Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

"Ah!" A muffled groan came from the side.

A young soldier, perhaps exhausted to the limit of his physical strength, or perhaps his leg was scratched by debris in the mud, slipped and fell forward suddenly, his face deeply buried in the knee-deep mud, making a dull plop.

He tried to struggle to get up, but his arms were shaking and he couldn't succeed after several attempts.

Two or three of his comrades immediately stopped and pulled him out of the mud.

"Brother! Hold on!" A bearded veteran supported him, his voice hoarse but filled with anxiety, "Hold on a little longer! We'll be in Luodian soon! Everything will be fine once we get to the city!"

The recruit coughed and spat out the muddy water in his mouth. His face turned blue from the cold mud. His eyes were vacant and his lips were trembling. "Platoon... Platoon lieutenant... I... I really... can't walk anymore..."

"Bullshit!" The bearded platoon mate glared at the recruit and sprayed his saliva mixed with rainwater on his face: "You've got to crawl even if you can't walk! Think about your mother! Your father! Think about what the devils will do to your family if you die! Stand up for me!"

Crawl! At least crawl to the shooting position! " As he said this, he almost half dragged and half carried the recruit, stumbling forward again.

At this moment, in the direction of Luodian ahead, a dense burst of gunfire like frying beans suddenly broke out!

There were also the dull explosions of grenades and the faint, heart-wrenching howls of the Japanese pirates!

"Not good!" Commander Peng Shan suddenly stopped, wiped the mud off his face, and raised his telescope to look towards the source of the gunshot.

In the dim light of dawn, a few scarlet sun flags were clearly visible on the outline of the low city wall on the east side of Luodian, like dripping blood beads!

And in the east of the city, there was a group of houses near the highway, filled with thick smoke!

What made people even more depressed was that a small group of dozens of Japanese soldiers in yellow-green uniforms rushed out from the ruined east gate of Luodian with bayonets in hand and howling!

Obviously, the national army's garrison in Luodian has collapsed!

The Japs are advancing deep into the enemy's territory! Once they completely control Luodian and quickly expand their positions, the subsequent arrival of the 18th Army will come at an unimaginable cost!

"11th Division! Everyone! Charge!" Peng Shan's voice instantly became like a red-hot iron!

Without the slightest hesitation, without waiting for the order for the follow-up troops to assemble! The situation changed rapidly!

Only a head-on attack!

"Kill!!!" Hu Lian's roar was even more earth-shaking!

He and his brigade guard platoon followed closely behind the division commander, like a sharp blade drawn from its sheath, piercing straight into the center of the battlefield!

The 11th Division, which had been struggling in the mud for 20 hours and was extremely exhausted, suddenly burst out with a heart-pounding combat power that far exceeded its limit!

Tired? Cold? Injured?

When they saw the rising sun flag on the city wall and the cold gleam of the Japanese pirates' bayonets, a hot blood called "defending their homeland" exploded from their bones and was completely burned out!

rush!rush!rush!

This momentum was like a raging wave crashing against the shore! Like a mountain collapsing and the earth splitting apart!

The Japanese squad that had just rushed out of the city gate was fully confident that they could pursue the victory and expand their victory, but they had no idea that they would suddenly encounter a desperate charge from the main force of the National Army so close to the core position!

For the first time, their faces, which had been baptized by the spirit of "Bushido", revealed real fear when facing the overwhelming power of absolute numbers!

Just a few seconds of distraction can be fatal!

"Pfft! Pfft!"

The dull sound of the bullet penetrating the flesh was like the sudden beat of the drum of death!

The Japanese soldiers in the front row didn't even have time to react before they were pierced through the bodies by bullets fired simultaneously from more than a dozen guns!

The hot blood spurted out like a fountain!

Hu Lian brandished his Mauser pistol and roared behind him, "33rd Brigade! Follow me into the city! First, tear down those tattered Japanese flags on the city gate tower!"

"Rush!!!"

. . . . . . . . . .

Tianjin, late August 1937.

The artillery fire on the Battle of Shanghai continued day and night, shaking the heaven and earth slightly.

Three hundred kilometers away, the city of Tianjin presents a strange appearance.

A month ago, the fierce iron hoofs of the Japanese army crushed the resistance on both sides of the Haihe River, and the vast Chinese area fell completely.

The French Concession across the river seemed to be surrounded by an invisible glass cover, isolating it from the smoke, wailing and fishy smell outside.

The French Concession became a "poisonous mushroom" blooming deformedly on this scorched earth.

In the twilight, a cold light flickered on the barbed wire at the edge of the concession.

Outside, there was an alley with half of the houses collapsed and sewage flowing everywhere.

Inside, neon lights on both sides of Consul General Du Road danced and flashed tirelessly.

Under the light, there was a scene completely different from the dead Chinese world. A pot-bellied comprador hugged a singing girl in a gorgeous cheongsam and got into a car parked in front of the casino.

The Soviets, wrapped in fur coats, exchanged their last remaining jewelry for a few pieces of bread to fill their stomachs.

Brokers in suits and ties with twinkling eyes shuttled between foreign companies flying Japanese, German, and Italian flags, peddling food, medicine, rubber... and even military supplies that would become deadly ammunition on the battlefield.

The entire concession was like a speeding vortex, madly absorbing panic, wealth and bloody speculative desires from all directions.

The air was filled with the smell of high-end perfume, cheap powder, and fried food. The core of all this luxury and decay was the Santa Ana Ballroom, standing at a busy intersection, brightly lit like a crystal palace.

Tonight, the atmosphere outside the closed gilded iron gate of the Santa Ana Dance Hall was extremely tense.

A team of well-equipped French Annan police maintained the cordon, backed by the ornate stone gateposts and ornate iron railings.

Their bodies stood straight under their uniforms, their heavy Lebel rifles were tightly gripped in their hands, and their eyes vigilantly scanned the uneasy crowd at the junction of light and shadow.

Suddenly, an extremely oppressive roar of an engine came from far away, tearing through the decadent music deliberately created at the entrance of the dance hall.

At the end of the dim light, a dazzling beam of car light suddenly appeared.

Three Japanese armored vehicles, like three silent and ferocious giant sharks, broke through the thick night and rushed over.

Leading the way in front of these three behemoths and guarding them on both sides was a whole squadron of Japanese military police motorcycles, and at the rear of the convoy were trucks filled with military police.

The roar of the engine, the sparks and the harsh sound of rubber tires rubbing against the gravel road, with a sense of naked violence and sovereignty declaration, instantly shattered the illusion of tranquility on the surface of the French Concession.

The random people who were enjoying the cool air or peeking at the roadside were like ants poured with boiling water. They fled in panic into the dark depths of the narrow alleys on both sides, leaving only traces of panic and stumbling on the ground.

The motorcade stopped precisely under the magnificent portico of the Santa Ana Dance Hall with a screeching sound of brakes.

The car door was quickly opened by the Japanese accompanying officer standing nearby, and a pair of dark brown riding boots, polished enough to reflect a person's reflection, stepped heavily on the mirror-like Roman floor.