On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

Above Lushun Port, a formation of three wedge-shaped fighter jets, consisting of one hundred aircraft, pierced through the clouds and roared in from the northern land.

Thirty P-51 Mustang fighter planes flew at the forefront, their fuselages painted in gray-blue camouflage, and the muzzles of the six 12.7mm cannons under their wings gleamed with a cold, eerie blue light in the sunlight.

Following them were seventy bombers, their twin engines roaring like the bellows of a giant beast, their bomb bays crammed with high-explosive bombs.

Li Changkong sat in the cockpit of the lead Mustang fighter jet, looking down at the gray city below.

He saw the few lone destroyers in the harbor, the headquarters on the hillside flying the Hinomaru flag, and the outer fortifications extending along the city of Lushun.

Concrete bunkers, trenches, barbed wire, and a dense mass of figures on the open ground in front of the barbed wire.

He tightened his grip slightly on the joystick.

Those figures were tied to wooden stakes.

"Confirmed."

The wingman's voice came through the headset, filled with boundless rage: "Captain, they've tied up civilians in front of the position."

"The three lines of defense—Longwangtang, Baiyushan, and Huangjinshan—are all heavily fortified, with an estimated number of at least tens of thousands of people."

Li Changkong remained silent. He stared at the increasingly clear wooden stakes and the human figures bound to them.

His jaw clenched, and his eyes blazed with fury.

"These beasts!"

"Attention, fighter formation!"

Li Changkong pressed the communication button, his voice as cold as ice.

"The bomber formation proceeded as planned, targeting Port Arthur, destroying all anchored ships and preserving as much of the dock facilities as possible."

"The fighter jet formation split into two groups."

"The First Squadron followed me, strafing the main streets of the city at low altitude, with a focus on areas where Japanese expatriates were concentrated."

"The second company is responsible for the outer perimeter of the front line. They are to use precise bursts to eliminate machine gun positions and commanders on the position. They are absolutely not allowed to hit civilians."

"receive."

Seventy bombers broke formation and descended towards Port Arthur, their engines roaring across the sea.

Thirty Mustang fighters split into two groups, one rushing towards the city and the other towards the outer positions.

Li Changkong pushed the control stick, and the nose of the aircraft suddenly dropped.

With a sharp screech, the P-51 Mustang's Merlin engine swooped down toward Lushun city.

The outlines of buildings on the ground rapidly magnified in his field of vision, and he could even see the figures of people scattering and fleeing in the streets.

Taiyanggou, Sakura-cho.

Captain Nobu Miyamoto is directing the military police to load the last batch of prisoners onto trucks.

His military uniform was soaked with sweat, clinging to his back and becoming quite wet.

His voice was hoarse from shouting, but he kept urging them on, saying that the Northeast Army could arrive at any moment and all the prisoners had to be deployed to the front lines before then.

He glanced down at his watch; more than two hours had passed since the arrest began.

They arrested at least tens of thousands of people; that number should be enough.

But before he could even catch his breath, the Northeast Army's planes arrived.

He suddenly raised his head.

In the sky, more than a dozen fighter jets were swooping down from the clouds, their noses pointing directly at Sakura Town.

They were so fast that before Miyamoto Shin could even utter a single word, the first fighter jet had already dove to a height of less than 100 meters.

Six machine guns simultaneously spewed fire.

"Da da da da!"

The barrage of comments swept across from the other end of the street.

The bullet struck the bluestone pavement, shattering it into countless fragments that tumbled through the air and flew in all directions.

The trajectory of the bullet screen was like an invisible scythe, advancing at a steady pace along the street, slicing everything standing in its path in half.

At the street corner, a group of Japanese expatriates were escorting a group of Chinese prisoners onto a truck.

When they heard the roar of the plane, everyone was stunned.

They were not soldiers, had never experienced an air raid, did not know what that sound was, and did not know what they should do.

They just stood there dumbfounded, looking up at the ever-growing black dots in the sky, their faces filled with a foolish curiosity.

