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

4:50 a.m.

The wall of the warehouse facing the Yangtze River was blown open by a directional blast.

It didn't collapse; it created a perfect exit that was twelve meters wide and eight meters high.

Liu Dachui—an engineering expert—made explosive calculations accurate to the centimeter. After the explosion, the concrete wall collapsed outwards, forming a natural slide on the riverbank.

Inside the warehouse, the "Yangtze River" rests quietly on a specially made sliding rail.

The bow of the ship points towards the Yangtze River.

Pointing to the Japanese fleet in the darkness.

Qin Feng stood on the bridge, his hand on the communicator:

"All crew members, take your positions."

"Engine room, final checks before main engine startup."

"Navigation team, route parameters are being compiled."

"Weapon system, disarm."

"Electronic warfare system, silent standby across all frequency bands."

One instruction after another was issued.

Inside the warship, indicator lights illuminated one by one. A deep rumble emanated from deep within the hull—the gas turbines were beginning to preheat.

On the dock, all the Chinese soldiers stopped what they were doing.

They looked toward the warehouse.

Look at that steel behemoth that emerged from the ruins.

Lu Bei wiped the blood from his face and grinned, "Damn it...it actually worked..."

Lin Mo lowered his sniper rifle, and a rare smile appeared on his face.

Lei Gang roared, "You damned Japanese devils! Your ancestors have arrived—!!!"

Su Yue's drone swarm hovered above the warship, like a flock of escorting eagles.

Guo Rugui walked to the side of the slipway, looked at the ship, and at the young and resolute faces on the bridge.

He suddenly stood at attention, raised his right hand, and saluted.

Behind him, all the remaining soldiers of the 42nd Brigade who were still standing saluted in unison.

No words were spoken.

There was only the river wind, only the sound of cannons, and only the surging emotions within my chest that felt like they were about to explode.

"Yangtze River"

Bian Yun's voice, amplified by the ship's external loudspeakers, resounded throughout the dock:

"Sail out——!!!"

Unlock via slide rail.

The warship slowly glided towards the Yangtze River along the sloping ramp.

The moment the bow entered the water, it created a huge splash.

Then there's the hull, the stern...

The entire warship slid smoothly into the river.

The river water supports the ship's hull.

The 85-meter-long hull doesn't appear large on the river, but its smooth lines, low-profile stealth design, and menacing weapons make it look like a black dragon emerging from the water.

Once the warship is fully submerged, the main engine thrust increases.

The propellers churned the river water, and the warship began to turn, its bow pointing downstream—towards the Japanese fleet.

On the bridge, Bian Yun pressed the ship-wide broadcast button:

"Attention all—"

"Our ship is ordered to advance and annihilate the enemy."

"Target: Japanese Third Fleet."

…………

Meanwhile, the Yangtze River, Jiangyin section.

The river surface was stained grayish-yellow by gunpowder smoke. Where the current was rapid, the white water columns kicked up by the artillery fire had not yet fallen when a new explosion broke out nearby.

The fourteen remaining ships of the Chinese Navy's First and Second Fleets are drawing a tragic arc on the river.

The youngest of these ships is 15 years old, while the oldest, the "Haiqi," participated in the First Sino-Japanese War. Now, its boilers are old and its speed can barely reach 12 knots.

On the opposite shore, the main force of the Japanese Third Fleet—thirty-seven modern warships—like a group of bloodthirsty steel sharks, was slowly pressing in in a fan-shaped formation.

On the bridge of the flagship "Ninghai", Chen Jiliang put down his binoculars, his fingers trembling slightly.

It wasn't fear, it was anger.

He was furious that his ship's guns had a range less than half that of the enemy, furious that his anti-aircraft firepower was as weak as paper, and furious that his old comrades who had followed him for many years would probably all perish in the middle of the river today.

"Commander, a call from the 'Pinghai'." The communications officer's voice was hoarse. "The port engine room has been hit, and the speed has dropped to seven knots. Requesting... permission to fight to the death."

Chen Jiliang closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a resolute look in them:

"Reply: Approved."

"Send orders to all ships—"

He took a deep breath, his voice booming across the bridge:

"There is no turning back today, only fighting to the death!"

"Our naval officers and soldiers—"

"I'd rather sink to the bottom of the river than dishonor my nation!"

