took out his old, worn-out pipe, thought for a moment, and then put it back.

"Load, smoke grenades! Fire three in quick succession, extending coverage to the enemy's forward positions!"

Lei Gong's deep but clear voice carried throughout the surrounding artillery positions. Without the need for the commanding officer to shout, the soldiers had formed an absolute tacit understanding.

The sound of a bullet being pushed into the chamber and the clanging of metal rang out briefly as the muzzle rapidly adjusted its angle slightly.

"put!"

A series of low, short roars rang out, and flashes of fire suddenly spewed from the muzzles, instantly illuminating the focused and serious faces of the artillerymen.

Three heavy shells tore through the air, crashing down on the forward defensive positions of the defenders of Fupingli with a deathly shriek.

"Puff puff!"

In an instant, a large amount of grayish-white chemical fumes spread out at an alarming speed.

Almost simultaneously, the same smoke rose up near more than a dozen forward positions, like ghosts emerging from the ground.

In an instant, thick smoke enveloped the front lines of the US, British, and French allied positions, completely cutting off visibility.

A familiar, pungent chemical-smelling white mist rolled and surged toward them.

Inside Fuping Village, front-line foxholes of the Allied forces

Private John Miller huddled in the cold, damp foxhole, his body barely covered by a thin blanket.

The water at the bottom of the pit soaked through my trouser legs, and it was bitterly cold.

When the distant, thunderous sound of a cannonball leaving its barrel reached him, he jolted awake almost reflexively, his bloodshot eyes snapping open and his heart clenching.

He grabbed the Garand rifle from the edge of the pit as if he'd been electrocuted, his fingers stiff from the cold and fear.

"Fuck! Here we go again!"

Franks, a U.S. soldier with a stubble-covered chin, cursed as he threw his half-lit cigarette into the mud.

They pressed their bodies down to their lowest point almost simultaneously, their helmets pressed firmly against the frozen soil at the edge of the pit.

However, the expected earth-shaking, debris-splitting explosion did not occur.

Only those few familiar, dull, viscous sounds remained.

John looked up, his fear instantly replaced by extreme agitation and numbness.

"Damn it! It's that damn smoke again! Just how many of these things do those yellow devils have?"

He watched as thick white smoke rapidly filled his vision, reducing visibility to just a few meters.

The smoke was not lethal, but it was more nerve-wracking than any artillery shell.

It means the unknown, it means a long, anxious wait.

Immediately afterwards, the sharp sound that pierced through the smog and broke through the dawn came like an invisible whip.

"Drip drip drip drip— drip drip drip drip—"

Suddenly, the resounding bugle call of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army rang out!
The horn sound echoed through the valley without any obstruction, as if countless enemies were hiding behind the smoke, ready to charge at us with bayonets at the next second!
"Enemy! Prepare for battle!"

Dozens of meters behind the foxhole, a hoarse British captain's voice roared through the thick fog.

John reflexively pulled the bolt to chamber the gun, his fingers gripping the trigger, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

He strained to open his eyes, trying to see through the damned white curtain.

Sweat and cold mingled and trickled down his temples.

A cacophony of weapon whirring, coughing, and nervous growls rose around him.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Do not fire without orders! Conserve ammunition!"

Another officer's voice came through, carrying an undeniable sternness.

This order was etched into the minds of almost every frontline soldier.

After countless "boy who cried wolf" scenarios, conserving every bullet became the top priority. The ammunition depot at the rear was indeed nearly empty.

The echoes of the cannon fire still rolled through the valley, and the acrid smoke had already reached the ambush site.

Pinghe raised his wrist, and in the dim morning light, the second hand of his watch pointed exactly to the designated position.

He waved his hand forward expressionlessly, without the slightest hesitation, his movements swift and decisive.

Behind him, a large number of agile figures, as lithe as leopards, sprang out from behind shallow pits or rocks covered with withered branches and leaves.

Dressed in camouflage that blends seamlessly into the mountainous landscape, they moved with agility and speed, like rolling rocks in the mountains.

There were no shouts, only the rustling of boots crunching on gravel and dry grass, and the hissing of rapid breathing, as they rushed toward the enemy's front lines engulfed in thick smoke.

