The night was deep and dark. In the corridors of the Marshal Mansion, Zhang Xueliang staggered as he walked, muttering nonstop.
"Commander... Commander of the Eastern Route Army... Did Dad drink too much?"
He grabbed the relatively sober Zhang Xueming beside him. "Second Brother, tell me—can I do this? That's an army of tens of thousands! We're going to clash head-on with that old bastard Cao Kun! I... Why do I feel so unsure?"
"Brother, you're the Commander now. Could you at least act like one?" Zhang Xueming supported him, his tone carrying a hint of helplessness. "We haven't even reached the battlefield, and you're already chickening out?"
"I'm not chickening out! I'm simply aware of my own limitations!" Zhang Xueliang stuck out his neck as the liquor surged into his head. "When it comes to armchair strategy, I'm invincible under heaven. But with real blades and real guns... I'm afraid of disgracing Dad. I'm afraid of leading the brothers into a ditch!"
Zhang Xueming patted him on the back, not lightly.
"Being afraid is the right response. Anyone who isn't afraid is an idiot. Just remember this: behind you, you still have me—and the entire Feng Army."
After stuffing his drunken elder brother back into his room, Zhang Xueming finally breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward his own courtyard.
When he pushed open the door, Yu Fengzhi was sitting beneath the lamp, needle and thread in hand, though she had yet to make a stitch.
The moment she saw Zhang Xueming enter, she set down what she was holding and hurried over. She scrutinized him carefully, and only after confirming that he was unharmed did she scold him, "Drinking again? You reek of liquor."
"Today was a special situation." Zhang Xueming let her remove his coat, still carrying the chill of the night. He took the opportunity to pull her into his arms, resting his chin atop her head and breathing in her familiar fragrance.
Only here could he shed all his disguises and vigilance.
"War is coming," he whispered.
Yu Fengzhi's body stiffened noticeably, but she soon relaxed. She merely tightened her arms around him.
"I guessed as much." Her voice was soft. "You... are you the Commander?"
"Deputy. Big Brother is the principal Commander."
Yu Fengzhi asked no more. She knew what should be asked and what should not. She merely raised her head and looked into her man's eyes. "Then, shouldn't that new production line at the Anshan Armaments factory finally be put to use? You invested so much money in secret—what kind of Treasured One did you actually build?"
A smile tugged at the corners of Zhang Xueming's lips.
"An Iron Turtle capable of changing the balance of the war."
He paused, then asked, "The thing... is it already out?"
"Mm. One unit was assembled the day before yesterday. The Armaments factory sent you a telegram, but you were probably too busy to see it," Yu Fengzhi replied. "They're just waiting for you to go over and inspect it."
"Good!"
Excitement flickered in Zhang Xueming's eyes.
The little scheme in his heart clattered away like firecrackers.
Those two Prussian military advisers, Manstein and Lucas, went on every day about deep penetration and mobile warfare, yet they did not even have a decent teaching aid in their hands. They relied entirely on smooth talk to bluff people.
Well, now the real thing had arrived.
Whether it was a mule or a horse, it was time to bring it out for a run!
The next day, before dawn had broken, Zhang Xueming boarded a special train bound for Anshan.
Anshan was rich in mineral resources and had a robust heavy-industrial foundation. It was home to the Feng Army's largest Armaments factory. Towering chimneys belched black smoke, and the entire factory grounds were filled with the distinctive scent of steel mixed with Machine Oil—a smell brimming with raw power.
On the Armaments factory's dedicated drill ground, Zhang Xueming saw the "Treasured One" that had cost him a full six million Silver Dollars.
It lay there quietly, like a Steel Behemoth lying in wait. It had a boxy hull, sloped frontal armor, a broad track, and a rotating turret topped with a small-caliber cannon.
By Zhang Xueming's standards from later generations, this "Type 1 Armored Combat Vehicle" looked somewhat crude and primitive. But in this era, it was a Dimensional Strike.
"Gott im Himmel! (My God!)"
"Unglaublich! (Unbelievable!)"
When they saw the tank, Manstein and Lucas, the two normally rigorous Prussian officers, completely lost their composure. They rushed over, circling the tank again and again, running their hands over the cold steel plates. Their eyes held a tangled mixture of fervor, shock, and infatuation.
"General Zhang, this... this was made by you?" Manstein's throat was somewhat dry.
"Who else?" Zhang Xueming handed him a pair of gloves. "Want to climb aboard and take it for a spin? Experience the feeling of a Land Cruiser."
"Of course! Of course I do!"
The two Germans scrambled impatiently onto the tank.
With some basic instruction from the technicians, the two men—worthy of being top military experts—quickly mastered the fundamentals of operation.
Amid a burst of rumbling, the Steel Behemoth awoke. Its engine let out a muffled roar, its tracks crushed across the ground and kicked up clouds of dust as it began racing around the drill ground. Accelerating, turning, crossing trenches, flattening obstacles... Their movements were still somewhat stiff, but that unstoppable impact had already made everyone watching hold their breath.
Half an hour later, the tank came to a steady stop. Manstein and Lucas climbed out of the turret, their cheeks flushed crimson with excitement.
"General!" Manstein seized Zhang Xueming's hand, his emotions running high. "If... if the German army had possessed even a hundred armored vehicles like this at the Somme River back then, the outcome of the war would absolutely have been rewritten! We wouldn't have lost!"
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