On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

"Buzzing!"

"Buzzing!"

Like thunder descending upon the world, rolling thunder came from afar, continuously surging from the eastern horizon, growing louder and deeper.

Colonel Yoshida raised his head.

His pupils suddenly contracted.

In the eastern sky, countless black dots are rapidly growing larger.

They formed three neat wedge-shaped formations, like a flock of eagles swooping down.

A full one hundred fighter jets.

Thirty P-51 Mustang fighter planes flew at the forefront, their fuselages painted with the gray-blue camouflage of the Northeast Army, and the machine guns mounted under their wings were clearly visible in the morning sun.

Following them were seventy bombers, their engines roaring like the low growl of a giant beast, their bomb bay doors under the fuselage all open.

Rows of aerial bombs hung from the racks, like the Grim Reaper's scythe waiting to be harvested.

Inside the cockpit of the lead Mustang fighter jet, Li Changkong looked down at the ground through the bulletproof glass.

The 4th Regiment and the Takeshita Brigade that had just escaped were completely clear to him.

A cruel smile crept onto his lips.

"First Air Force, all personnel, take note."

He pressed the communication button, and his voice was transmitted via radio to the cockpit of each fighter jet.

"Target: Enemy positions on both sides of the highway."

"The fighter jets first conducted three rounds of strafing, followed by bombers carrying out carpet bombing."

"receive."

A series of responses came through the headphones.

Li Changkong pushed the control stick, and the nose of the aircraft dipped slightly.

The horizon rose rapidly in the field of vision, and the details of the ground became clearer and clearer.

Everywhere there were foxholes that were only half-dug, and next to the foxholes were terrified faces.

This reminded Li Changkong of the Northeast Army before, who had the same expression when they saw Japanese planes.

Now that the offensive and defensive strategies have shifted, it's time for him to let the Japanese army taste the bitterness of being bombed!

"Round one, follow me."

He shoved the control lever hard.

"call out!"

The Mustang fighter jet let out a sharp screech as its nose plunged into the ground at a near-vertical angle.

Twenty-nine Mustangs followed behind him.

Thirty fighter jets formed a huge fan shape, diving simultaneously from a height of three hundred meters. The sound of their wings tearing through the air merged together, turning into a chilling shriek.

The numbers on the altimeter were jumping wildly.

Three hundred meters... two hundred meters... one hundred meters...

Colonel Yoshida finally realized what was happening.

"hidden!!"

He roared, wildly waving his military knife, pointing it at the sky, his face contorted with madness:

"Fire on the air! All machine guns, fire on the air!"

"quick!!"

too late.

Li Changkong pressed the fire button.

Six 12.7mm autocannons fired simultaneously.

"Rat-a-tat-tat!"

"Rat-a-tat-tat!"

The flames spewing from the gun muzzle formed six bright tongues of fire in front of the wing, and bullets poured down from the sky at a rate of over four thousand rounds per minute.

The spent cartridge cases ejected from the ejection port, tumbling and disappearing behind the aircraft as they were carried by the airflow.

From the ground, it looked as if six fiery whips were lashing out at the road at the same time.

The moment the bullets hit the ground, dirt and gravel were kicked up, forming a straight wall of bullets.

The wall advanced rapidly along the highway, tearing everything in its path to shreds.

A truck was hit by a barrage of bullets, the cab was riddled with holes, and the driver didn't even have time to scream before his body was pierced by more than a dozen bullets at the same time.

"boom!"

The fuel tank was hit, and the truck instantly exploded into an orange-red fireball. The shockwave threw the soldiers in the truck into the air like rag dolls.

But the real massacre took place in the fields on either side of the highway.

The soldiers who were digging foxholes had nowhere to hide.

The foxholes were only knee-deep, and some didn't even reach the calf.

On the plains, these shallow pits can only stop bullets coming from directly in front, but they can't stop the rain of bullets falling vertically from above.

More than a dozen soldiers were hit by the same barrage of bullets.

They didn't even have time to lie down before their bodies were torn into pieces by the bullet's immense kinetic energy.

A severed arm flew up and landed on the head of a soldier who was loading a machine gun.

The soldier screamed, threw away his severed arm, and turned to run. He hadn't gone three steps before he was caught by a second barrage of bullets, which punched a row of fist-sized holes from the back of his head to his lower back.

