Chapter 110: Northeast Armory 4

On September 5 in Changchun, the cold at three a. m. seeped into the marrow. Liao Yaoxiang stood on the roof of the Central Bank, watching the Japanese campfires outside the city flicker like ghost lights, his fingertip leaving a deep mark on the binoculars. Three days of defensive fighting had already cost the defenders more than half their troops; the Tank units had only two operable tanks left, and the ammunition depot's shells were enough for only one volley.

"Notify all units to launch the counterattack at half past three," he said, crushing ice shards under his military boots as he turned. "The reserve will flank from the left, targeting the Japanese artillery position. The Tank regiment will break through the front, tearing open their defensive line. The infantry brigade will follow to widen the breach—tell the brothers this is the final gamble."

The staff officer hesitated, "Sir, the student volunteer corps just came to request combat, saying they want to charge with the troops…"

"Keep them inside the city!" Liao Yaoxiang snapped, "They're half‑grown kids, armed with hunting rifles and farm tools; going up would be a death sentence!"

But he did not know that, at this moment inside the East Gate, more than three hundred students were gathering around a hastily made wooden plaque to take an oath. Leading them, a Northeast University student Zhou Mingyuan stained the four characters "Return My Rivers and Mountains" with his own blood and loaded buckshot into his hunting rifle: "My parents were killed by the Imperial Japanese Navy in Shenyang; this life has never been mine!"

At exactly half past three, Changchun Lao Cheng was suddenly illuminated by Signal Flares, red, green, and white flames blooming in the night sky in succession. Liao Yaoxiang stood on the lead Tank, the frost on his steel helmet melting under the engine's heat, mixing with sweat that seeped into his collar.

"All units, obey!" He drew his command saber, pointing straight at the Japanese position; his voice, torn hoarse by the roar of the Tank engines, remained resolutely firm, "Today's battle decides the survival of the Northeast! As soldiers, we must die for the nation!"

"Die for the nation!" The cries of more than five thousand defenders made the City wall hum. Twelve Tanks roared to life simultaneously, their tracks grinding frozen ground with a muffled thunder, and the muzzle's tongues of fire tore gaping holes in the pre‑dawn darkness.

The Japanese troops on the front line were still sound asleep in their sleeping bags when the sudden barrage threw them into chaos. Tents were ripped away by shells, ammunition boxes exploded skyward, and soldiers in only underwear clutching rifles scrambled, only to be cut down in waves by the defenders' machine guns.

"Charge!" The infantry brigade behind the Tanks surged over the Trench like a tide, bayonets glinting coldly in the morning light. A squad leader who had lost his right arm bit open a grenade's safety with his teeth, rolling and crawling into the Japanese machine‑gun nest, perishing together with the enemy.

Japanese commander Duomen Erlang smashed a teacup in the command post, "Baka! How can they still have the strength to counterattack? Let the reserve hold!" Yet the telephone lines had already been blown apart by artillery, leaving each regiment to fight on its own.

Gunfire suddenly erupted from the Japanese flank on the east side of the city. Zhou Mingyuan led the student volunteers out of the tunnel, charging the unguarded Japanese logistics unit. Most of these youths had never fired a rifle, but surged forward with raw blood‑heat—students in long robes swung shoulder poles at the Japanese, bespectacled teachers hurled bundled explosives, and braid‑haired female students doused the Japanese with kerosene and set them ablaze.

"Hit them! Hit them to death!" Zhou Mingyuan's hunting rifle spat buckshot, turning a Japanese supply officer into a sieve. But when the Japanese machine gun swung its fire, the students instantly fell into a pool of blood. A school‑uniformed boy who had just raised a grenade was struck in the chest by a stray round, his blood staining the school emblem on his chest.

"Retreat to the civilian houses!" Zhou Mingyuan dragged the wounded into an alley, when a sudden sharp pain seized his back—a bullet had pierced a lung lobe. He coughed up thick blood that splattered onto the "Return My Rivers and Mountains" wooden plaque; before his consciousness faded, he seemed to see his parents smiling at him from the walls of Shenyang.

The tug‑of‑war on the main battlefield had reached a fever pitch. Liao Yaoxiang's Tank units broke through the Japanese first defensive line, but were halted by anti‑tank guns before the second Trench. A Tank's tracks were shattered; its crew leapt out to fight, using pistols against the Japanese, and finally all fell beside the ruined tracks.

"Blow that gun up for me!" Liao Yaoxiang snarled into the radio. Two combat engineers crawled forward with explosives, and before the machine gun could sweep them down, they succeeded in turning the anti‑tank gun into scrap metal.

The reserve had by now flanked to the rear of the Japanese artillery position. Reinforcements sent by Du Yuming suddenly burst out from the flank, forming a pincer with the reserve. The Japanese heavy guns were blown up one by one; the gunners abandoned their carriages and fled, only to be cut down by cavalry sabers beside the gun barrels.

When the sunrise leapt over the horizon, the Japanese defensive line collapsed completely. Duomen Erlang led the remnants toward Liaoyang, constantly harassed by civilians along the way—vegetable farmers swung hoes at the Japanese, a peddler ignited a cargo box filled with kerosene, and even a white‑haired elderly man clutched a Japanese soldier's leg, refusing to let him go.

Liao Yaoxiang stood on the Japanese artillery position, watching the bodies and wreckage littering the ground, when he suddenly heard sporadic gunfire from the east side of the city. His heart tightened; riding hard toward it, he saw only Zhou Mingyuan and a few students leaning against a broken wall, their chest blood frozen solid.

"Sir..." a student mustered his last ounce of strength, raising the blood‑stained wooden plaque, "We... didn't disgrace the Huaxia..."

Liao Yaoxiang took the plaque, his fingertips touching the still‑wet blood, and suddenly stood at attention, saluting the students' corpses. In the morning light, the four blood‑stained characters "Return My Rivers and Mountains" grew ever clearer in his tear‑filled eyes.

The battlefield gradually fell silent. After days of fierce fighting, the Japanese were forced to retreat. Within Changchun, the smoke had not yet cleared, and broken walls and ruined ruins littered the streets alongside the bodies of fallen soldiers.

Liao Yaoxiang inspected the battlefield, his mood heavy. Though Changchun had been held, his forces had suffered over half casualties and ammunition was scarce. He knew the Japanese would soon regroup and return.

"Compile casualty statistics, reinforce fortifications, treat the wounded," he whispered to the chief of staff, "The next offensive will come soon."

In Tokyo, the disputes between the Army and Navy continued. Yet atop Changchun, a Blue Sky White Sun Red Earth Flag still fluttered amid the smoke. The defending soldiers silently tended their weapons, preparing for the next battle. They knew this was only a beginning, and harsher fighting lay ahead.

In the distance, Japanese reconnaissance aircraft reappeared on the horizon. The war's dark clouds still loomed over this Bei Guo Chun Cheng.