You were tasked with guarding the Sihang Warehouse, and you brought out a Tiger tank?

Lin Feng's eyes lit up.

These are... precision lathes, milling machines, and drilling machines made in Hans.

There were even several unopened high-power generator sets and a complete set of hardware stamping equipment.

"This...this hasn't been moved yet?!"

Lin Feng's voice even changed tone.

Compared to the food and household items upstairs, this is truly priceless.

This is the mother machine of industry, the cornerstone of a country's defense industry.

During the War of Resistance against Japan, this kind of precision machine tool was a hundred times more precious than gold.

With these, we can manufacture guns, cannons, and bullets ourselves; this is even the prototype of the future arms factory.

Xie Zhongmin sighed helplessly:

"These were originally dismantled equipment from various factories in Shanghai, intended to be relocated to arsenals in the interior."

As a result, the various departments shirked responsibility and passed the buck, the transportation capacity was not allocated effectively, and the situation has dragged on until now.

"They've been fighting this in Shanghai for three months already, and these precious little gems are still stuck here gathering dust."

"Spendthrifts, a bunch of spendthrifts."

Lin Feng mentally complained about the White Party's administrative inefficiency.

These scoundrels can even mess up something as important as relocating industries inland, which concerns the fate of the nation.

If I hadn't come, these devices would most likely have been captured by the Japanese and used as bullets to kill our own people; or they would have been burned to ashes, turning into a pile of scrap metal.

"Take it, we must take it."

Lin Feng's eyes turned red.

Even if it means throwing away all the bullets in the system space, we still have to load these machine tools into it.

This is his core asset after he establishes his base in the future.

After the tour, Lin Feng immediately gave the following order:

"The 3rd, 5th, and 6th Battalions of the First Regiment, along with all logistics and medical units, shall immediately move into the Sihang Warehouse."

"Use the supplies in the warehouse to reinforce the fortifications and turn this place into an ironclad fortress."

Xie Jinyuan asked with some confusion, "Brigade Commander Lin, what about your other units?"

Although the Sihang Warehouse is large, it would be difficult to squeeze in so many people.

"Just guarding the warehouse is too shallow; it's just asking to get bombed."

Lin Feng walked to the map and drew a circle around the Sihang Warehouse with his finger:

"I will lead the main force to garrison the streets surrounding the warehouse, expanding the defensive depth."

"Now that I'm here, I don't intend to just be a coward."

He sneered inwardly:

I didn't come here to be a blindly loyal cannon fodder, to defend to the death.

I'm here to loot the warehouse and, incidentally, use the Japanese as experience points!

-----

The night passed, and dawn broke.

The Suzhou Creek serves as a boundary river, tearing this land into two completely different worlds.

The South Bank was the International Settlement, where a distorted prosperity continued to exist.

The neon lights had just been turned off, sanitation workers were sweeping up scraps of paper from the streets, early-rising newsboys were waving extra editions, and wisps of smoke were rising from the breakfast stalls.

The world was filled with song and dance, extravagance and debauchery, as if the war just across the river was a story from another world.

On the north bank, there is Zhabei, a hellish place.

The broken walls and ruins looked grotesque and terrifying in the morning light, with billowing black smoke and the stench of corpses carried by the north wind, occasionally drifting across the river and irritating the noses of the gentlemen and ladies on the south bank.

The Bund, the rooftop of the magnificent Daxia Bank building.

Several middle-aged men in suits stood in the cold wind. They were prominent figures in Shanghai's financial world, but at this moment, their faces were solemn, and their walking sticks unconsciously tapped the ground.

"I heard that the main force of the 88th Division withdrew last night."

A banker wearing gold-rimmed glasses sighed and pointed to the lonely gray building across the street: "The unit guarding that place now is a unit called the First Honor Brigade and a regiment from the 88th Division."

"The First Honorary Brigade? I heard that their predecessor was the security regiment of Zhejiang Province, and they were awarded the honorary designation because of their meritorious service."

"Sigh, the Sihang Warehouse..." Another chubby director wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, "I wonder if there's any chance of getting the supplies out..."

"Instead of worrying about supplies, we should be more concerned about the exchange rate. The fiat currency can't afford to depreciate any further..."

The group discussed business and exchange rates, but seemed to lack any concern for the soldiers who were bleeding and sacrificing their lives.

In the eyes of these capitalists, the defending troops on the other side are nothing more than a string of numbers on their balance sheet, consumables used to hedge against risks.

Next to the Great China Bank building is the Sassoon House, which is slightly shorter.

The rooftop here is practically a huge open-air party.

Dozens of high-powered telescopes were lined up in a row, and countless white men and women dressed in fine clothes were chatting and laughing, holding champagne and coffee.

For these high-ranking officials of the Shanghai Municipal Council, diplomats from Western powers, war correspondents, and thrill-seeking socialites, the brutal fighting taking place in Zhabei across the border was nothing more than a free, incredibly realistic reality show.

Some people even set up betting odds, betting on when the building across the street would collapse, and where the next shelling would land.

In the crowd, Hans journalist Wolfgang Schneider was standing next to a White Eagle journalist.

Wolfgang's expression was much more serious than the onlookers who were just there for the spectacle.

He held a notebook in his hand, occasionally jotting something down.

"Look over there."

The reporter, pointing to the north bank of the Suzhou Creek, introduced the area like a tour guide: "That's the Bank of Communications building, and that big gray thing next to it is the Sihang Warehouse. Further west, there are the Bank of Communications warehouse, the Tongshang Bank warehouse..."

It used to be the most prosperous area in the Chinese-controlled area, with all kinds of warehouses and buildings, which could be called the CBD of Zhabei.

Wolfgang nodded but did not reply.

His gaze was fixed on the corners of the ruins.

As a veteran military journalist who experienced the Spanish Civil War firsthand, he knew all too well the brutality of urban warfare.

In the university town of Madrid, in the ruins of Teruel, he witnessed how the International Brigades and the Condor Legion fought repeatedly in every room and on every staircase until the last drop of blood was shed.

Urban warfare is the last bastion of the weak and the nightmare of the strong.

It is a meat grinder that minimizes the equipment gap between the offensive and defensive sides.

"Where is Lin Feng's army hidden?"

Wolfgang muttered to himself.

Lin Feng's achievements have naturally spread throughout the intelligence circles of those who are interested.

He wondered what special tactics the commander, who seemed to possess heavy tanks, would employ when facing this kind of urban warfare. Would he use the tanks as bunkers? Or did he have some other tricks up his sleeve?

"Oh my God! Look!"

A blonde, blue-eyed woman exclaimed from the side, her voice a mixture of excitement and feigned fear.

Wolfgang immediately moved closer to a group of high-powered telescopes mounted on tripods.

In the footage, a special Japanese unit appears on the streets near the North Station.

They weren't wearing the tan uniforms of the army, but rather dark blue naval sailor suits, disc-shaped steel helmets, and their weapons weren't all bayoneted Type 38 rifles, but also short and powerful submachine guns. (Picture)

That's the Bergman MP18 submachine gun, commonly known as the "flower machine gun" by the people of Daxia.