Not enough Japanese devils to kill? 1.4 billion people volunteer for the Battle of Shanghai.

Katayama Riichiro forced the fleeing Japanese soldiers back onto the battlefield.

To some extent, it also prevented the entire 5th Infantry Brigade from collapsing.

This 5th Infantry Brigade truly lived up to its reputation as an elite unit of the Japanese 3rd Division.

After a brief breakdown, under the shouts of officers and the pressure from the supervisory team, they quickly regrouped and made tactical adjustments.

No more concentrated assaults.

No more mindlessly charging forward while brandishing bayonets and shouting "Banzai".

More than 5,000 Japanese soldiers, like scattered beans, quickly dispersed into skirmish lines two kilometers wide, organized by squads and platoons.

They made full use of the terrain—craters, ruins, charred tree trunks, and even the bodies of their comrades—as cover as they leaped forward in alternating leaps.

His movements were still practiced, but with a hint of cunning.

The pace of the charge slowed, but the threat level actually increased.

Because they are dispersed, their firepower cannot be concentrated to cover the area.

Being cautious means not easily stepping into a death trap.

From a high altitude, on the scorched earth north of Luodian, yellowish-brown spots resembled ant colonies, slowly crawling towards the Chinese positions from all directions.

Inside the "Qilin 102" car.

The embroiderer's eyes were pressed against the scope.

On the fire control system screen, red dots representing enemy units were densely packed, almost covering the entire fan-shaped area.

Quantity: 5000+.

Formation: Extremely spread out.

The anvil was set to "Sniper Mode".

The barrel of the 125mm smoothbore cannon was slightly raised, and the muzzle brake grille cast a fine shadow in the morning light.

The crosshairs of the scope pressed firmly against the chest of a Japanese captain who was brandishing his sword and roaring orders to advance his troops.

Distance: 1200 meters.

Wind speed: Level 3, from right to left.

Humidity: 75 percent.

The fire control computer automatically compensated for all variables.

"locking."

The fingers of the anvil gently rested on the launch button.

No hesitation.

puff--!

A flash of light appeared from the muzzle of the cannon.

The moment the shell left the barrel, the cannon recoiled slightly, and the hydraulic system emitted a low hissing sound...

Meanwhile, to the northwest.

Captain Kenta Yamaguchi, the company commander of the 2nd Company of the 3rd Battalion of the Japanese Army, was in a state of near-manic excitement.

He was born into a Kyushu samurai family. His ancestors had military achievements during the Meiji Restoration. His father was a major general in the army, and his elder brother served in the Kwantung Army.

Yamaguchi himself graduated from the Army War College and was known for his "bravery and courage"—in reality, he was just reckless.

On the battlefield of Shanghai, his company had suffered more than half its casualties, but he didn't care. In his view, casualties were a soldier's honor, proof of loyalty to His Majesty the Emperor.

At this moment, he was brandishing his ancestral samurai sword, the hilt wrapped with faded red silk, and roaring, urging the soldiers to advance.

"Charge! Charge with me—!!!"

His khaki military uniform was covered in mud, and his face beneath the helmet was contorted with excitement.

The soldiers around him, however, seemed somewhat hesitant.

The soldiers lay prone in shell craters and behind rubble, only half their heads showing, cautiously scanning the sky and ahead.

The rain of steel balls falling from the sky had already planted seeds of fear in their hearts.

"Captain Yamaguchi..." A young private cautiously peeked out from the edge of the shell crater, his voice trembling:

There's an old Chinese saying, "The nail that sticks out gets hammered down..."

He swallowed hard, gazing at the eerily silent Chinese position ahead:

"Should we...slow down? Let the other squadrons go first..."

"Baka!"

Yamaguchi whirled around, his katana nearly striking Kameda in the face.

"The Imperial Army can only charge! Can only advance! What's this about 'the nail that sticks out gets hammered down'? That's a cowardly Chinese idea!"

He pointed the tip of his knife at the sky, his voice hoarse and fanatical:

"We are the Emperor's warriors! The Empire's sharpest blade! A blade only moves forward, never backward!"

"Look at you!" His gaze swept over the pale-faced soldiers huddled behind cover. "What do you look like? Like frightened rats!"

"Stand up! Stand tall! Let the Chinese see what a true Imperial soldier is!"