"Da da da da da!"

"Da da da!"

Machine guns carved bloody paths through the Japanese positions.

Li Changkong pulled up the nose of the plane and skimmed the ground at a height of less than fifty meters.

He could see a soldier lying face up in the cratered foxhole on the ground, his eyes wide open and his mouth agape as if he were screaming.

But the part below the chest was gone, and the internal organs exposed at the cut were still steaming.

He pulled the lever expressionlessly, and began to climb again.

"Second round, a left-wing cut."

Behind him, the second wave of Mustang fighters had already swooped down.

Ten fighter jets, arranged in a left echelon, cut in from the side of the cornfield.

This time, the firing was no longer a straight line advance, but a crossfire, with ten barrages weaving a dense, impenetrable net of fire on the ground.

Colonel Yoshida lay prone in a shallow pit, his hands covering his head.

The bullets struck the dirt around him, sending up clumps of earth that clanged against his helmet.

He heard screams all around him.

He looked up and, through the swirling dust, saw a scene he would never forget.

Three soldiers in a heavy machine gun squad attempt to set up a Type 92 heavy machine gun to fire into the air.

They had just set up the machine gun tripod when a barrage of bullets swept over them.

A soldier's head was blown off, and his helmet rolled a long way like a ball.

The machine gunner's hands were severed; both hands, along with the triggers, flew off, leaving only two bare arms. Blood spurted from the severed ends, reaching a height of over a meter.

He looked down at his bare wrist, his expression as if he were watching a joke.

"Fight back! Fight back!"

Yoshida scrambled to his feet, drew his pistol, and fired into the air, yelling, "All machine guns, fire into the air!"

"Bang bang bang!"

Finally, a few Type 96 light machine guns began firing into the air.

The machine gunners lay in foxholes, guns pointed to the sky, pulling the triggers.

Bullets traced bright trajectories, weaving a chaotic picture in the sky.

But it didn't work.

The Mustang fighter jet is too fast.

Its speed exceeds 600 kilometers per hour during a dive and is also over 400 kilometers per hour during level flight.

The machine gunners had just aimed at a target when it flew out of the firing range.

All the bullets hit the contrails of the fighter jet, without even scratching off a single piece of paint.

"Round three, wrapping up."

Li Changkong's voice came through the radio.

The third echelon of Mustang fighters cut in from the front, with dozens of machine guns simultaneously spitting fire.

This time, the firing was not targeted at any specific target, but rather a blanket strike on the entire highway area. (Missing information)

The curtain advanced from north to south like a plow, leaving countless parallel bullet marks in its wake, with no gaps between them.

A soldier trying to crawl out of a foxhole was caught up by a barrage of bullets and his body was broken at the waist.

His upper body was still crawling, his arms gripping the mud as he moved forward half a meter before stopping, the light in his eyes slowly fading.

Three rounds of gunfire, less than three minutes later, had left hundreds of corpses on the battlefield.

Severed limbs were scattered in the cornfield, hanging on stubble, and lying on the edge of foxholes.

Blood pooled on the ground, forming streams that flowed down the low-lying areas, seeping into the soil and turning the black earth a dark red.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and metal, along with a cloyingly sweet odor.

Colonel Yoshida stood in the middle of the road, trembling all over.

His military uniform was stained with mud and other people's blood.

His hand holding the Southern pistol trembled, his knuckles turning white from excessive force.

Hundreds of people within three minutes.

His regiment had lost nearly a tenth of its troops before even seeing the enemy.

But this is just the beginning.

The fighter jets pulled up, climbed back to an altitude of 300 meters, and then split into two groups, spreading out to the sides to clear the central attack path.

Seventy bombers, arranged in a neat box formation, slowly flew over the battlefield.

They are much slower than fighter jets, but that's precisely why they bring a heavier sense of oppression.

The deafening roar of those engines struck the chests of every soldier like a hammer, making their hearts tremble.

"Bang bang bang!"

"Bang bang bang!"

The bomb bay door opened.

From the ground, the open bomb bays looked like gaping mouths, densely packed with bombs.

The morning light shone into the bomb bay, reflecting a cold luster onto the bomb's metal casing.

