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

It was six o'clock in the morning, and the sky was still not fully light.

Only a faint glimmer of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon.

Bian Yun stood on the observation platform of the comprehensive training field.

Before my eyes was a breathtaking scene.

More than 5,000 people.

More than 5,000 soldiers stood in neat rows in the pre-dawn light.

They remained silent, without speaking or making any unnecessary movements.

Like more than five thousand swords drawn from their sheaths.

Its cold light was chilling, and its killing intent was palpable.

What first caught Bian Yun's attention was the special team on the left side of the air force formation.

Each of them had a unique badge embroidered on their shoulder:

A dragon claw with distinct joints emerges from the clouds, its tip tearing through the flowing clouds.

Jiaolong Commando Unit.

The Air Force's top special operations unit specializes in infiltration behind enemy lines, reconnaissance and guidance, and the elimination of high-value targets.

Standing at the very front of the line was a female officer.

She was about 27 or 28 years old and about 1.7 meters tall, which was not short among a group of male soldiers.

Her short, ear-length hair was slightly lifted by the morning breeze, revealing her well-defined jawline.

Their training uniforms were worn meticulously, and in addition to the dragon claw emblem of the Jiaolong Commando Unit, their armbands bore another unique symbol:

Two crossed longswords, with seven stars arranged in the shape of the Big Dipper above them.

"Who is that?" Bian Yun asked the staff member next to him in a low voice.

The staff member quickly retrieved the data from the tablet, their voice filled with respect:

"Lin Yun, a joint doctoral candidate of the Air Force Aviation University and Tsinghua University, specializing in aerodynamics and aircraft design. After graduation, he refused to stay at the university as a teacher and voluntarily applied to transfer to combat units."

"I am now a tactical assessment officer for the Jiaolong Commando Group, and I also hold dual pilot qualifications for the J-16 and J-20 fighter jets, with more than 2,000 hours of flight time."

A note popped up on the information page, and the staff read it aloud:

The personal statement stated: "Theory must be tested in real combat. The best aircraft designers should know how their designs can operate in the most extreme environments."

Bian Yun raised his eyebrows slightly.

At this moment, Lin Yun seemed to sense the gaze from the observation platform.

She turned her head and looked this way.

In the pre-dawn light, her eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.

Then, she slowly raised her right hand towards the observation deck.

Bring your index and middle fingers together and gently draw a line next to your temple.

It's not a provocation.

It's a common hand gesture among pilots, meaning—

I am ready.

Bian Yun nodded to Lin Yun, then looked toward the army formation.

The commotion over there was even bigger.

Familiar faces like Jin Sheng, Li Huai, and Zhao Dagang were naturally among them, but standing beside them were many more soldiers Bian Yun had never seen before.

The most eye-catching figure was one who was squatting on the ground.

He was probably only about 1.7 meters tall, thin, and dressed in faded jungle camouflage, making him inconspicuous among a group of burly men.

He was looking down, intently inspecting his combat boots—the way the laces were tied, the wear on the soles, and even every crease on the tongue.

Bian Yun's gaze fell on the man's bare calves.

It was covered with fine scars.

It's not a knife wound or shrapnel wound, it's more like... a burn? Or a permanent mark left by a high-voltage electric shock?

"Explosives expert, Wang Jin." The staff member's voice was very low: "Captain of the unexploded ordnance disposal unit of the 71st Military Industrial Brigade."

"He personally dismantled 743 unexploded ordnance of various types. He knew everything about everything, from shells left behind by the Japanese army during the War of Resistance against Japan to the latest smart landmines."

The staff member paused:

"He had a favorite saying: 'Every bomb has a personality; you have to listen to it.'"

At this moment, Wang Jin finished inspecting the boots and stood up.

He patted the dust off his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate.

He was so ordinary. He was 1.7 meters tall, of medium build, and would disappear into a crowd in three seconds. His face was expressionless, even his eyes were flat, like a stagnant pool.

But when he raised his eyes and looked at the soldiers around him who were taller, stronger, and more conspicuous than him, Bian Yun felt a chill run down his spine.

That's the look in the eyes of someone who's seen death all the time; it's not numbness, it's habit.

They've become so accustomed to treating death as a tool, as a variable in an equation, that they can calmly calculate and precisely control.

Wang Jin's gaze swept across the crowd, finally settling on Bian Yun.

He nodded.

It's so light, you can hardly tell.

Then he lowered his head again and began to check the tools in his tactical vest.

The Rocket Force formation was the quietest on the entire training field.

They stood in a perfect rectangular formation. Each person stood ramrod straight, as if measured with a ruler. Their training uniforms were a distinctive dark green, and the missile insignia on their shoulder straps gleamed coldly in the morning light.

The strangest thing was that everyone was wearing sunglasses.

He wore dark glasses, which he never removed, even in the dim light before dawn.

The face behind the sunglasses was expressionless, and even the rhythm of their breathing was almost identical.

But Bian Yun noticed their hands.

The right hand hanging at the side.

