Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

He rode slowly forward, intending to ease his tension by inspecting his "spoils of war".

However, what he saw next made his heart sink even further.

Along the main street leading from Zhonghua Gate into the city, under the eaves of some houses that had not yet completely collapsed, and on the crooked utility poles, hung more than ten bodies of Chinese defenders.

They were clearly executed by the Japanese army and then deliberately displayed here.

Some had their necks broken by ropes, and their heads were tilted unnaturally to one side.

Some were covered in bullet holes and bayonet wounds, their uniforms stained dark brown with congealed blood.

In the dim reddish light of early morning, these stiff corpses resembled a series of gruesome street decorations.

Matsui Iwane's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

This was not the "glorious entry into the city" he had imagined; it was more like the opening of a nightmare.

Where are the flowers? Where are the cheers? Where are the reporters? Where are the Chinese people lining the streets to welcome them? ...

He sensed that the complete "purge" of the city might escalate into an uncontrollable situation.

But he said nothing, only tightened the reins and continued forward, leaving the devastation behind and the charred Tang poems on the ruins.

Just as Matsui Iwane stepped into Zhonghua Gate, a silent yet thrilling battle was unfolding at Jinling Women's College of Arts and Sciences in the west of the city, commonly known as Jinling Girls' School.

This girls' school, founded by an American church, has now become a refuge for thousands of desperate women and children.

Throughout the campus, every classroom, every corridor, and even the basement and stairwells were filled with terrified faces.

The suppressed cries of children and the trembling breaths of women are the main sounds here.

The college’s academic director, Ms. Minnie Vautrin, a slender, resolute American missionary, was standing at the main gate of the campus.

Her usually meticulously combed hair was now somewhat disheveled, and her blue eyes were bloodshot from extreme fatigue, but her gaze was as firm as a rock.

Behind her were Cheng Ruifang and other Chinese and foreign teachers and staff, as well as some school workers who volunteered to stay. They linked hands, forming a trembling but unyielding human wall.

“This is American property! It’s a refugee camp! International law stipulates…” Minnie Vautrin shouted in English and broken Chinese to a group of Japanese soldiers who were trying to break in, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.

But the crazed soldiers had long lost their reason and any respect for rules.

A sergeant with a scar on his face grinned maliciously, pointed his bayonet at Minnie Vautrin's chest, and roared in Japanese, meaning get out of the way or he would be killed.

The cold tip of the knife almost touched her thin cheongsam.

Just at this critical moment, a blinding white light flashed!

"Click!" Accompanied by the sound of the shutter, the figure of American professor Bates was captured.

He held aloft a news camera, which was quite bulky at the time, and the flash of the camera stood out starkly and intensely in the dim morning mist.

His sudden appearance and the bright flash of light caused the group of thugs to instinctively take a step back, shield their eyes with their hands, and hesitate in their actions.

Bates remained undeterred, loudly warning in English, "I have photographed your atrocities! Your appearances and unit numbers will be recorded! This will be submitted to our government and the world!" while continuing to adjust the camera angle.

Reason and pleas are ineffective in the face of these beasts; only evidence and the potential consequences can create a sliver of deterrence.

The flash of the camera, like a brief spell, temporarily repelled the evil.

The Japanese soldiers looked at each other, perhaps unafraid of killing, but they were wary of this "foreign machine" and the unknown consequences it might bring.

The sergeant glared fiercely at Beddess and Minnie Vautrin, spat, and waved his hand, leading his soldiers away temporarily.

Ms. Vautrin breathed a sigh of relief, her body almost collapsing, but she immediately straightened her back and reassured the wall of people behind her who were on the verge of collapse.

She sensed that the crisis was far from over; this was just the beginning.

Bates quickly checked the camera to make sure the footage he had just captured was intact.

As organized resistance within the city gradually subsided and most areas descended into chaos and massacre, the most heroic and desperate battle of the day the city fell erupted at the Ming Palace Airport in eastern Nanjing.

This area is where the remnants of an air defense force that failed to retreat in time, some air force ground crew, and some scattered infantrymen are gathered.

They used the airport's warehouses, hangars, and the wreckage of several abandoned aircraft due to malfunctions or lack of fuel as cover for their final stand.

The commander may have already been killed in action, and military rank has lost its meaning at this moment.

A company commander of an anti-aircraft artillery unit stepped forward. Looking at the hundreds of faces around him, stained with gunpowder and etched with exhaustion and determination, he roared, "Level the anti-aircraft guns! Aim them at the entrance! Fire at the tanks!"

The anti-aircraft guns, which were originally pointing towards the sky, were painstakingly flattened by the soldiers using crowbars and their last bit of strength, and were now aimed at the entrance to the airport's only main runway.

These weapons have a high rate of fire and strong armor-piercing capabilities, making them a necessary but effective option when used for direct fire in dire situations.

Soon after, the vanguard of the Japanese army, accompanied by three light tanks, roared toward the airport.

They assumed there was no resistance here and that it would be an easy takeover.

"Fire!" With a command, several anti-aircraft guns roared simultaneously! The scorching armor-piercing shells, like the lash of death, lashed at the thin-skinned Japanese tanks.

The first tank caught fire and exploded instantly, the tracks of the second tank were blown off and it was paralyzed on the spot, and the third tank was also hit and started emitting thick smoke.

The Japanese infantry, caught off guard and attacked head-on, hurriedly dropped to the ground, suffering heavy losses.

But this brilliant victory was short-lived. The anti-aircraft guns quickly ran out of shells, and Japanese reinforcements swarmed in, surrounding the airfield.

"Brothers! Out of ammunition! Fix bayonets! Fight them to the death!" The defenders, having lost their heavy firepower, picked up rifles with bayonets fixed, entrenching tools, and even iron bars and wrenches used for disassembling aircraft parts, leaping out from behind their cover and launching a desperate counter-charge.

An extremely brutal hand-to-hand combat unfolded on the runway and tarmac.

Despite being outnumbered, outgunned, and physically outmatched, the Chinese soldiers fought the enemy with their last ounce of strength.

The muffled thud of bayonets piercing bodies, the cracking sound of iron bars shattering bones, and the dying roars and screams replaced the sounds of gunfire, becoming the dominant theme at the airport. Every second, someone fell, their blood staining the concrete floor.

Just as this last resistance was about to be overwhelmed, Wang Changshuan, an air force mechanic covered in oil, quietly crawled toward a Hawk-3 fighter jet at the end of the runway that was unable to take off due to engine failure.

He was in charge of maintaining the plane, but at that moment, a crazy idea popped into his head.