The expeditionary force began to dominate Southeast Asia by recruiting defeated soldiers

Chapter 286 Shattering Yamato's Dream with One Punch

Soon after, a huge prisoner camp sprang up like mushrooms on the outskirts of Yangon.

The captured devils were driven into this steel cage like a tide, exchanging desperate glances with each other.

Because the number of Japanese prisoners captured this time was unusually large, including overseas Chinese, logistics personnel, and regular Japanese soldiers, the number of prisoners reached tens of thousands.

Therefore, Zhang Chi also urgently transferred a number of staff members who were proficient in the Japanese language from the Enemy Work Department and the Intelligence Department in the rear, and airlifted them to Rangoon to screen the prisoners.

"Although these people will inevitably be sent to mine in the mountains or reclaim land in the rainforest, we must do the screening work," Zhang Chi, who was in charge of the rear, stood in front of the map and said to Chief of Staff Tan Zhijie while marking with red and blue pens. "We have to figure out which ones are officers, which ones are ordinary soldiers, and which ones may be intelligence personnel left behind. We can't take it lightly."

"Also, a lot of the stolen property should have been buried. Have the people below carefully identify those high-ranking Japanese officials who may have known about it and try to find out their locations."

After saying this, Zhang Chi laughed at himself.

Doesn’t his behavior resemble that of Li Zicheng?

After entering the city, they tortured and plundered people first.

However, thinking about the Japanese invaders' exploitation of Southeast Asia, Zhang Chi finally sent a few more synthetic torture experts from the Intelligence Department.

These synthetic humans have been systematically instilled with the same hospitality skills of the West Ice Hotel and the Lubyanka Hotel, and their level of memory recovery is top-notch.

So in the prisoner-of-war camp, the prisoners were divided into groups, lined up in order, and filed into a simple tent.

Inside, several interrogators were busy.

The kerosene lamp on the table emitted a dim light, illuminating the tired and frustrated faces of the Japanese prisoners.

"Name?"

"Kuchiki Masato."

"age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Military rank?"

"Second Lieutenant of Infantry."

The interrogator glanced up at the collar badge on his military uniform, snorted coldly, and ran the tip of his pen across the paper, writing down the answer.

"Place of origin?"

"North Gyeongsang Province."

Hearing this place name, the interrogator raised his eyebrows, his tone suddenly became colder, and a hint of disgust flashed in his eyes:

"Oh, so you're a Korean soldier. Second lieutenant? How did you, a damn lackey, get promoted to second lieutenant?"

Kuchiki Masato lowered his head and clenched his hands.

His voice trembled, but he still tried to answer:

"Hi, I'm a graduate of the New Capital Army Academy and the Fuso Army Academy with excellent grades..."

"Excellent? Just because of you, a traitor? You recognize the enemy as your father, but you can still climb to this position. You are really capable!" The interrogator's tone was full of sarcasm and contempt.

This sentence hit Kuchiki Masato where it hurts.

He raised his head suddenly, his face flushed, as if he wanted to defend himself, his voice trembling with anger:

"No, no! I'm here for—"

He suddenly choked up halfway through his words.

The memories in my heart came flooding back like a flood.

That was a day ago. Before that, facing this question, Kuchiki Masato would proudly answer - Dad, I have been a Taijun for a long time.

After all, he was a Korean who traveled thousands of miles to join the army of the pseudo-Anzhou Kingdom and even changed his name to a devil's because he admired the devil's strength and wanted to be one.

However, during the chaotic retreat that day, the funny Masato Kuchiki still thought he was already a Japanese soldier. He was fighting for a chance to survive with a group of Japanese soldiers trying to board the ship at the harbor.

He squeezed into the crowd, relying on his rank of second lieutenant and shouted:

"I'm Second Lieutenant Masato Kuchiki of the Logistics Squadron. Let me aboard!"

However, before he could finish his words, a Japanese major with a stubble on his face walked up to him, didn't even bother to look at him, and swung his fist to hit him in the face.

"Baga! You, a Korean, want to get on the boat?" The Japanese major's face was full of anger and contempt, as if Kuchiki Masato's existence was an insult to him.

Then he raised his foot and kicked Kuchiki Masato to the ground, kicking him out of the team like a broken sack.

The Japanese soldiers around were all laughing happily, but no one came forward to help Masato Kuchiki.

At that moment, Kuchiki Masato was lying on the ground, his face burning with pain, but his heart was hurting even more than his face.

He lay motionless on the ground, watching in despair as the transport ship slowly left the port, carrying his colleagues and all his hopes away from him.

The words of the Japanese lieutenant seemed to still echo in his ears: "You wishful thinker, stay here and wait for death!"

A "Rangoon Iron Fist" woke Kuchiki Masato from his Yamato dream.

Masato Kuchiki understood a cruel truth - no matter how hard he tried, in the eyes of the Japanese, he would always be just a lowly Korean.

It turned out that the Japs never considered him as one of their own.

He recalled how proud he was when he changed his name to a Japanese devil's and was admitted to the pseudo Anzhou National Military Academy.

I remember the days when I volunteered to be transferred to the most dangerous places and tried my best to perform.

He recalled those cold winter nights when he risked freezing his toes while hunting down members of the Anti-Japanese Allied Forces across the vast expanse of white mountains and black waters.

He recalled those days in the tropical rainforest when he led his men, who were also Korean soldiers, over mountains and across rivers, chasing the guerrillas in the man-eating primitive rainforest.

He did so much, but in return he was just called a "stick".

At this moment, Kuchiki Masato in the tent lowered his head and clenched his fists tightly.

His body trembled slightly and tears rolled down his nose.

He tried hard not to let the interrogator see his emotions, but he could no longer control his inner collapse.

The interrogator's voice cut through the air like a knife:

"next."

The next devil was brought in, and the interrogator asked as usual:

"Name?"

The interrogator raised his head in confusion and looked at Kuchiki Masato who was still occupying his seat.

But Kuchiki Masato did not move. He stood there blankly, like a hollowed-out sculpture.

Facing the soldiers of the Security Army who came to pull him away, the corners of his mouth twitched, and a sad thought emerged in his heart:

I've put in so much effort and come all this way, but what's the point?

A clown?

The interrogator raised his hand to signal the soldiers to take Kuchiki Masato away and put him under custody first. After all, this was just a preliminary inquiry.

Cross-examination and identification will then be carried out to determine whether there are any lies in the prisoners' statements.

As for Kuchiki Masato's Korean identity, the interrogators were not surprised.

There were too many Japanese soldiers who were thrown into Rangoon and captured this time. Many Korean engineers and Korean logistics soldiers were called soldiers, but in fact they were forced by the Japanese to do hard labor.

What was special about Kuchiki Masato was that he actually managed to get the high rank of second lieutenant, which made the interrogators criticize him a few more times - other Koreans could say that they were forcibly conscripted by the Japanese, but he was the only one who really wanted to be a Taijun.

The distraught Kuchiki Masato, who had been awakened from his Taijun dream by the 'Saigon Iron Fist', was carried out of the tent.

Outside the tent, the footsteps of the Anmin Army soldiers and the whispered conversations of the prisoners intertwined into one, like a mocking melody woven by fate.