We'll Play Along with Him to the Bitter End

Zhang Xueming stared at him and asked, each word deliberate:

"I'm putting the treasured ones of our entire brigade—our whole Armored Battalion—in your hands."

"I'm sending you to give them a taste of what we can do."

"Are you up to it?"

Ma Xiufeng jerked his head up. He bared a set of white teeth, his grin wild enough to frighten anyone.

"Am I up to it?"

"Brigade Commander, I've been waiting for this day so long my bones are itching!"

"Just watch!"

"I guarantee I'll smash every last one of their Iron Turtles into a heap of scrap metal!"

"Mission guaranteed!"

Meanwhile.

On an open plain a hundred kilometers southeast of Kulun.

Ivanov, commander of the White Bear Far East Army's Armored Corps, was polishing his saber with a piece of deerskin.

The blade gleamed like snow, reflecting his face, thick with old scars and lumps of flesh.

"General, we've already deployed more than a hundred and twenty tanks here, along with over fifty armored vehicles," an adjutant reported respectfully.

"Our entire defensive line is like a wall of steel. If the Feng Army dares to come, we'll crush them into meat paste."

Ivanov stopped what he was doing and raised his eyelids.

His gaze was as vicious as a starving wolf on the grasslands.

"Zhang Xueming..."

He forced the name through his teeth, seething with bitter hatred.

In Siberia, this young Feng Army commander had outmaneuvered him at every turn, costing him a crucial battle and turning him into a laughingstock throughout the Far East Military District.

Humiliation.

A humiliation that could never be washed away.

"Does he think I'm still the same man I was back then?"

Ivanov sneered and slid the polished saber back into its sheath.

"This time, I'll show him that in the face of overwhelming strength, all schemes and tricks are child's play."

He rose and walked to the map, jabbing a thick finger down hard on the position where his troops were lying in ambush.

"Here, right here! I want to watch with my own eyes as my Steel Flood tears his troops to pieces!"

"Notify every unit to enter the highest state of combat readiness! I'll make sure Zhang Xueming never leaves this place alive!"

The Feng Army Eighth Brigade's temporary headquarters was set up in an abandoned large farm in Ulan Province.

It might have been abandoned, but when the local herders heard that the Feng Army had come to fight the White Bear, they all volunteered to bring over their cattle and sheep to welcome them.

Steaming hot milk tea and fragrant roast whole lambs were piled up like little hills.

Zhang Xueming didn't bother with any empty talk about the army and the people being as close as fish and water.

He simply had the logistics department pay the herders in brand-new Silver Dollars at the going rate—or rather, thirty percent above it.

With heavy purses in their hands, the herders smiled more brightly than the grassland sun. As they left, they couldn't stop praising the Feng Army.

Inside the command post.

A huge Sand table stood in the center, surrounded by a ring of officers adorned with General Stars.

Nearly every senior officer in the Eighth Brigade was present.

"My goodness, Brigade Commander's really emptied the coffers this time."

Wang Debiao, commander of the Second Regiment, was a burly man with dark skin. He smacked his lips as he looked at the densely packed models on the Sand table.

"Look at this artillery regiment—all German-made 150-millimeter Heavy Cannons. And our tanks—their barrels look thicker than the White Bear's!"

"Biaozi, you don't know the first thing about it."

Zhou Zhiguo, commander of the artillery regiment, adjusted his glasses, looking every bit the expert.

"Ours are Krupp 77mm Tank Guns. Their effective range is at least five hundred meters greater than the White Bear's tank guns. That's what you call a generational gap. Got it?"

"Fine, fine. You're the only one who knows anything."

Wang Debiao waved him off and turned to look at Chu Shixin, commander of the First Regiment, who had been sitting quietly nearby.

"Old Chu, you're leading the main assault this time. That's a lot of pressure, huh?"

Chu Shixin was a steady, middle-aged man. He merely nodded, though his eyes were razor-sharp.

"It's the Brigade Commander's order. I'll carry it out even if it costs me my life."

Dai Xiansheng listened nearby, his heart full of emotion.

In just a few years, his nephew had turned the Eighth Brigade into a formidable steel army that struck fear into all who saw it.

Just then, the curtain over the command post entrance was swept aside.

Zhang Xueming strode in.

The moment he appeared, the command post, which had been buzzing with noise, fell silent.

Everyone's eyes turned to him.

Zhang Xueming walked up to the Sand table and surveyed his subordinates. He wasted no time on pleasantries and went straight to the point.

"Everyone knows the situation."

"The White Bear's Ivanov has arrayed his Iron Turtles on the plain a hundred kilometers southeast of Kulun. He's plainly looking for a decisive battle with us."

He picked up the command baton and tapped the Sand table lightly.

"He wants a head-on fight? Then we'll play along with him to the bitter end."

Zhang Xueming's gaze swept over every person present as he began issuing his orders.

"Chu Shixin!"

"Here!"

Chu Shixin, commander of the First Regiment, snapped to attention.

"I order you to lead the First Regiment in the main assault! Punch straight through their defensive line from the front! Don't worry about casualties—the artillery regiment will give you unlimited support!"

"Yes! Mission guaranteed!"

Chu Shixin's reply rang out with force.

"Wang Debiao!"

"Here!"

Wang Debiao grinned, showing a set of white teeth.

"Lead the Second Regiment in a supporting attack from the left flank! Your task isn't to inflict casualties, but to throw their formation into chaos and keep them from supporting one another!"