Chapter 269: Denary Army Advances on Yueyang

Outside Yueyang City, the Denary Army front command post.

Li Yutang raised his binoculars, his hand trembling slightly with excitement.

In the lenses, the Japanese Army positions were staging an apocalyptic judgment.

He and the Denary Army soldiers were equally excited.

The urging from Officer Xue in the rear truly threatened his life.

The Little Devils around Yueyang had turned the outskirts into an iron bucket; to attack Yueyang would cost at least ten times as much, and the Little Devils' aircraft had already been knocked down by the Independent Regiment!

Li Yutang always considered himself capable of hard battles, but today's method was not unseen; it was just that he had rarely fought such a prosperous battle in his life.

He watched the aircraft in the sky climb in altitude, preparing to return.

Li Yutang was filled with awe; without those aircraft, the Denary Army would not know what price it would have to pay to capture Yueyang, perhaps not even able to breach the outer positions.

"Zhou Qingsiang, why are you frozen! If we don't seize the Little Devil positions now, do you expect me to carry them in on an eight‑pole sedan chair?" Li Yutang immediately sent a Radio Order to Division Commander Zhou Qingsiang of the Third Division to launch an attack on the Little Devil's Yueyang.

Li Yutang was anxious, but he also knew he was facing the Little Devil's elite force, a regiment of the Third Division.

After the land outside Yueyang City was bombed several times by William's P38 Ghost Battalion, it turned blackened and muddy, exhaling a choking scent of sulfur and blood. This time, however, it was the Little Devil's flesh and blood, and the air was saturated with the smell of blood!

Facing such heavy casualties, the Senary Regiment commander Teng Jingyangzhi ordered his troops to retreat into Yueyang City at top speed, preparing for street fighting with the China army inside the city, and he had already requested tactical guidance from Lieutenant General Gaoqiao Duoge Er of the Third Division in Nanchang.

In previous tactical guidance, Japanese aircraft had already flown over Huaxia troops at this moment, but now the Japanese in Central China had no aircraft left; only a few scattered usable planes remained, and the runway had been bombed out, making takeoff uncertain and landing doubtful.

Zhou Qingsiang raised his binoculars, his knuckles turning slightly white from the strain. In his view, the Japanese front positions had indeed been shattered by the aircraft above, the fortifications broken and almost unrecognizable.

"Damn it…" He set the binoculars down, spat softly, his tone not wholly joyous but tinged with a hint of incredulous caution, "The Little Devil's turtle shell is finally smashed cleanly."

Before he finished, the sharp‑eyed adjutant lowered his voice urgently: "Division Commander, look at the city!"

At the direction of Yueyang's gate, amidst swirling smoke, a earth‑colored steel silhouette burst forth, its engine roaring as it rolled over the ruins, charging straight at the freshly reinforced outer positions. It was a Japanese Army Type 97 medium tank, its turret turning, the black muzzle searching for a target.

The Tertiary Division soldiers preparing to charge wore a trace of fear; this kind of iron‑clad tank of the Little Devils was impossible to deal with—previously they had been pushed over with human lives, but the effect was very low.

"Anti‑tank gun!" Division Commander Zhou Qingsiang's shout exploded, drowning out the scattered gunfire.

The German‑made 37mm anti‑tank gun, also our Jiang Dashi Ren, had been added during recent air‑lifted supplies to support the th War Zone's attack on Yueyang.

He also learned from Xu Guozhang that Yueyang's defenders were the Third Division; good fellow, the Third Division and the Denary Army's Tertiary Division would clash head‑on. Though it was only a regiment, a single regiment could often trade blows with a Huaxian army, let alone in a defensive battle.

Zhou Qingsiang shoved aside the guard before him, sprinted a few steps to the anti‑tank gun line, eyes blood‑shot, pointing at the approaching armored monster: "Damn iron turtle, get ready—aim the tracks first, then smash its turret roof! Now!"

"Dong—!"

The first 37 mm anti‑tank shell whistled out, grazing the top edge of the tank's turret, exploding a cloud of bricks and stones on the ruined ground behind. The tank seemed to pause, then accelerated more ferociously, its mounted machine gun sweeping fire, kicking up dust before the position.

"Damned! What a lousy aim!" Zhou Qingsiang's veins bulged on his forehead as he nearly seized the gunner's spot. Sweat mixed with dust slid from his clenched jaw.

"Dong!" The second shot still missed.

"What the hell are you shooting at, birds?!" Zhou Qingsiang's curse turned hoarse. The tank had closed within three hundred meters; the muzzle flash flickered, a shell landed on the flank of the position, shaking the ground.

The gunner's fingers whitened from the strain, yet he steadied his breath. The loader clenched his teeth and fed a third armor‑piercing round, closed the breech, and fired—

"Dong—Boom!"

This muffled blast was entirely different! The shell bit precisely into the junction of the tank's right track and road wheel. After a sharp metallic scream, the once‑rampaging steel beast lurched, as if a leg were broken, futilely spinning one track in place, raising a cloud of mud. Thick smoke began to pour from the engine compartment cracks.

"We hit it!" A brief cheer erupted from the position.

Zhou Qingsiang exhaled a long gust of foul air, wiped his face, then realized his palms were slick with cold sweat. He turned to the communications man, his voice regaining its usual harsh decisiveness: "Tell all regiments, the outer nails are out, the iron turtle is disabled! While the Little Devils are still reeling, follow the plan, advance on Yueyang's walls—attack! Let the brothers plant our flag atop the city!"

Under the scorching sunset, the Third Division's soldiers surged like a broken dam, leaping from scattered pits and broken walls, their battle cries and charge horns merging into a scorching tide that surged toward the battered yet sturdy Yueyang City. The final showdown had only just begun.

Hunan, Taoyuan.

This is not the idyllic "fresh grass and falling blossoms" paradise of Tao Yuanming; only rolling hills and a cold, biting wind. Division Commander Xiao Zhichu of the 26th Army stood on a high ground, gazing northward through binoculars. Behind him, the entire 32nd Division formed a silent dam across the inevitable route of the Japanese Army descending from Linxiang South.

"Commander, reconnaissance reports the Japanese vanguard is the 68th Regiment, led by regimental commander Ji Wu Xiuren, a famously tough nut with a ferocious fighting style!" the staff officer's voice trembled with tension. The 68th Regiment, regimental commander Ji Wu Xiuren.

Xiao Zhichu lowered his binoculars, his weather‑worn face showing no expression. He understood the battle's significance better than anyone. Behind him lay Yueyang. Once his defensive line was breached, the Japanese coming from Linxiang would pierce like a spear, stabbing the Denary Army from behind as it sieged the city.

At that moment, Li Yutang's tens of thousands of troops would be wrapped like dumplings, the entire army annihilated.

Therefore, the Little Devils in Linxiang should not think of crossing our defensive zone.