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

Let's rewind three hours.

Fourth Battalion Commander Gao Zhihang has just received an urgent order:

"The main force of the Japanese Third Fleet was severely damaged by our mysterious warship on the Yangtze River near Jiangyin. The Japanese are desperate and are mobilizing all their air power in an attempt to retaliate."

"Fourth Squadron, take off immediately and rush to the aid of Jiangyin."

"Protect that warship at all costs."

Gao Zhihang stood in front of the map, looking at the location of Jiangyin and the winding blue line of the Yangtze River.

He was 30 years old, from Tonghua, Liaoning. He studied flying in France in his early years and became one of the first pilots of the Chinese Air Force after returning to China.

He was a skilled pilot with a fiery temper and a daring fighting spirit, and his men called him "Crazy Gao".

Three days earlier, on August 14, he piloted a Hawk III fighter plane and shot down the first Japanese Type 8 land-based attack aircraft over Jianqiao, Hangzhou. That day was later designated as "Air Force Day".

At that moment, he stared at the map, his voice as firm as iron:

"When our brothers are in trouble, we are saved."

He turned around and looked at the pilots who had already assembled behind him.

Nine young men, the oldest twenty-eight and the youngest nineteen, each wearing a leather flight jacket, their faces radiating the excitement of an initial victory and the determination to face a formidable foe.

"Brothers," Gao Zhihang said, "over in Jiangyin, our naval brothers wiped out half a Japanese fleet with just one ship."

"Now, the Japanese are desperate and want to send planes to bomb it."

"Our mission is very simple—"

He paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately:

"Protect that ship for me."

"As long as the ship is here, we are here."

"The ship sank..."

He didn't go on.

But everyone understands.

The pilots stood at attention and shouted in unison, "We'll defend it to the death!"

At nine o'clock in the morning, nine Hawk III fighter jets roared with their engines.

Gao Zhihang was the first to climb onto the plane and sit in the cockpit. The mechanic helped him fasten his seatbelt and handed him his flight helmet.

"Captain." The mechanic, a veteran in his forties, had tears in his eyes. "You must come back."

Gao Zhihang grinned and patted him on the shoulder: "Don't worry, I'm tough."

He put on his goggles, waved to his brothers on the tarmac, and then pushed the throttle.

Nine fighter jets taxied and took off in sequence.

They formed a formation over Nanjing, turned, and flew at full speed toward Jiangyin in the northeast.

Their plane is old.

The Hawk III, designed in the early 30s in the United States, had a maximum speed of less than 400 km/h and was armed with only two 7.62 mm machine guns with limited ammunition.

What they were going to face was the Japanese Navy's latest Type 96 naval fighter—faster, more maneuverable, and more powerful.

But they did not hesitate.

Because below is the Yangtze River.

It is Chinese land.

They are naval brothers who are fighting desperately against the Japanese.

9:42 AM.

Three thousand meters above the Yangtze River.

Gao Zhihang heard the voice of his wingman, Le Yiqin, through his earpiece—the 21-year-old from Sichuan who had shot down two Japanese planes three days earlier and was now the squadron's second-highest ace.

"Captain, we've spotted the Japanese. Twenty-five of them, damn it, that's a lot."

Gao Zhihang looked ahead through the windshield.

The Japanese aircraft, like a moving dark cloud, were hurtling towards the gray warship in the middle of the river.

And that ship—

This was the first time Gao Zhihang had ever seen a ship like this.

He stood quietly on the river, neither dodging nor panicking, like an iron deity awaiting a challenge.

"That's tough enough." Gao Zhihang laughed. "Order: First Squadron, follow me and attack the high-altitude bombers. Second Squadron, Commander Yiqin, take out the torpedo bombers. Third Squadron, engage the fighters."

"Remember—our goal isn't to shoot down as many as possible, but to hold them off and create an opportunity for the ship below."

"clear!"

Nine Hawk IIIs, like nine silver falcons, swooped down on the Japanese "Ravens".

Aerial combat erupted instantly.

Gao Zhihang took the lead, charging towards the Japanese bomber formation. His two machine guns opened fire simultaneously, tracer bullets drawing two streaks of fire in the air.

A Type 97 heavy bomber was unable to dodge in time, its wing was hit, black smoke billowed out, and it wobbled as it crashed into the river.

"The first one!" Gao Zhihang shouted on the radio.

But his smugness lasted only three seconds.

Four Japanese Type 96 carrier-based fighter planes flanked the Hawk III from the side and rear. Machine gun bullets whizzed through the airframe, leaving holes in the skin.

Gao Zhihang jerked the control stick, causing the plane to roll violently and barely avoid the danger.

But his plane was too old.

In terms of mobility, speed, and firepower, it is lagging behind in all aspects.

The only way is to fight desperately.

"Brothers—hold them off—!!!" he roared into the radio.

Le Yiqin's Second Squadron is attacking a Japanese torpedo bomber formation.

Torpedo bombers fly low and are slow, making them relatively easy targets. Yue Yiqin dove down and caught up with the tail of a Type 96 carrier-based attack aircraft, strafing it with her machine guns.

