Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

"Puchi!" An officer of the Teaching Corps used all his strength to stab a bayoneted Chinese rifle into the neck of a Japanese sergeant who had just jumped off the landing craft and was looking down for a jammed rifle!

The hot blood sprayed all over his face!

Before he could pull out his knife, a cold saber slashed down diagonally, severing his arm at the root! The officer screamed and fell to the ground, only to be hacked to pieces by the Japanese soldiers who followed closely behind.

Several other soldiers from the teaching regiment, protected by their comrades at the cost of their lives, finally rushed to the key part where the pontoon bridge connected to the shore.

Without hesitation, he pulled the fuse of the grenade tied to his body and rushed towards the wooden pile structure supporting the pontoon bridge while shouting!

"Boom! Boom!"

The successive explosions caused wood chips to fly everywhere at the connection of the pontoon bridge, and a huge gap was torn!

Two armored vehicles traveling on the pontoon bridge suddenly lost their balance, and their bodies tilted violently. Accompanied by the shrill screams of twisted metal and the terrified screams of soldiers, they plunged into the icy river water, stirring up turbid waves.

This sudden and desperate counterattack, as well as the destruction of the pontoon bridge structure, brought the Japanese army's aggressive charge to a halt!

The follow-up troops were temporarily blocked on the pontoon bridge and the chaotic landing site.

The defending teaching regiment finally got a chance to catch its breath and was able to barely reorganize a thin line of defense strewn with corpses.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Dusk finally completely swallowed the earth.

But the entire Zhanghuabang Wharf area is brighter than daytime!

It was the light of hell interwoven with the burning wreckage, the flames of the explosion, and the flares dropped by the Japanese army!

Battles still broke out sporadically in various places. The clanging of bayonets, dying curses and dying wails mixed with the river wind swept across the entire battlefield.

The corpses piled up and floated in the mud and shallow water, gradually blocking part of the waterway and dyeing the turbid river water black and red.

Wu Qiujian panted, leaning against a half-burned thick wooden beam, numbly replacing the empty magazine of the Mauser pistol in his hand with new bullets.

One of his arms was grazed by a stray bullet, his sleeve was torn and blood was oozing out.

He didn't even bother to bandage it.

He knew that this was only temporary. The Japanese army was endless.

The pier is definitely lost.

Wusong Town, perhaps at dawn tomorrow, will become another meat grinder.

I looked up at the skyline lit red by the fire.

There is the vast land of Songhu, which has long been engulfed in war.

He didn't know how the beachhead battle at Shizilin went at Chuanshakou, where the terrain was more open and there were no houses or buildings to serve as cover.

I also know whether the beacon fire has been lit in the direction of Luodian.

I don’t even know what will happen tomorrow, and whether I will die in battle like the brothers around me.

Only one thing is clear: tonight, the owner of Zhanghuabang will change from Chinese defenders to Japanese invaders.

And countless lives like those behind him that are burning and extinguishing will become the most insignificant, yet the heaviest and most indelible sacrifices in this catastrophe.

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

The borrowed ancestral hall of the local gentry in Jiading no longer shows any of the elegance of Jiangnan architecture.

The strong smell of blood, sweat, medicine and the decaying smell of death mixed together and filled every corner.

On the operating table made of door panels, the screams of the wounded could be heard from time to time, mixed with the heavy footsteps of the stretcher-bearers and the suppressed sobbing, forming a symphony of doomsday chaos.

General Zhang Zhizhong was standing in front of a large table covered with a large map of Songhu.

He seemed to have aged ten years overnight. His once straight back was slightly hunched, his sunken eye sockets were bloodshot, and his lips were cracked and pale.

He had just returned from inspecting the front line, or rather, from witnessing another local failure. The hem of his uniform was covered in cold and wet mud, and his boots were as heavy as if they were filled with lead.

The news of the fall of Chuanshakou was like a cold boulder, weighing heavily on his heart and almost suffocating him.

