Chapter 157: A Moment of Despair

“Artillery! Fire at full speed!!!”
Such voices also reached every ear in the command post through the microphones.
Liu Yu bit his lip hard. A deafening noise came from the phone, and the shockwave, even through the microphone, made the officers feel as though their ears were about to explode.
Yet no one found the noise too loud. All eyes were filled with tears. An old officer even smashed his hands against the wall; despite breaking his palms, he remained ecstatic. Liu Yu placed the phone on the table. “Let’s listen together!”
A group of officers leaned in, but their eyes remained fixed on the French troops.
The French had already crossed the first line, their faces filled with smiles. Some black soldiers showed their white teeth. But history froze at this moment, and they too were frozen in time.
In that instant, a volcano erupted. They heard countless sounds that shattered their ears. Before they could react, shells rained down on their formation like hail.
It was a large formation of over three thousand men, shoulder to shoulder, all armed with bayonets, brimming with courage and passion. From above, it appeared to be a magnificent formation.
But in that instant, the shells torn this large formation to pieces, sending countless lives to heaven like in a meat grinder. Shells exploded in the air, within the formation, among the crowd, and even in the open spaces.
The soldiers in the front were hit by machine gun fire like rain. Like receding waves, the entire formation was shattered. What was once a neat formation now had only two or three men standing.
Like rice waves swept by a storm, wherever the machine guns fired, no one remained alive. Various mortar shells exploded at the center of the formation— a 100-millimeter mortar exploded right at the center, above the French soldiers. The massive shockwave and countless fragments left no one standing within a 20-meter radius.
Another 100-millimeter mortar shell killed eighty people. As countless shells fell like fireworks, numerous “meat grinders” ravaged the formation, leaving no trace of camaraderie.
Mortar shells, machine gun shells, 65-millimeter shells— all mercilessly claimed lives. Meanwhile, the Black Flag Army’s infantry also began firing. Encouraged by the artillery, all the firearms of three infantry battalions joined in this onslaught.
“Bang bang bang…”
Guoba had been smiling just a moment ago, but his smile froze as he heard the sounds that tore through the air.
As a naval officer, he was familiar with this kind of sound—it was the noise of 37-millimeter five-barreled machine guns. But here he was in the Black Flag Army’s camp. “God!”
He even heard the sound of 65-millimeter gunboats. Once such a pleasant sound, but now he only wanted to stand among those charging forward, facing the shells head-on.
Even if he were killed by a shell, he wouldn’t endure such torture.
“Artillery, fire at full speed!”

Even without his orders, some artillery officers were already shouting loudly, “Suppress them! Suppress them!” He also knew well that a 37-mm cannon could fire sixty deadly shells in a minute, and at such range, no troops could survive, especially not when they were arranged in such a dense formation. Yet some of the artillerymen showed no reaction; their mouths agape, saliva dripping, clearly filled with doubt about what was happening before their eyes. Hail continued to fall on the French formation, but this shattered formation still moved forward driven by inertia. They started to jog, only to face an even heavier and denser barrage of shells. No matter which direction they turned, there were countless shells, and the massive shockwaves made them stagger, yet the entire formation kept pressing forward, trying to break through the enemy lines. “Bang…” Shells hit the ground with loud thuds. One artilleryman, unable to bear watching the scene, forcefully loaded shells into the 37-mm cannon, while his comrades fired and cheered. The roaring artillery noise drowned out the cheers. Shouts from the command post came through the phone, along with cries from the front, all blending into a symphony of destruction. “God! I’d rather go to hell!” French officers watched this brutal scene—3,800 soldiers in a large formation reduced to pieces, many killed instantly, others hit by enemy shells, screaming, “My leg!… My hand is gone…” Some bodies were lifted by the shockwaves, and some soldiers turned to flee, only to become victims of the barrage soon after: “Fire! Artillery!” The French artillery began to suppress the enemy, joining in this symphony of destruction. “The third gunner is injured—keep fighting!” A dense hail of shells rained down on the Black Flag Army’s positions. Despite their fortified defenses, casualties still occurred, but the Black Flag Army’s artillery did not stop firing: “All—fire!” With such fervor, all the artillerymen fired a synchronized barrage at the French forces. The ground shook, and France wept. After the hail of shells, there was no trace of the French formation left—neither officers nor soldiers remained; either killed or severely wounded, groaning among the corpses. But some were still alive. As the smoke cleared, Guoba and Liu Yu saw that from what had once been a mountain-like formation, only a dozen French soldiers remained standing. Their blue uniforms and red breeches, shrouded in black smoke, were strikingly visible—they seemed to be the only remnants of the entire French formation. They gathered together among the corpses. One lieutenant’s face was completely blackened by gunpowder, and he was bleeding, but he quickly found what he was looking for among the corpses: a tricolor flag with only the pole and half of the flag left. He waved it and shouted, “Frenchmen, forward!”

