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

explain!"

Ishida stared intently at Ota.

Ota swallowed hard and lowered his voice:

"Captain... our squad brought grenades for this assault."

He paused, carefully observing Ishida's expression:

"Originally... it was intended to be used to blow up those iron turtles at close range."

"Iron Turtle" was the nickname they privately gave to the three steel behemoths of the Chinese army.

"But now we..." Ohta took a deep breath and said the most crucial sentence:

"We've discovered this small building."

He didn't finish speaking.

Ishida's eyes suddenly lit up.

"A grenade!" He slammed his hand on the broken wall. "That's right! A grenade! We can blast a breach! Blow a breach from the side!"

He spoke extremely fast, spittle flying onto Ota's face:

"Ota! You're very good! No wonder you attended the Army Academy!"

He reached out and patted Ota's shoulder hard.

"Once we take Shanghai, I'll definitely recommend you to the higher-ups! You'll get promoted! You'll make a fortune! You'll bring glory to your ancestors!"

Ota swayed as he was patted.

He forced a smile, his lips twitching with difficulty.

That smile was awful.

It's uglier than crying.

He did attend the Army Academy.

A three-month intensive course.

He's barely even thrown a few grenades.

The training field used wooden training rounds, five meters away. He threw them three times, missing the target twice.

The instructor called him a "grenade idiot".

He dared not say that.

I dare not say it now.

He just kept his head down, letting Ishida pat his shoulder, mechanically replying:

"Hai... Hai..."

Just then.

Another voice broke in.

"team leader."

Ishida turned his head and saw Matsumoto Ken squatting in the corner, his back against the wall.

"Matsumoto?" Ishida frowned.

Matsumoto did not look at Ishida.

He stared at the small blue stone building:

"Captain, the Chinese have their reasons for choosing this small building as their base."

He raised his hand and pointed to the building that stood silent in the morning light:

"This building is a century-old house."

"The wall is made of bluestone."

"Fill the gaps with glutinous rice paste."

He spoke slowly and deliberately:

"A hand grenade, not even enough to scratch the skin."

Ishida's excitement vanished as if someone had poured cold water on it.

"Several," Matsumoto continued, his tone as calm as if he were analyzing a tactical case in class. "Tie them together. Place them in the weakest spots—corners, window frames, door frames."

"and--"

He paused:

"It must be close. Within five meters."

Then he turned his head and looked at the stiff, half-dead corpse lying on the ground by the door.

I looked at that dark, gaping door.

"But now—"

"We don't even dare to show our faces."

silence.

A deathly silence.

The ecstasy that had just ignited on Ishida's face turned ashen again.

He knew Matsumoto was right.

That small building cannot be breached from the front.

The gate had been blocked by the remnants of the Chinese army, who had built a wall of flesh and blood around it.

The tiger-headed broadsword was still dripping blood.

That sharpshooter is still hiding somewhere.

Those thirteen silent figures were like thirteen nails, firmly fixed there.

A direct, forceful attack.

There aren't enough people to die.

His triangular eyes looked at the wall on the side of the small building.

bluestone.

Glutinous rice paste.

A century-old house.

If we could approach it from the side...

If we could bypass the main entrance...

If only we could shove the grenade into a corner...

But here is the problem.

Who's going?

Ishida's triangular eyes slowly swept over the twenty-three Japanese soldiers in front of him.

Matsumoto.

Ohta.

Watanabe.

Takahashi.

Sasaki.

……

He looked at every single face.

But every single Japanese soldier avoided his gaze.

Like avoiding a plague.

Ishida took a deep breath.

He spoke, his voice carrying a deliberate, feigned air of "fairness":

"you."

Let's draw lots.

Dead silence.

Twenty-three Japanese soldiers, no one moved.

An unknown amount of time passed.

at last.

One of the Japanese soldiers mustered his courage.

That was Watanabe—a private in his early twenties.

"Team... Captain..."

"And you?"

Koji Ishida stiffened his neck and looked away.