Everyone had the safety off their guns, their fingers pressed tightly against the cold trigger guards, their sharp eyes piercing through the fog, searching for every suspicious shadow.

On the Allied defense line, at a heavy machine gun position

Smoke and dust billowed, completely obstructing visibility.

Heavy machine gunner Dave nervously turned the heavy barrel of the Browning M1919A4 machine gun, his knuckles turning white.

Sweat stung his eyes.

The assistant gunner next to him, Bill, was also trembling slightly as he held the ammunition belt.

The searchlight beams distorted and scattered in the smoke, forming murky beams that only added to the sense of chaos.

"Where are they? Damn it! I can't see anything!"

Dave's voice, muffled behind the gas mask, betrayed barely suppressed fear.

With each bugle call to charge, he seemed to see countless blurry, silent figures emerge from the smoke.

Past experience told him that he couldn't waste ammunition and fire blindly in this situation; the Chinese wanted them to use up their ammunition.

He could only wait, wait for a clear goal.

The sharp bugle call seemed to be getting closer and closer, lingering right in front of my ears.

Dave's heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest, and he instinctively pulled the trigger hard!

"Da da da - da da da -"

The scorching bullet left a brief, faint trail of fire before disappearing into the depths of the thick fog, vanishing instantly like a clay ox sinking into the sea.

The muzzle flash briefly illuminated his dusty and terrified face.

He didn't see the enemy, fired a short burst of fire lasting less than half a second, and then, suppressing his instincts, forced the scalding trigger to be released.

The abrupt cessation of machine gun fire made the deathly silence in the thick fog seem even more oppressive.

The assistant gunner, Bill, opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he simply handed over another heavy ammunition belt in silence.

This was the last remaining amount of ammunition, and they were well aware of the consequences of firing blindly.

It could attract precise artillery fire, or expose your position and invite sniper fire.

Everyone remembers that flank firing point yesterday, which was blown up by a mortar in less than ten seconds because it couldn't resist firing for a long time.

Sporadic bursts of gunfire began to echo across the Allied positions.

Most of the shots were short bursts of fire from heavy machine guns or rifles, as they blindly searched for the invisible enemy in the thick smoke.

The bugle call continued to wail mournfully, one call after another, like an invisible noose wrapped around the necks of every defending soldier.

At this moment, Pinghe was pressed against a low bunker formed by a section of collapsed barbed wire posts. His cold eyes pierced through the thin mixture of smoke and morning light, locking onto a firing port a few dozen meters to his left.

The flashes of machine gun fire had just appeared there, the location clearly imprinted in his mind.

The reconnaissance detachment soldiers behind him were scattered and concealed, advancing in pairs, taking turns to provide cover.

They knew this terrain inside and out, which had been scouted repeatedly.

Upon hearing the sporadic, hesitant gunfire from the Allied positions, Pinghe revealed a barely perceptible smile.

This is exactly what they want: forcing their opponents into a passive, blindly exhausting, and tense situation.

A figure swiftly moved from the flank to his side; it was Xiao Liu, the scout of the squad, whose movements were as agile as a cat.

"Commander, at seven o'clock, in a shallow pit, there's a sound! At least two, like a Bren light machine gun crew."

Xiao Liu's voice was extremely low, almost as if it were just air brushing against his throat.

Pinghe immediately began to use a complex series of sign language.

The two reconnaissance team soldiers nodded silently and crawled out like ghosts, heading in the direction Xiao Liu had indicated.

They don't need to communicate verbally; the meaning of every gesture is ingrained in their very being.

Immediately afterwards, a tense and hurried English conversation and the clicking sound of a gun bolt being pulled could be heard from the smoke ahead!

The sound was particularly jarring in the quiet morning, revealing their location!
Without hesitation, Pinghe raised the submachine gun above his head and pulled the trigger hard!
"Da da da da da—!!"

A rapid burst of long bursts of fire, like exploding firecrackers, spread wildly through the thick fog!

Hot bullets rained down on the direction from which the sound came.

The goal is not to kill, but to create chaos and deepen panic!