Everyone has a thick callus on the pad of the first joint of their right index finger.

They are the people who press the buttons.

Press it down, and it will unleash thunderous force, and bring about destruction.

A figure moved in the front row of the formation.

He took off his sunglasses.

He had a very young face, probably no more than twenty-five years old, and even had a somewhat scholarly air about him.

"Jiang Xingchen is the youngest launch unit commander in a missile brigade of the Rocket Force, and also the captain of the tactical unmanned aerial vehicle unit."

The staff member began by introducing:

"His squad holds the military record for the entire process from missile erection and testing to launch preparation—it is 40 percent faster than the standard time."

After hearing these words, Bian Yun looked at Jiang Xingchen and couldn't help but sigh:

"Forty percent, which means that in actual combat, his missiles would take off at least ten minutes earlier than the opponent's. And those ten minutes are enough to change the course of a war."

Just then, Jiang Xingchen looked towards the observation platform.

Their eyes met.

Then, he raised his right hand and made a strange gesture: his thumb and forefinger formed a circle, while the other three fingers were extended.

Hold your hand in the air for two seconds, then lower it.

The staff member paused for a moment, then translated:

"That's sign language used within the Rocket Force. It means—"

"The trajectory has been calculated, the target has been locked, and we are ready to launch at any time."

"I know," Bian Yun nodded.

"Zhou Zhenhai isn't here from the navy?" Li Huai walked up to Bian Yun at some point, squinting as he scanned the naval formation.

The naval personnel stood in the dock area, their dark blue combat uniforms forming a continuous line, with the outlines of ships moored in the harbor behind them, among which the massive hull of the Type 075 amphibious assault ship could even be seen.

"Who?" Bian Yun asked.

"Zhou Zhenhai, brigade commander of a Marine Corps brigade, senior colonel."

He paused:

"Given that old guy's temperament, he'd definitely like to stand at the very front in these kinds of situations—hands on hips, head held high, looking down on us 'landlubbers'."

Jin Sheng sneered from the side, "Is he scared? Doesn't dare to come anymore?"

"Afraid?"

A voice came from the direction of the dock.

It wasn't a shout, but a calm rhetorical question. Yet the sound pierced through the morning mist and reached the observation post clearly.

Everyone turned their heads.

The landing craft's ramps at the dock were lowered.

An officer dressed in marine camouflage with his face heavily camouflaged was jumping off the boat. His combat uniform was wet and dripping, clearly indicating he had just come out of the water.

His pace was neither hurried nor slow, but each step was as steady as if it were driven into the ground. His soaked combat boots left a clear trail of water on the concrete.

When he walked up to the crowd, Bian Yun finally saw his face clearly.

The paint covered most of his facial features, leaving only his eyes visible.

Those were eyes honed by years of seawater and sea breeze, sharp as the gaze of a shark eyeing its prey.

"Zhou Zhenhai," the officer said, his voice slightly hoarse, a mark left by years of issuing orders at sea.

He first nodded to Bian Yun as a greeting. Then his gaze turned to Jin Sheng:

"I just returned from the Zhoushan Islands. I brought twenty people and conducted a 72-hour unsupplied infiltration training exercise on an island in the East China Sea—underwater crossing, rock climbing, jungle infiltration, target reconnaissance, the whole set."

He patted his combat uniform, seawater dripping from his sleeves:

"I received a notification at 3 a.m. that they were selecting people to go to 1937."

"I came straight here."

Zhou Zhenhai paused, then looked at Bian Yun again:

"I have studied all the amphibious warfare records of the Battle of Shanghai."

"On August 23, 1937, the Japanese 8rd Division successfully landed at Wusongkou. Why was they able to do so?"

"Because our garrison had no idea how to fight a landing operation."

He took a step forward, almost touching Bian Yun:

"Team Leader Bian, if I were there, I would lay booby traps on the mudflats, not to blow up tanks, but to blow up the propellers of landing craft."

"I will personally organize a suicide squad to sneak underwater during tides and attach explosives to the enemy ship's waterline."

"Let the Japanese soldiers perish in the Yangtze River."

"I have no doubt that you can do it," Bian Yun replied.

Upon hearing this, Zhou Zhenhai laughed heartily.

Then, his gaze swept over Jin Sheng, Li Huai, Lei Xiong, and the others, and he said, word by word:

"Did you hear that? The team leader said he trusts me."

"Therefore, I will definitely take one of the 64 spots to go to 1937."

"Whoever tries to stop me..."

"Then I have no choice but to—"

"Knock them all down!"

Lei Xiong looked at Zhou Zhenhai defiantly, stretched his neck, and said:

"Captain Zhou, are you mistaking me, and all of us, for Lu Bei?"

"Lu Bei got to 1937 by sheer luck."

He flexed his hands, his knuckles cracking, and grinned.

"But I, Lei Xiong, rely on my strength."

"Rely on strength?" Zhou Zhenhai laughed.

"Touch it?" Lei Xiong was furious.

Come on, come on~~~