The battle broke out in full force at 8:23.

The main guns of the two "Mogami"-class heavy cruisers—five triple 203mm gun turrets—simultaneously turned and aimed at the "Chu Tong," the foremost ship in the Chinese fleet.

Fire.

Five shells flew through the air for seven seconds before striking precisely the midships of the "Chu Tong".

The explosion ripped off the entire aft turret, and flames instantly engulfed half of the stern. Sailors screamed as they fought the fire, but a second bomb followed, piercing the foredeck.

The "Chu Tong" began to tilt.

Standing on the burning bridge, the captain roared, "Damage control team! Stop the leaks! Stop the leaks!"

But the river water had already surged in...

On board the Ninghai, Chen Jiliang watched the Chutong sink and wept bitterly.

He stared at the nautical chart, at the red arrows representing the Japanese fleet, and at the narrow waterway near Jiangyin.

It can't be held.

These three words burrowed into his heart like a venomous snake.

If Jiangyin cannot be defended, the gateway to Nanjing will be opened.

If Nanjing cannot be defended, East China is doomed.

Unable to hold East China...

He dared not think any further.

"Give the order." Chen Jiliang's voice was very soft, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, "All ships move closer to the center and form a defensive formation."

"We'll drag it out."

"Dragging it until the last ship sank."

"Drag it out until the last sailor dies."

The Chinese fleet began to shrink.

The remaining thirteen ships were arranged in a tight circular formation.

This is a suicide formation.

There is no room for maneuver, and no possibility of retreat.

Japanese fleet commander Kiyoshi Hasegawa, aboard the Izumo, witnessed this scene and a cold smile crept across his face.

"A cornered beast's struggle."

"Order the second squadron to flank from the west, and the third squadron to outflank from the east."

"Air force, concentrate your attack on the flagship."

He wanted to annihilate the entire Chinese fleet.

He wanted to show the world that the Japanese navy was invincible.

8:45 a.m.

The Ninghai has been hit by six bullets.

The forward main gun was destroyed, the bridge caught fire, the engine room flooded, and the speed dropped to five knots. The deck was littered with corpses and wounded soldiers, and medics crawled through the thick smoke, giving makeshift bandages to those who could still be saved.

An eighteen-year-old signalman was cut in the right leg by shrapnel and lay in a pool of blood, his hand still unconsciously gesturing with the signal: "I'd rather die than retreat."

Chen Jiliang's face was covered in soot and blood, and his left eye was lacerated by shrapnel, blurring his vision. But he was still standing, on the burning bridge, like a charred statue.

"Commander..." the chief engineer climbed up, his voice hoarse, "The main engine... it's failing... it can only hold for another twenty minutes at most..."

Chen Jiliang nodded.

twenty minutes.

Enough for another volley.

That's enough to kill dozens more Japanese soldiers.

He looked around.

The Pinghai was sinking, and the captain stood on the tilting deck, saluting the Ninghai.

The "Hai Rong" was engulfed in flames, but its main guns continued to fire, each shot accompanied by a violent tremor, like the final roar of a dying beast.

"Hai Chou"...

Chen Jiliang closed his eyes.

I am sorry.

I'm sorry to my brothers who have been with me for so many years.

Sorry for this navy white outfit.

I'm sorry... China.

Just then—

Lower reaches of the Yangtze River, towards Wusongkou.

A strange whistling sound suddenly came from the sky.

It's not an airplane, and it's not a cannonball.

It was the piercing shriek of some kind of high-speed object tearing through the air, with an extremely high frequency that made people's eardrums ache.

The Japanese lookout post was the first to detect the anomaly:

"Unidentified target! Approaching at high speed! Speed... incalculable!"

Hasegawa rushed to the porthole and raised his binoculars.

He saw it.

On the river, a dark gray shadow was moving upstream at a speed of over fifty knots.

It skimmed the water—no, it glided across the surface, the waves it cleaved through with its bow leaving only a thin layer of spray, like a knife cutting through butter.

The ship has a streamlined hull, a low-slung, almost flat superstructure, no smokestacks, and no cluttered armaments. The paint job is a dark gray, almost black, that hardly reflects light in the morning light.

Most importantly—its flight path.

Straight.

smooth.

Like a line drawn with a ruler.

"What is that..." Hasegawa murmured.