The other reconnaissance detachment soldiers instantly understood the intention and immediately opened fire on all directions where the enemy might be hiding!
In an instant, the roar of submachine guns exploded on the front line of Fupingli!

Although they were few in number, under the cover of smoke and chaos, gunfire rang out from all directions, giving the defenders the illusion that the enemy was all around them!
"kill--!"

A tall soldier next to Pinghe suddenly roared, his voice loud and rough, with a deliberate wildness.

This is part of the plan to add a realistic impact to the feint attack.

"Kill--!"

Other soldiers also burst out with short, wild roars, their voices intertwining with the intense gunfire and billowing smoke, creating an offensive momentum far more ferocious than the actual scale!

At the same time, they did not advance recklessly, but relied on cover to carry out alternating firing and cover movement with great skill, and the spent shell casings clattered on the cold ground.

Meanwhile, in a bunker a little further behind the coalition lines...
A group of British soldiers huddled together in a relatively concealed bunker.

They were in reserve, but the bugle calls, gunshots, and shouts of battle from the front were still clearly audible.

Young Corporal Tommy Evans huddled in the corner.

He stood guard for three consecutive nights, and every cannon shot and bugle call made him like a frightened bird, and he hardly slept a wink.

At that moment, intense gunfire erupted again from the front lines, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably, his teeth chattering behind his gas mask.

"Save your energy, kid."

A tank crewman from Liverpool standing nearby spoke in a hoarse voice, like a broken bellows.

He wiped the dust-covered gas mask lens with his dirty sleeve, his cloudy eyes looking in the direction where the smoke was rising in the distance.

"Judging from the gunfire, most of it came from their submachine guns, with sporadic shots from our side."

Same as yesterday...the night before last...the day before yesterday.

Damn it, if my Churchill tank hadn't been blown up, I wouldn't be stuck at this post.

The old tank soldier's voice was filled with numb weariness.

He had survived Dunkirk and Normandy, and believed he was immune to fear.

But at this moment, this endless, repetitive torment made him feel a weariness that seeped into his very bones.

"But...Peter...the shouts of battle..."

Tommy's voice was trembling with tears.

"Bullshit shouts of battle!"

Peter abruptly interrupted him, slamming the Enfield rifle in his arms.

"It's just a few 'yellow monkeys' yelling in the smoke!"
They dare not charge! It's always the same!

Create chaos by firing shots, then shuffle back like a rat!

Our precious bullets! Damn it! Let them waste them!

He became more and more agitated as he spoke, and finally almost roared out his anger, venting the pent-up rage of the past few days.

After saying that, he leaned back forcefully, closed his eyes, and actually rested his head against the cold stone wall, trying to force himself to fall asleep.

But the fingers gripping the gun remained taut.

Several soldiers nearby, equally exhausted, including two from the French Foreign Legion, exchanged empty glances.

The veteran's angry outburst acted like a strange tranquilizer, slightly relaxing their tense nerves.

They lowered their weapons, some took out the last fragments of cigarettes and lit them, while others clutched their helmets, staring blankly at the wooden planks at the top of the bunker. The sounds of gunfire seemed to fade into the distance, becoming somewhat indistinct.

At this time, inside the Allied Forces' temporary command post at the core position of Fupingli.

A flickering lantern hung on the supporting log, its dim light filling the air with the heavy smells of smoke, sweat, and anxiety.

U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel Henry frowned deeply, his face ashen like a frozen rock.

He hadn't slept for several hours, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the battle map spread out on the rough wooden table.

The outline of Fupingli was tightly encircled by red pencil lines, representing the encirclement of the Seventh Steel Brigade.

The map edge marks the direction of Hanxi Canyon.

A thick black arrowhead pierced straight into Fupingli from there, the vanguard of the US 2nd Division rushing to its aid.

"Report! There is a large-scale enemy smoke attack from the south, accompanied by the sound of bugle calls!"

A communications soldier took off his headset and reported urgently.

"Report! A heavy machine gun position to the east is probing with short bursts! They've encountered counter-fire from unidentified submachine guns! Number unknown!"

Another communications soldier then reported.

Henry did not give the order immediately.

He walked to the entrance of the shelter, and the heavy tarpaulin curtain was lifted a crack.

