Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

<font style="vertical-align: inherit;">November 1</font>

On the second floor of the Mitsui & Co. warehouse on Wuchang Road, the butt of the Type 3 rifle of 56-year-old overseas Chinese Jiro Asano was covered in cold sweat.

This accountant from Kobe had just been forcibly conscripted into the "Residents' Defense Corps" three days ago. At this moment, he was witnessing Chinese engineers across the street stuffing explosive packs into the street to build bunkers.

"Asano! Shoot!" Asano closed his eyes and pulled the trigger at the shout of veteran Yamamoto Ichizo. Almost at the same time, the Chinese army's 82mm mortar shell exploded in the backyard.

The fire where more than 30 overseas Chinese women were burning documents was instantly overturned by the shock wave. The burning cotton yarn bales hit the ceiling of the warehouse like a meteor shower, igniting the wooden boxes storing raw silk.

Behind the sandbag fortifications at Huishan Wharf, 17-year-old Taiwanese student Chen Wenxiong suddenly stopped trembling while carrying ammunition.

When he saw the 7.92mm Mauser rifle bullet blow off the Japanese officer's head, this Taipei Imperial University preparatory student did something that shocked both sides. He grabbed the Nambu pistol and fired three shots at the Japanese Marines beside him in the astonished eyes of the sergeant of the supervising team.

The sound of bullets piercing military rank insignia was more real than any resistance novel he had ever read. . . .

<font style="vertical-align: inherit;">November 1</font>

At dusk at the Yangshupu Power Plant, the giant tilted chimney slowly broke under the gunfire.

The blood-red flag of the Chinese Army Commando has been planted in the core area of the Hongkou Concession.

The Japanese naval headquarters was breached, and the remaining Japanese troops were trapped in a desperate fight. It was only a matter of time before they were completely wiped out.

But problems also arose on the Chinese army side. The attacking troops had only five bullets left on average.

A platoon leader put his empty Mauser pistol back into the holster and picked up a 30-year-old type bayonet from a Japanese soldier's corpse, with half of his little finger still stuck to the handle.

At the same time, Commander-in-Chief of the Third Fleet, Kiyoshi Hasegawa, issued the order for a decisive battle!

The Third Fleet's naval guns had no more scruples and began a blanket bombardment of the entire Hongkou area!

On the Huangpu River, through the telescope of Captain Michiaki Kamaguchi of the Izumo, the Chinese skirmish line on Jiangwan Road fell like waves of wheat when the 203mm shells exploded.

The body of an officer was thrown to the top of a telephone pole by the air wave. The tattered blue sky and white sun flag was still wrapped around his waist, like a phoenix reborn in the sunset.

At 20:30, the Chinese army received the order to retreat. . . .

Under the terrifying caliber of the battleship's cannon, the losses were too great.

When the Japanese got angry, they had no regard for the lives of their own citizens. The Hongkou area was already a living hell. . . .

August 1937, 8, Shanghai front.

Inside General Zhang Zhizhong's headquarters, the telegraph machine practically billowed with smoke. Three urgent telegrams lay lined up on the operations table, each stamped with a bright red "Top Secret" seal, their contents revealing a shocking message.

"Eliminate the Japanese troops in Hongkou at all costs!"

"Chairman's handwritten message: Success or failure depends on this one move. I hope the soldiers will fight to the death!"

"The international observation team is about to arrive in Shanghai. We must demonstrate our military prowess to the great powers!"

The combat staff looked at each other, and no one dared to speak first.

Zhang Zhizhong stood in front of the window, the telegram in his hand was crumpled. The sound of artillery fire from the direction of Hongkou could be faintly heard in the distance, and smoke slowly rose in the morning mist.

"Report!" The signalman suddenly rushed in: "Urgent message from Nanjing!"

The content of the fourth telegram caused the command center to fall silent in an instant.

"Nankou has been completely lost, and the Japanese army is advancing westward along the Pingsui Line. The situation in Shanghai is of international concern, so we must demonstrate our strength!"