A dozen or so men trampled on corpses and advanced in steady steps toward the Black Flag Army’s positions, without even the need for drums or trumpets.
“Retreat quickly!” Gobba could no longer hold back his tears.
These scattered French soldiers charged forward in coordinated steps, bayonets in hand, in a futile attempt.
“Retreat!” All French officers and soldiers shouted the same cry: “Retreat!”
The officer waved the blood-stained tricolor flag and sang loudly, “Children of the motherland, awaken! The days of light have come!!!”
“Retreat!”
The dozen French soldiers also began singing the Marseillaise as they rushed toward the Black Flag Army’s strongest defensive positions.
Intense gunfire and 60-mm mortar shells struck them, knocking them to the ground one after another.
“Do not fire! Do not fire!” It was the first time a Black Flag Army officer had ordered his troops to stop firing. “I would rather capture them alive!”
But the machine guns had already killed everyone. A mortar shell landed right above the French lieutenant; he clutched the tricolor flag and thrust it firmly into the ground, then his hand slid down the flagpole.
“God!” All the French officers and soldiers placed their hands on their foreheads, watching this tragic scene. “God, have mercy on us!”
In front of Gobba, there were nothing but rows of corpses, land stained red with blood, and the tricolor flagpole planted in the Black Flag Army’s position—seemingly nothing left.
“This is another Sedan!” Gobba’s most trusted chief of staff was no longer by his side. “I saw such despair in Sedan.”
“General!” One of the officers had already started crying. “I’ve never witnessed such despair in my entire life!”
“This is Baliqiao! Our Baliqiao!”
As Gobba was lost in thought, he heard a gasp—no! It was a gasp from thousands of people at once. Such a unified outcry seemed to signal another disaster upon them.
“Retreat quickly!” Many people shouted in French, “Turn left, 180 degrees! Hurry!”
“Hurry!”
Such hope was tinged with despair. Then he heard violent explosions, and powerful gusts of wind blew away his military cap. But he paid no attention to such details; he ran left as fast as he could, trying to see what was happening on the water.
In the next moment, he wished he could never have seen it—he saw that the battle-hardened warship Doulat had been blasted with a huge gap, and the Red River water rushed in mercilessly. Soon the entire ship overturned, taking its sailors underwater.
But it wasn’t the only ship sunk. The entire river was ablaze with flames, accompanied by continuous explosions. He saw the Yemao sink instantly, the sailors of the Annamite diving into the burning water like dumplings, and a motorboat being reduced to pieces…

One after another, his beloved warships sank right before his eyes. The officers exclaimed loudly, shouting and wailing, “It’s the Chinese torpedo boats…”
His tears had dried up. He watched as some warships made sharp turns along the narrow riverbank to buy time for their comrades to escape, launching suicidal attacks on several modified Chinese torpedo mother ships.
Horns blared, and the remaining gunboats retreated to Hanoi at top speed, but more explosions erupted in the narrow waterways.
The ships, having lost most of their guns, could only fire in desperation, but there were hardly any hits, with explosions ringing out one after another.
Gubao closed his eyes and said to all his staff, “We are repaying the debt to Count Baliqiao!”