"Where is Zhou Zhenqiang..." His voice was dry and hoarse, and every word sounded like it was ground on sandpaper.

"Report to the commander! Brigade Commander Zhou... is waiting for you outside..." The adjutant's voice trembled slightly.

"Let him in!" Zhang Zhizhong suddenly raised his voice, clenched his fists, and slammed them hard on the table covered with maps, causing the cups and glasses to clink.

The heavy wooden door was pushed open with a creak.

The light filtered through the crack in the door, revealing a hunched figure that looked like a clay sculpture struggling from the brink of hell.

It was Zhou Zhenqiang, almost unrecognizable.

The general's uniform he was wearing was tattered and almost completely soaked in mud and blood that had long since turned black and dried, turning it into a uniform dark brown.

His left leg was wrapped in a makeshift bandage soaked in pus and blood, making every step he took seem extremely difficult and painful. His face was covered with solidified mud, dried blood scabs and traces of smoke.

There was only a pair of eyes, sunken deep in the dirty face, flashing with an almost dead, extremely tired light, like two pieces of coal that were about to burn out.

Two guards, also in tattered clothes and with pale faces, almost held up his arms and helped him in.

All the sounds in the ancestral hall seemed to disappear in an instant, and all eyes were focused on the brigade commander who had led a brigade of elite soldiers to the Chuanshakou beach.

Zhou Zhenqiang broke free from the guards' support and tried to straighten his back.

The violent shaking almost made him fall, but he still used his right leg, which could still support himself slightly, to stand firmly. He saluted Zhang Zhizhong slowly and with great difficulty, with an extremely heavy military salute, as if he had exhausted his last bit of strength.

"Your subordinate... Zhou Zhenqiang... failed to defend Chuanshakou and has no face... to see the commander-in-chief!" His voice was hoarse and difficult to understand, and every word sounded like blood foam squeezed out of a torn throat.

"Where are the people?" Zhang Zhizhong stared at him intently, his voice as cold as iron, but his slightly trembling hands betrayed the turbulent waves in his heart: "Chuanshakou...how many people are still there?"

Zhou Zhenqiang smiled miserably, and that smile was a hundred times uglier than crying.

His lips trembled violently, and after several attempts he managed to utter a word: "56th Division Independent Brigade, Brother 3079... to the beach.

Those who returned from Chuansha and Shizilinkou, including the seriously injured, numbered... 217...

When he mentioned that number, the veteran who had never bowed his head even under the artillery fire on the beach shook his body violently.

From the sunken eye sockets, the turbid and hot tears finally burst out uncontrollably, washing away the muddy and bloody grooves on his face.

"217..." Zhang Zhizhong muttered the number repeatedly, his body shaking slightly, and one hand firmly supporting the table.

His heart seemed to be grasped and kneaded by an ice-cold hand.

A brigade!

An entire brigade of elite soldiers! One day! Just one day!

Just like that... filled up that hellish mudflat?!

He closed his eyes in pain.

The tragic scene seemed to appear before my eyes. On the mudflats of Chuanshakou, which had been repeatedly plowed by artillery fire and riddled with craters, there were layers of dead bodies piled up like mountains.

The rising tide slowly licked the battlefield, pushing the white, swollen floating corpses, along with the shattered planks of landing craft and mine shells, back to the shore. They accumulated and tangled on the charred beach into disgusting piles of huge "floating islands" of death.

The sea water washed over the blood-soaked sand and mud, taking away layer after layer of dark red marks, and was then dyed red with newer and more blood.

And closer to the inland, Japanese engineers laid temporary plank roads made of thick steel plates on top of the cold bodies of their comrades!

The tank's tracks were rolling over it mercilessly, making a low and cold metal friction sound, and every step seemed to be trampling on the heart of the living!

The huge tank body with its ferocious gun muzzle, and the densely packed yellow-green figures following behind it like a colony of ants.

They were walking on the "road" paved with the corpses of Chinese soldiers, tearing open the shattered Kuomintang positions with murderous intent, and rushing deep into the inland!