Do Their Cannonballs Come Free?

Just as the two Japanese spies on Qinglong Mountain were scared out of their wits and frantically sending the highest-level warning to headquarters.

Their direct superior, Matsui Shigeki, was personally at the front line.

This future Army General, at this moment also dressed in an unremarkable local peasant outfit, mingled among a group of subordinates in similar disguise, holding a German-made Zeiss high-powered telescope, his expression grave as he observed the distant battlefield.

This location was farther from Qinglong Mountain and more concealed.

The reason Matsui Shigeki had to come in person was simply unavoidable.

After that earth-shattering war in Europe ended, the global military landscape was reshuffling.

England, Gaul Chicken, German Cat—which one wasn't straining to develop new weapons?

His empire's Intelligence Department had been in a mess lately, all because the Feng Army had somehow acquired a batch of mysterious Western artillery. Intelligence flew everywhere, but not a single piece was reliable.

As a core pillar of the Imperial Army, Matsui Shigeki knew well that a gap in weaponry could erase any tactical advantage.

He had to, and absolutely would, see with his own eyes what this legendary new Feng Army artillery really was—some kind of demon or monster.

But not seeing was one thing; once he saw, Matsui Shigeki's heart convulsed along with the explosions on the mountaintop.

His military acumen far surpassed that of the two minor agents.

In the telescope's field of view, those dozen or so cannons covered in camouflage netting delivered a fresh "shock" with every shot.

"Baka..."

Matsui Shigeki muttered to himself, his fingers gripping the telescope turning white from excessive force.

"Look at that trajectory!"

He lowered his voice, speaking to his adjutant beside him, but the terror in his tone was impossible to hide.

"The shells are falling almost vertically at ninety degrees. That means its maximum elevation is very high, very, very high!"

"High elevation, curved fire... that's standard howitzer characteristics."

The adjutant nodded, adding.

"No!"

Matsui Shigeki cut him off decisively.

"Didn't you see? A few shells just now were fired almost horizontally at the rock face on the mountainside! That means its cannon barrel's depression angle can go below the horizontal line!"

The adjutant's face changed instantly.

High elevation curved fire, low depression flat fire.

What did that mean?

It meant this cannon could both serve as a howitzer smashing targets over mountains and as an anti-tank gun, and could even elevate to hit planes in the sky!

What the hell kind of chimera was this!

"Now look at its power."

Cold sweat had already broken out on Matsui Shigeki's forehead.

"Judging from the explosion's flash and the shell crater's size, this batch of artillery has a caliber definitely above 85 millimeters! Even... even possibly larger!"

He thought of those few especially massive impact points just now, the apocalyptic scene leaving no doubt that 150-millimeter heavy cannons were mixed in.

"Our Type 92 Infantry Gun is nothing but a fire poker in front of it!"

"Our Type 1 Mountain Gun is nothing but a toy in front of it!"

Matsui Shigeki lowered the telescope, slowly closing his eyes, his mind rapidly running through war game simulations.

The conclusion was despair.

All the artillery currently equipped by the Imperial Army, facing this monster of range, rate of fire, and power, had no match at all.

The enemy could calmly blast you into scorched earth from outside your range.

What terrified him even more was the Feng Army's ammunition reserves.

"They've been firing for almost half an hour, and the intensity shows no sign of weakening. How many shells do they have? Are their shells free or something?!"

A young staff officer couldn't help but cry out.

Matsui Shigeki didn't answer. He just stared fixedly into the distance, a massive storm already raging in his heart.

This battle was no longer about suppressing bandits.

This was the Feng Army's Independent Battalion—no, that bastard Zhang Xueming—flexing his muscles at him, at the entire Kwantung Army!

Just then, the artillery fire on the mountaintop stopped without warning.

The sudden silence left everyone feeling a bit unsettled.

On the mountaintop, the surviving bandits crawled out from shell craters and ruins, each one covered in dust, their expressions dazed.

"Stopped? The shelling stopped?"

"Where's the boss! Where's the boss?"

Someone shouted, and soon, another pointed at a pile of charred flesh and mud, wailing.

"Big brother... Big brother's been blown to pieces!"

With the big brother dead, the bandits' last psychological defense crumbled.

"Brothers, dead is dead either way! Fight them to the end!"

A bandit leader, face drenched in blood, brandished a Boxer pistol and roared hoarsely.

"Charge down the mountain, and there's still a sliver of hope! Stay here, and it's waiting to die!"

"Charge!"

"Kill!"

The remaining hundred-odd bandits, howling wildly, gripped their assorted weapons and, like madmen, launched a desperate charge from the mountaintop toward the Feng Army positions below.

But on the Feng Army positions at the foot of the mountain, a bizarre scene unfolded.

The soldiers did not panic at the bandits' charge. Instead, they calmly and orderly slipped back into the trenches they had just dug, waiting in silence.