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

Su Yue chose to throw the Phoenix Flame-class thermobaric bomb into the middle of the formation of the 3,000 Japanese soldiers charging into the 10th Brigade.

At this moment, if viewed from above, the battlefield resembles a grotesque painting.

More than three thousand Japanese soldiers lay sprawled across the land, a dark mass resembling a yellowish-brown ocean.

Then, the yellowish-brown ocean suddenly split open in the middle.

Red and white flames engulfed the central two-hundred-meter area.

Even the beautiful red and white colors were spreading outwards, engulfing the yellowish-brown areas that couldn't escape in time.

At that moment, the Japanese soldiers at the forefront heard that "howl"—a sharp whistle like the cry of a phoenix.

The voice came from behind them, and they slowed their pace, not because they didn't want to rush, but because there was something in the voice that made them instinctively afraid.

That thing is called death.

Then, the Japanese soldiers felt the heat, a heat surging from behind, like a summer breeze, but a hundred times hotter.

The heat wave hit the Japanese soldiers' backs, making them feel hot.

Moreover, there was a strange smell in that heatwave.

Sweet, like almonds, like candy.

But they didn't know that it was the smell of thermopressed aluminum powder.

That's the smell of death.

At that moment, a few Japanese soldiers finally couldn't resist turning around for a glance. Just one glance. His legs went weak.

The white and red flames intertwined, like a painting, like a dream.

That white color was the color of burning aluminum powder, so white it was blinding, as white as the sun, a color that seemed unlike anything that should exist on earth.

That red is the color of blood, the color of fire, the color of hell.

White and red intertwined, tumbling, swirling, and devouring everything.

The Japanese soldier saw his squad; the thirty Japanese soldiers who had been following him just moments before were now all in that sea of ​​red and white.

Some were burning, some were rolling on the ground, and some were already motionless.

Their faces, their hands, their bodies were melting, like candles, like butter, like snowmen thrown into a fire.

"Nana..." He murmured, his voice was as soft as a dream, "Nana..." (What...what...)

More and more Japanese soldiers turned back—one, two, ten, dozens.

The Japanese soldiers who had charged at the forefront all stopped in their tracks. They stood there, watching the sea of ​​red and white, watching the Japanese soldiers who had rushed forward with them melt, burn, and suffocate in the flames, watching the road they could never return to.

At this moment, that red and white ocean is still burning, still rolling, still swallowing, like a flower that will never wither.

Although some Japanese soldiers who were lucky enough to escape the flames were still lying on the edge of that ocean, convulsing, twitching, and foaming at the mouth.

But these Japanese soldiers could only watch, and that was all they could do.

Not a single Japanese soldier dared to approach that red and white area, let alone go up to rescue it.

All they want now is to get away, get away, and get away again.

Several Japanese soldiers were even lying on the ground, too exhausted to even stand up and move away.

They were trembling all over and muttering: "帰りたい...帰りたい..." (Want to go back... Want to go back...)

They buried their faces in the mud, held their heads in their hands, and dug their fingernails into their scalps.

The Japanese soldiers didn't want to see that red and white ocean.

They want to go back.

But we can't go back.

When the Japanese chose to set foot on Chinese soil.

All that was left for them was death.

The path left behind them was only a dead end.

"どうする..." (What to do...) a sergeant muttered.

He looked ahead, at Liu Xing's position, at those men in gray-blue uniforms, and at that huge tank.

He turned his head and looked behind him. Behind him was a sea of ​​red and white, and the Japanese soldiers still burning.

Death lies ahead, and death lies behind.

He didn't know what to do. Nobody knew what to do.

Just then, a Japanese soldier stepped forward. His name was Masao Matsumoto, a lieutenant colonel and the commander of the 43rd Regiment of the 10th Brigade.

He stood amidst the Japanese soldiers, raising his saber. The blade flashed in the morning light, illuminating his distorted face. On that face were fear, despair, and a kind of madness that disregarded everything.

He shouted:

"Gentlemen—!!!"

"See you? Go back to the road, go back! 戻れない!" (Did you see it? The road behind you is gone! You can't go back!)

"Now, the only thing I can do is "The handle is set, the body is born, and the body is born!" (Make military exploits and stand out!)

He turned around, his saber pointing at Liu Xing's position.

"Mae にしか, ushin めない! 前へushin めば, 六行がある! 流行をtakes れば, 道が开ける! 生き residual れる! 帰れる! "(You can only move forward! Move forward, it’s Liu Xing! If you take Liu Xing, the road will be open! You can survive! You can go back!)

Those Japanese soldiers who were lying down, kneeling, or trembling slowly raised their heads.

They looked at Matsumoto, at the military knife, at his crazed eyes.

Fear is contagious, and so is madness.

"Damn it, Black Card—!!!" Matsumoto roared.

"Damn it, Black Card!!!" a Japanese soldier shouted in response.

"Famous and successful!" Another Japanese devil roared.

"The great cause has been accomplished!" More and more Japanese screamed.

On Liu Xing's position, Lei Gang stood there, holding up his binoculars:

"Su Yue." He pressed the communication button. "There are still some that slipped through the net at the very front. More than two hundred of them."

Su Yue's voice came through the communication device:

"Yes. Not many. Give them to Commander Gu."

Lei Gang put down his binoculars and turned around. He looked at Gu Yunshan and at the men in gray-blue military uniforms.

"Brigade Commander Gu—" Lei Gang's voice boomed like thunder, "It's your turn!"

Gu Yunshan stood there, gripping the large, blunted sword. The blood on the blade had dried and formed a dark red scab.

He turned around to face the men in gray-blue military uniforms. Eight hundred men, eight hundred pairs of eyes.

"Brothers," he began, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper grinding iron, but every word was clear.

"Did you hear that? Our brothers from later generations say—it's our turn."

No one spoke. But everyone gripped their guns tightly.

Finally, it was their turn again.

It was their turn to kill the Japanese devils.

Gu Yunshan raised his broadsword, the blade flashing briefly in the morning light.

"There are still over two hundred Japanese soldiers left, they're surrounded and can't escape. They want to charge in, to capture Liu Xing, to save their lives. What do you think—should we let them charge in?"

"No—!!!" Eight hundred voices exploded simultaneously.

"Can we get them to take down Liu Xing?"

"cannot--!!!"

"Can we save their lives?"

"cannot--!!!"

Gu Yunshan turned around to face the more than two hundred Japanese soldiers surging towards him. He picked up his broadsword, the tip pointing at the tan-colored figures.

"Brigade 021—!!!"

"exist--!!!"

"Follow me—kill—!!!"