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

First Fleet Commander Chen Jiliang, leaning against the shattered window frame, looked at the dark gray warship, which resembled a shadow of death, drifting on the river.

Wherever they went, they brought destruction.

He watched as those once invincible Japanese warships were torn apart, sunk, and set ablaze like toys.

He looked at the Yangtze River, which had transformed from a slaughterhouse for the Japanese army into a graveyard for them.

Is this... really true?

With trembling hands, he pulled a pocket watch from his pocket—a gift from his wife; the case was dented by shrapnel, but it was still ticking. The hour hand pointed to nine in the morning.

Not a dream.

Time is passing.

The river breeze is blowing.

The sound of cannons is ringing out—but it is our cannons that are ringing out.

Chen Jiliang slowly turned around and looked at the soldiers on the bridge.

Their faces were covered in tears, blood, and the smoke of battle.

But in everyone's eyes, there is a light he has never seen before.

That light is called hope.

Chen Jiliang took a deep breath, mustered all his strength, and roared out:

"Brothers—!!!"

"Did you see that?!"

He pointed to the dark gray warship on the river, and then to the red flag:

"That's our ship—!!!"

"Our Chinese ships—!!!"

The entire "Ninghai" ship erupted with a deafening, heart-wrenching roar.

On the bridge of the "Yangtze" ship.

Bian Yun put down his binoculars and looked at the sailors on the "Ninghai" who were waving their arms wildly and crying their eyes out.

Looking at the burning wreckage of Japanese warships on the Yangtze River.

He pressed the ship's broadcast button:

"This is the 'Yangtze River'."

To all officers and soldiers of the First and Second Fleets of the Chinese Navy:

"You've worked hard."

"Now, please rest."

"The battle to come—"

He paused, his voice echoing across the Yangtze River through the loudspeaker, piercing through the smoke of war and the passage of eighty-eight years:

"Leave it to us."

Leave these to us.

From 2025.

Future generations of descendants.

At 9:17 a.m., the Yangtze River, Jiangyin section.

The smoke of battle had not yet cleared, and the wreckage of burning Japanese warships drifted on the river, billowing black smoke that stained the sky a murky grayish-yellow. But the gunfire had stopped—at least, the Japanese gunfire had stopped.

On both sides of the Yangtze River, the people who had originally hidden in the reeds, dilapidated houses, and mountain valleys cautiously peeked out.

They first saw the scene on the river.

I saw those once invincible Japanese warships, now reduced to piles of burning scrap metal.

I saw the dark gray, sleek, knife-like Chinese warship, the "Yangtze," quietly moored in the middle of the river, its red flag fluttering in the morning breeze.

Then they saw the wreckage of the Chinese fleet.

I saw the Ninghai's hull riddled with holes.

I saw Chinese sailors waving their arms and crying loudly on the deck.

silence.

A suffocating silence that lasted for more than ten seconds.

Then, an old fisherman on the north bank, dressed in tattered clothes, suddenly threw down his fishing net, knelt on the mudflat, raised his hands to the sky, and roared with all his might:

"Oh my God!!!"

"Our ship—!!!"

"We won—!!!"

…………

People on both sides of the Taiwan Strait are cheering and celebrating the hard-won victory.

But in Bian Yun's view, war never ends mercifully just because of a victory.

9:23 a.m.

On the light cruiser "Isuzu," the remnant command ship of the Japanese Third Fleet, off the coast of the Yangtze River estuary.

Acting Commander Colonel Kenjiro Sato had just learned of the disastrous defeat at Jiangyin via radio—a brief communication that had been miraculously restored during a lull in the electronic jamming of the Yangtze.

The Izumo sank.

Commander-in-Chief Kiyoshi Hasegawa died a violent death.

Four cruisers, nine destroyers, twelve auxiliary vessels... all were sunk or severely damaged.

The main force of the Third Fleet was annihilated within twenty minutes.

Sato slumped in his command chair, his face ashen.

He couldn't understand it.

It is incomprehensible how a Chinese warship that suddenly appeared and had never been seen before could do all this.

I can't understand what kind of weapon or tactic it is.

I can't understand... How could the Imperial Navy possibly lose?

"Colonel..." the communications officer's voice trembled, "What...what should we do?"

Sato abruptly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, a mixture of despair and madness in them:

"What should we do?"

"What else can we do?!"

He roared as he stood up and slammed his fist on the chart table:

"No matter how powerful that ship is, there's only one!"

"It doesn't have an airplane!"

