You were tasked with guarding the Sihang Warehouse, and you brought out a Tiger tank?

The sounds of gunfire and artillery erupted continuously on the outskirts of Tangtou Town.

The 1st Guerrilla Division, the 107th Division, and the newly formed 15th Division—three infantry divisions in total—cooperated with Zhao Dashan's armored brigade and, under the cover of heavy artillery fire from the rear, directly crushed the last line of defense of the Japanese 5th Division.

The steel torrent swept across relentlessly.

Nearly 10,000 surviving Japanese soldiers were divided into more than a dozen small, unconnected encirclements by the Great Xia army.

The various departments completely lost contact with each other and could only fight their own battles, being eliminated one by one in despair.

The headquarters of the Fifth Division was now completely trapped in a dilapidated village called Lijiazhuang.

Inside the underground bunker, the air was extremely stuffy and polluted.

"Commander, all the outer defenses have fallen, and the Chinese tanks have already stormed into the village."

A staff officer, his face covered in blood, stumbled in, his military cap gone.

Seishiro Itagaki sat on the ammunition box, his face deathly pale.

He trembled uncontrollably as he listened to the crushing sound of treads and the strafing of submachine guns overhead.

Seppuku?

Jade shattered?

That was a slogan used to lure those brainless lower-ranking soldiers into their deaths.

He worked hard north of Itagaki Seishiro, first attending the Army Officer School, then passing the entrance exam for the Army University, and finally climbing his way up to the rank of lieutenant general. How could he die in some rural village whose name he didn't even know?

He didn't have the courage to stab himself in the stomach with the dagger.

"Burn all codebooks and confidential documents immediately."

Seishiro Itagaki abruptly stood up and gave his final orders to the remaining staff officers and guards:

"Smash the radio station, and then everyone, pick up their bayonets and launch a final, desperate charge for His Majesty the Emperor."

I will be behind you, watching you serve your country faithfully!

"Onboard!"

Several brainwashed Showa-era staff officers, their eyes red, drew their swords and led the remaining guards out of the bunker.

In an instant, only Itagaki Seishiro and his trusted adjutant remained in the bunker.

"Quick, take off your clothes."

Without hesitation, Itagaki Seishiro tore off the collar insignia that signified his rank as a lieutenant general and quickly took off his woolen officer's uniform.

The adjutant quickly rummaged through a sack in the corner and pulled out two sets of tattered, coarse cloth jackets that had been prepared in advance and taken from the people of Daxia.

The two hurriedly changed into tattered coats and put on tattered felt hats.

Seishiro Itagaki walked to the destroyed stove, grabbed a handful of black soot from the bottom of the pot, and without hesitation smeared it on his well-maintained face.

He messed up his hair and rolled around on the ground a few times, getting covered in mud and grass clippings.

At this moment, he was hunched over and had his neck tucked in.

He was exactly like an old man from the Great Xia Dynasty who had been terrified by the war and fled.

Where is there even a trace of the military god who once marched towards Linyi, posing for photos in his riding boots, and even writing haiku to appear cultured?

"Let's go, let's crawl out through the tunnel at the back..."

Itagaki Seishiro lowered his voice and led his adjutant into a narrow tunnel behind the bunker.

After half an hour.

The battle at Lijiazhuang is basically over.

An infantry platoon from the 107th Division is carrying rifles and clearing out the remaining enemy troops from house to house.

"Platoon leader, there's some noise coming from the cellar over here."

A soldier carrying a Type 24 rifle pointed to a corner of a collapsed courtyard wall and shouted.

Platoon leader Wang Youliang immediately led his men to surround them.

"Listen up, you people inside, come out immediately, or we'll throw grenades!" Wang Youliang pulled back the bolt and shouted.

The wooden planks of the cellar were slowly pushed open.

Two filthy men, their faces covered in soot, crawled out, their hands raised high, trembling.

"Boss, don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

We are villagers, captured by the Japanese and forced into hard labor.

Itagaki Seishiro, speaking fluent Northern Mandarin, knelt down with a thud and kowtowed repeatedly.

