Holding the original shares, they fought all the way to the Korean War!

Zhao Wenlong is holding an M1 Garand.

Standing in the middle of the earthen embankment.

They fired shot after shot at those who had slipped through the net.

His firing rate is not as fast as the MG42.

But it is extremely accurate, and each shot can precisely take down a target.

He emptied two magazines and then switched to a third.

The fingers never stopped.

"Hold on!"

"Don't let a single Japanese soldier escape!"

His voice remained clearly audible amidst the gunfire.

The group in the western bushes was also fighting like crazy.

Their position was not as high as the earthen embankment.

But its advantage lay in its tricky angle; the bullets entered from the flank and struck the Japanese soldiers who were trying to climb to the edge of the slope.

More than one hundred M1 Garands opened fire simultaneously.

Each volley of fire could knock down more than a dozen Japanese soldiers.

The retreating Japanese troops were completely pinned down at the exit of the Filter Valley by these two crossfire forces.

There are fire lines all around, in front, behind, left, and right, with no blind spots to hide in.

Some people tried to run north, but the northern exit had been completely blocked by machine guns from the First Battalion.

Some people wanted to retreat south into the valley, but the artillery fire was still extending to the south.

They had nowhere to escape.

The open area in front of the Filter Valley exit was now covered with the corpses of Japanese soldiers, piled up haphazardly.

Some lay prone on the road, some curled up on the edge of the roadbed, and some collapsed in the bushes.

The air was thick with the pungent smell of gunpowder and blood.

……

Twenty minutes later.

The gunfire gradually subsided.

The open area in front of the Filter Valley exit was piled high with the corpses of Japanese soldiers, layer upon layer.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood, which mixed together and made people's throats dry.

The MG42's barrel was still emitting blue smoke, and spent cartridge cases were spread out on the ground in a thick layer.

Zhao Wenlong stood in the middle of the earthen embankment, the muzzle of his M1 Garand gun slightly hot.

He quickly changed to a new magazine, his eyes still fixed on the direction of the filter valley exit.

The three MG42s have ceased firing.

It's not that we don't have enough ammunition, it's that we don't have many targets left.

Several hundred Japanese soldiers remained, huddled in the narrow passage at the exit of the filter valley.

They were trapped, unable to advance or retreat.

Ahead was the machine gun position of the First Battalion, a barrage of fire from three MG42s, while behind them, three infantry battalions of the New Second Regiment were rapidly closing in.

The left and right sides are steep slopes covered with shrubs.

The remnants of the Japanese army were crammed into that valley passage, which was less than two hundred meters long.

Some people leaned against the rock wall, panting heavily, while others crouched behind their companions' corpses, trembling with fear.

Others held guns, their eyes filled with despair as they gazed at the open area in the direction of the exit.

Their faces were covered in dust and blood; some had lost their helmets, others their shoes.

But no one threw away their guns.

Of those officers, about a dozen are still alive.

They ranged in rank from second lieutenant to first lieutenant, and they gathered together.

They were arguing in hushed tones.

Zhao Wenlong saw them arguing.

He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could see the officers' gestures.

Some people waved their arms and pointed in the direction of the Filter Valley exit, as if advocating for continuing the breakout.

Someone shook their head and pointed to the valley floor behind them, as if suggesting that they hold out for the night and wait for reinforcements.

But whatever the outcome of their argument.

The ending was already predetermined.

Because behind them, came even more hurried footsteps.

Zhao Wenlong's lips curved slightly.

He heard the footsteps, with an irrepressible rhythm.

Those were the footsteps of the pursuing infantry battalion of the New Second Regiment.

They pressed in from the south side of the filter valley.

The three infantry battalions of the New Second Regiment caught up.

Tian Chengjun was running in the lead.

He held an M1 Garand rifle, his uniform soaked with sweat and clinging to his body, yet his steps remained steady.

Behind him, the soldiers of the Second Battalion advanced in skirmish lines.

Everyone had that look of triumph on their face, guns pointed forward, eyes sharp.

Sun Shengli ran behind Tian Chengjun.

He ran faster, took longer strides, and spoke louder.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

"Don't let the Japanese devils get away!"

The orders were relayed loudly as they marched, the sound echoing through the valley.

The soldiers of the Third Battalion quickly deployed to the right slope according to orders, pressing towards the outlet of the filter valley from the flank.

They moved extremely quickly, advancing rapidly under the cover of the bushes on the slope.

They quickly occupied the high ground on the right side of the filter valley outlet.

Deng Chen led the Fourth Battalion to infiltrate from a more distant location.

His route was farther than those of Tian Chengjun and Sun Shengli.

They made a large detour, quickly cutting in from the western slope of the valley, and positioned themselves right behind the Japanese troops.

Three infantry battalions, more than two thousand men.

They attacked from three directions simultaneously.

Those remaining Japanese soldiers huddled at the exit of the Filter Valley truly felt the taste of being surrounded.

The exit in front of them was blocked by a battalion.

Their retreat route was simultaneously cut off by the Second, Third, and Fourth Battalions.

There is nowhere to escape.

The Japanese officers who were still arguing finally stopped.

Their faces turned ashen as they watched the Eighth Route Army troops advancing from three directions simultaneously.

A Japanese captain stepped forward.

He looked to be around forty years old, with a square face, slightly prominent cheekbones, and a scar on his chin.

His uniform was tattered, and the sleeve of his right arm was torn open by shrapnel, the blood already dried.

He looked at the Eighth Route Army soldiers who were surrounding him from all directions.

Looking at the rifles they had never seen before in their hands, and at the light in their eyes, I remained silent for a long time.

Then he turned to face the remaining soldiers.

"Warriors of the Empire!"

His voice echoed through the valley, hoarse but powerful.

"We can't leave today."

"We have lost our regimental commander, our battalion commander, and most of our warriors."

"Now we are surrounded, with no reinforcements and no way out."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the soldiers one by one.

"However, the Imperial Army has no tradition of surrendering!"

"We are willing to die in battle, we are willing to perish, we are willing to be loyal to His Majesty the Emperor!"

He drew his military knife.

"But we cannot surrender!"

"We cannot bring shame upon the Imperial Army!"

"We cannot bring shame upon the 109th Division!"

His voice grew louder and louder.

"Let's fight those Chinese!"

"Let them see what the Bushido spirit is!"

"Long live His Majesty the Emperor!"

He practically shouted his last word, his voice hoarse to the extreme.

Some of the soldiers behind him stood up, some remained squatting, some were trembling, and some had vacant eyes.

But after hearing that "Long live the Emperor!"

One by one, they stood up.

Their eyes changed, from fear to despair, and from despair to madness.

They knew they wouldn't survive today.

But they didn't want to be dragged out of their hiding place and beaten to death like rats.

They wanted a dignified death.