"Da da da!"

"Da da da da!"

The barrage of comments swept through them.

The human body is smashed into pieces in a fraction of a second.

A South Manchuria Railway employee, dressed in a suit and top hat, was struck at the waist. His upper body flew two meters away and landed in a flower bed, his top hat still on his head.

Just as a woman in a kimono was about to scream, a bullet pierced her neck, severing her vocal cords and spine simultaneously. Her scream turned into a muffled sound of bubbles bursting.

That was the sound of blood rushing into the trachea.

A young expatriate carrying a bamboo spear was struck in the chest by three bullets simultaneously, his body flying backward and crashing into a brick wall.

A one-sided, overwhelming massacre.

Those Japanese civilians were not soldiers.

They had not received any air defense training, did not know to lie down when they heard the roar of planes, did not know to find cover when facing strafing, and did not even know which direction the bullets were coming from.

They just stood there, like a flock of terrified sheep, watching the fighter jets swooping down and then falling in droves.

The Chinese citizens who were arrested had already reacted during the chaos.

Years of war have taught the Chinese people that when planes come, they must flee and seek shelter.

The moment the roar of the planes began, in the chaos, they instinctively broke free of their ropes, scrambled into alleys, hid in cellars, climbed over courtyard walls, and disappeared into the labyrinthine alleys of Lushun.

The people in the cellar huddled together, clutching their children tightly, hoping this nightmare would end soon.

In contrast, the Japanese civilians were riddled with machine gun fire.

"Da da da da!"

"Da da da da!"

Machine guns plowed through the Japanese civilians again and again.

Miyamoto Shin was lucky enough to survive.

The moment the plane began strafing, he was tackled to the ground by his adjutant and pinned under the sidecar of a three-wheeled motorcycle.

The bullet hit the motorcycle, but he miraculously survived.

His ears were ringing, and his adjutant was on top of him, his body convulsing.

A bullet pierced the motorcycle, struck the adjutant in the back, and pinned him to Miyamoto Shin's body.

His face was splattered with his adjutant's blood, and the world before his eyes was a blurry, blood-red blur.

The firing lasted less than three minutes.

But in Miyamoto Shin's perception, those three minutes felt longer than half a lifetime.

As the plane pulled up and began to climb again, he pushed aside his lifeless adjutant and crawled out from under the motorcycle.

He saw a hellish street.

The bluestone pavement was riddled with bullet holes, and a small puddle of blood accumulated in each one.

The bodies lay scattered on both sides of the street; some were lying face down on trucks, some were lying face up in the middle of the road, and some were hanging on brick walls riddled with holes.

Severed limbs and internal organs were scattered all over the ground, and the air was filled with the mixed smell of gunpowder and blood.

A pair of wooden clogs lay forlornly in the middle of the road, and beside him lay the six-year-old boy who had tipped him off, his eyes wide open in death.

Miyamoto Shin knelt on the ground, trembling all over.

He opened his mouth, as if to shout something, but only a hoarse sob came out of his throat.

In the Sakura-cho neighborhood alone, thousands of Japanese civilians were shot dead.

Among them were businesspeople, office workers, housewives, the elderly, and children.

They responded to the mobilization order, took to the streets with their newly issued weapons, believing they were defending the empire and fulfilling a sacred duty bestowed upon them by the Emperor.

As a result, they were reduced to a pile of minced meat within three minutes.

And what about the Chinese civilians he captured in two hours?

Miyamoto Shin turned to look at the trucks that hadn't yet driven away.

The truck is still there, but the prisoners inside have disappeared.

The wire was cut, the rope was untied, and all the old people, women, and children ran away while he was trapped under the tricycle.

The entire street was now filled with corpses dressed in kimonos and suits, along with bamboo spears and wooden sticks that had fallen from their hands before they could be used.

He raised his head and looked up at the sky.

The fighter jets flew away, but new black dots appeared in the sky.

