Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

The air was foul and filled with the smells of sweat, blood, and fear.

A shell exploded not far away, the violent shock causing soil to crumble from the cave walls, and people let out suppressed gasps.

"No... We can't stay here any longer... They'll blow us all up!" a middle-aged man cried out in despair, trying to rush out, but was held back by the others.

"Going out is the same as dying! It's full of Japanese devils outside! They kill anyone they see!" A young man with a wounded arm, simply bandaged, roared in a low voice, his eyes filled with despair and hatred.

Like rats trapped in a snare, they were caught in a dilemma, left only to pray and fear as they awaited their unknown fate.

Even more tragic are those who have nowhere to hide and can only blindly flee among the ruins.

An elderly couple, supporting each other, tried to cross Xinjiekou Square and escape to the relatively quieter north of the city.

However, they ran right into a detachment of the 101st Division that was flanking the post office.

"Chinese! Kill them!" A Japanese soldier, his eyes bloodshot with rage, charged forward with his bayonet raised.

The old man tried to shield his wife with his body, but the sharp Type 30 bayonet easily pierced his frail body.

The old woman let out a piercing scream, and was then shot dead by another soldier.

Their bodies lay within sight of the post office building, but neither side of the fighting paid any attention to them.

In this brutal infighting, the lives of ordinary people are as insignificant as ants.

While the fierce battle raged in Xinjiekou, the Central Hospital, located near Zhongshan Road, was plunged into an even deeper disaster.

This largest hospital in Nanjing had already taken in a large number of wounded soldiers and civilians during the previous siege, and was now overcrowded. The corridors and courtyards were filled with wounded soldiers groaning in pain, most of whom were soldiers from the Central China Expeditionary Army.

Private First Class Yasuo Harada, a medic in the 6th Division, was a young man of only nineteen years old.

He joined the army with the ideal of saving lives and healing the wounded, and was assigned to the medical team.

At that moment, he was sweating profusely in the makeshift emergency area on the first floor of the hospital, performing emergency bandaging on a 9th Division soldier whose abdomen had been ripped open by shrapnel.

The wounded soldier's intestines were spilling out, and Harada, suppressing the urge to vomit, tried with trembling hands to stuff them back into his abdomen.

The surroundings were filled with the cries of wounded soldiers, the anxious shouts of medics, and the clanging of medical equipment. The air was thick with the stench of blood, disinfectant, and death.

Suddenly, intense gunfire and explosions erupted outside the hospital and rapidly approached!

"The rebels are attacking! Hold the gate!" The small number of Central China Expeditionary Army soldiers on guard at the hospital entrance sounded the alarm.

Harada's heart tightened, but he didn't stop what he was doing; saving lives was his duty.

However, the disaster struck too quickly.

A group of soldiers, all dressed in khaki uniforms, stormed the hospital's gates and walls.

Their objective was clear: to eliminate this potential stronghold and supply point for resistance.

Although the soldiers of the Central China Expeditionary Army guarding the hospital fought desperately, they were outnumbered and outgunned.

Soon, the hospital gates were blown open, and "rebel" soldiers swarmed in.

They killed anyone they saw, whether they were armed guards, unarmed wounded soldiers, or even medical personnel in white coats, including Japanese military doctors.

Screams and gunshots echoed inside the hospital, turning what was once a place of healing into a slaughterhouse in an instant.

Harada watched in horror as a group of soldiers from the 8th Division rushed into the first aid zone where he was.

A soldier with a ferocious grin on his face raised his Type 38 rifle, aimed it at the critically wounded man in the abdomen whom he was trying to save, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The wounded soldier's body shuddered violently and then fell completely still.

"What are you doing?! He's wounded! He's a fellow countryman!" Harada shouted angrily in Japanese with a Kumamoto accent.

The soldier paused for a moment, seemingly recognizing Harada's accent, but then a more cruel expression appeared on his face: "Fellow countryman of Kumamoto?"

"Hmph! Following that bastard Matsui Iwane makes you a traitor to the Empire!"

As he spoke, he glanced at the several wounded men on the surrounding beds, then pulled out a grenade and threw it in, where it rolled to Harada's feet.

Harada's eyes widened in horror; he could even see the familiar Type 10 fuse on the grenade.

"Baka! We're on the same side!" he cried out in despair.

But the soldier only glanced at him indifferently and quickly hid behind cover.

"Boom!" The grenade exploded.

Harada felt a tremendous force throw him away, and excruciating pain instantly spread throughout his body.

He fell heavily to the ground, and his vision began to blur.

In his fading gaze, he saw the corpses lying haphazardly in the emergency room, and the figure of the soldier turning and leaving.

The same military uniforms, at this moment, have become a cruel testament to the mutual slaughter among compatriots.

He died without understanding why things had turned out this way.

The tragedy at the Central Hospital was just a microcosm of the street fighting throughout Nanjing.

Schools, churches, residences... any building that might harbor resisting soldiers was subjected to indiscriminate and fierce attacks.

Both sides were in a bloodthirsty frenzy, military discipline completely collapsed, and there were even instances of looting "spoils of war," plundering valuables from the enemy's corpses, and torturing and killing prisoners.

In some respects, its brutality even surpassed the atrocities committed during the capture of Nanjing.

Compared to the hail of bullets on the surface, the intricate underground sewer system of Nanjing presented a different kind of despair.

It was dark, damp, filthy, and reeked of a nauseating stench.

However, this place also became the last refuge for many desperate Chinese civilians.

Hundreds of refugees were crammed into a main sewer near Xinjiekou.

They huddled on the slippery pipe walls or sat in knee-deep sewage, enduring the cold, hunger, and fear.

Intermittent, muffled explosions echoed overhead, causing the pipes to vibrate and the sewage to slosh violently. Each tremor triggered a suppressed cry and a commotion.

"Dad... I'm cold... I'm hungry..." A weak child's voice echoed in the darkness.

"Just bear with it, just bear with it a little longer... Once it's quiet upstairs, we'll go out and find something to eat..." The father's voice was hoarse and weak; he himself didn't know if this wait would ever end.

Suddenly, the cover of a manhole above was violently flung open, and blinding light and a cacophony of Japanese shouts and curses flooded in.

Immediately afterwards, several dark figures climbed down the iron ladder—they were Japanese soldiers! They seemed to be chasing fleeing soldiers, or perhaps trying to find a way through the sewers, and had stumbled upon this hiding place.

The beam of the flashlight swept across the terrified crowd.