Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

He asked the soldiers to share the last of their dry rations and then each choose the best shooting position.

At 2 p.m., the Japanese army launched the final general offensive.

The tank guns directly bombarded the walls of the building, and the infantry approached under cover of fire.

Li Weizhuo and his soldiers fought desperately, using their last ammunition to inflict casualties on the Japanese army.

But when they ran out of bullets, they faced a final choice.

"Install the bayonets!" Li Weizhou ordered.

Five shining bayonets were stuck on rifles, and six soldiers covered in smoke stood in the ruins, ready for the final hand-to-hand combat.

At this moment, a chaotic shouting and whistling came from the Japanese army in the distance.

The attacking Japanese army suddenly stopped advancing and then began to retreat frantically.

Li Weizhou and the soldiers looked at each other, not knowing what had happened.

At this moment, dense black spots appeared in the sky...

Matsui Iwane's 48 hours are up...

At the same time, in the Shanghai International Settlement, unfamiliar foreigners suddenly appeared from hidden corners.

These people have different faces and bodies, but the coldness they emanate always makes passersby feel uncomfortable. It is the smell of blood and death.

After these people appeared, they began to gather in groups of three or four and headed in one direction, which was the direction of leaving the concession.

In the suburbs of Shanghai, the ground in the mixed woods is covered with fallen leaves, and the almost bare branches outline desperate lines under the gray sky.

Makarov stood in the clearing in the woods, his black tactical boots crushing the dead branches under his feet.

He lifted a corner of the waterproof raincoat, revealing the neatly stacked weapons underneath, including AK-47 assault rifles, RPG-7 rocket launchers, PKM general-purpose machine guns, and even several air defense missile systems marked "Igla".

These miscellaneous weapons, which are ubiquitous in modern third world countries, were truly magical weapons on the Chinese battlefield in 1937.

"Ah, my old friend." Makarov picked up an RPG, kissed its launch tube affectionately, and then let out a chilling laugh.

The laughter echoed in the silent woods, startling a few birds.

Several soldiers in modern tactical equipment stood around him, looking vigilantly in the direction outside the forest.

Their gear is out of place for the times: modular tactical vests, rifles with holographic scopes, noise-canceling headphones, and goggles.

"Boss, the first group of people has arrived." A burly man with a scar on his face whispered, his Russian speaking with a thick Caucasian accent.

Makarov nodded, put down the RPG, and checked his watch: "How many more?"

"We expected a total of 320 people, and now there are about 200."

"Hurry them up! The Japanese fleet is already on the way. Boss, what a fool! He insisted on releasing people into the concession just to make the Japanese misunderstand. It's really a waste of time."

On the small path outside the forest, a group of foreigners were gathering in groups of three or four towards the mixed woods.

These European-looking men moved through the chaos, using their foreign identities to pass through checkpoints one after another.

At the chaotic end of the Battle of Shanghai, although this situation was somewhat eye-catching, it did not attract much attention. At most, people wondered why the foreigners in the concession fled Shanghai at this critical juncture.

In fact, these people are members of Makarov's private guards who were deployed to Shanghai by Zhou Zhengqing using merit points. There are former special forces soldiers, mercenaries, and even idealistic warmongers.

There is only one goal, to complete the task and earn merit.

As for the other half, the mission of Nakamura Shunsuke and others was to delay the main force of Matsui Iwane's dispatched army, giving the Chinese army time to withdraw from the battlefield. . . .

Three hours later, more than 300 armed men had gathered in the woods.

Makarov stood on a tree stump, scanning the motley group.

"Get dressed!" He gave an order, and his men opened a dozen boxes, which contained neatly stacked modern tactical equipment and weapons.

The newcomers quickly put on their equipment and checked their weapons skillfully, as if they had practiced this countless times.

In less than half an hour, a special forces team that looked like it did not belong to this era had been formed.

Makarov watched all this with satisfaction, and then gave the order: "Turn the entire forest into a cordoned-off zone. Anyone who approaches without permission will be killed."

The team quickly dispersed and established layers of defense.

Then, an even more shocking scene appeared. Dozens of missile launchers hidden under the camouflage nets were activated, and the launch tubes slowly stood up and pointed towards the southeast sky.

"Boss, all launch units are in place, awaiting instructions," the technical officer reported.

Makarov walked to a launch control terminal. The screen showed a map of the East China Sea coastline and several moving light spots.

"The Japanese Tenth Army is landing in the direction of Jinshanwei." He pointed at the screen, "Our mission is to stop them.

The primary target is the transport ship."

He turned to face everyone, his voice stern: "Boss's orders, the missile attack is just a prelude. We can't destroy all the Japanese troops, but we can buy time and cooperate with the Chinese defenders to delay their attack."

Finally, Makarov walked towards his core combat team of six people. These people were his warriors, hunters who traveled through time and space.

He looked at each face with a cruel smile.

"Don't speak Russian," his voice was low and dangerous. "The time to hunt has come."

The six team members nodded silently and checked their weapons.

They knew the meaning of this sentence: leave no one alive, leave no trace, and show no mercy.

In the distance, on the sea level, Japanese transport ships were approaching.

"Fire!" Makarov ordered.

In an instant, the missile soared into the air with a tail flame, cutting through the sky of 1937 and roaring towards the target at sea.

An air raid, unprecedented in history, was about to change the outcome of the Jinshanwei landing battle.

Makarov just stood there, looking at the white streak in the sky as if admiring a work of art. His eyes flashed with madness, and he muttered to himself, "Let the game begin."