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

In the northwest direction, the Japanese army was still charging.

They roared like an endless horde of beasts.

But on China's side...

But it was a completely different scene.

Chen Dashan seemed to be lost in some kind of memory.

The embroiderer looked at him but did not disturb him.

I just looked at his profile as he gazed southwest.

That face bore scars, bloodstains, and weariness.

But there was something very soft in those eyes.

That is longing.

It's because I miss home.

He misses his mother, his wife, and his child.

The embroiderer asked softly:

"Missing home?"

Chen Dashan did not answer.

Just nodded.

After a while, Chen Dashan suddenly spoke.

His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself:

My home is in Sichuan.

"Chenjia'ao".

"There's a banyan tree at the village entrance, it's three hundred years old."

"My mom's dan dan noodles are so delicious."

"My wife makes wontons; the wrappers are thin and the filling is generous, perfect for one bite."

"My child...my child's name is Gou Dan (Dog Egg)."

He was only four years old when I left.

"She should be five years old now."

"I wonder how tall he's grown."

I wonder if you still remember me.

His voice grew softer and softer.

Finally, it seemed to be blown away by the wind...

The embroiderer remained silent.

I just stood there with him, looking in that direction.

Southwest direction.

Very, very far to the southwest.

There, is Chen Dashan's home.

He has his mother, his wife, and his child.

He has everyone he can't let go of.

In the distance, the bugle call of the Japanese army had already sounded.

Chen Dashan also withdrew his longing gaze.

He took a deep breath and gripped the blunted blade of the greatsword tightly.

Then, he turned his head and looked at the embroiderer.

The longing had vanished from those eyes.

Instead, there was a very calm and steadfast light.

"Comrade Embroiderer," he said.

"Um?"

"I am from Sichuan."

"People from Sichuan left Sichuan and came to Shanghai."

He paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately:

"Sichuan Army Company—"

"Fight to the bitter end."

The embroiderer looked at him.

Looking at this one-eyed Sichuan Army company commander.

Looking at the large, blunt-bladed sword in his hand.

Looking at his body covered in wounds, blood, and exhaustion.

But she looked more into his eyes.

There is fire in that single eye.

That was the fire of the Sichuan Army.

It is the fire of Chinese soldiers.

It is a fire that can never be extinguished.

She nodded:

"it is good."

"Then let's—"

She turned to face the surging tide:

"Fight to the bitter end."

…………

Japanese 3rd Division Command.

Fujita Susumu stood on the makeshift observation platform.

It was called a lookout tower, but it was actually just a simple frame made of a few logs and planks, placed on the roof of the ancestral hall that had been requisitioned.

He held up his binoculars with both hands, staring intently at the battlefield on the north bank of Luodian.

Fujii Susumu's gaze, through the telescope, was fixed on the battlefield on the north bank.

Through the binoculars, he watched as Japanese soldiers lay dead, their bodies mangled beyond recognition, yet his face remained expressionless.

"Commander."

Chief of Staff Tanaka walked up behind him.

His voice trembled.

"Infantry casualties...have exceeded three thousand."

Fujita Susumu did not answer.

He simply continued to watch the battlefield.

Looking at the soldiers charging forward.

Watching them fall one by one.

Look at them—

They turned into corpses.

Turn into numbers.

become--

Three thousand.

Chief of Staff Tanaka gritted his teeth.

Adam's apple bobbed.

He continued with difficulty:

"Yes or no……"

He paused:

"Should we send the Independent Tank Regiment... into battle?"

Fujita Susumu's hand paused slightly.

then.

He put down his binoculars and murmured the same sentence over and over:

"The 7th Independent Tank Regiment..."

Tanaka stepped forward hastily:

"Commander, the infantry have done their best!"

His voice was tinged with a sob:

"Those Chinese positions have ironclad defenses and sorcery; you can't break through them by just charging in!"

Fujita Susumu raised his hand.

I interrupted him.

Tanaka, shut up.

Fujita Susumu turned around.

Look at him.

There was something very complex in those eyes.

I hesitated.

There is reluctance.

There is a resolute determination.

and also--

A barely perceptible, teetering madness.

"Tanaka."

He spoke first. "Do you know what an independent tank regiment means to the 3rd Division?"

Tanaka was stunned.

Fujita Susumu continued:

"That is the Imperial Army's most elite armored force."

"Each one is the property of the Empire."

"Every crew member is an elite who has undergone more than three years of training."

He paused.

Word by word:

"They are the lifeblood of the Third Division."

Tanaka fell silent.

Of course he knew.

tank.

It is a true strategic resource.

Not every division has tanks.

Only the elite of the elite.

Only the best of the best.

The 3rd Division has it.

It is because they are the pride of the Imperial Army.

They were a veteran and formidable force that fought their way to Shanghai during the Russo-Japanese War.

But what if the tank corps is wiped out here...?

If all those elites who spent three years training die here...

Fujita Susumu, how are we going to explain this to our superiors?

How do we explain this to headquarters?

How to—

What will happen when it gets dark and the card is exposed?

Tanaka broke out in a cold sweat.

But Fujita Susumu ignored Chief of Staff Tanaka.

He turned around, looked at the battlefield on the north bank, and spoke with a ferocious expression:

"Let the Independent Tank Regiment go into battle."

There was no other choice.

Fujita Susumu raised his binoculars.

Looking at the battlefield on the north bank, piled high with corpses.

"We have no way out," he said.

Below the observation deck.

Inside the command post.

The staff officers and officers all heard what Fujita Susumu said.

They stopped what they were doing.

But no one spoke.

Only the wind.

The wind blew over those antennas.

It makes a "woo-woo" sound.

For the Japanese army.

This is like—

An ominous sign.