He had worked as a spy in Daxia for more than a decade in his early years, and his Mandarin was so fluent that no accent could be detected.

The adjutant beside him couldn't speak Chinese, so he could only kneel on the ground, grinning foolishly at everyone he met, revealing a smile that was more like a grimace.

When the soldiers saw that they were civilians, they lowered their guns slightly.

But Wang Youliang was a veteran who had survived countless deaths and was extremely vigilant.

He stepped forward and looked the two people up and down.

The old man looked to be in his fifties. Although he was hunched over and had chapped lips, he had a broad frame and looked much stronger than the average starving farmer.

The tall, thin man in his forties next to him didn't say a word, just grinned foolishly, but his eyes revealed an inexplicable shrewdness.

"Stand up."

Wang Youliang let out a cold shout and grabbed Itagaki Seishiro's right hand.

Seishiro Itagaki's heart skipped a beat, and cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.

He knew that the soldiers of Daxia were touching the calluses on their guns.

Veteran soldiers who handle guns year-round will definitely have thick calluses on the base of their thumbs and the knuckles of their index fingers.

Wang Youliang's rough fingers squeezed Itagaki's hand hard between his thumb and forefinger and in his palm.

Ok?

Wang Youliang frowned.

Although the old man's hands were covered in mud, they were surprisingly smooth to the touch. There were hardly any calluses, let alone gun calluses, or even any calluses from farm work.

He then grabbed the adjutant's hand and touched it; it was the same.

The wariness in Wang Youliang's eyes immediately faded considerably.

Little did he know that the two men in front of him were high-ranking Japanese officers.

Seishiro Itagaki always traveled in a private car and lived a life of luxury. His greatest hobbies were tea ceremony and calligraphy.

He hasn't personally carried a rifle and trained on the field for over a decade, so how could he possibly have calluses on his hands?

By a twist of fate, Itagaki Seishiro managed to overcome this most critical hurdle by relying on his penchant for refined pursuits.

Seeing that Wang Youliang had released his grip, Itagaki Seishiro breathed a long sigh of relief.

Subsequently, the soldiers in the village searched through various cellars and ruins and found dozens of real civilians who had been hiding.

When the villagers saw the troops dressed in the uniforms of the Great Xia army, they clung to the soldiers' legs and wept bitterly, recounting the atrocities the Japanese had committed in the village over the past two weeks.

Seishiro Itagaki mingled in the crowd, secretly observing the unit.

He was somewhat surprised.

This Great Xia army has exceptionally good discipline.

Upon seeing these ordinary people, they not only did not search them or rob them, but they didn't even shout at them.

He had deliberately thrown away all his watches, pens, and seals that might reveal his identity in the tunnel just in case, but now it seems he had done it all for nothing.

"Go and bring a few big pots."

Looking at these villagers who were starving and skin and bones, Wang Youliang turned to the cook and shouted:

"Take some of our military rations and cook a big pot of thin porridge."

Soon, several large pots were set up, and the aroma of rice wafted through the dilapidated village.

"Folks, line up, everyone gets a share."

Wang Youliang shouted through a tin megaphone, while specifically instructing the soldier in charge of serving meals:

"Remember, only give each person a small half bowl."

They had been starving for too long, and their stomachs couldn't handle it. Eating too much at once would have killed them.

Let them drink slowly.

Seishiro Itagaki and his adjutant also received a broken clay bowl.

The bowl contained a small portion of steaming hot brown rice porridge.

Because it was cooked in the ruins of the wilderness, the porridge inevitably got mixed with a lot of sand and grass clippings when the wind blew in.

As Itagaki Seishiro held his bowl, staring at the few dark grass roots floating inside, his stomach churned.

He was a lieutenant general and division commander.

Normally, in the command post, they eat specially supplied food, drink the finest sake, and even the rice is premium rice transported from the local area.

When did I ever eat this kind of pig swill?

But looking at the ordinary people around him, who were wolfing down their food and drinking with great relish, he realized that...

Seishiro Itagaki knew that if he didn't drink, it would definitely arouse suspicion.