"Begin bombing!"

The bombardier pressed the release button.

The fifty-kilogram aerial bomb detached from the rack, swayed slightly under the impact of the airflow, and then fell to the ground at an increasingly faster speed.

Seventy bombers, each carrying twelve fifty-kilogram bombs, a total of eight hundred and forty bombs, dropped one-third of them in less than two minutes.

From the ground, it looked like a sudden downpour of black hailstones.

The trajectories of the falling bombs intertwined in the air, forming an impenetrable net that shrouded the entire field in the shadow of death.

Colonel Yoshida's mouth gaped open.

He stared at the ever-growing black dots in the sky, his pupils dilating until they almost filled his entire iris.

His lips moved as if he wanted to shout something, but he found that it was no use shouting anything.

Hiding? Where to hide?

Foxholes are only knee-deep and cannot withstand the shockwave of bombs.

The cornfield had no shelters, no trenches, no air-raid shelters, and not even a decent tree.

The Liaohe Plain is flat and expansive; standing here is like standing on a chopping board, waiting for the butcher's knife to fall.

He closed his eyes in despair.

"boom!"

The first bomb landed.

Flames shot into the sky, and shockwaves spread outwards from the point of explosion, making the ground feel as if it had been slammed by an invisible giant fist.

Soil, gravel, and fragments of human bodies were thrown tens of meters into the air, forming a gray-black mushroom cloud.

Then came the second, the third, the tenth, the hundredth...

The explosions continued incessantly, coalescing into a continuous roar, as if the earth itself was screaming in agony.

Each bomb leaves a crater several meters in diameter on the ground. The soil around the crater is charred black by the high temperature of the explosion, and wisps of smoke rise from it.

The soldiers ran between explosions, but no one knew where to run.

A bomb landed near five soldiers, and in the instant of the explosion, all five bodies were torn apart simultaneously.

Blood, flesh, and bone fragments flew in all directions, landing on the ground with a soft rustling sound, like a sudden light rain.

A soldier was thrown into the air by the shockwave, his body tumbling twice before landing on a broken tree trunk, his spine pierced by the trunk.

Yoshida lay prone in the crater, clutching his head tightly with both hands.

Shockwaves swept over him one after another, each wave feeling like someone was hitting his back with a hammer.

His ears were ringing, and he couldn't hear anything.

Soil and gravel rained down on him, piling up until they almost buried him.

He opened his mouth, and dirt poured in; he spat it out, and it poured in again.

His eyes were stung by the smoke and tears streamed down his face, making it impossible for him to see anything clearly.

All he could feel was the earth trembling violently beneath him, like the final struggle of a giant beast being slaughtered.

The bombing lasted for a full five minutes.

After the aftershocks of the last bomb exploded dissipated, the entire battlefield fell into a deathly silence.

Yoshida slowly raised his head.

What he saw was a hell.

The highway no longer exists.

The original road has been transformed into a series of interconnected bomb craters, filled with murky mud and water, on which floated scraps of cloth and unidentified pieces of meat.

The cornfields disappeared.

The withered yellow straw stubble was torn to pieces by the blast wave, replaced by a dense array of craters, like those on the surface of the moon.

The foxholes were all blown up.

The shallow pits that had only been dug halfway were filled back in by the soil thrown up by the bombs, burying the soldiers inside as well.

Occasionally, you can see one or two hands emerging from the soil, their fingers still twitching slightly.

Corpses were everywhere.

Complete bodies are rare; most are severed limbs and fragments.

A leg was hanging from the roadside, half of it blown off a tree trunk. The military boots were still on the feet, the laces tied neatly.

A section of intestine was wrapped around a stubble of straw, like a dark red hemp rope, and was still dripping liquid.

A head rolled on the edge of a crater, eyes half-open, mouth slightly agape, the expression frozen in the terror of the last second before death.

Yoshida stood up unsteadily.

He looked around, and his body began to tremble violently.

A regiment of three thousand men.

Less than half of them can still stand up now.

The air was filled with the smells of gunpowder, blood, and burnt human flesh.

The smell was so strong that you could almost taste it with your tongue; it was cloyingly sweet, foul-smelling, and made your stomach churn.

Just when Yoshida was at his most desperate, something unexpected happened.