The pungent smell of smoke mixed with a faint gunpowder fumes immediately seeped in.

Outside, the sparse, hesitant gunfire continued, the damned bugle call sometimes clear, sometimes blurry.

He couldn't see the full picture of the battlefield; he could only passively receive these fragmented and chaotic pieces of information.

He knew, he knew it perfectly well!

This is Wu Wanli's "crying wolf" tactic!
This bastard is using smoke grenades and horns, along with a few submachine gun bullets, to constantly torture his soldiers' nerves, depleting their precious ammunition and last bit of morale!
This is a naked conspiracy!

Each time, he had to order his troops to go on high alert and defend against any breaches!

Because what if it's true?

What if, just once, there really is a tidal wave of bayonet charges behind that smoke?

The consequence was that the Fupingli defense line collapsed instantly!
He cannot bear this responsibility.

He had to demand that his soldiers be on high alert and ready to fight to the death.

"Keep all forward positions on high alert! Large-scale indiscriminate firing is strictly prohibited!"
Only precise shots or counter-attacks to confirmed targets are permitted!
Damn it! Tell them to open their eyes wider!

Henry's voice was hoarse, filled with helplessness and unvented anger.

The other staff officers in the command post remained silent, their faces etched with the same weariness and helplessness.

A deathly despair permeated the air.

They all knew the lieutenant colonel's order was correct, but they also knew that it couldn't truly solve the problem; instead, it was accelerating the soldiers' collapse.

Every so-called "vigilance" is a relentless drain on one's will.

"Damn it, is the Hanxi River still not open?"

Henry turned to a communications officer responsible for liaising with the division headquarters and the 2nd U.S. Division, his voice filled with anxiety.

"The canyon terrain is complex, and we encountered fierce resistance... We just broke through, but... they also need time."

A staff officer said.

"Have the officers below properly supervise the soldiers' defense; they absolutely cannot slacken their efforts!"

Henry frowned and finally spoke.

"Yes!"

The U.S. military staff officer quickly agreed.

..........................................

The location of the vanguard team of the reconnaissance detachment at the front line of the Fupingli battlefield.

The tall soldier at the front suddenly lunged forward and rolled, taking cover in a huge shell crater.

The icy mud instantly soaked through his legs. He gasped for breath and wiped the mixture of sweat and paint from his face.

The smoke thinned out slightly, and the figures of several enemies, leaning against dilapidated fortifications, could be vaguely seen less than fifty meters away.

He quickly set up his submachine gun on the edge of the pit, aimed at an American soldier who was peeking out, and fired a short burst!

"Da da da!"

The shadow opposite immediately shrank back, splashing dirt everywhere.

"transposition!"

The big warrior let out a low growl and suddenly shrank back.

Almost at the same moment he moved, a bullet grazed his scalp from the spot where he had just fired!

The opposing team also has experienced marksmen!
Another soldier quickly filled in for him, continuing to suppress the fortifications.

Pinghe lay hidden behind a raised earthen embankment, calmly observing the battlefield.

The sound of submachine gun fire still echoed around the squad, mixed with the soldiers' intermittent roars.

However, he discovered that the Allied positions had significantly reduced their counter-fire.

The gunfire became sparser, shorter, and the intervals between shots became longer.

The panic seemed to be replaced by a deeper kind of weariness.

The enemy no longer easily revealed their position to engage in blind firing.

His sharp gaze swept over several key points that were partially obscured by the smoke.

A machine gun emplacement built with sandbags had just fallen silent and had not fired again.

Behind a bunker beside a dirt road, two figures appeared to be clumsily carrying ammunition boxes, their movements slow and lacking any fighting spirit.

He slightly raised the Mosin-Nagant rifle in his hand, a sniper rifle equipped with a PE scope.

The cold stock pressed firmly against his shoulder, and the rough handguard gave him a brutal sense of stability.

His breathing slowed down, becoming deep and even, with the rise and fall of his chest almost imperceptible.

Target: Behind the dirt road bunker on the right side, an officer wearing glasses is bending over and waving his arms anxiously to the communications soldier squatting next to him.

