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

"Enemy attack!! All units, prepare for battle!!"

"Kill the chicken!"

"kill!"

Wang Yizhe lay prone in a shallow ditch on the north side of the sorghum field, holding a Mauser pistol in both hands, the muzzle still emitting blue smoke.

Behind him, three thousand elite soldiers of the Independent 7th Brigade had all leaped up from their concealed positions.

They lay on the frozen ground for two whole hours. The soil beneath their knees was thawed by their body heat, and the frost-covered straw stubble left haphazard marks on their uniforms.

They were selected one by one by Wang Yizhe from more than 8,000 people in the entire brigade.

There was only one criterion for selecting people: they had fought in battles, killed people, and wouldn't wet their pants at the sound of Japanese artillery fire.

"Fire!"

Only three seconds passed between Wang Yizhe's second command and the first.

He gave the Japanese no time to react, because on the battlefield, three seconds of hesitation could cost a hundred lives.

Three thousand rifles exploded at the same instant.

"Bang bang bang!"

"Bang bang bang!"

The muzzle flashes burst forth in the darkness, like a flaming fire dragon, shooting along the trench from one end to the other.

Bullets spun in the air like a fiery net, raining down on the Japanese soldiers in the sorghum field from three directions.

Countless sorghum stalks were severed by bullets, the white fragments dancing in the darkness, mingling with the blood mist.

The first volley of gunfire took down at least thirty Japanese soldiers.

The gunners standing on the outermost edge didn't even have time to turn around before bullets entered from their backs and exited from their chests, spraying bone fragments and flesh onto the gun shields with a crackling sound.

A mule pulling the cannon had its neck pierced by a bullet, letting out a mournful whinny. Its front legs buckled, dragging the entire Type 92 infantry gun to the ground.

The scope on the gun mount flew off, rolled several times on the frozen ground, and shattered into pieces.

"Fight back! Fight back!"

Kawashima was shouting at the top of his lungs, his saber flailing wildly in the air, its tip pointing north and then east, then east and then west. Bullets flew from every direction, and soldiers fell from every direction.

He was on horseback, the stirrups were tangled in the reins, the horse was spinning in place, its hooves trampling the corpses on the ground into a bloody mess.

The surviving Japanese soldiers lay down, crouching between the straw stubble and the frozen ground, and picked up their Type 38 rifles to fire wildly into the darkness.

But their shooting had completely lost its rhythm; they couldn't see their opponents, only muzzle flashes from guns in the darkness from three directions.

Someone fired a shot to the north, and the moment he pulled the bolt and ejected the spent cartridge, a bullet from the east pierced his shoulder.

Someone tried to set up the Type 96 machine gun, and just as the assistant gunner loaded the magazine, a bullet pierced through the magazine and struck the gunner between the eyebrows.

Lieutenant Koizumi, the Japanese company commander, was lying prone in a drainage ditch, barely able to hold his pistol steady.

His glasses were splattered with blood, making it impossible for him to see clearly outside. He could only judge the situation on the battlefield by sound.

Every gunshot he heard came from three different directions, and every scream was in Japanese.

He shouted at the top of his lungs at Kawashima:

"Captain! We're surrounded! Surrounded on three sides!"

"Hold on! The 29th Regiment is almost there!"

Kawashima shouted back, his voice already hoarse and cracking.

He dismounted, squatted behind an overturned infantry gun, took out a signal pistol from his pocket, and fired a red signal flare into the sky.

The signal flare rose into the sky, leaving a red trail, illuminating the surrounding fields for miles around in a blood-red hue.

But as the signal flare soared into the sky, Wang Yizhe's second order was already being relayed.

"Tanks! Charge!"

The gates of Beidaying Camp were suddenly flung open.

Two wooden doors covered with sheet metal were pushed open from the inside, the hinges making a rough creaking sound.

In the darkness of the doorway, two bright headlights shone simultaneously, like the eyes of two giant beasts suddenly opening, the beams of light shining directly onto the sorghum field.

Renault FT-17 tanks drove out of the camp gate.

This light tank, purchased from France, weighed only seven tons and had armor thickness of just over ten millimeters. Yet, it was the heaviest armored force in the hands of the Northeast Army at that time.

It was equipped with a 37mm short-barreled gun, the turret slowly rotating on the roof of the vehicle, the gun barrel aimed at the four Type 92 infantry guns that were still trying to be remounted in the sorghum field.

The tracks rolled over frozen soil, over stones, and over sorghum stalks, producing a harsh metallic scraping sound.

The vehicle bounced and rattled on the uneven terrain, causing the rivets on the turret to vibrate and make a soft, tinkling sound.

Following behind the tank were three infantry companies, crouching low with bayonets pointing forward, following the tank's steel body in skirmish line formation, like a pack of hounds following a alpha wolf.

Terrified screams filled the Japanese positions.

"Tanks! Tanks!"

A Japanese soldier screamed as he scrambled to his feet, abandoning his gun, and turned to run.

But he hadn't run ten steps when the Hotchkiss machine gun on the tank opened fire.

"Da da da da!"

"Da da da da!"

A burst of bullets entered his lower back and exited through his abdomen, folding him in half as he plunged headfirst into a dry drainage ditch.

The remaining three infantry guns were finally turned around.

A gunner lay on the ground, using his elbow to push the gun wheel, aiming the muzzle at the approaching Renault tank.

The gunner loaded an armor-piercing shell and pulled the breechblock.

"boom!"

The shell whistled out and hit the ground less than five meters to the left of the tank, kicking up a cloud of dirt. The tank only lurched slightly and continued forward.

The gunners frantically reloaded, but Wang Yizhe's artillery also opened fire.

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

On the wall of Beidaying, four 75mm Krupp field guns simultaneously spewed fire.

The shells flew over the ambush zone and crashed into the sorghum field with a sharp whistle.

The first shell landed right in the center of the sorghum field, the explosion sending flames soaring into the sky, and the shockwave hurled human remains and limbs into the air from within a radius of several meters.

The second shell landed in the middle of the three infantry guns, blowing the gun wheels off and overturning the gun carriages by the shockwave.

The two gunners were lifted off the ground by the blast wave, rolled twice in the air, and were unrecognizable when they hit the ground.

"Charge with me!"

Wang Yizhe stood up from the trench, raised his pistol above his head, and pointed the muzzle upwards.

He led the charge out of the trenches, and three thousand soldiers behind him launched a simultaneous attack from three directions.

Bayonets converged into three silver torrents under the moonlight, pressing towards the ever-shrinking yellow defensive line in the center of the sorghum field.