Zhang Zhizhong put down the telegram with trembling fingers.

He understood too well the political calculations behind this. Once the news of the defeat in North China spread, the Nanjing government would urgently need to save face with a victory in Shanghai.

What those telegrams didn't say was that the foreign journalists in the concessions were waiting to see the Chinese army make a fool of itself.

"Order the 87th, 88th, and 36th Divisions." Zhang Zhizhong suddenly turned around, his voice horribly hoarse. "Launch the general offensive in three hours. Tell Wang Jingjiu, Sun Yuanliang, and Song Xilian! Even if it costs lives, we must wipe the Rising Sun flag out of Hongkou!"

At the front line, the soldiers silently checked their rifles, and grenades were neatly stacked at the edge of the trenches.

Some people were humming tunes from their hometown, while more people were just staring blankly at the Japanese positions on the opposite bank.

They didn't know that the charge they were about to launch was not only to retake Hongkou, but also to regain the last bit of dignity for the collapsed North China front thousands of miles away.

August 1937, 8, Nankou front.

Outside Huailai City, the artillery fire of the Fifth Division dyed the night sky blood red.

Tang Enbo stood in front of the sand table of the temporary command center, the telegram in his hand was soaked with cold sweat, and there was still no news of Wei Lihuang's reinforcements.

The combat staff had sunken eyes. Five consecutive days of high-intensity defensive battles had brought everyone to the brink of collapse.

"General! The eastern front position has been breached!" The messenger stumbled in.

Tang Enbo clenched his fists suddenly.

On the sand table, the small red flags representing the Japanese army have formed a siege, and the flanking troops of the Fifth Division are attacking Huailai like an iron clamp.

He looked out the window and saw exhausted soldiers repairing their fortifications under the illumination of artillery fire. Some of them even fell asleep while standing.

More deadly news followed: "Report! Zhangjiakou... has fallen! Fu Zuoyi's troops have been the first to evacuate!"

The command center fell silent for a moment.

The Chief of Staff's voice was trembling: "With Fu Jun's retreat, our flank is..."

Tang Enbo suddenly grabbed his military cap and put it on his head. The shadow of the brim covered his red eyes. "Order all divisions to organize a breakout immediately!" He added through gritted teeth, "Tell the brothers, as long as there is life... we will fight again in the future!"

In the afternoon, the remaining soldiers of the 14th Army broke out to the southwest.

The machine gunners volunteered to stay behind to cover their retreat, and their roars were soon drowned out by Japanese artillery fire.

Tang Enbo looked back and saw the last blue sky, white sun flag on the top of Huailai City slowly falling in the artillery fire, like the last elegy of the North China battlefield.

At the same time, hundreds of miles away, the Nanjing Command Headquarters.

A red pencil was drawn across the map, painting the entire line between Nankou and Huailai red.

"Liu Ruming has harmed the country! Fu Zuoyi retired too early! Tang Enbo... is suffering too much." A hoarse voice made the staff officers in the war room lower their heads. . . .

Let’s go back to the night when Tang Enbo and Fu Zuoyi discussed the counterattack plan but did not implement it.

When Fu Zuoyi rushed back to Zhangjiakou overnight, bad news from the front line was coming in like snowflakes. The Japanese Army's 2nd Independent Mixed Brigade pierced through the Great Wall defense line like a sharp knife.

At the Shenweitai position, Ma Yutian, commander of the 1st Security Brigade, fell in a pool of blood along with his battle flag.

The telegram about the fall of Hanover was still stained with blood from the messenger's hands.

At dawn on August 8, the fall of Wanquan Town came like a bolt from the blue.

Fu Zuoyi stood on a mound outside Zhangjiakou and watched the Japanese military flag being hoisted over the vital throat of the Pingsui Railway.

The Chief of Staff's hands trembled as he held the battle map. "Commander, it's completely lost! Our retreat is about to be cut off..."