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

"Countdown to the return of the People's Republic of China in 2026: 00:04:32"

"Flanker—!!!"

A thunderous roar came from the west side of the battlefield, like a tiger howling in the forest, shaking the very air.

Lei Gang, carrying the PF-97 rocket launcher that had been emptied of ammunition, charged forward like a Siberian tiger bursting out of the depths of the smoke of battle.

This burly man, who is 1.92 meters tall and weighs 110 kilograms, is covered in blood.

It's not an exaggeration; it literally means he was covered in blood.

"Liu Xing... Liu Xing can't hold on much longer!" Lei Gang's voice was hoarse like a broken bellows, but every word sounded like it was hitting a steel plate.

Liu Xing.

These two words were like two blocks of ice, crashing into Bian Yun's heart.

This place name was written in blood on the map of the Battle of Shanghai.

Luodian is in the east, and Liuhang is in the west. The two small towns are like two wedges, firmly nailed to the only way for the Japanese army to advance into Shanghai after landing at Wusongkou and Chuanshakou.

If Luo Dian is the left fist, then Liu Xing is the right fist.

If one punch goes through, another punch will expose your ribs.

Lei Gang wiped the blood from his face and said in a very fast voice:

"The Japanese 11th Division, consisting of two infantry regiments, along with a heavy artillery battalion and a tank company, launched a fierce attack starting at six o'clock this morning."

"The 201st Brigade of the 67th Division of the 18th Army is defending Liuxing. Originally, there were 5,000 men..." He paused, his voice choked, "but now... there are less than 2,000."

"I held position number three for eight hours, used up all my anti-tank grenades, and knocked out three Japanese tanks with a rocket launcher."

"But there were too many Japanese soldiers... too many..."

This man from Northeast China, this elite soldier who had never flinched even when bullets grazed his scalp on the training field, now had tears in his eyes.

"The brothers of the 201st Brigade are risking their lives to fill the gap."

"Once a unit is connected, it's gone in twenty minutes."

"Another one went up, and then it was gone again..."

Lei Gang took a deep breath, a very deep breath:

"Squad leader... Liu Xing... it's going to collapse..."

The queen bee stood beside Bian Yun, zoomed in on the map, and marked several key nodes: Quick Analysis:

"If Liuhang falls, not only will Luodian's flank be in danger, but the entire defense system along the northern line of the Songhu Railway will have a fatal flaw."

"At that time, the Japanese army will be able to advance unimpeded and directly attack Dachang and Zhabei, threatening the urban area of ​​Shanghai."

"And our 'Safe Zone for Future Generations' plan—based on Luodian, Baoshan, and Wusongkou to establish a solid rear and gradually advance—will also lose its strategic foothold."

"Team leader, we..."

But before the queen bee could finish speaking—

"Squad leader, we've finally found you."

A deep, resonant male voice with a strong Henan accent rang out; it was Liu Dachui.

This king of engineers, carrying his entrenching tool, rushed to the tank and, without even catching his breath, shouted:

"Yunzao Beach... is about to fall too!"

Yunzao Bang.

This is not a small place name—it is a river, a river whose every page of the annals of the Battle of Shanghai is soaked in blood.

From Baoshan to Yangxing, and from Yangxing to Liuxing, along the 20-kilometer riverbank, the Chinese and Japanese armies have been fighting for a full 20 days.

There is no depth here; the river is a natural moat, and beyond the river lies a flat expanse of fields, offering no natural defenses.

There is only one thing: people.

A human wall, one after another.

"We Chinese soldiers...engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the Japanese army along the 20-kilometer-long front of Yunzaobang."

"It was truly hand-to-hand combat... bayonet to bayonet, rifle butt to rifle butt, tooth to tooth..."

He took off his broken glasses and vigorously wiped his face—his face was covered in mud and sweat:

"I led the engineering corps to build fortifications and lay landmines on the north bank of Yunzaobang. We dug anti-tank ditches, laid anti-personnel mines, and set up obstacles with barbed wire and bamboo sticks..."

"They blocked three waves of Japanese attacks."

"But the Japanese have brought in an air force..."

Liu Dachui raised his head, his eyes bloodshot:

"Their planes flew close to the river, so low that you could see the pilots' faces. Machine guns strafeed, the bullets plowing through our positions again and again."

"Our machine gun positions are being taken out one by one. The heavy machine gunners are all dead, the light machine gunners take over. The light machine gunners are all dead, the riflemen pick up the machine guns and keep firing..."

"Bian, Yunzaobang's defense... is as thin as paper."

"If the Japanese attack one more time, it will break through."

But before Bian Yun could even process these two pieces of news—

"Frontline, the area west of Luodian, near Shixiangong Temple, is also about to fall."

A third voice came.

It's Dong Yi.

This special forces soldier, who had traveled with Bian Yun for the third time, arrived from the south, looking travel-worn.

"The Temple of Master Shi." Dong Yi's voice was calm, but beneath the calm was an extreme suppressed anger. "There's a battalion guarding it, Guangxi soldiers, the 7th Army of the Guangxi Army."

He paused:

"I arrived at six in the morning, when there were still more than four hundred of them."

"It's 9:10 now."

Less than a hundred remain.

Temple of Master Shi.

That's not a real "temple," but a local shrine on a small earthen slope on the west side of Luodian, which the locals call "Shi Xiangong Temple"—it enshrines a minor deity in the local religion.

"The Guangxi Army was poorly equipped—the rifles were old-fashioned, the machine guns were Type 24, and there wasn't enough ammunition, less than thirty rounds per person."

"But they are very good at fighting."

"In hand-to-hand combat, the Guangxi soldiers' broadswords were more deadly than the Japanese soldiers' bayonets. I personally witnessed a Guangxi soldier being stabbed through the stomach by a bayonet, yet he still clung to a Japanese soldier, rolled down the hillside, and detonated a grenade."

Dong Yi's hand clenched tightly—the special forces soldier's hands were covered in calluses, but at this moment his knuckles were white:

But they couldn't hold on any longer.

"No ammunition, no reinforcements, no artillery support."

"I took out six Japanese machine gunners and ten squad leaders with my sniper rifle. But..."

He paused:

"A drop in the ocean."

The Battle of Shanghai was in dire straits on all sides.

On the north bank of Luodian, the main force of the Japanese Third Division, numbering 20,000 men, was assembling.

Liu Xing, the 11th Division launched a fierce attack.

On Roja Highway, two teams attempt to cut off the lifeline.

At Yunzaobang, the 20-kilometer front line was on the verge of collapse.

Four directions, beacon fires raging on all sides.

Bian Yun looked at the fifteen Qilin tanks, which stood silently in the morning light.

They are strong enough to crush a regiment, strong enough to change the outcome of a local battle.

But there were only fifteen.

But right now, there are four fronts to defend...