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

Bian Yun opened her eyes.

Smoke from gunpowder. Scorched earth. The smell of blood.

The air of 1937 suddenly filled my lungs.

He found himself standing behind a broken wall, with Lu Bei right next to him.

Before them—a dozen or so soldiers were tying things around their waists.

Hand grenade.

One, two, three... they were tied together with hemp rope and wrapped around the waist.

One soldier was only halfway through tying the knot; his hands were shaking, but he was tying it very tightly.

"Wang Shuisheng, the old watchmaker from Jiangxi—I'm so sorry, parents!"

Wang Shuisheng was a man with a scar on his face. He tightened the last knot and looked up to the east—the direction of Jiangxi.

"Zhang Tiezhu from Henan—Father and Mother, your son is leaving first!"

"Liu Erwa from Sichuan—my youngest son, your old man is not coming back. You must be filial to your mother!"

Every roar carried the thick, unmistakable accent of his hometown.

Every roar was a final utterance.

Bian Yun followed their gaze—

Three hundred meters away, six Japanese tanks were rolling over the ruins, their tracks crushing the broken bricks into powder.

Behind the tanks followed a dense mass of infantry, their bayonets gleaming coldly in the dim light of the day.

The trenches at the very front of the defensive line were empty—this building was the last line of defense.

At the entrance of the building, Yao Qing stood at the front of the crowd.

He held a large, blunted sword in his hand, the cloth strips wrapped around the hilt soaked in blood and turned blackish-red.

He didn't yell, he just looked at each soldier strapped with a grenade, one by one, as if trying to etch each face into his eyes.

"Brothers!" Yao Qing roared, raising his broadsword. "We will fight to the death!"

"The Third Battalion!"

"Here!" Dozens of voices exploded.

"Follow me!"

Just as Yao Qing was about to rush out of the building—

"Battalion Commander Yao!"

Bian Yun's voice cleaved through the smoke of battle.

Everyone turned their heads. Yao Qing's eyes widened suddenly—

He saw Bian Yun, and a strange man beside Bian Yun.

"Bian Yun?" Yao Qing's voice trembled for the first time. "You...you're really back?"

"They're back." Bian Yun stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers with grenades strapped to their waists. "Have the brothers take those off. We don't need them anymore."

silence.

The soldiers looked at each other in bewilderment. Some still had their hands on the grenades at their waists, their knuckles white.

"Brother Bian Yun," an old soldier said, his voice hoarse, "that Japanese devil's iron turtle..."

"Leave it to me," Bian Yun interrupted him.

He turned around and exchanged a glance with Lu Bei. They both nodded at the same time.

Then Bian Yun waved his hand—and two black boxes suddenly appeared on the open ground behind the broken wall.

Its smooth surface reflects the sunlight, standing out starkly against the dilapidated surroundings.

The soldiers froze. Some instinctively took a half step back, while others gripped their guns tighter.

Bian Yun crouched down and pressed the latch on the side of the box. The lid slid open silently.

"These are antibiotics, hemostatic powder, and plasma substitutes," Bian Yun said quickly, glancing at a medic standing beside him who was looking dazed.

"There are instructions, written in Chinese characters, you can understand them. Now go and rescue the seriously wounded."

The medic trembled as he took the laminated booklet, opened it to the first page, and his eyes reddened: "This...this can cure infections?"

"Yes." Bian Yun closed the first layer and opened the second layer.

The moment the second layer unfolded, a collective gasp filled the air.

Two guns.

But it was completely different from the Hanyang rifles and Zhongzheng rifles in the soldiers' hands—

The gun features a streamlined body, a matte black coating, a complex rail system, and an excessively long scope.

"This is... a gun?" a young soldier murmured.

"Sniper rifle." Lu Bei stepped forward, picked one up with one hand, and his movements were so practiced that they were like breathing. He completed the assembly, loading, and bolt action in a few seconds.

"Effective range 1200 meters." Lu Bei rested the butt of his rifle on his shoulder, his eyes pressed against the scope.

"A habit of Japanese commanders in 1937: They liked to stand 150 meters behind tanks and observe with binoculars."

He moved the gun away and looked at Yao Qing:

"Battalion Commander Yao, I need a high vantage point."

Yao Qing was still in shock, but his finger instinctively pointed to the remaining third floor of the building: "There... is the best view."

"That's enough." Lu Bei picked up his gun, grabbed two magazines, and stuffed them into his tactical bag. "Bian Yun, the ground is yours."

"rest assured."

When the third layer unfolded, even Yao Qing couldn't help but get closer.

Four square metal objects, folded together, resemble some kind of mechanical insect.

"This...is a small airplane?" a young soldier with a still-childish face asked timidly.

"A drone." Bian Yun took one out and spread his hands—four rotor arms popped open. "It can fly, it can be seen, and it can throw this."

He took out a dark green cylinder from the bottom of the box. It was slightly larger than a grenade and had intricate engravings on its surface.

