At 4:00 AM on January 11th, at Airport 413, located 60 kilometers south of Pyongyang Airport, Korean laborers dragged heavy stone rollers off the runway. Large grains of salt had been crushed into small pieces under the rollers, shattering and mixing with the layer of ice on the rough concrete runway. Another group of Korean laborers, brooms in hand and led by ground crew, cleaned the salty slush from the runway.

The snow had stopped. Thanks to the continuous spreading of salt to melt the snow over the past few days, the runway's operation had not been affected by the weather. Although saltwater would corrode the concrete runway, no one cared about such things at this moment.

The hangars were brightly lit; the aircraft had completed maintenance and were ready to sortie at any time. When the telephone rang, Wang Congye, the commander of the 18th Flying Group at Pyongyang Airport, had just woken up. Wang Congye grabbed the phone, and after exchanging the password, he received orders from the Air Force Command of the Korean Front Headquarters: "Take off 20 minutes before dawn."

Putting down the phone, Wang Congye didn't need to check the schedule. He called the meteorologist in the control tower directly. "This is Wang Congye. What's the weather today?"

The meteorologist had already received the latest forecast and immediately replied, "East wind today. Sunny, or cloudy."

A bit of cloud cover was better than none. Flying above the clouds would allow the planes to conceal themselves well. As for the possibility of veering off course, it was completely non-existent under the current circumstances.

The order was relayed to the flying group, and the pilots immediately began preparations. As everyone ran to their stations, Political Commissar Sun Rusong asked, "It seems the situation at the front is urgent."

Taking off before dawn was considered a night takeoff, but the difficulty was far lower than a night landing. Wang Congye was quite confident. "This time we can bomb the Japanese army to our heart's content."

Just as Wang Congye knew his flying group would, the fleet took off smoothly. Wang Congye piloted the last plane to take off. After ascending, he checked his watch; it was exactly 20 minutes before dawn.

***

In the air, it was already dawn, and the flight formation could see the brilliant morning light on the horizon. Although the snow-covered earth below was dim, roads could still be faintly distinguished. After flying for more than ten minutes, the rising sun illuminated the cockpit. Due to the angle of vision, the sunlight was blinding, and all pilots put on their sunglasses. A few minutes later, the pilots took them off again. They had arrived at the battlefield.

On the snow-covered Korean landscape, a zone dozens of kilometers wide presented a dark color. One didn't even need to see the flashes of explosions and smoke on the ground to clearly analyze that this place was different. The movement of millions of troops had even changed the proper appearance of the terrain, turning the natural scenery into a hellish landscape.

The lead fighter planes wagged their wings, issuing commands. Fighter squads began to occupy various positions in the air, leaving space for the bombers to drop their payloads. The clumsy bombers flew almost in a straight line, their bomb bay doors opened, and bombs were pushed out of the bays one by one, falling toward the Japanese positions.

There was no need for particular accuracy. Just looking at the ant-like crowds surging on the ground, every bomb would be effective in inflicting casualties.

Nagata Tetsuzan, Chief of Staff of the Japanese Manchuria-Mongolia Expeditionary Army, had absolutely no reaction upon hearing the news that the Northeast Army Air Force had begun bombing. Over the past two days, the Japanese infantry had gone from being somewhat surprised by aerial strikes to being quite indifferent to being killed by bombs.

Compared to the Northeast Army's heavy artillery, field guns, and machine guns, these few bombs amounted to nothing. Thousands of people died every day; the number of deaths from bombing was negligible in the overall ratio.

Nagata Tetsuzan asked, "Are our reconnaissance planes ready?"

Okamura Yasuji immediately replied, "Observation points have recorded the arrival time of the Northeast Army's aircraft fleet. When they run out of fuel and fly back, our reconnaissance planes will rush to the battlefield."

Nagata nodded and paid no further attention to the air force. The staff officers beside him, however, inevitably felt some anxiety. Japan didn't have many planes to begin with, and losses in air combat were heavy. The resources invested in each plane were significant, and the production cycle was quite long. At the current rate of loss, Japan would have no usable planes left in a few days.

But there was really no way to mention such things, because what limited the number of Japanese planes was not the battlefield, but the fact that the Japanese aircraft factories behind the battlefield were too few, the workers lacked experience, and efficiency was too low.

***

At this time, the battle reports from the first wave of attacks had been transmitted back. The staff officers also tossed the trivial matter of airplanes aside. Compared to the casualties in land warfare, the losses of Japanese Air Force pilots, if not rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns, were at least a drop in the bucket.

When Nagata saw the news that four regiments had been wiped out within an hour, his expression remained unruffled. He stood up and handed the report to Commander Terauchi Hisaichi, then continued his work as Chief of Staff.

Commander Terauchi Hisaichi's heart was in turmoil. Unlike Nagata Tetsuzan, a pure elite officer who had always worked in the General Staff and the Ministry of War, Terauchi Hisaichi had served as a division commander. Three regiments had already been wiped out, meaning the total loss would be equivalent to a division. Terauchi Hisaichi knew very well how majestic and powerful a division of over 27,000 men looked when lined up for inspection.