The distance was approximately 250 meters. The light shifted in the smoke, and the wind was still blowing.

After calculating all this, Pinghe's finger rested steadily on the back of the trigger.

"breathe--"

Time seemed to stand still as he gently pressed down with his fingers, the pressure increasing evenly.

"Oh!"

The sound of Mosin-Nagant gunfire stood out starkly amidst the cacophony of submachine gun fire!

The gun jolted violently against Pinghe's shoulder, the powerful recoil neutralized by his skillful movements.

In the distance, amidst the smoke, the bespectacled figure suddenly stopped, the map in his hand fluttered to the ground, and his body slumped down as if his bones had been removed.

The soldier carrying ammunition boxes nearby let out a terrified scream and scrambled back into the depths of the bunker.

"it is good!"

A nearby reconnaissance squad member whispered his praise.

Pinghe remained expressionless as he pulled back the bolt, and the hot shell casings bounced out crisply, landing on the cold, muddy ground.

He quickly loaded the next bullet, his cold, sharp gaze once again sweeping across the battlefield.

Time passed, and the feint attack soon came to an end.
The intense gunfire, which lasted for about fifteen minutes, gradually subsided.

The echo of the bugle call disappeared completely into the morning mountain breeze.

Pinghe checked his watch again; the time was perfect. He let out a few short, sharp bird calls, which immediately echoed throughout the entire squad.

As if receiving a top-level order, all the soldiers in the reconnaissance detachment instantly ceased their pointless firing, stopped shouting, and stopped exposing themselves.

The fierce firefight came to an abrupt end, and the front lines, shrouded in thick fog, fell into a deathly silence, with only the smoke silently billowing and flowing.

The surviving soldiers of the Fupingli garrison were filled with suspicion and looked around, but all they saw was a strange white expanse.

The Chinese army vanished like a ghost, just as it had appeared.

There was no clamor of retreating footsteps, no cries of the wounded; apart from the shell craters and spent shell casings on the ground, it was as if the fierce attack had never happened.

Under Pinghe's silent hand gestures, the soldiers of the reconnaissance detachment began to move in coordination.

Using craters, rocks, tree debris, and even overturned vehicle wreckage, they quickly and methodically retreated back to their starting point.

As the final feint attack by the Seventh Steel Brigade ended, the Fupingli position fell into an even more suffocating silence.

The thick white smoke slowly thinned in the morning light, but the air was still filled with the pungent chemical smell mixed with gunpowder and the soldiers' despair.

Inside the forward foxhole, John Miller's taut body seemed to have all its strength drained away, and he collapsed into the cold mud.

He was panting heavily, not because of the battle just now, but because the fear and tension that had almost drained him of his life suddenly lost its support.

When he confirmed that there was nothing but a thin white mist and a mess in his field of vision, and that the terrifying bugle call had completely disappeared, a surge of overwhelming anger mixed with exhaustion suddenly welled up inside him.

"Fuck!"

John slammed his Garand rifle against the frozen ground at the edge of the pit with a dull thud.

"Damn yellow-skinned monkeys! Damn smoke bombs! Damn bugle calls! It's happening again! It's happening again!"

He slapped the cold muddy water hard, splashing it all over his face.

"Come on! Charge out! You cowardly coward hiding in the fog and sniping! If you have the guts, come out and fight like a man!"

Not far away, Franks had already removed his obtrusive gas mask and took a deep breath of the air that had finally become "fresher," but his face was even more ashen than before.

"Shit... They're just messing with us!"
Like playing with a bunch of monkeys!
Three whole days, no, almost four damn days!
"Are you trying to kill us all?!"

He simply plopped down in the puddles at the bottom of the pit, the icy cold seemingly unable to awaken his numb nerves.

"I just wasted over a dozen bullets! For what? I didn't even hit a single ghost! I might as well... I might as well just go to sleep!"

machine gun position

U.S. Soldier Dave's finger was stiff and white as he released the trigger, while the barrel remained scalding hot.

He stared blankly at the slowly dissipating smoke and the deserted front line of the position.

"It's over? Damn..."

His throat was dry, and his voice was as hoarse as a broken bellows.