Seventy bombers were swooping down over the port, dropping strings of black bombs.

Explosions came from the direction of the port, one after another, incessantly.

The destroyers anchored at the dock were blown into fireballs, and thick smoke rose from the harbor, obscuring half the sky.

An overwhelming sense of despair washed over him, but what made him even more desperate was a piece of news.

A military policeman stumbled from the street corner, his uniform covered in mud and blood, his face showing a look of utter terror.

He ran to Miyamoto Shin, his legs buckled, and he knelt on the ground, shouting in a trembling voice.

"Captain! Captain! The Northeast Army! The main force of the Northeast Army has arrived!"

"Baka! How could it be so fast?"

Miyamoto Shin grabbed him by the collar.

"Explain clearly! Which direction are they from? How many of them are they?"

"Longwangtang! Baiyushan! Launch simultaneous attacks!"

The military policeman's lips trembled so much he could barely utter a complete sentence, "Tanks...at least several hundred tanks! Infantry, densely packed as far as the eye can see!"

"The first line of defense...the first line of defense has already collapsed!"

"The bunkers at Longwangtang were destroyed one by one by tank cannons, and the overseas Chinese who were guarding there..."

He didn't finish speaking.

But Miyamoto Shin had already read the second half of the sentence from his eyes: the expatriates who stayed there probably no longer existed.

"Where are the prisoners? Where are the prisoners at the front lines?"

Miyamoto Shin roared, "Does the Northeast Army dare to fire on those Chinese people?"

The military policeman shook his head, his voice trembling with tears.

"It's no use, Captain."

"Prisoners... all the prisoners escaped during the air raid."

"The military police and civilians were too busy hiding from the planes to guard the prisoners."

"Those Chinese people took advantage of the chaos to run away or hide, and now there's not a single one left in front of the position."

"Only...only our own corpses."

"Baka yoryu! Baka yoryu!"

Miyamoto Shin was furious, and the deaths of his civilians grieved him deeply.

He couldn't help but look around, taking in the hellish scene before him.

He saw the body of the six-year-old boy who was holding the Hinomaru flag. He was lying in the center of the room, his eyes still open, staring at the sky, with the blank look of his last moments before death still lingering on his face.

They should have been in the prime of their lives, but at this moment they withered away completely.

Perhaps, before he died, he was still wondering, "Aren't the planes the Empire's? Why would an Empire's planes rain bullets on him?"

Miyamoto Shin closed his eyes in pain.

Just as he was pondering whether to continue capturing prisoners, a deafening roar suddenly rang out.

"Boom!"

That's the direction of the city wall.

The city wall was the second and final line of defense for Lushun.

Once the city walls are breached, Lushun will be completely finished.

The communications soldier rushed from the street corner and almost tripped in front of Miyamoto Shin.

He was panting heavily, pointing north with his finger, his voice filled with terror.

"Captain! The Northeast Army's tanks... have broken through the first line of defense! Longwangtang has fallen! Baiyushan is also under attack!"

"Colonel Kojiro orders you to immediately take all the prisoners to the city walls; the walls are our last hope!"

Miyamoto Shin turned his head and glanced at the empty street.

Corpses, corpses everywhere.

He spread his hands toward the communications soldier and asked in return:

"Prisoners? Look for yourself! Where are the prisoners?"

On the street, only the corpses of Japanese civilians silently answered him.

The explosions coming from the direction of the city wall in the distance grew more and more frequent, with the deep rumble of tank cannons and the roar of heavy machine guns intertwined.

Miyamoto Shin gritted his teeth, drew his military sword from his waist, and shouted to the military police around him.

"Never mind! Everyone! Military police, civilian patrol, follow me to the city wall!"

"We swear to defend Lushun to the death! We will never allow the Northeast Army to cross the city walls!"

"Heavy Black Card Server!!"

Miyamoto Shin, no longer concerned with arresting people, quickly led the military police and civilian corps to reinforce the city wall.

Lushun, the last line of defense, is about to meet its end.