But Terauchi Hisaichi knew even better that this was an inevitable loss. Since they had chosen to break through in flat terrain where the Japanese army could exert its combat power, they would inevitably encounter fierce counterattacks from the Northeast Army, which had calmly set up defensive positions. Casualties of over 20,000 men were not considered high for this fight-to-the-death battle.

Okamura Yasuji had also left the headquarters at this time to send out the latest orders. The latest order required the Japanese heavy artillery group directly under the command of the headquarters to dump all shells onto the breakthrough point, aside from necessary counter-battery fire. As for the 'trivial matter' of being bombed by the Northeast Army, the heavy artillery group should try not to mind it.

This slight change in the Japanese artillery was immediately felt by the Northeast Army's heavy artillery group. The heavy artillery unit reported to headquarters immediately. The Korean Front Command issued an order right away: "Heavy artillery group, your secondary mission is to suppress enemy heavy artillery. Your primary mission is to attack the enemy infantry assault clusters. In particular, prepare firepower to provide fire support at any time when cooperating with our infantry's counterattack to retake positions."

In the headquarters of each corps of the Northeast Army, intelligence staff officers held the newly received telegrams, running swiftly to the combat departments that needed to be notified, delivering the news in the fastest possible time.

Every piece of news represented a position of this corps on the front line. These positions had once been built to be impregnable; no matter how many infantrymen charged up, it would be suicide. Now, these positions were so broken that their original appearance could not be discerned. The bare positions were full of huge craters blasted by Japanese 150mm artillery, and conversely, few corpses could be seen. Because the corpses, like the ground, had been turned into debris.

The width of the position under Japanese attack was about three kilometers. The number of officers and soldiers continuing to defend each position was less than half of what it was before. The Japanese skirmish lines rolled forward in front of each position. From an hour ago until now, the troops couldn't remember how many Japanese attacks they had repulsed, nor did they remember how many replacement troops had been sent up. Because the intervals between Japanese attacks were very short, everyone felt that the Japanese were attacking continuously and had never stopped.

Rifle barrels radiated heat, and machine gun barrels were so hot that no one dared to touch them. Some officers and soldiers who accidentally touched the machine gun barrels would scream from the burns.

***

Defending the breakthrough gap was the 23rd Corps. The Corps Commander looked at the battle line on the map, which had clearly curved inward, and had made up his mind. He heard the Chief of Staff ask, "Commander, should we send up the reserves?"

The 23rd Corps Commander turned his head. The Chief of Staff saw the Commander's eyes, which seemed to be burning, and understood that the Commander wanted to make a ruthless move. Sure enough, the Commander said, "Send a telegram to headquarters. Our corps is considering giving up part of the broken positions to attract the Japanese to concentrate, and we request headquarters to provide artillery coordination to conduct heavy artillery bombardment on the Japanese forces entering that area."

Upon hearing this, the Chief of Staff immediately asked, "Commander, if the Japanese continue to assault fiercely while we retreat, can we hold?"

This was actually not a question, but an objection. The 23rd Corps Commander answered immediately, "We have enough replenishment troops behind us, as well as two divisions of reserves sent by headquarters. The Japanese can't punch through. But if we resist stubbornly like this, it will actually make the Japanese feel they have a chance. Since the Japanese are so stubborn, let them taste..."

Just as he finished speaking, there was a loud noise near the headquarters, and the ground shook violently. The electric lights inside the shelter all swayed wildly.

The 23rd Corps headquarters was only three kilometers behind the defense line, well within the range of Japanese shelling. In fact, the Commander had wanted to place the headquarters just one kilometer behind the defense line. But this position was too far forward. If the corps headquarters was only one kilometer from the line, then the division headquarters would have to be placed inside the line. So the Chief of Staff tried his best to persuade the Commander not to do this. The experience of the past two days proved that having the command post too far forward was too dangerous. But some distance did not affect command.

The 23rd Corps Commander waited for the surroundings to quiet down a bit, then asked again immediately, "Does the Chief of Staff disagree with this view?"

Various response tactical plans were formulated by the staff department to begin with, so the Chief of Staff couldn't say he disagreed. He could only answer, "I will send it to headquarters now."

The Korean Front Command received the telegram. Hu Xiushan thought for a moment and replied: "Reply to the 23rd Corps headquarters: Command agrees to their plan and will provide them with the contact method for an artillery brigade."

The staff officers immediately went to execute the order. Commander Xu Chengfeng and Chief of Staff Cheng Ruofan of the Frontline Command couldn't intervene. Directing Hu Xiushan's troops over his head would incur resentment.

Moreover, Xu Chengfeng and Cheng Ruofan had their own work to do. The two looked at the latest situation laid out on the map by the staff officers. The Japanese onslaught was undeniably fierce, but after fighting for more than an hour, the Japanese had only made the battle line feel slightly interlocked. As for the overall battle line, the Northeast Army still maintained its continuity, and the line was even very flat.

