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

To the northwest, Japanese infantry are running at full speed.

They followed around the six tanks, trying to maintain a coordinated infantry-tank formation.

But the three Japanese tanks on the left suddenly accelerated like madmen.

「ちくしょう——!!!」

A private named Matsumoto immediately launched into a tirade of profanities.

The tank accelerated, so he had to accelerate too; he was running so fast his lungs felt like they were going to explode.

Matsumoto carried a Type 38 rifle on his back, with two ammunition pouches and four hand grenades hanging from his waist.

Fully armed, weighing at least thirty pounds.

He couldn't catch up.

How can two legs possibly catch up with a tank?

His steps grew heavier and heavier.

It's getting slower and slower.

「まって……まって……」

(Wait...wait...)

He was panting heavily as he shouted at the tanks that were getting further and further away.

But the tank couldn't hear it.

Or rather—

They don't care at all.

"Keep up! Everyone keep up!"

Sergeant Yamamoto Ichiro turned around and roared at the several Japanese soldiers behind him.

His face turned bright red.

Veins bulging.

"Those who don't want to die, follow me!"

He was the commander of this squad, with thirty-seven Japanese soldiers under his command.

His mission was to lead these men, follow behind the tanks, and use the tanks as cover to approach the Chinese defenders' positions.

If you can't keep up with the tanks...

Then they would be exposed.

They were exposed to the guns of the Chinese defenders.

Sergeant Yamamoto's voice was already hoarse.

But he kept shouting.

They're still urging us.

Still there, running desperately.

If you don't run, you'll die.

Private Matsumoto, who was lagging behind, felt like his lungs were about to burst.

His pace slowed down.

It's getting heavier and heavier.

"I can't... I can't take it anymore..."

He was breathing heavily.

Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge.

From the nearby Beicun village, a fellow villager who had enlisted in the army in the same year as him grabbed his arm.

"Don't stop!"

Kitamura shouted:

"Stop and you'll die!"

Matsumoto gritted his teeth.

Keep running.

But he also knew that they couldn't catch up with the Japanese tanks ahead.

The distance between them and the tanks was getting farther and farther.

On the Chinese front.

Chen Dashan's one eye was fixed on the exposed Japanese infantrymen who were charging forward.

His eyes shone like red-hot iron.

"beat!"

He raised the large, blunt-bladed sword.

He swung it forward.

The blade flashed a cold light in the morning light:

"Focus on the infantry! Ignore the tanks!"

The soldiers of the Seventh Company had been waiting for a long time.

Tian Dazhuang lay prone behind the cover.

He held the Hanyang rifle steadily in his hand.

He traded a hand grenade for this gun.

It was found on a dead Japanese soldier.

Thirty bullets, now nineteen remain.

His sights locked onto a running Japanese soldier.

That Japanese soldier ran very fast.

But Tian Dazhuang's eyes were even faster than his.

"Damn it, he ran pretty fast."

He said softly.

then.

Pull the trigger.

"Bang--!"

A Japanese infantryman, a flower of blood bursting open in his chest.

He took two steps.

Then he fell to the ground.

It twitched twice.

It stopped moving.

Tian Dazhuang pulled the bolt.

The spent cartridge case popped out.

It was smoking.

It fell into the soil next to it.

His eyes were already fixed on the next one.

Beside him, Liu Manzai, a young man from Hunan, was using a captured Type 38 rifle.

This gun is more accurate than the Hanyang rifle.

The bullets were also light.

Low recoil.

He lay in a bomb crater.

The gun barrel was resting on the edge of the shell crater.

They set their sights on another group of Japanese soldiers.

That Japanese soldier ran the fastest.

They were almost catching up with the tank.

"Trying to run away?"

Liu Manzai's eyes were fixed on the sights.

Stare at the Japanese soldier's legs.

Pull the trigger.

"Bang--!"

That Japanese soldier's leg was broken.

He let out a scream.

Fell to the ground.

The Japanese soldiers behind him stepped over him.

No one stopped to look at him.

There were also soldiers from Hubei, Hunan, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Jiangxi...

Every soldier in the Seventh Company was firing.

Every soldier in the Seventh Company.

everyone.

They all picked up their guns.

They used ammunition they had salvaged from the battlefield these past few days.

Ammunition retrieved from the dead Japanese soldiers.

"Bang--!"

A Japanese soldier fell.

"Bang--!"

Another one.

"Bang--!"

"Bang--!"

"Bang--!"

Japanese infantrymen fell in droves.

Among the infantry, Sergeant Yamamoto, running near the front, roared at the tanks ahead:

"Commander Watanabe! Commander!"

"Slow down! Please!"

He was out of breath from running.

I ran so hard my lungs felt like they were going to explode.

"Slow down—!!!"

But the Japanese tanks continued to accelerate.

Leave them behind.

It flew further and further away.

Finally, inside Japanese tank number "01".

Ichiro Watanabe glanced back through the small manual rearview mirror.

Behind them, infantrymen were falling in droves.

His brows furrowed.

"Baka..."

"A bunch of useless trash!"

But the infantrymen behind him were, after all, the Imperial Army, just like him.

Watanabe gritted his teeth.

Push down the control lever:

"slow down!"

The tanks in front slowed down.

Sergeant Yamamoto noticed that the tanks in front of him had slowed down.

I almost cried.

Tears rolled in the eyes.

"Hurry! Hurry! Keep up!"

He roared.

He led the remaining infantry and ran forward desperately.

I ran past the fallen corpses.

He ran past the wounded soldiers who were still screaming in pain.

at last.

They caught up with the tank.

They hid behind the tank.

They curled up into a ball.

He was panting heavily.

Private Matsumoto leaned against the cold armor of a Japanese tank.

I felt like my heart was about to jump out of my chest.

"It's nothing to do..."

He murmured:

"It's alright...it's alright..."

His eyes were closed.

A slight smile even appeared at the corner of his mouth.

That was the smile of someone who had survived a catastrophe.

That is--

The smile that made him think he had survived.

Sergeant Yamamoto also relied on tanks.

He wiped the sweat from his face.

Sweat mixed with dirt covered his face.

He was panting heavily.

He was panting like a wild dog being chased.

"Sukeko...is saved..."

He looked at the Japanese soldiers who were still falling.

Looking at those—

Japanese soldiers who failed to catch up with the tanks.

Those Japanese soldiers who were still screaming in agony amidst the gunfire.

Those Japanese soldiers still struggling in pools of blood.

He was still shaken.

"So close...so close to..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Because the next second—

A dark shadow.

It flew in from afar.

The dark figure moved very quickly.

Fast as lightning.

Fast as—

The Grim Reaper's scythe.

Those were armor-piercing projectiles fired by the embroiderer.

It came hurtling in—!!!