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

Major Yokoyama hid behind the wreckage of a wrecked truck, holding binoculars and staring at the imposing fortress a few hundred meters away, his teeth grinding together.

"Baka! This isn't a warehouse, it's a fortress!"

The wall is too thick; even a Type 92 infantry gun would only make a white dot when it hits it.

The building is too high; you can't throw a grenade up there from a distance.

The north side of the wall is the street, a large open area, where it's hard to find cover during an assault.

Moreover, the dense array of firing ports would occasionally unleash stray shots, making it impossible for his soldiers to even raise their heads.

"Commander, this attack is causing too many casualties. Should we request heavy artillery support?" the adjutant beside him suggested, wiping away cold sweat.

"Idiot, if heavy artillery could fire, it would have already done so."

Major Yokoyama cursed, "These Sihang Warehouses are only separated from the concession by the Suzhou Creek."

"If the heavy artillery misses its mark and hits the International Settlement, not only will we be held accountable, but even Commander Ōkawanai will have to commit seppuku."

This is what makes the Sihang Warehouse special; the Japanese soldiers were hesitant to use their heavy firepower against it.

Just when Major Yokoyama was at his wits' end and felt that the battle was hopeless.

A sharp-eyed operations staff officer suddenly pointed to a spot near the west side of the north wall of the Sihang Warehouse and exclaimed in surprise:

"Captain, look over there!"

Major Yokoyama looked in the direction he was pointing.

That place might have been a passageway originally used for loading and unloading trucks or for ventilation in the warehouse, or it might have been a small door built by the defenders for easy access.

In short, it's now wide open and dark, like a toothless mouth.

"What?!"

Major Yokoyama paused for a moment, then raised his binoculars to observe carefully.

Yes, it is open. Although it is dark inside and you can't see clearly, it is not sealed off by bricks and stones.

"Heaven is helping me! Heaven is helping me!"

Major Yokoyama slapped his thigh, his face beaming with ecstatic joy:

"These Chinese were ultimately careless. Although they had fierce firepower, they were, after all, a ragtag army, and their engineering work was far too sloppy. They actually left such a huge defensive loophole."

In his view, this was simply a window that Amaterasu had opened for him.

Once you can get in, this is a fast track to the inside of the warehouse.

Once inside, the defenders' heavy firepower and sturdy walls become ineffective, leaving only hand-to-hand combat with bayonets drawn.

When it comes to hand-to-hand combat and close-quarters fighting, Major Yokoyama has a mysterious confidence in his Marine Corps.

"This is an opportunity, a golden opportunity."

Major Yokoyama immediately turned around, his gaze sweeping over his officers before settling on a captain with a burly, menacing face.

"Kondo-kun."

"Hai." Captain Kondo stood at attention and bowed.

"You are the bravest warrior in our brigade."

Major Yokoyama patted him on the shoulder, his tone solemn:

"I'll give you 100 elite soldiers, all equipped with MP18 submachine guns and combat pistols, and each of them will carry four extra grenades."

"Your mission is to break through, capture that doorway, and create an opening for the main force."

A bloodthirsty glint flashed in Captain Kondo's eyes:

"Please rest assured, Captain, I've long disliked those Chinese hiding in their turtle shells. I'll definitely cut off their heads so you can use them as a football."

"Go ahead, let those Chinese see what the special attack spirit of naval elites is all about."

As Major Yokoyama watched Captain Kondo lead a hundred-plus fully armed, menacing suicide squad members to assemble behind the ruins, a smug smile crept onto his lips.

He seemed to see the dawn of victory, and he could see the military flag on the roof of the Sihang Warehouse being torn down and replaced with the Japanese flag.

However, what he didn't know was that, in the hunter's eyes, the prey is often most triumphant when it is about to step into the trap.

That doorway is not a leak.

That was a one-way street to hell that Lin Feng had deliberately left behind.

-----

"Attack! Banzai!"

White smoke from the smoke grenades filled the streets.

Captain Kondo, as if injected with adrenaline, charged ahead, yelling as he rushed into the dark doorway.

Behind him, a hundred Japanese suicide squad members, their eyes already bloodshot, gripped MP-18 submachine guns and pistols tightly, and surged forward in the thick smoke from the mortar.

"Charge in and kill his penis!"

Captain Kondo shouted as he ran.

However, he sensed something was wrong less than ten meters after rushing into the doorway.

The smoke that drifted in did not completely obscure the view.

To his surprise, he found no spacious warehouse hall as he had imagined, nor any mountains of goods piled up before him.

What blocked their way was a cold, arched high wall made of steel plates and sandbags.

There are walls on both the left and right sides.

This isn't the warehouse entrance at all. It's clearly a completely enclosed dead end, an elaborately designed barbican.

"What?!"

Captain Kondo abruptly stopped, the steel-studded soles of his boots scraping against the concrete with a screeching sound.

"Oh no, we've fallen into a trap! Get out of here!"

As a veteran, he still has a keen sense of danger.

Unfortunately, it's too late.

"Clang—!!!"

A terrifyingly loud bang came from behind.

At the once-open entrance, a heavy iron fence that had been hanging from the top crashed down with tremendous force.

Sparks flew and dust billowed.

Our escape route is cut off.

More than a hundred Japanese soldiers instantly became like sardines sealed in a can, crammed into this narrow space of less than 200 square meters, unable to move forward or backward.

"Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!"

Immediately afterwards, four high-powered searchlights suddenly lit up from above.

The intense white light pierced through the smoke like a sharp sword, illuminating the Japanese soldiers inside the barbican in every detail. Everyone instinctively raised their hands to shield their eyes, falling into a state of temporary blindness.

Just then, that voice, like the pronouncement of death, rang out overhead:

"beat!!!"

"laugh------!!!"

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!"

The dozen or so firing ports on the surrounding walls, which were originally dark, suddenly spewed out dazzling tongues of fire.

The MG42 general-purpose machine gun's terrifying rate of fire of 1200 rounds per minute created a horrifying echo in this enclosed space, sounding like a giant chainsaw frantically cutting through bone.

Meanwhile, between the machine gun fire, countless submachine guns were unleashing a hail of bullets.

This was a massacre.

There were no tactical maneuvers to speak of, and no cover to be found.

Captain Kondo, who was in the front row, didn't even have time to raise his submachine gun before he was hit by more than a dozen bullets at the same time.

"Puff puff puff puff!"

His body seemed to be dancing a strange dance, constantly trembling as it was propelled by the immense kinetic energy of the bullet.

Blood, bits of flesh, and fragments of internal organs exploded behind him, spraying the soldiers behind him.

"ah!!"

"Mother!!"

The Japanese soldiers let out inhuman screams.

In this inescapable meat grinder, bullets bounce off the walls and ricochet off the ground.

Even if the Japanese soldiers were not directly hit, ricocheting bullets would sever their ankles or smash their cheeks.

The Japanese soldiers in front fell, their corpses piled up like a small mountain.

The Japanese soldiers behind them tripped over the corpses, struggled in pools of blood, and were then pinned to the ground by a hail of bullets.

In just a few minutes.

The gunfire stopped.

There wasn't a single person left standing inside the entire barbican.

The blood that had accumulated on the ground was already above the ankles, flowing down into the drainage ditch from the low-lying area, making a "splashing" sound.