He suddenly straightened up, fully exposed outside the cover, and raised his katana:

"Second Company—!"

"Charge with me—!!!"

The words fell.

He was the first to leap out of the crater, sword in hand, and charged towards the Chinese positions like an ancient samurai.

The movements were exaggerated, the posture... ridiculous.

But the soldiers behind him had no choice but to charge.

Because he was a military officer.

Because the supervisory team is behind.

Because... they had no other choice.

The remaining Japanese soldiers in the company reluctantly got up one after another and began to charge.

Yamaguchi was in the lead.

He could feel the wind whistling past his ears, hear his own heavy breathing, and see the scorched earth and dilapidated fortifications getting closer and closer ahead.

My blood is boiling.

Glory is calling.

He had even begun to imagine—

They charged into the Chinese positions and beheaded several Chinese soldiers with their samurai swords.

Take a photo, publish it in the newspaper, and become an imperial hero.

His father would be proud of him, and his brothers would cheer for him.

"Banzai—!!!"

He roared and shouted to encourage himself.

Then--

He heard a sound.

A strange, sharp, and ever-approaching...

A whistling sound.

They came from the sky.

Yamaguchi subconsciously looked up.

The sky was grayish-white, with wisps of smoke drifting by.

Then, he saw it.

A small black dot is rapidly growing larger.

It was too fast; he didn't have time to react at all.

What is that?

Cannonball?

But... shouldn't the shells be coming from the front?

How could it come from the sky...?

For a moment, Yamaguchi's mind went completely blank.

All the passion, all the glory, all the fantasies, all froze.

Only the most primal, biological response to death remains—

fear.

His pupils dilated suddenly.

Magnify to the limit.

He could clearly see that the black dot was getting bigger and clearer.

It's a cannonball.

It was the kind he had never seen before—short, stubby, with stabilizer wings…

cannonballs.

It fell vertically, directly above his head.

Time seemed to slow down dramatically at that moment.

From the mountain pass, one could even see the faint sparks emanating from the tail of the shells.

You can see the faint white smoke produced by the friction of the projectile in the air.

You can see... what death looks like.

He wanted to hide.

But my body won't obey me.

My legs felt like they were made of lead, rooted to the spot.

He wanted to shout.

But it felt like my throat was being choked, and I couldn't make a sound.

We could only watch helplessly as the shell grew larger and larger...

Finally, it occupied his entire field of vision.

puff.

It wasn't a deafening explosion.

It was a dull sound, like a watermelon being smashed.

The 125mm high-explosive armor-piercing round weighs over twenty kilograms.

Falling at nearly twice the speed of sound, it carries enough kinetic energy to smash through the armor of a light tank.

It hit someone—

The result is predictable.

Captain Kenta Yamaguchi, the "Imperial Warrior" who charged forward wielding his ancestral katana and shouting "Banzai," vanished the instant the shells touched his body.

It wasn't blown up.

It was smashed.

Like a tomato smashed by a giant's hammer.

The body disintegrated instantly under the immense kinetic energy.

Bones, muscles, internal organs, blood... all mixed together, turning into a puddle of... stuff.

The shelling didn't stop.

It continued to fall and crashed into the ground.

Then, it exploded.

boom--!!!!

The belated explosion was deafening.

The shockwave hurled the mangled remains of the mountain pass, along with three staff officers and two messengers within a five-meter radius, into the air.

All that remained was a crater three meters in diameter and one and a half meters deep.

At the bottom of the pit was a dark red mud mixed with bits of flesh and blood, as well as the remains of the ancestral samurai sword.

All around was deathly silent.

Further behind Captain Yamaguchi, a young private lay prone on the ground, less than ten meters from the crater.

His face was splattered with warm, sticky liquid.

He reached out and touched it.

Red and white, mixed together.

It was the captain's blood, and... his brains.

He stared blankly at the still-smoking crater, at the dark red mud at the bottom, and at the fragments of flesh and blood that were slowly falling from the sky.

My ears are ringing.

Only one voice echoed repeatedly in my mind:

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down...

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down...

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down...

That old Chinese saying is true after all.

They really know how to fight.

And it was fought so thoroughly, so...cleanly.

So clean that not even a complete corpse was left...