"I want to take command."

"I'm not going."

The lottery has begun.

Matsumoto Ken dragged a damaged ammunition box from the corner and tore off a piece of cardboard that was still relatively intact from the lid.

Cut it open with a bayonet.

Cut it into twenty-three thin strips.

then.

He drew three cards from them.

Break these three pieces in half.

It became a "short sign" that was only half the length.

Then, he held all the slips of paper in his palm.

Squeeze hard.

then.

wow-

Twenty-three crumpled pieces of paper were all thrown into an empty helmet.

"Go ahead and draw," said Squad Leader Koji Ishida.

Nobody moved.

Ishida waited for five seconds.

A hint of annoyance flashed in his triangular eyes.

"smoke!"

"You guys don't smoke—"

He was panting heavily, like a wild boar cornered in a desperate situation.

"I'll report you all!"

He pointed at them one by one, his fingers trembling:

"Disobeying orders on the battlefield!"

"Fearing the enemy and failing to advance!"

"Deserting in the face of battle!"

"Shoot them all!"

"Family members are jointly liable—!!!"

"They must all commit seppuku!!!"

The last few words struck like a heavy hammer against every Japanese soldier.

If they are executed for "fearing the enemy and failing to advance"...

What will happen to the family members?

at last.

Someone reached out.

The first to reach out was Ota.

His face was deathly pale, his lips were bluish-purple, and he was trembling constantly.

Finally, he closed his eyes and grabbed one at random.

He clutched the crumpled paper tightly in his hand.

He didn't open it immediately.

Just holding it.

The second person to reach out was Watanabe.

He is younger than Ota.

My hands shook even more violently.

He grabbed a crumpled piece of paper, opened it a crack, and peeked inside—

Then, as if all the bones had been removed from my body, I collapsed to the ground.

Long signature.

He survived.

The third one, the fourth one...

The crumpled paper balls were taken out one by one.

After someone opened it, they let out a long breath and slumped to the ground, as if they had just been pulled out of the water—it was a long skewer.

When someone opened it, they froze.

The moment a Japanese veteran draws the short draw.

My legs went weak.

With a "thump," he knelt on the ground.

"I have...five children in my family..."

"The youngest is only two years old..."

"If I die... who will take care of them...?"

Ishida waved his hand impatiently:

"Next! Don't waste time!"

Twenty-three slips of paper.

All opened.

Twenty long slips.

Three short slips.

Ota's palms were already bleeding from being pinched by his fingernails.

He lowered his head.

Slowly spread your fingers.

half.

Short visa.

He stared at the half-finished note for a long time.

Watanabe, who had been standing nearby for a while, gently nudged him.

"Ota-kun..."

Ota looked up, his face showing an expression as if his mother had died.

"Ota," Ishida's voice rang out.

"Go."

"Go and shatter like jade."

Ota did not move.

He knelt on the ground, head bowed.

His shoulders were trembling slightly.

"team leader……"

"I'm at my home in Hiroshima... and my wife is there..."

"She's only twenty-three years old..."

"We've only been married for a year..."

"When I left...she was already pregnant..."

He couldn't continue.

Ishida remained silent for three seconds.

Then he spoke.

There is an old Chinese saying—

He looked at Ota:

"I will take care of your wife and children."

Ota was stunned.

He doesn't understand Chinese.

But what he meant by that sentence was...

I will raise your wife and children.

He stared at Ishida.

Staring at those triangular eyes that remained completely expressionless.

Sudden.

Ota understood.

That beast, Ishida.

He won't raise it.

These words were simply meant to make him die more willingly.

It's like tricking a pig that's about to be slaughtered.

"Go in peace, I'll take good care of your baby," Squad Leader Koji Ishida added.

Pigs don't understand this.

But Ota understood.

He understood everything.

but.

Disobeying orders?

deserter?

Family members are held jointly liable.

wife.

An unborn child.

He lowered his head, his throat bobbing:

"Hai."