The Negroes were forced to launch a death charge at the East African positions, armed with a motley assortment of weapons from every nation as they came straight for the 111th Division.
"Fire!" At the command of the 111th Division's frontline officers, the East African Army took aim and pulled their triggers. "Bang... bang... bang..." The staggered yet rhythmic gunfire swept toward the Negroes, and in an instant, bodies fell in droves.
The 111th Division had already possessed a solid foundation, and after prolonged training, its soldiers were generally good shots. The Negroes on the other side were in for a disaster.
Five hundred meters was not very far, but for the Negroes, it was a sorrowful road of no return. Yet the East African soldiers' marksmanship clearly could not frighten them, because while rifles were terrifying, their intimidation was nothing compared to the machine guns Wiggins had displayed before the battle.
Wiggins had personally selected more than twenty slaves to stand before the machine guns, letting the other slaves witness what it meant for flesh and blood to fly in all directions in the blink of an eye. That scene had practically become the Negroes' nightmare. Compared with being blasted to pieces, having only one more hole in their bodies was obviously much better. Though both paths led to death, leaving behind an intact corpse would at least—probably, perhaps—lessen the suffering of their souls after death.
Even though the Negroes feared neither heaven nor earth, not a single one could break through the fire net formed by East African Dreyse rifles. As expected, every Negro who joined the charge fell. Whether any had lain on the ground pretending to be dead, however, was unknown.
"The engineers will continue their work. Ignore everything else!" After wiping out the attacking Negroes,