The Japanese plane, trailing black smoke, plunged headlong into the Yangtze River.

But more Japanese fighter planes surrounded them.

The aerial battle turned into a chaotic and brutal strangulation.

Nine Chinese Hawk III fighters faced off against twenty-five Japanese aircraft of various types.

Quantity disadvantage.

Performance disadvantages.

But they fought to the death and refused to retreat.

Because the gray warship below hasn't fired yet.

It is waiting.

Waiting for an opportunity.

…………

Bridge of the "Yangtze River" ship.

Bian Yun stared at the air combat screen, his fingers clenched tightly.

On the screen, nine green dots representing the Chinese Air Force are being besieged by twenty-five red dots.

Each flash of green light represents a Chinese fighter jet being hit, being pursued, and fighting desperately.

"They are risking their lives to create opportunities for us." Qin Feng's voice was low, filled with suppressed anger.

Bian Yun nodded.

He understands.

"Electronic warfare system, lock onto all Japanese aircraft." Bian Yun's voice was as cold as ice. "Lin Tao, prepare anti-aircraft missiles. Wang Ying, close-in weapon systems, take position."

"yes!"

"Bai Yang, cut off all communications for the Japanese aircraft. Make them deaf and mute."

"Completed."

"Alright." Bian Yun took a deep breath and looked at the air combat screen. "Now—"

"It's our turn."

9:48 a.m.

Just as Gao Zhihang's plane was being pursued by the fourth Japanese fighter, and machine gun bullets had pierced his left wing, causing the plane to begin its uncontrolled descent—

On the river, the "Yangtze River" finally opened fire.

It's not a cannon.

It's not two cannons.

It means that all the ship's anti-aircraft weapons are activated simultaneously.

The electronic warfare system was the first to speak.

Bai Yang pressed the red button.

Instantly, all radio frequency bands within a 50-kilometer radius of the "Yangtze River" were covered by high-intensity, full-spectrum electromagnetic noise.

Then, it was missile's turn to speak.

The vertical launch system, with eight HQ-10 air defense missiles, ignites sequentially.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM—!!

Eight missiles, trailing white smoke, soared into the sky at three times the speed of sound.

They do not fly directly to the target like traditional air defense missiles.

Instead, after takeoff, the missiles are rapidly distributed, with each missile automatically locking onto a target—prioritizing Japanese aircraft that are attacking the Chinese Air Force or preparing to drop bombs.

The first missile hit a Type 96 carrier-based fighter jet that was pursuing Yue Yiqin.

The Japanese fighter plane exploded in mid-air into a fireball, scattering debris everywhere.

The second missile hit a Type 97 heavy bomber that was diving to drop its bombs.

The bomb was detonated while it was still on the rack. The massive explosion tore the entire aircraft apart.

The third one, the fourth one, the fifth one...

Eight missiles, eight fireballs.

Eight Japanese planes disappeared from the sky in ten seconds.

But this is only the beginning.

The real massacre was carried out by close-in weapon systems.

On the side of the "Yangtze River", two Type 730 close-in weapon systems were activated simultaneously.

When they open fire, it's no longer "artillery fire".

That was a storm of metal.

It is the scythe of death.

They were two scorching, destructive whips stretching from the river surface into the sky.

Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang-! ! !

The continuous, dense explosions, so numerous they were indistinguishable from single bursts, shook the surface of the river.

The shells shot into the sky at a speed of one kilometer per second, forming two impenetrable barrages in the air.

Any aircraft that enters this barrage of bullets—

A Type 96 carrier-based attack aircraft attempting to drop mines at low altitude was hit by at least thirty shells simultaneously.

It did not explode or catch fire.

It just... shattered.

Like being struck by an invisible giant hammer, the entire plane disintegrated in mid-air, turning into countless fragments that crashed into the Yangtze River.

Another Type 96 carrier-based fighter attempted to climb to avoid it, but the close-in weapon system's firing arc covered the entire airspace from sea level to 3,000 meters.

It was overtaken by the barrage of bullets, its wings were broken off, and it spun and crashed.

There was also a Type 97 heavy bomber; the pilot was so frightened that he abandoned dropping the bomb and tried to turn around and escape.

However, the close-in weapon system has a range of five kilometers.

It cannot fly out of this death radius.

The shells caught up with it, starting from the tail and "chewing" it inch by inch, tearing the entire aircraft into pieces.

A rain of metal and flesh began to fall from the sky.

Meanwhile, Gao Zhihang's plane was plummeting out of control.

The left wing was smashed, the engine was smoking, and all the instruments were malfunctioning. He desperately pulled on the control stick, but the plane was like a stone, unresponsive.

Altitude: 1,500 meters.

One kilometer.

500 meters.

He was about to skydive.

But just as he unbuckled his seatbelt and prepared to push open the hatch—

He saw it.

I saw the gray warship on the river, spewing out two fiery whips.

I saw Japanese planes in the sky, one after another, exploding, shattering, and falling like mosquitoes being swatted.

I saw those eight missiles, like eight white lightning bolts, precisely piercing through the Japanese aircraft formation.

I saw... a miracle.