Let Them Feel What Despair Is

Zhang Xueming hung up the phone, the smile at the corners of his mouth growing broader.

On the artillery positions beside him, dozens of Big Guys—with rugged frames and pitch-black barrels—had just finished their first furious volley. The gunners were swiftly cleaning out the barrels, getting ready to load again.

These were his trump cards.

Soviet-made ML-20 152mm Howitzers.

He had gone to considerable lengths to get his hands on these weapons of mass destruction and smuggle them in without a sound.

Where had the money come from?

Why, he had "borrowed" it from the Japanese, of course.

The Japanese merchant guilds and Overseas Chinese in Qingshan Field were all rolling in money, throwing their weight around every day. All he had done was get them to "crowdfund" the war a little early.

Zhang Xueming raised his binoculars and gazed at the position in the distance, now reduced to scorched earth. He felt wonderfully satisfied.

"Damn, these guns sure pack a punch!"

Chu Shixin, Brigade Commander of the Feng Army's Independent Artillery Brigade, was a burly man whose voice could outshout a cannon. His face was flushed with excitement.

"Compared to the firecrackers we used to have, these are like gods descending from heaven!"

Zhang Xueming patted him on the shoulder and smiled.

"Like them?"

"Like them? I love them! Young Marshal, where'd you get these things? Get us some more!"

"Good. Glad you like them."

Zhang Xueming handed him the binoculars.

"Don't get excited just yet. We're not done."

"Those Japanese fellows who've been living the good life are probably scared witless by now."

"Now it's time to let them feel what despair is."

The high ground fell silent as the grave.

All that remained in the wind was the acrid smell of gunpowder and the strange stench of something burning.

Yamada Ichiro's binoculars clattered to the ground, but he didn't even notice. He only stared fixedly at the sea of flames in the distance.

The artillery position they had been so proud of not long ago.

Gone.

Nothing was left.

Fifty brand-new Western-style mountain artillery pieces, along with several hundred well-trained Imperial gunners, had been wiped off the face of the earth in just a few short minutes.

Matsui Shigeki was no better off. The hand gripping his binoculars trembled uncontrollably. His face was deathly pale, his lips quivering, not a word escaping them.

Shock?

No. This was terror.

The kind of fear that rose from the depths of the soul when the weak looked up at a god.

"Well, well. Now that was one hell of a fireworks display."

A lazy voice, edged with obvious amusement, broke the frozen silence.

Zhang Xueliang pulled out a handkerchief and leisurely wiped the corner of his mouth. He looked so relaxed, as though he'd just finished a bowl of tofu pudding at a roadside stall.

He glanced at the two dazed Japanese officers and clicked his tongue twice.

"Come on, you two. Don't just stand there."

"Your army's artillery show is over. Now it's our turn."

"So? Was our New Year's opening act spectacular enough?"

His words struck Matsui and Yamada like awls, piercing straight into their hearts.

Yamada Ichiro whipped around, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at Zhang Xueliang.

"Mr. Zhang! That was your artillery?"

"When did you get weapons like those?"

He pointed at the still-burning ground in the distance and practically shouted.

"Their range... Just how far can they fire?!"

That was the crucial question.

The hill they had just moved to was a full seven or eight kilometers from their original artillery position.

And the enemy's shells had come from somewhere even farther away than their current position!

What did that mean?

It meant the Feng Army's new artillery had a range of at least ten kilometers! Maybe even fifteen!

What did that mean?

It meant the Feng Army's artillery could pound any of their positions at will from a distance where they were completely safe!

Seeing Yamada on the verge of collapse, Zhang Xueliang deliberately put on a look of surprise.

"Mr. Yamada, you're asking me?"

"How would I know?"

He spread his hands, looking utterly innocent.

"I'm just a guide. I don't understand military affairs."

"But..."

He drew out the word, then leaned toward Yamada Ichiro and whispered with a grin, loud enough for only the two of them to hear.

"Within range, there's truth everywhere. Heard that one before?"

"Now the truth is on our side."

The shelling finally stopped.

But for the survivors of the Japanese artillery position, the real nightmare had only just begun.

More than a dozen Military Trucks roared over the uneven, scorched earth and stopped at the edge of the position.

Their doors opened, and over a hundred Feng Army soldiers armed to the teeth jumped out. Their movements were crisp, their gazes cold.

At their head was Chu Shixin.

He strolled around the position, his boots squelching as they stepped on ground mixed with dirt and flesh.

Everywhere lay twisted gun barrels, shattered parts, and mangled limbs.

The charred stench in the air was enough to make anyone sick.

"Listen up, all of you!"

Chu Shixin stopped and bellowed at the soldiers behind him.

"Check the place first. See if anyone's still breathing."

"If you find anyone who isn't quite dead, don't waste your bullets. Put them out of their misery."