War of Resistance: From the Start in a Pile of Corpses, I Lead the Wounded Troops on a Rampage

“Company commander, there are only a few of us left. Are we still holding the line?” “We are. There are civilians behind us. If we retreat, what will happen to them?” Shanghai, 1937. Lin Feng, a special forces king, opened his eyes amid a heap of corpses. His left leg had been pierced through, and he held an empty Hanyang rifle. Three meters away, three bayonets were closing in. The instant the blades came down, he moved. He seized a rifle, rolled, and fired three shots in quick succession. Three enemies fell, and he stood up with his rifle in hand. No System, no cheat powers. He had only infantry tactics half a century ahead of their time, and a roster stained with his brothers’ blood. A bucket of used motor oil and a hundred iron nails turned a mountain pass ambush into a slaughter that wiped out an entire company. One shot severed a barbed-wire fence, and a CQB assault took out a machine-gun squad. Through wearing down the enemy, night raids, and coordinated infantry and artillery attacks, he devoured the Japanese elite one bite at a time. After every battle, he did only two things: cross a few names off the roster, then report the cold tally of spoils. One hundred Type 38 rifles, twenty thousand rounds of ammunition, two grenade launchers. The unit grew from seven men into a regiment. Against the Japanese planes and artillery, he used millet and rifles to take back every inch, one at a time. “Everyone in this book has fallen asleep. But as long as the book remains, their spirits live on.” When the roster bearing hundreds of thousands of names finally closed, he would let the whole world know what the unit we fought to build was called.