Chapter 133: Entanglement

Although the rear admiral was shocked by the enemy’s resilience and the heavy casualties on their side, he had already resolved to use their ultimate weapon.
“Five-barreled autocannon, fire!”
The Hazards five-barreled autocannons, which had been positioned there all along, immediately opened fire. A shell screamed through the parapet, and the violent explosion split it in two.
The loader standing beside the cannon hurriedly loaded 37-mm shells into it; by now, the second barrel was already shaking violently backward.
Admittedly, the power of 37-mm shells was far inferior to that of 40-mm and 65-mm shells, but their theoretical firing rate of 60 rounds per minute made them far surpass any other artillery piece, becoming the dominant force on the battlefield.
No further words were needed—this bombardment could only be described as magnificent and spectacular. The gunners struggled to control the shells, which rained down like bullets, turning the entire village into a sea of fire.
Even the combined firepower of the other ten artillery pieces could not match the rapid firing of the five-barreled autocannons. Wherever those shells landed, everything turned to ruins. Houses collapsed with a thunderous crash, and by the time they shifted the firing points, almost nothing remained at those locations.
Another wave of shells struck, turning entire rows of houses red with fire. There were hardly any soldiers from the Thin Willow Camp in sight; only a medic risked his life to rescue the surviving wounded, his figure standing alone amidst the chaos.
After just over a minute of bombardment, the French were equally shocked by the results—none of them had expected such a significant impact.
Amidst the flames, more and more houses continued to collapse. The entire village had been devastated by the 37-mm shells; nearly one-third of the buildings were in ruins. Thick smoke filled the air, but through it, the bodies of many Black Flag Army soldiers could be clearly seen.
Even the French infantry was terrified at the sight. What a terrifying thing it would be if such autocannons were used against their own infantry. But when the bombardment stopped and the artillery sent signals, they finally mustered up the courage.
Many of the Black Flag Army’s makeshift fortifications had been damaged, and many houses in the village were ruined. The French artillery was expanding its firing range, suggesting that everything would be easily resolved.
Three infantry companies charged into the village with a roar. What followed was a battle that seemed effortless. They were convinced that so much bombardment would leave few survivors.
As expected, unlike previous assaults, they advanced a full 150 meters without a single shot from the Black Flag Army’s rifles. The vanguard had stepped on landmines, but the enemy seemed completely subdued.
Even though there were still a few enemies left, the French had deployed three companies. Although these companies suffered some casualties, they numbered nearly 300 men, plus support from the artillery. They were confident that victory would be theirs.
The rear admiral was very satisfied with the autocannons’ performance. He turned to his staff and said, “The battle will end soon. What uniform should we wear for the parade in Hue?”

The chief of staff smiled and said, “All military uniforms are the same; the barbarians will surely be conquered by us.” Yet he felt deep admiration for the enemy forces before him—they were incredibly tenacious and possessed formidable firepower. “General! I think if all the enemies we encounter in the Tokyo area are of this caliber, we’ll be in big trouble.”

Gubao used a telescope to observe the positions of the Xiliu Camp. “No matter how strong the enemy, we can deal with them with 37-mm guns. Even an entire regiment of enemies can be wiped out by just one 37-mm gun.”

Liu Pengcheng shook the mud off his body. The previous round of artillery fire had been extremely intense; one of his favorite squad leaders was buried under the soil. It was the first time he had seen such powerful artillery fire. If 60-mm mortars were already incredibly destructive, this type of machine gun was like dozens of mortars firing at once—utterly devastating.

All around him was chaos. A large section of the breast wall had been blown apart, and many people were buried under the collapsed buildings. He glanced around and saw that only about a dozen soldiers remained, and it seemed the mortars had stopped firing as well.

Now, the French forces were advancing in formation, trying to take control of the area by leveraging their numerical advantage. But Liu Pengcheng wouldn’t let them succeed. “Fight!” He raised his Spencer rifle and fired a shot at the advancing enemy. Soon, gunshots echoed from all directions.

“Kill them! Kill them!” The soldiers shouted, turning the dense wave of enemies into their prey once again.

Liu Pengcheng wasn’t expecting his reinforced platoon to retain so many fighters despite such heavy artillery fire. He could hear that at least another twenty rifles were still fighting. Although most of them had lost their combat effectiveness due to the artillery strike, he felt this number was sufficient.

In fact, this round of artillery fire had been devastating. It had nearly halved the strength of the Xiliu Camp, leaving only thirty men capable of fighting, including the 60-mm mortar. The mortar was a prime target for the Haziqis’ guns, but it was agile enough to move to an oblique position at any time. The four remaining gunners quickly repositioned the mortar.

“Two hundred meters ahead—about one company of artillery. Three shots, in quick succession!”

They pushed the mortar’s firing rate to its limit, firing shells without pause. A French company that charged into the village in a dense formation suffered heavy casualties from just five mortar shells.

In the narrow ranks, shrapnel flew everywhere. After one round of artillery fire, nearly a third of the soldiers were down. Meanwhile, the Black Flag Army’s rifles and grenades posed a constant threat.

The French were practically insane. Despite having three hundred soldiers, their attempt to charge in a dense formation led to them being targeted by multiple sources of fire. The French even felt as though they were at a disadvantage in firepower—the Black Flag Army kept reloading their rifles, firing seven shots at a time, leaving their single-shot rifles far behind.