Exhaustion washed over him like a tide, instantly drowning out the adrenaline that had been forcibly stimulated by the bugle calls and gunfire.

"The alarm keeps going off... my nerves are about to snap..."

He stopped turning the heavy gun, letting it point into nothingness, and then collapsed onto the cold machine gun guard, completely exhausted.

The assistant gunner, Bill, didn't say anything. He simply threw the remaining half of the ammunition belt into the mud at his feet, then slid down against the sandbags and pulled his helmet down to cover his face.

A low, suppressed sob seemed to come from under the helmet.

Inside the reserve bunker in Fupingli, Tommy Evans, who had just been awakened by the gunfire, was now trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind, but this time not from fear, but from an uncontrollable surge of anger and resentment.

"They're gone! They're gone again!"

Tommy cried out, his voice sharp and piercing.

“Peter! Did you hear that? They ran away! We’ve been tricked again! Why did I get up! I was sleeping so soundly…”

His eyes were bloodshot and filled with bewildered tears.

Old soldier Peter didn't even bother to open his eyes, only letting out a long, extremely bored "humph" from his nose.

"What did I tell you?"

The yellow monkey... it's just making a lot of noise.

They dared not charge; their bullets were worthless, but our lives and bullets...

They're all incredibly precious.

He shifted his body, finding a more comfortable position to lean against the cold stone wall.

Close your eyes! Go to sleep!

Damn it, whatever the orders are!
"I'm going all in! Next time, unless you actually see a bayonet right in front of your nose, don't even think about me getting up!"

His words spread like a plague through the reserves.

Several French Foreign Legion soldiers looked at each other, exchanging glances that conveyed a sense of resigned relief.

A soldier groped to pick up the last bit of a cigarette butt from the ground, silently lit it, took a deep drag, and then slumped down completely.

Another soldier even gently placed the rifle he was holding onto the ground.

No one spoke, but a collective, almost rebellious sense of relaxation permeated the air, and exhaustion, like a mountain, crushed all disciplinary constraints.

Around the core position, a few officers or non-commissioned officers who had been trying to maintain order looked at the soldiers who were collapsing, cursing, and even openly saying that they should just sleep. They moved their throats, but in the end, they just opened their mouths and couldn't give any orders.

Weren't they themselves exhausted to the extreme?

Alarms sounded again and again, and tensions escalated to the point of exhaustion, only to waste time in the end.

An old soldier sitting against the wall spat out a mouthful of saliva and said, "Pah! Those bureaucrats in the command post!"

They always make us be on high alert and keep our eyes wide open! Bullshit!

I can't even open my eyes anymore!
Next time? If those Chinese bastards blow their horns again, I'll take it as their funeral music!
"I'll bet you I'll sleep! Count me in!"

These words drew weak echoes from those around him, and some even let out short, bitter sneers.

"Yes! Let them go to sleep! Let them play by themselves!"

"Damn it, I'm out of bullets anyway, I can't win even if I get up! I might as well go to sleep!"

"If they really dare to come... they'd better be quick... to save ourselves the trouble..."

Despair and extreme exhaustion distorted his judgment.

Several days of mental torture and repeated "boy who cried wolf" finally eroded the last bit of vigilance.

These soldiers didn't think the Chinese People's Volunteer Army was no longer dangerous; rather, they felt that this endless harassment was more maddening than actual combat.

They preferred to believe that this was all the Volunteer Army could do—wear out the enemy and deplete their ammunition—but dared not launch a full-scale attack.

They would rather risk their lives, even if it's a lie, just to gain a moment, even just a moment, of undisturbed, numbing sleep.

The air in Fupingli was filled with disdain for the commander's orders, hatred and curses for the Chinese army's tactics, and a collective sense of surrender, despair, and numbness.

The battlefield was no longer a heavily guarded fortress, but a place of morale collapse, where fatal underestimation of the enemy quietly festered in numbness and despair.

....................................

Meanwhile, inside the headquarters of the Seventh Steel Corps
Wu Wanli's eyes were fixed on the watch face on his wrist, the mechanical ticking of the second hand was exceptionally clear in the extreme silence.

