55: Chapter 56: The Nails on Tieyuan! The 63rd Army!

The topsoil of Hill 207.4 had been shaved off by three feet.

Jack never imagined that dirt could be blown up to be as fluffy as flour.

He lay on the edge of the crater, half his body buried in the loose earth.

The American tanks had stalled their engines below the hill.

Those steel monsters had suffered losses in the first counterattack and were now shrinking back into the shadows, waiting for the next barrage.

"The whole company is to break up." The company commander's voice came over the radio, thick with static.

"No holding large positions, no positional warfare. Three men per team, turn yourselves into nails and pin yourselves onto these hilltops.

Even if you die, embed your bones into the position! Make it impossible for the Americans to pull you out!"

Jack turned his head and saw Brother Bao and Dai Dai.

Brother Bao was cleaning the mud and blood from his web gear with his bayonet.

His freshly shaved buzz cut was covered in ash, making him look like a ruthless character just released from prison.

Dai Dai was huddled near the half-collapsed entrance of the dugout, clutching the battered medical kit tightly to her chest.

"Did you hear that?" Brother Bao spat out the sand from his mouth. "The three of us are now the masters of this slope."

This slope had no name, only a coordinate on the map. The surroundings were full of charred tree stumps, and the air after the rain was mixed with the smell of gunpowder and decay.

"No supplies, no support." Jack checked the rifle in his hand; he only had twelve rounds left.

"How long do we have to stay here?"

"Until we die," Brother Bao replied curtly.

He rolled out of the crater, skillfully unhooking grenades from his waist.

Jack watched Brother Bao weave between a few broken tree roots.

Brother Bao's hand was steady as he looped the thin tripwire around a root and then attached it to the grenade's pin.

This was a mandatory skill for scouts: a makeshift booby trap.

"The Americans are afraid of the dark," Brother Bao murmured while working.

"Without tanks and aircraft, they aren't much braver than mice. We have to make them feel like every stone on this mountain bites."

Dai Dai was organizing the first-aid kit inside the dugout.

She pulled out a morphine injector—the last of their group's stock.

She glanced at Brother Bao's bloody left leg, then at Jack.

"This medicine is for the most severely wounded person."

Dai Dai's voice was soft, but it didn't tremble.

She was no longer the girl who would scream at the sight of blood.

After witnessing the Korean little girl die in her arms, a fierce look called 'protection' had settled in her eyes.

Night fell.

The night on Iron Field was bone-chillingly cold.

No lights, no fires.

The three of them squeezed into the narrow foxhole, listening to the wind’s moan passing over the scorched wood outside.

"Jack," Dai Dai suddenly spoke up.

"Do you still remember that list?"

Jack’s grip on his rifle tightened.

Of course, he remembered.

Those 'heroes' in suits saving the world on the big screen were committing acts worse than beasts on Angel Island.

"They say we are savages," Jack sneered, his voice echoing in the dugout.

"Because we eat potatoes, because we keep buzz cuts, because we don't adhere to their universal values."

"But we are protecting the seeds," Dai Dai touched her pocket, where she kept a few azalea seeds she had picked up from the mud and water.

"They destroy children on that island; we guard the future in this snowfield. Who is truly civilized?"

The bullet-riddled commentary in the livestream paused at that moment.

Hundreds of millions of viewers, through the VR perspective, watched these three young people huddled in the dirt hole.

They had no high-tech armor, no superpowers, only worn-out padded cotton uniforms and a chest full of rage.

"Will we live to see tomorrow?" Jack looked at a faint star outside the entrance and suddenly asked.

Brother Bao was wiping his bayonet; the sound of metal scraping against metal was exceptionally clear in the silence.

"We won't live to see it," Brother Bao replied without looking up, his tone as calm as if discussing dinner.

"The Americans will use more shells tomorrow to plow this place over again. We few nails will eventually be pulled out."

Jack fell silent.

"But every minute we stay nailed here means one more minute of safety for the main force behind us," Brother Bao put away his bayonet and looked directly at Jack.

"Their leaders are a group of people who dare to eat the children of their own country; what bottom line do they have! We absolutely cannot let them go!"

"Beneath our feet is Iron Field. Behind Iron Field are our countrymen. Behind our countrymen is our hometown!

If we retreat, those beasts from the island will drive their tanks right into our yards."

This kind of calm acceptance of death was more devastating than any rousing slogan.

Jack closed his eyes.

He seemed to hear the distant roar—the enemy's torrent of steel.

Just then, a rustling sound echoed in the ears of all the players.

It was Su Yun activating the global voice channel backstage.

It wasn't stirring background music or a system prompt.

It was a recording filled with dialect, a strong sense of era, and heavy noise.

"...Don't mind me... Hold the position..."

It was a faint but forceful voice, hoarse and weak, yet possessing a power that pierced through time and space.

It was the last transmission genuinely left on the battlefield of Iron Field back then.

Jack's eyes snapped open.

He felt an electric current surge from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head.

"System notification." Su Yun's icy voice followed.

[All members are assigned to: The Chinese People's Volunteer Army, 19th Army Group - The 63rd Army!]

[Current Mission: At all costs, resolutely stop the 'United Nations Forces' from advancing north!]

[Core Requirement: Secure at least 15 days for the main force of the Volunteer Army to transfer and rebuild the defensive line!]

[Success Probability Assessment: 0.01%]

[Cost: Total Annihilation.]

Jack looked at the word 'Total Annihilation' and suddenly laughed.

He laughed until tears streamed down his face, laughing until his chest ached.

"Fifteen days." Jack stood up and walked out of the foxhole.

Outside, an American flare soared into the sky, illuminating the wasteland a sickly white.

"Brother Bao, Dai Dai." Jack pulled back the bolt; the crisp sound of a round chambering was clear and pleasant.

"We have to nail ourselves here for fifteen days."

"Then we'll nail for fifteen days." Brother Bao picked up his entrenching shovel and followed him out.

"I still have bandages." Dai Dai slung the medical kit over her back and stood behind the two men.

That night, every hilltop on Iron Field glowed with a faint light.

It was the light of countless players like Jack, igniting their own lives in the darkness.

They were no longer players.

They were nails.

Unrusting steel nails lodged in the throat of the invaders.

At the foot of the hill, the American tanks started up again.

The sound of the tracks crushing ice and snow grew closer.

Jack lay prone on the dirt slope, aiming at the open hatch of the lead tank.

His finger rested on the trigger, his breathing becoming extremely steady.

"Come on, civilized people who eat baby vegetables!" Jack murmured softly.

"Let Grandpa teach you what a real backbone is."

In front of the screen, Su Yun looked at the wildly fluctuating emotion values in the backend and gently pressed the Enter key.

[Iron Field Defense Battle: Day One, Commences.]

Outside the window, the dawn of the real world was about to arrive.

But the hell in the game had only just begun.

Jack pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The bullet sliced through the night sky, precisely drilling into the American commander's forehead.

The battle erupted.

And at the end of this chapter, Su Yun left a line of blood-red text on the server-wide announcement board:

"Warriors of the 63rd Army, you have no retreat behind you. Because you are the defensive line."

Countless players burst into tears at that moment.

They knew that the next fifteen days would be the darkest, yet also the brightest, moments of their lives.

And that hook was firmly catching everyone's heart: Faced with a firepower disparity of 30 to 1, could these 'nails' really hold out for fifteen days, just like the martyrs of 70 years ago?