"Anti-tank grenade." Bian Yun attached it to the rack at the bottom of the drone. "One of these can blow through the top of an enemy tank."

He looked up at Yao Qing: "Battalion Commander, tell the brothers to retreat. Hide well and cover your ears."

Yao Qing stared at the "small plane," then glanced at the tank approaching three hundred meters away. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he turned around:

"Order! Everyone take cover! No one is allowed to show their faces!"

Bian Yun squatted behind the broken wall, placing the tablet computer on his lap.

The screen lit up, displaying the drone's view—a black and white image, but frighteningly clear.

He could see the tracks left by tank treads and the faces of Japanese infantrymen moving beneath their helmets.

Lu Bei's voice came through the walkie-talkie: "I'm in position. Good visibility. Commander spotted—two o'clock, about 170 meters behind the tank, wearing an officer's cap and carrying a saber."

Bian Yun adjusted the drone's altitude. Fifty meters, one hundred meters, one hundred and fifty meters—the Japanese soldiers below seemed to notice the buzzing in the air; some looked up, but the sunlight was blinding, and they could only see a small black dot.

The first tank entered the throwing range.

Bian Yun tapped the screen with his finger. The drone hovered, and the mounting bracket at its bottom loosened.

The dark green grenade fell vertically.

three seconds.

two seconds.

one second.

There wasn't one explosion, there were two.

The first muffled thud—the instant the grenade struck the tank's roof—the high-temperature metal jet formed by the shaped charge pierced through 30 millimeters of armor like a knife cutting through butter.

A second loud bang—the ammunition inside the tank had detonated.

The tank was like a tin can that had been stomped on by a giant; the turret was blown ten meters into the air, and the hull exploded into a fireball. The nearby Japanese infantrymen were overturned by the shockwave, and the closest ones were reduced to fragments.

The soldiers behind the broken wall all stared wide-eyed.

Yao Qing's mouth opened slightly, and the knife in her hand fell to the ground with a "clang".

Before they could even react—

The second drone has already taken off.

The second grenade landed.

The second tank exploded into a pillar of fire.

Lu Bei's calm voice came through the walkie-talkie:

"The first commander of the Japanese 66th Regiment, eliminate him."

From the drone's perspective, Bian Yun saw that the officer holding a military knife behind the tank suddenly fell backward, and a burst of blood erupted in his chest.

"Second, clear it out."

Further away, an officer waving a flag had a hole in his helmet and fell straight down.

"The third one..."

Lu Bei's gunshots were drowned out by the distant explosions, but his achievements were clearly visible—

The Japanese infantry charge began in disarray. Some lay down, some sought cover, and some looked back.

The chain of command has broken.

In just over ten minutes, of the six tanks, four were reduced to burning scrap metal, and the other two were hastily reversed.

The Japanese infantry lost their armored cover and were exposed to the enemy's fire.

Yao Qing finally came to her senses. She shouted loudly:

"shot!"

"beat--!"

The long-suppressed gunfire suddenly erupted. Angry bullets rained down on the chaotic Japanese troops.

Bian Yun controlled the last drone and threw a grenade into the area where the infantry were most concentrated.

After the explosion, all that remained were craters and limbs.

The Japanese charge was broken.

The surviving soldiers dragged the wounded backward, and the tanks also turned around, running over the bodies of their own men as they fled into the distance.

The battlefield suddenly fell silent.

Then, someone, I don't know who started it—a suppressed, choked cheer, seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of a chest.

Then came the second tone, and then the third tone.

Finally, it all coalesced into a hoarse, tearful roar:

"We won!"

"The Japanese devils have retreated—!"

Yao Qing turned around and looked at Bian Yun.

His eyes were bloodshot, not from gunfire. He walked over step by step, each step firm and steady, and stopped in front of Bian Yun.

Then, the 26-year-old battalion commander bowed deeply, very deeply.

"Brother Bian Yun..." His voice trembled, "What...what are these?"

Bian Yun helped him up, pointed to the returning drone, pointed in the direction of Lu Bei, and pointed to the medicines:

"This is China's answer to you 88 years later."

He paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately:

"We've made the bullets you wanted."

"The plane you've been waiting for has taken to the skies."

"The tanks you risked your lives to block—"

He looked at the burning tank wreckage in the distance:

"Now, a single hand grenade could blow it through."

The wind dispersed the smoke of battle for a moment.

The setting sun peeked through the gaps in the clouds, casting golden-red light on the broken walls and on the young, dirty, tear-streaked faces of every soldier.

Yao Qing raised her hand to wipe her eyes and smiled.

Something in that smile finally came to mind.

………………

Second crossing - in progress (Time elapsed: 1 hour 49 minutes)

携带物资：QBU-191狙击步枪（余弹472发）、无人机×4（余电67%）、反坦克手雷×30。

Communication attempt: No response in 2025, may require spatiotemporal anchor point calibration.

"We've traversed not just space, but also eighty-eight years of waiting—theirs, and ours."

—Lu Bei, notes taken during the operation