"Attention all personnel! As planned, the general offensive begins! Lei Gong, fire the cannons!"

Wu Wanli gave the order in a deep voice, each word like a steel nail being hammered into the chain of commands.

There was a moment of silence on the radio, followed by Lei Gong's powerful reply: "Artillery detachment received!"
Smoke grenades loaded, final smoke cover, fire!

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

In an instant, just like a repeat of the past few days, dense shells once again rose into the air from the artillery position of the Seventh Steel Brigade, slamming into the front line of the defending troops in Fupingli with a sharp whistling sound that tore through the air!

This time, the location and impact of the shell explosions were carefully adjusted.

Large amounts of grayish-white smoke, like raging waves, once again enveloped the Allied positions with even greater force.

Especially near key intersections, anti-tank ditches, and machine gun positions, the smoke spread at an astonishing speed.

"Look! More smoke! Those damn Chinamen are never going to stop!"

In the foxholes at the front of Fuping Village, John Miller was almost too exhausted to even curse.

He watched numbly as the white mist enveloped everything again, his hand merely resting symbolically on the cold stock of the Garand rifle.

"I'm sleeping... No one can wake me up... Not even God..."

Curled up deeper in the bunker, Franks murmured, his eyelids heavy as if filled with lead. The false anger he had just felt had been completely overwhelmed by immense exhaustion and despair.

This time, faced with the sound of artillery fire and smoke, many soldiers reacted in a surprisingly unanimous manner.

They didn't even have the will to get up. Only a few extremely conscientious sentries picked up their weapons, their eyes blankly staring at the swirling white smoke in the distance.

Throughout the entire Fupingli defense perimeter, a chilling sense of complacency and a collective spiritual numbness permeated the atmosphere.

But this time, the smoke carried the echoes of death.

This time, the bombardment was personally supervised by Lei Gong.

On the surface, it still started with deceptive smoke bombs, but with precise calculations, the high-explosive shells mixed in targeted several reinforced concrete firing positions and sturdy houses near the Fupingli exit on the south line, paving the way for the impending steel torrent.

A muffled explosion rang out from deep within the smoke, mixed with the cracking sounds of shredded steel and bricks.

To the exhausted and sensual soldiers, all of this was nothing more than a replay of the events of the past few days.

No one was alert, no one rallied, and more people buried their heads in their arms, praying for a moment of peace.

"Attention all assault units! This is Commander-in-Chief Wu Wanli! Attack commence!"

Wu Wanli's orders were simultaneously transmitted via encrypted channels to the attack forces that had been lying in wait in all four directions.

Almost simultaneously with Wu Wanli's order, attacking forces from the west, north, and east, poised to strike, were like three precisely scalpels thrusting out.

Fupingli West Side

As several heavy mortar shells, serving as a signal for advance, landed precisely in front of the defenders' fortifications at the edge of the smoke, Yu Congrong's signature loud voice boomed over the radio:

"Fire support unit! Open fire! Shoot them to death!"

More than two thousand Chinese People's Volunteer Army soldiers, equipped with light and heavy machine guns, mortars, rocket launchers, and flamethrowers, suddenly leaped out from their camouflaged positions.

They didn't let out any pointless roars; instead, a terrifyingly dense barrage of fire instantly exploded across the entire western defensive line!

The barrage of bullets completely covered any defensive points within sight, making it impossible for them to even lift their heads.

Several assault teams carrying bazookas moved with lightning speed under absolute fire cover, approaching the sturdy firing points or bunkers built with sandbags.

"Hiss—Boom!"

The rocket accurately penetrated the firing port, turning the people and weapons inside into shrapnel.

The long tongues of flame from the flamethrowers licked at the stragglers who were holding out against the windows of the houses, their screams drowned out by the roar of gunfire.

There was hardly any need for a charge; under such fierce and precise heavy fire, the defenders on the western front were almost unable to mount a decent counterattack.

Most of the garrison soldiers in Fupingli were pinned down in foxholes or instantly destroyed in their bunkers in shock.

In just a quarter of an hour, a huge gap was completely breached in the western defenses. Yu Congrong took the lead and led his troops into the city like a flood bursting its banks.

(End of this chapter)