Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

In the early morning of August 8, the 21rd Division, the vanguard of Li Mo'an's troops, was suddenly ambushed by Japanese troops while marching.

At that time, the commander of the 83rd Division, Liu Kan, was leading his troops at a rapid pace, and the marching route happened to pass through the Qianjuntai Gorge.

The mountains on both sides of Qianjuntai Canyon are steep, making it easy to defend but difficult to attack.

Due to lack of intelligence, the 83rd Division, which was rushing to reinforce Nankou, was not informed of the Japanese ambush and ran into the ambush circle of the Japanese Ushijima Detachment.

The Japanese Ushijima Detachment had already set up a pocket formation here.

Fierce fighting ensued. Utilizing favorable terrain and pre-prepared firepower networks, the Japanese army pinned the 83rd Division's vanguard within the canyon.

For a whole day and night, the sound of gunfire could be heard. The two sides fought back and forth, but the outcome was still unclear.

Faced with the deadlock and the repeated orders from above urging him to rush to Nankou, Liu Kan made a prompt decision and left behind four battalions of troops to contain the Japanese army.

The main force took a detour and headed north, sending scouts to find a new marching route.

However, the weather was not good. When the troops reached Yanhe City, heavy rain suddenly fell the night before. The water level of the Yongding River rose sharply, causing a flash flood. The original road was blocked by the flood.

They had to change their route temporarily. The terrain along the river city was extremely complex, and after the change of route, the troops had to cross two hills.

This delay caused the marching speed to drop significantly again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

While the mountains of North China were still shrouded in thick smoke, a thrilling reversal was taking place on the banks of the Huangpu River thousands of miles away.

On August 8 in Hongkou, Shanghai, the reinforced concrete fortifications of the Japanese Navy Headquarters shook violently under the attack of Zhang Zhizhong's soldiers.

Hasegawa Kiyoshi and Yoshida Hayato, who was suddenly sent to Shanghai by Zhou Zhengqing, were dragged to the dock by their arms.

Amidst the shrill alarm, the Vice Admiral was crammed into the transport boat with a complicated expression on his face. The splashing waves soaked his somewhat disheveled military uniform. . . .

The temporary paralysis of the Japanese military command system in Shanghai did not buy even a moment's respite for the Nankou battlefield thousands of miles away.

. . . . . .

At this time in the Nankou mountainous area, the shadow of death was spreading exponentially.

Late at night on August 8, the waning moon was swallowed by clouds, and the blue bricks of the Longmenkou section of the Great Wall were turned to dust in the artillery fire.

The soldiers of Liu Ruming's troops huddled in the ruined bunkers, and the grenade launchers of the 2nd Independent Mixed Brigade drew strange arcs in the night sky.

Ma Yutian, commander of the 1st Brigade of the Security Corps, had his helmet cut off by shrapnel, and warm blood flowed down his gray temples. His last words were still stuck in his throat when he fell forever on the city wall built by his ancestors.

The Chahar Dispatch Corps, the 2nd Independent Mixed Brigade, broke through the Great Wall and Liu Ruming's defense line that night. Ma Yutian, the commander of the 1st Brigade of the Security Regiment, was killed in the battle.

The 1st Independent Mixed Brigade and the 15th Independent Mixed Brigade also marched urgently towards Zhangbei from the rear.

. . . . . . . . .

At dawn the next day, Itagaki Seishirō stood in the temporary command post. The morning light shone through the gaps in the canvas tent, casting mottled shadows on his gloomy face.

He slowly took off his snow-white gloves and suddenly slammed them onto the table covered with the battle map with a "snap", startling several young staff officers.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice hoarse as a blunt knife scraping bone, "Today I will show the Chinese the true strength of the Imperial Army."

Cold sweat oozed from the staff officers' pale faces, and the only sound in the command post was the ticking of the pocket watch's second hand.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the first ray of sunlight had just climbed up the broken battlements of the Great Wall when more than 200 cannons suddenly let out a deafening roar.

The flames spewing from the muzzles burned countless holes in the mist, and the entire mountain was shaking with the whistling sound of the shells tearing through the air.

The first round of salvos plowed the frontline positions into scorched earth. The blast threw debris and limbs into the air, weaving a strange blood-red curtain under the morning sun.

What’s even more terrifying is that after the shells exploded, there was no fire, only billowing yellow and white smoke!

The Japanese army, in flagrant violation of international conventions, deployed mustard gas on a large scale, with poisonous smoke spreading through the trenches like giant pythons devouring their prey.

"Gas mask! Put it on quickly..." The shout of a company commander suddenly stopped.

Soldiers, their eyes bulging, their nails digging into festering throats, curled up in strange positions in the trenches. One young soldier, before dying, was still groping for the letter from home in his breast pocket, the paper slowly soaking with blood.

Japanese infantrymen wearing pig-nose gas masks charged like mechanical puppets under the cover of Type 89 tanks.

The tracks rolled over the still-twitching body, crushing the helmet and rifle into twisted scrap metal.

One Japanese second lieutenant even deliberately adjusted the tank's route to admire the internal organs and brains bursting out from under the tracks.

The defense line of the second defensive zone was lost one after another.

The surviving soldiers retreated on the mutilated bodies of their comrades. The blood scabs in the trenches were shaken off by heavy artillery, and mud splashed all over the soldiers' cracked cheeks.

Inside the 4th Division headquarters, the division commander's knuckles turned white as he gripped the microphone. Hoarse reports from the regimental commanders continued to stream through the receiver: "Everyone in the Third Battalion has been poisoned... Only seven people in the Second Company are still breathing... Requesting reinforcements! Requesting reinforcements!"

The chief of staff suddenly discovered that the division commander's temples had turned completely white, as if snow had fallen overnight.

When the 72th Regiment of the 415nd Division received an urgent request to reinforce the position of the 4st Battalion of the 19th Regiment of the th Division and arrived with the remaining troops, the position had become a hell on earth in the heavy rain.

The poisonous smoke formed colorful puddles in the depression, and the rain washed away the corpses lying all over the battlefield, turning the blood into countless small streams.

A soldier whose eyes were blinded by poison gas was groping to close the eyelids of his dead comrade.

The commander of the 415th Regiment suddenly ripped open his sweat- and rain-soaked uniform, revealing his bony chest. He raised his bayonet and slammed it three times against his helmet, the metallic clang piercing the rain. "Brothers! Kill the devils!"

More than six hundred men with red eyes rushed towards the position like six hundred unsheathed swords.

Some of them were wearing military uniforms that had been torn into strips, and some were wearing bloody bandages, but at this moment, the same fire was burning in everyone's eyes.

Machine gunner Wang Erzhu was using his shoulder to support the glowing barrel of his gun when his bunker was hit by a grenade.

This man from rural Hebei just received a letter from home three days ago informing him that his daughter had been born.

The shrapnel cut off half of his body, but his bloody hands still held the trigger tightly, and the hot shell casings clanged on his gradually stiffening legs until the last bullet belt was used up.

His blood formed a small puddle in the mud, reflecting the smoke-filled sky.

As the sun set, only more than thirty shaky figures remained on the battlefield.

They used bayonets, their teeth, and their last bit of strength to defend this blood-stained Great Wall.

The evening breeze swept across the scorched earth, rolled up the half-burned military flag, and gently covered Wang Erzhu's peaceful face. His right hand was still tightly holding the letter home that he had not had time to return.