Chapter Fifty-Three: Strike Him Down Amidst Chaos

The Russians had returned again, but this time there was only one of them—or rather, a Chinese man clad in a Russian military uniform. The man advanced a few paces, raising a white flag. “Bandits up there, listen! Surrender now! You are completely surrounded by Russian troops. If you continue to resist, death is your only road. The Russian officers admire your bravery and swear that if you surrender, no harm will come to you. They guarantee your lives will be spared!”

Biaozi snorted coldly. “Ergansi, do you believe a word of that?”

Ergansi didn’t hesitate, shaking his head. “Only a fool would believe him!”

Biaozi nodded. “If they can’t even fool you, Ergansi, how could they hope to trick me? Tiehui, shoot that man dead!”

Without a word, Tiehui chambered a round, took aim at the shouting interpreter, and with a single shot, blew his head apart.

Bear in mind, the interpreter was standing quite a distance away. The fact that Tiehui could hit him square in the head with one shot was proof enough of his superb marksmanship. Ergansi cried out in admiration, “What a shot!”

But then, as if suddenly recalling something, he turned to Biaozi. “Biao, what did you mean by that just now—‘if they can’t fool Ergansi, how could they fool me’?”

Biaozi chuckled. “And who is Ergansi?”

Ergansi replied without thinking, “Me, of course!”

“As long as you know.”

“I’ll strangle you!”

Yet Ergansi found time to joke, even as the Russians’ artillery thundered in. Before he could leap at Biaozi, the bombardment struck.

In an instant, fire engulfed their surroundings. The shells raked the ground like combs through hair. Biaozi grabbed Ergansi and dragged him down. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Stay down!”

Even though Biaozi had already ordered his men to hit the dirt during the shelling, many were still killed in the blast. The shockwaves from the explosions were so powerful that in the back, severed limbs could be seen flying into the air.

When one barrage ended, the Russians began their assault in earnest.

To General Akberliev, this was the first—and possibly the last—charge. He deployed three hundred Russian soldiers, believing that would suffice. From the previous probing attack, he had already discerned the bandits’ weakness: they were no different from any other Qing forces—undisciplined rabble, lacking any real training.

The only difference was that these rabble possessed a sliver of courage. Courage was admirable, but it was not enough to win a war.

Akberliev watched the advancing lines with satisfaction. For the first time in days, a smile crept onto his lips.

“Are the troops cutting off their retreat in position?” he asked.

His secretary stood beside him and immediately replied, “General, they’re in place.”

The assault force had already reached the bandits’ front lines; from the sound of their gunfire, it was clear they wouldn’t hold for long.

Some bold young Russian soldiers had already broken into the bandits’ positions, and the air was filled with anguished screams—the final close-quarters fight to root out all resistance had begun.

Akberliev exhaled. “Good. Commit all forces to the attack. I think we can now telegraph the commander and report our victory.”

Biaozi was truly at his limit. Surrounded by swarming Russians, he gripped his rifle, uncertain whom to shoot first.

In his mounting panic, he heard a voice behind him: Captain Yang’s.

“Brothers! Follow me—fight your way out!”

Turning, Biaozi saw Yang Xiaolin charging forward at full speed, a large basket strapped to his chest filled with grenades. As he ran, he hurled grenades ahead. Dozens of men behind him did the same, some having left their rifles behind to carry extra explosives.

The bandits carved a bloody path forward from Biaozi’s side, crashing directly into the Russian reinforcements. Grenades traced graceful arcs through the air, landing amidst the Russians. Unaccustomed to such tactics, the Russians panicked, firing desperately at the basket-laden bandits. Yet for every bandit shot down, another would shed the fallen’s basket and charge on, hurling more grenades.

At last, Biaozi rallied. He seized his rifle, gathered what remained of his platoon—just over fifty men—and followed Yang Xiaolin down the slope.

At this moment, Tiehui truly showed a sharpshooter’s calm. He crouched in the center of the formation, taking his time, and each shot claimed a Russian without fail.

In the blink of an eye—just as the two sides met—over twenty bandits fell to Russian fire, but the Russians’ front ranks were torn apart by explosions. Those behind tried to retreat, but then Jin Daodao, leading hundreds of bandits armed with broadswords and spears, swept in after Yang Xiaolin.

General Akberliev was utterly stunned! He had never imagined the bandits would attack him head-on, let alone in such a fashion. The Russians were wholly unprepared for these tactics.

Seeing his troops about to break, Akberliev shook himself out of his shock. “Quick! Form ranks and fire! Hold these bandits back, no matter what! Where are the heavy machine guns? Bring them up!”

“But General, our own men are in the front!”

“Rake the area! That’s an order!”

The Maxim guns roared with fury, mowing down both charging bandits and Russians entangled in the melee. Yang Xiaolin felt a numbness in his arm—he knew he was wounded, but there was no time to check where. He pressed forward regardless.

The Russians behind quickly regrouped, forming disciplined lines to await the oncoming bandits. Artillery continued to thunder around Yang Xiaolin, and his comrades fell one after another. Yet he didn’t glance back, nor did he check his own wound. Only now did Yang Xiaolin truly grasp what it meant to become something other than a man on the battlefield.

The grenades on his chest dwindled, while the Russian soldiers swelled around him like waves, surging forward in unending ranks.

“Brothers! Charge! Kill the Russians!”

Yang Xiaolin shouted, hurling another grenade into the Russian ranks. The bandits broke through yet another defensive line.

Whenever the fighting devolved into chaos, Akberliev ordered machine guns and artillery to fire directly into the melee. Killing Russian soldiers carried severe penalties, but he no longer cared. So long as he could wipe out these bandits, any price was worth paying.

This bandit force was not like any other Qing bandits. They already possessed courage. If they managed to defeat him openly here, they would gain something even more crucial—confidence.

With both courage and confidence, if they were allowed to escape, they would become a future menace beyond reckoning.