In village battles, their grenades proved extremely effective. Whenever the French tried to advance deeper, the Black Flag Army would blast them back with a barrage of grenades. After the initial battles, the French realized their dense formations were unsuitable for such combat. Despite having a large force, they were confined to narrow areas, making them easy targets for the Black Flag Army’s gunfire. While their own fire also caused significant casualties among the Black Flag Army, as long as the injuries weren’t fatal, their soldiers would continue to fight bravely at the front lines. If wounded, they could no longer participate in further assaults. The more they pushed forward, the more casualties they suffered. Given these lessons, the French decided to resort to artillery fire again. Some wounded Black Flag Army soldiers, despite their pain, managed to lie on the walls and join the firefight. After a short exchange of fire, another dozen Black Flag Army soldiers were rendered combat-incapable, yet three hundred French soldiers, despite their efforts, failed to overcome them and suffered increasing losses. Faced with this situation, the naval vice admiral had no choice but to use his ultimate weapon: “Fire the five-barreled cannon at full speed to destroy the enemy’s core positions.” The cannon, which had just fired eighty shells, began operating again. But as one gunner prepared to fire, he suddenly collapsed—shot in the head! Yet the French showed no fear. They aimed their cannons at the core position of the Xiliu Camp to the west of the village. But then another artilleryman cried out in pain as blood gushed out, forcing him to fall. Two mortar shells followed, and although they missed, they disrupted the cannon’s firing. The enemy’s marksmen had astonishing accuracy from 500 meters away, killing one exposed soldier every half minute. Liu Yindao felt he had never been so fierce, yet his performance was excellent—on average, one out of every two shots hit the target. This was considering that many of his targets were artillerymen 500 meters away; if he shot at advancing enemy soldiers, his accuracy would be even higher. “Bang!” The shell recoiled, then he loaded another round and used his sniper scope to find a target again. Liu Yindao’s movements were so graceful that many forgot how terrifying his threat really was. Like Liu Pengcheng, he was a descendant of Liu Yu and Liu Suiyun, but his specialty was being a master marksman. Now, he hung himself from a large tree to the west of the village, using the tree’s cover to take down one target after another. His equipment was top-notch—a carefully selected sniper scope and an imported, original sniper rifle—enabling him to hang from the tree and eliminate targets one by one. The French clearly hadn’t realized how deadly this target was. So far, one lieutenant and three second lieutenants had fallen to Liu Yindao’s hands, not to mention over a dozen ordinary soldiers. Excitedly, he aimed his sniper scope at a loudly shouting officer and pulled the trigger. “Bang!” The officer collapsed instantly, his surrounding soldiers drenched in blood.

He is now the only sniper left in this unit, but he believes he will take many lives.
Liu Pengcheng, on the other hand, faces increasing pressure. Though he has repelled the French attacks time and again, even he can’t believe he’s managed to do so.
Yet his own casualties keep rising, and the French launch wave after wave of attacks. The soldiers still holding their positions, including those with mortars and snipers, number only about twenty-five or twenty-six. Apart from them, there are a few severely injured soldiers who can no longer fight.
He must keep fighting. Seeing another wave of enemies charging forward, he shouts, “Grenades!”
Dozens of grenades are thrown after his order, causing heavy casualties among the enemy forces, who retreat in panic. He then turns to the left—normally, it’s the right side’s turn to attack.
But in the next moment, he is delighted to see that the French are retreating like a receding tide.
The French also suffered heavy losses in this attack. They never expected such tenacious enemies, resulting in high casualties in each attacking company. In total, three companies lost nearly a hundred men.
However, the reason they retreated was the heavy losses among their commanders, which led to chaos and forced them to withdraw to regroup. Their officers and non-commissioned officers were targeted by the Black Flag Army from the start of the battle. Many companies were led by lieutenants or even non-commissioned officers, with some infantry platoons losing all their non-commissioned officers.
In addition, their artillery was preparing for another round of bombardment. Seeing the infantry retreat slightly, their artillery began firing again. But as soon as they opened fire, Liu Pengcheng cheered.
Clearly, they made a mistake, firing shells at the retreating French, causing casualties that weren’t too severe but still significant. This boosted Liu Pengcheng’s confidence.
But he knew well that his small unit was at its limit and needed reinforcements.
General Guoba also had a grim expression. So far, he had deployed four infantry companies and a large number of artillery pieces, yet suffered nearly two hundred casualties without being able to capture even one company held by the Black Flag Army.
He had to place his hopes on the flanking company, which was supposed to launch an attack from behind the Black Flag Army. It should be almost at its combat position by now.
The Imperial Palace of Hue.
The Fine Willow Camp still flew above the palace, and the main force of Liu Suiyun’s unit had taken control of Vietnam’s most important building.
But Liu Suiyun’s expression was grim. He had underestimated how vulnerable the Vietnamese were. There really existed such rulers and subjects in the world. He had just started attacking Hue City, and it had already collapsed.
Due to several battles, when his forces entered the Imperial Palace of Hue, the King of Annam and his royal family, along with all the nobles, had already fled the city.
His mission was to capture these ministers and the King of Annam and use them as leverage against the French. But now, this most crucial step had failed.

So far, quite a number of captives have been taken. Though they hold high ranks, compared to figures like the king and the royal family, or even someone like Nguyen Van Xiang, they are nothing but a few insignificant people. The palace maids and eunuchs cried and wailed, no longer able to handle the situation with their usual composure. Liu Suiyun loudly asked them about the whereabouts of the king and ministers, but they didn’t know what to say. Gunfire could be heard coming from the direction of Thuan An, so the battle wasn’t over yet. Liu Suiyun sent half a platoon to provide support, but he had to act quickly—his goal was to capture a significant figure so as to use the emperor as leverage over the other lords. Yet he was completely clueless about what was going on inside Huế City. Although he had studied this issue several times, it was only now, faced with the reality, that he realized how ignorant he was. Time was running out.