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

Bian Yun drove the No. 104 Qilin Tank forward.

Following behind tank number 104 was tank number 105, which was carrying out a cleanup mission.

It patrolled the cleared area at a leisurely pace, its massive tracks like two merciless iron brooms, repeatedly crushing the Japanese corpses—

We must ensure that there are no enemies feigning death to prevent them from shooting us from behind, detonating grenades to kill each other, or passing on intelligence after our troops have passed.

However, the program was executed by a 52-ton main battle tank, and the visual and auditory effects were a bit too... shocking.

Not far from Tank No. 105, behind a half-collapsed brick wall, Japanese Private First Class Yamada Jiro huddled in a pile of rubble.

He is still alive.

His left tibia was severed by shrapnel from a shell, the white bone fragments piercing through the flesh. His right wrist was hit by a stray bullet, the bone was broken, and his fingers hung limply.

But he is very smart.

When the five steel monsters began their slaughter, he immediately threw himself to the ground, covered himself with the corpses of his companions, and then held his breath and pretended to be dead.

He remained motionless, listening to the screams, explosions, and the soul-chilling sound of tracks crushing everything around him.

He succeeded.

The first tank drove past him without noticing him.

Then came the second one, and the third one.

opportunity!

Yamada's heart pounded. Once these people left, he could slowly crawl back to his own side.

He was only nineteen years old, from Osaka, and his family ran a small general store. His mother's takoyaki was the best in the whole neighborhood. He didn't want to die here; he wanted to go home.

Just then, the heavy sound of tracks rang out again.

And it's getting closer and closer.

Yamada immediately closed his eyes, held his breath, and continued to play dead.

The sound of the tracks stopped nearby.

Then he felt a shadow fall over him—it was the massive hull of the tank blocking the sunlight.

He felt pressure coming from his right arm—the front of the track was pressing up.

"No..." Yamada screamed inwardly, "No..."

But the pressure continues to increase.

Snap! Snap!

The indescribable pain felt like a high-voltage electric shock piercing his nerves.

"ah--!!!!!!"

Yamada could no longer hold back and let out a scream that was extremely shrill.

He tried desperately to pull his arm back, but the tracks held it firmly in place, and he couldn't budge it.

Tank No. 105 came to a stop.

Yamada was in excruciating pain, his whole body convulsing, tears and snot streaming down his face, as he let out a desperate wail:

"Help...help...I surrender...I surrender..."

The tank did not respond.

A few seconds later, Yamada felt the pressure on the tracks disappear.

He was stunned for a moment, then overjoyed—the other side had let him go? Had they heard him surrender?

But the next second, he heard the low hum of the motor as the car reversed.

The tank tilted back slightly.

Then, move forward again.

This time, the tracks were aimed at his torso.

Yamada stared wide-eyed at the approaching, blood-soaked, bone-crushing track teeth, his mouth agape, but no sound came out.

*Pfft!*

The heavy tracks crushed my chest.

Yamada's head snapped back, his eyeballs bulging out of their sockets as intracranial pressure surged.

The last thing he saw was a clear blue sky, and a wisp of smoke drifting slowly across it.

Then, darkness.

Eternal darkness.

The tracks continued forward, crushing over the skull.

Click.

The final crisp sound.

Everything fell silent.

Bian Yun sat in the driver's cab of tank number 104, and through the commander's panoramic view, he had a clear view of what had just happened in tank number 105.

He was stunned.

It wasn't because the tank ran over Japanese soldiers who were pretending to be dead—this was commonplace on the battlefield, and he himself had just run over more than one.

It was because the hatch of tank number 105 was opened after this "cleaning" was completed.

A figure peeked out from inside.

It was a woman.

She was wearing the 2025 digital jungle camouflage training uniform of the Chinese People's Liberation Army Army, and had a slender figure with neatly tied short hair. She also wore tactical goggles.

But Bian Yun recognized him at a glance—

Angel.

The military doctor who was hailed as the "first person in combat trauma treatment" at the Eastern Theater Command General Hospital in 2025.

The medical officer who gently examined the wounded soldiers of 1937 and softly comforted them on the eve of their departure, the one whose code name symbolized purity, kindness, and redemption…

Angel.

At this moment, she stood on a tank that had just crushed Japanese soldiers into two-dimensional flat textures with its tracks, one hand holding the edge of the hatch, the other casually removing her goggles to reveal a pretty but expressionless face.

She even glanced down at the mixture of blood and flesh still dripping from the tracks, then lifted her foot and rubbed the sole of her shoe against the edge of the hatch—

I accidentally stepped on it when I came out.

Bian Yun opened his mouth, wanting to ask something through the radio, but for a moment he didn't know what to say.

Seemingly sensing Bian Yun's gaze, the angel turned her head and looked in the direction of number 104.

The two looked at each other from a distance of several dozen meters.

The angel's face remained expressionless, but she clearly mouthed a few words in Bian Yun's direction.

Bian Yun understood.

she says:

"The task of charging into battle is entrusted to you."

"I'll take care of cleaning up the mess."

Then, she paused, her lips curving upwards almost imperceptibly, and mouthed the final sentence:

"Because it's a girl—"

"They're all quite meticulous."

You call this being attentive?

Bian Yun paused for a moment, then pressed the private communication channel with Number 105:

"Angel?"

"I'm here, team leader." Angel's voice came through the earpiece, calm and clear.

"You..." Bian Yun hesitated for a moment, "Your tank... just now..."

"Oh, that Japanese soldier who was faking his death." The angel's tone was as if he were discussing the weather.

"Gun wound to the right wrist, open fracture of the left leg, blood loss of approximately 800cc, but conscious and capable of retaliating or transmitting intelligence. In accordance with Chapter 3, Article 7 of the Battlefield Threat Elimination Manual, he needs to be disposed of in a harmless manner."

Harmless treatment.

Using 52-ton tank tracks to crush people into mincemeat is called "harmless disposal".

Bian Yun was speechless for a moment.

"Does the team leader think I didn't handle it thoroughly enough?" Angel's voice remained calm.

"Should I go back and grind it again to make sure all bone fragments are less than three centimeters?"

"...No need." Bian Yun rubbed his temples. "You're already... very 'thoughtful'."

"Thank you for the compliment," said the angel.

"I do pay attention to details. The first time I pressed down on his arm, I just wanted to make sure he wasn't really faking his death. But he was screaming so loudly, so we definitely couldn't let him live."

She paused, then added:

"Furthermore, based on my medical knowledge, when the torso is crushed by the tracks, the sudden increase in pressure in the chest and abdominal cavities causes blood to spurt from the seven orifices, making the death quite intimidating. This can effectively deter other enemies who may still be feigning death."

Bian Yun: "..."

For the first time, he realized that he may never have truly understood this "angel".

In 2025, Angel was the flagship of the main hospital. The "Rapid Field Trauma Response System" she led increased the survival rate of critically injured patients by 40%.

She was gentle and patient with her patients, and even remembered the names of the families of long-term hospitalized wounded patients. The nurses at the hospital privately called her "sister".

but now……

Seemingly sensing Bian Yun's silence and confusion, the angel spoke up first:

"Team Leader, do you think... I'm a bit too different from before?"

"...A little." Bian Yun honestly admitted.