Chapter Sixty-Five: I Will Build a Southern Heavenly Gate Here

The Black Panther concisely and directly explained his strategy. In truth, there was little to elaborate on—it simply involved creating a breach in the protective shield and then engaging in close-quarters combat.

“King T’Challa, may I ask, how long has it been since your people last experienced war? I mean, actual, organized large-scale military operations?” In the silence that followed, Yang Xin spoke up.

“You disagree with my deployment? Wakanda has never feared war,” Black Panther replied, struggling to keep his anger in check.

“There’s a difference between never fearing war and knowing how to win it with the least cost,” Yang Xin retorted coldly. Then he looked around at the assembled group. “Dr. Banner, what’s your opinion?”

“I’m just a physicist…” Dr. Bruce Banner replied awkwardly.

“Steve?”

“I fought in World War II, but at best, I led a small squad. I’m all right with small-scale raids, but commanding large-scale operations like this is beyond me,” Captain America admitted, shaking his head.

“Don’t look at me—I’ve always been a solo operator. I’ve never commanded large-scale battles, not even small unit actions,” Tony Stark added quickly.

The others shook their heads as well. The Winter Soldier and Natasha also said that they were just agents. If they were put in charge of a battle of this scale, it wouldn’t be a fight—it would be a suicide mission.

Peter Parker chimed in that he was still a high school student, not even graduated yet. Some of the Chinese ninja squad members looked eager, but remembering their orders, they quickly lowered their heads…

“It seems I need to find you a real commander, so you all can see what true warfare looks like,” Yang Xin said, leading the group through a spatial portal to the grasslands outside Wakanda.

He tore open a cross-dimensional wartime summoning card, and instantly, flashes of light erupted before their eyes. When the dazzling glare faded, it was replaced by thick smoke, and as the smoke cleared, squads of soldiers in worn uniforms appeared—the Sichuan Regiment had arrived.

“Reporting, sir! Long Wenzhang, regimental commander of the Sichuan Regiment of the Chinese Expeditionary Force in Burma, reporting with my unit!” Long Wenzhang’s rasping, distinctive voice rang out.

“Dead-as-a-doornail!” Yang Xin suddenly grinned.

“Oh, the officer knows my nickname? That was given to me by that limping Meng,” Long Wenzhang replied with a cheeky grin.

“What about your weapons and equipment?” Only then did Yang Xin notice that these soldiers were all empty-handed.

“We received orders from above to assist our allies. We were told the weapons and equipment would be provided by the friendly forces,” Long Wenzhang answered, still smiling mischievously.

“Any specific orders from your superiors?” Yang Xin asked.

“Our superiors gave no specific orders, just told us to follow all your commands,” Long Wenzhang immediately snapped to attention and answered solemnly. Then he asked, “Sir, what would you have us do?”

“What? Fight a defensive battle—show me the skill you used to snipe the Japanese on the Nu River!” Yang Xin replied.

“What about weapons and equipment?” At the mention of arms, Long Wenzhang’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“More than enough!” Yang Xin replied, pulling out a dimensional pocket and dumping out weapons in a frenzy.

M1 Garand rifles, submachine guns, light machine guns, heavy machine guns… hand grenades, mortars, bazookas, every caliber of howitzer and heavy artillery, landmines of every type—all manner of World War II weaponry scavenged from Nick Fury was poured out.

“Holy hell! Holy hell! Holy hell!” Long Wenzhang shouted in exhilaration. “Krupp, Krupp, quickly gather the artillery and set up the batteries! Milong, Milong, where are you? Set up the heavy machine gun positions! Meng Fanniao, you limping Meng, get your men over here and collect the equipment!”

“Meng Fanniao!” Yang Xin called out.

“Here!” Meng Fanniao hurried over.

“Healing Palm!” Without wasting words, Yang Xin laid a healing palm on Meng Fanniao, curing his limp.

“Thank you for your kindness, sir!” Meng Fanniao snapped to attention, deeply grateful.

“Put aside your little schemes and assist your commander properly in this fight. All this equipment is yours,” Yang Xin said.

“But sir, there’s so much here—it’s enough to arm not just us, but the entire theater!” Meng Fanniao estimated the haul with a quick glance.

“Whatever you don’t use, take back with you!”

“Haha! Thank you, sir, thank you!” Long Wenzhang gave Meng Fanniao a kick. “Don’t just stand there—get your men and collect the gear. Move!”

“By the way, sir, who are our enemies?” At the mention of battle, Long Wenzhang grew instantly solemn.

“The Outriders under Thanos. Your task is to deal with them; as for Thanos himself, we’ll handle him. These are fiercer than the Japanese—they know neither fear nor exhaustion. They’re like a pack of wolves, relentless until their enemies are torn to shreds.” Yang Xin pulled out a tablet and showed Long Wenzhang images of the Outriders.

“This…” Long Wenzhang narrowed his eyes. Four powerful arms made them look especially savage and formidable. “So we’re facing a bunch of beasts?”

“Beasts? You could say that, but these aren’t ordinary animals—they’re interstellar monsters.”

“Will our weapons hurt them?” Long Wenzhang asked, expertly chambering a round in his rifle.

“Of course!”

“Huh. Why don’t they have weapons?” Long Wenzhang asked suddenly.

“Their bodies are weapons.”

“So they don’t have ranged attack capabilities?” Long Wenzhang’s eyes lit up instantly.

“That’s one way to put it. The real terror of the Outriders is their numbers and their fearless, ferocious assault,” Yang Xin warned.

“No ranged attacks? Then they’re not even as tough as the Japanese!” Long Wenzhang declared, brandishing his M1 Garand.

“By the way, I have a batch of even more advanced weapons—do you want to equip your whole regiment?” As Yang Xin spoke, he took out several standard-issue S.H.I.E.L.D. automatic rifles and handed them to Long Wenzhang.

Long Wenzhang frowned, tested the weapon, inserted a magazine, pulled the bolt, and fired a burst at a distant target. Amazed, he asked, “A submachine gun more advanced than the Thompson?”

“No, it’s a fully automatic rifle! Its firepower is much greater than the Garand. Should the whole regiment switch to these?” Yang Xin asked.

A glint of temptation flashed in Long Wenzhang’s eyes, but he finally shook his head. “Better not. As advanced as these are, the men aren’t used to them. Besides, if we switched, we’d have to restructure our squad-level firepower and spend a lot of time getting used to the new weapons. With all these heavy and light machine guns, we can easily make up for any firepower gaps at the squad level.”

He concluded, “The weapons are good, but they’re not suited to us—they waste too much ammo!”

Yang Xin understood what he meant: they not only needed to fight this battle, but would have to rely on these weapons against the Japanese later. What’s advanced isn’t always what’s best—what suits you is best.

“Commander Long, how do you plan to fight this battle?”

“Simple. I’m going to build a Southern Gate of Heaven right here!”