The Courtyard House: The Little Red Devil Returning from the Peninsula

The Japanese troops advanced in a very dense formation.

Unlike last night's probing raid, this was a standard infantry assault formation—a skirmisher line in the front, grenade launcher groups in the middle, machine gun cover in the rear, and reserves pressed behind them.

Zhao Weiguo lay prone behind the barricade, where a dense blue tactical line stretched out before him.

[Enemy attack scale: Squadron level]

[Firepower configuration: 4 grenade launchers, 1 Type 92 heavy machine gun, approximately 120 infantrymen]

[Attack Route: Advance along three routes, with the main attack on the southwest gap]

Threat Level: Extremely High

He glanced at the remaining ammunition on the city wall.

There were only three ammunition boxes left, and the grenades piled behind the sandbags numbered twenty-seven. The ammunition plates from the two light machine guns were stacked together, totaling less than ten.

The deputy battalion commander squatted down beside him, clutching the last cigarette in his hand, but hadn't lit it.

"Mr. Zhao, with all our savings..."

Zhao Weiguo interrupted him.

"Don't settle accounts. If we finish settling them, we won't need to fight."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng was holding a Type 38 rifle; the blisters on his hands had burst, and blood mixed with gun oil.

"How to fight?"

Zhao Weiguo pointed to the line he had drawn on the city bricks with charcoal outside the city.

"Let them cross this line."

"Did you pass?"

"If you miss the deadline, you're doomed."

Old Xu leaned against the sandbag, his face as white as paper, yet he still grinned.

"Mr. Zhao, you speak as if you were the King of Hell."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

"The King of Hell collects ghosts, I collect iron."

Outside the city, the Japanese army had already advanced to the moat.

The skirmishers in the front row held their Type 38 rifles, their bayonets flashing in the morning light. The four grenade launcher teams in the middle knelt down, their muzzles aimed at the city wall. Behind them, a Type 92 heavy machine gun was mounted on a cart, its muzzle pressed low, directly at the breach.

The deputy battalion commander's finger was on the trigger.

"They're about to open fire."

Zhao Weiguo shook his head.

"Not yet."

Where to?

"To the line I mentioned."

Outside the city, a Japanese sergeant raised his sword and shouted something.

The front-line skirmishers began to push forward.

Ten steps.

Fifteen steps.

The soldier surnamed Meng began to breathe rapidly.

"Mr. Zhao..."

"Don't move."

Eighteen steps.

The grenade launcher team also moved forward, with the grenade nozzles always pointed towards the city wall.

Nineteen steps.

Sweat beaded on the deputy battalion commander's forehead.

"If we don't attack now, they'll be right against the wall!"

Zhao Weiguo suddenly swung his hand downwards.

"beat!"

All the gun barrels on the city wall opened fire simultaneously.

It wasn't random hitting.

Every point that Zhao Weiguo had previously drawn on the city bricks has become a point of intersection for the firepower.

The two light machine guns ignored the front-line skirmishers and targeted the grenade launcher teams. Bullets swept across the ground, and all four launcher operators fell simultaneously, their grenade launchers tumbling into the mud.

Rifles were fired not at the center, but at the flanks. The Japanese skirmishers were caught from the side, and their formation immediately fell apart.

The grenades weren't thrown forward, but backward. Twenty-seven grenades flew over the front rank of skirmishers and landed in the rear reserve.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The reserve force was scattered by the bomb, and when they tried to send reinforcements, the area ahead was already in complete chaos.

Just as the Type 92 heavy machine gun was about to fire, the Meng-surname garrison and the skinny soldier's Type 38 rifles simultaneously opened fire.

Snap! Snap!

The machine gunner's shoulder exploded, and just as the assistant gunner reached out, the second shot arrived, piercing his throat.

The Type 92 heavy machine gun has fallen silent.

The Japanese sergeant brandished his sword and roared, trying to push the formation back.

Zhao Weiguo's pistol fired.

Snapped.

A volley of black blood exploded from the sergeant's chest, his sword slipped from his hand, and he plunged into the moat.

The attack from outside the city crumbled at the twenty-step line.