The battle report stated our casualties were over ten thousand. Facing such a complete defense line, the Japanese casualties must be much greater. At least in the current battle, there was nothing to evaluate.

Cheng Ruofan spoke up, "Commander, how about ordering the fighter planes to strafe in a dive?"

The air force liaison officer next to him immediately looked nervous and excited upon hearing this. This tactic had been proposed by the air force, so there was nothing improper about Cheng Ruofan giving the order. But the air force knew its own business very well; low-altitude strafing would greatly reduce the safety of the pilots. The air force liaison officer couldn't help but feel heartache for his air force personnel.

Xu Chengfeng agreed to Cheng Ruofan's suggestion immediately. Whether air force strafing could inflict heavy casualties on the Japanese army could be proven on the battlefield now. If it could block the Japanese, that would naturally be best.

Soon, ground marker panels were laid out. The air force units over the battlefield received the signal. 18th Group Commander Wang Congye immediately moved the control stick, wagging the plane's wings to signal his wingman to follow. Immediately, he pushed the stick, and the plane spiraled and dove down.

The altitude went from 1500 meters to 1200 meters, to 1000 meters, to 500 meters. Everything on the ground became clearer and clearer. When the plane's altitude reached 200 meters, Wang Congye's excellent vision allowed him to see clearly the patches of corpses on the ground, and the Japanese troops charging over the corpses toward the Northeast Army positions.

From a high altitude of over a thousand meters, these people were almost invisible; even if seen, they were no bigger than ants. Even at 200 meters, people were still ant-like.

At this moment, the plane had reached a suitable position. Group Commander Wang Congye continued to push the stick down. The plane dove, and in Wang Congye's eyes, the ground approached rapidly, as if he were about to drive the plane headfirst into the earth.

Just as the earth was approaching fast, Wang Congye pulled up the control stick. At this time, the plane was less than 100 meters from the ground, and the people in his field of vision finally looked like people. Wang Congye clearly saw that the ground was covered with dead and wounded Japanese soldiers, as well as running Japanese soldiers. The earth beneath his feet seemed not to be made of soil and rocks, but paved by humans, paved by corpses.

Pressing the machine gun firing button, the machine guns on the plane flying at a shallow angle to the ground opened fire fiercely. Wang Congye focused most of his attention on piloting the plane and didn't notice how many Japanese soldiers he had hit.

All Wang Congye saw in his eyes was the constantly approaching sea of corpses. The sound of machine gun fire roared in the cockpit, interwoven with the sound of gunfire and artillery from outside the cabin, making Wang Congye's blood boil. It wasn't until he could see the Japanese military caps clearly that Wang Congye pulled the plane up.

Upon returning to the uncrowded air, Wang Congye felt his heart beating as if it were about to jump out of his chest. However, a feeling of returning to the living after walking before the gates of hell made Wang Congye unable to resist cursing aloud, followed by a loud laugh.

When he could laugh, Wang Congye felt he had sobered up again. He hurriedly looked back to check on his wingman, only to see that the wingman was actually at a high altitude, about 300 meters higher than himself. It seemed the comrades in the wingman aircraft hadn't dived as low as he had.

Flying back to high altitude, he saw that the bombers in the group had already begun to return, while the fighter planes, in groups of four, began to dive and strafe. although everything on the ground became small again, the image of flying at low altitude over the sea of corpses remained deeply in Wang Congye's mind. Wang Congye couldn't imagine how many people had died in the battle so far.

In the headquarters of the Northeast Army and the Japanese Army, officers of general rank didn't actually care much about how many people had died. Because this was no longer important.

Nagata Tetsuzan knew very well before the battle that Japanese casualties in the ensuing battle would definitely exceed 200,000. But this didn't matter. If they couldn't break through the Northeast Army's defense line, if they couldn't break through the defense line with fierce attacks but instead attacked slowly, the number of Japanese who would die on this defense line in the future would definitely exceed one million.

Because Japan could absolutely not accept the Northeast Army occupying northern Korea. Moreover, the Army Ministry's intelligence department had received news that the Northeast Army had invited Kim Gu, a very radical member of the Korean Provisional Government in exile in Shanghai, to Tianjin for an interview.

If the Northeast Army were allowed to stay in northern Korea for a year, a Korean government capable of self-rule would appear in northern Korea. At that time, the Northeast Army could withdraw a considerable number of troops back to the Northeast and march into the pass. This Korean Provisional Government would be capable of conscripting hundreds of thousands of troops to assist the Northeast Army in combat. He Rui could then go to China's capital and take over power in North China. Once he possessed half of China, within half a year, He Rui would become even more terrible, even more invincible.

Therefore, no matter how many people died, He Rui could not be allowed to take root in Korea. Nagata Tetsuzan was very clear about this and had long made the resolve to pay the price of hundreds of thousands of Japanese lives. This was not only Nagata's view but also the consensus of the entire Army, Navy, and the Japanese upper echelons.