"Give the order—" he practically roared, "All carrier-based aircraft that can still take off, take off! Land-based air force, urgently mobilize from Shanghai Airport!"

"Target: That gray Chinese warship on the Jiangyin River!"

"Sink it!"

The order has been issued.

9:30 a.m.

Outside the mouth of the Yangtze River, the last twelve Type 96 carrier-based attack aircraft took off urgently from the Japanese aircraft carrier "Ryujo," one of the remaining ships.

At the same time, at Shanghai Jiangwan Airport and Gongda Airport, eight Type 96 carrier-based fighters and five Type 97 heavy bombers from the Japanese land-based air force were scrambled into the air.

A total of twenty-five Japanese aircraft, like a swarm of enraged wasps, buzzed and roared as they swooped down toward the Yangtze River and toward Jiangyin.

They rushed towards the "Yangtze River," the ship that had brought shame upon their entire fleet.

Meanwhile, on the bridge of the "Changjiang" warship, radar officer Zhao Hai stared at the screen, his voice calm but urgent:

"Aerial targets detected. Number 25, bearing 095, distance 80 kilometers, altitude 3,000 meters, speed 280 knots."

"Identified as Japanese aircraft - Type 96 carrier-based attack aircraft, Type 96 carrier-based fighter, and Type 97 heavy bomber."

"Expected to enter attack range in fifteen minutes."

The atmosphere on the bridge suddenly became tense.

Everyone looked at Bian Yun.

Bian Yun frowned slightly.

This is the Yangtze River.

It's not the open ocean.

The river was narrow, limiting the maneuverability of warships. There were also Chinese civilians on both banks.

"Activate full shipboard air defense combat status." Bian Yun's voice rang out, calmer than one would expect in the face of a fierce battle.

"Lin Tao, prepare the anti-aircraft missiles. But don't use them yet—wait until they reach their optimal range."

"clear."

"Close-in weapon system, automatic mode deactivated, switched to manual fire control. Wang Ying, it's up to you."

Air Defense Commander Wang Ying grinned, his finger already on the control panel: "Don't worry, Captain, we'll take down as many as they come."

Qin Feng added: "Engine room, prepare for maximum maneuverability. Zheng Tie, on my orders, make an emergency turn at any time."

"receive!"

Orders were issued one after another.

The Yangtze River, like a startled beast, began to awaken.

The four phased array radars above the bridge began to rotate at high speed.

The Type 730 close-in weapon system on the side of the gun had its barrel slightly raised, emitting a soft motor hum.

The vertical launch system's silo cover opened again—this time it was being loaded with HQ-10 air defense missiles.

The entire ship entered a state of chilling readiness for battle.

9:40 a.m.

Japanese aircraft appeared on the horizon.

Twenty-five black dots, against the backdrop of a grayish-yellow sky, resembled a flock of ominous crows.

They were divided into three formations: a high-altitude bomber formation, a medium-altitude torpedo bomber formation, and a low-altitude fighter formation.

This is a typical multi-wave saturation attack tactic from World War II.

On the Ninghai, Chen Jiliang's heart was in his throat.

He knew that the gray warship was very powerful.

But even if it's strong, can it withstand an attack from twenty-five aircraft?

"Give the order..." he said hoarsely, "All usable anti-aircraft guns...aim at the sky..."

However, only one 37mm hand-operated anti-aircraft gun remained on the Ninghai, and only three shells were left.

At this suffocating moment—

Suddenly, another engine sound came from the western sky.

It wasn't the sharp, noisy roar of Japanese aircraft.

It was a deeper, more powerful roar, as if it came from the depths of the chest.

Everyone looked up.

The clouds were torn apart.

Nine silver-white figures, arranged in a neat "human" shape, roared in from the west.

They flew very low, almost skimming the surface of the river, their wings reflecting a cold, metallic sheen in the morning light.

Heavy bombs were mounted under the wings.

Inside the cockpit, the pilot, wearing a leather flight cap, stared intently at the Japanese aircraft formation ahead through his goggles.

"It's our plane—!!!"

On the north bank of the river, a young student was the first to shout it out.

Then, cheers erupted like a tsunami across both banks of the Yangtze River:

"air force--!!!"

"Our air force is here—!!!"

"Long live the Chinese Navy!!!"

"Long live the Chinese Air Force!!!"

On the Ninghai, Chen Jiliang rushed to the porthole, his hands trembling:

"The Fourth Battalion...it's Gao Zhihang's Fourth Battalion..."