Chapter 492: Nanko Freedom Army (2)

In Lin Yi's view, these Japanese Army prisoners are filled with resentment and unwillingness.

Although they now look very obedient, Lin Yi knows clearly that these Little Devils have merely witnessed the methods used to deal with them.

The methods they previously used on civilians are now being applied to them themselves.

But no one knows whether they might suddenly cause trouble; Jiang Anguo is the core of the Expeditionary Force.

He is Nanko's actual leader and must not have any slip‑ups.

Jiang Anguo shook his head, a composed smile appearing on his face, and pointed at the surrounding Guard Company.

"Look around, they're all my guards—post every three steps, sentry every five steps, the security is tight; what danger could there be? If they make any move, they won't even get close to me before the guards shoot them on the spot, causing no trouble at all."

As he spoke, Jiang Anguo set off toward the line of prisoners, his steps steady, his expression composed, showing no fear.

Jiang Anguo knows the guards beside him are of high rank; if any of them made a small move, their heads would probably explode.

Moreover, the guards beside him wield MP40 Submachine Guns, certainly firing before any Little Devil could.

Seeing this, Lin Yi realized he couldn't persuade Jiang Anguo, so he hurried to follow, and gave a signal to the surrounding guards, indicating they should tighten security and protect Jiang Anguo's safety.

The guards instantly understood, gripping their weapons, staying close behind Jiang Anguo, their eyes vigilantly scanning the surrounding prisoners, ready at any moment to handle any sudden incident.

The prisoners, seeing Jiang Anguo's party approach, halted, a flash of fear and awe in their eyes, instinctively bowing their heads.

Unable to meet Jiang Anguo's gaze, the previously chaotic formation became a bit more orderly.

Jiang Anguo slowly stepped to the front of the line, his gaze sweeping each prisoner, observing their gaunt, ragged appearances without speaking, merely watching quietly.

He saw several prisoners bearing scars, presumably from being beaten during earlier disturbances.

Other prisoners had hollow eyes, as if they'd lost hope of living, mechanically repeating days of labor and meals.

"How is their food?" Jiang Anguo turned to Lin Yi, asking in a flat tone.

Although he doesn't pity these prisoners, he won't let them starve easily.

After all, these prisoners still have utility; their labor can supply manpower for Nanko's construction, speeding up Bridge and road building, facilitating later operations.

Lin Yi hurriedly replied: "Sir, per your orders, the prisoners' meals can only guarantee basic sustenance—two coarse‑grain meals a day, occasional small amounts of vegetables, no meat, enough to maintain the basic labor strength; they won't starve, nor will they live too comfortably."

Indeed, in practice it's two rice balls a day, each weighing about 300 g—that's the rations for these free laborers.

Each person can receive two rice balls per day.

Compared to the rations of the 56th Division trapped in the northern Myanmar rainforest before its collapse, this is far better.

At that time, the Japanese Army's 56th Division had most soldiers without supplies; even when there were, they were only two tiny, pitiful rice balls, likely spoiled and emitting a foul smell.

Jiang Anguo gave a slight nod, did not press further, and continued toward the mess hall.

The guards instantly understood, gripping their weapons, staying close behind Jiang Anguo, eyes vigilantly scanning the surrounding prisoners, ready at any moment to handle any sudden incident.

The prisoners, seeing Jiang Anguo's party approach, felt a flash of fear and awe, instinctively bowing their heads, unable to look Jiang Anguo in the eye.

At that moment, a few bold Japanese Army prisoners quietly lifted their heads, trying to see who it was.

In the past, whenever the lunch bell rang, the overseers would swing their sticks, harshly urging them to quicken their steps; any delay would bring a scolding or even a flogging.

But today, the overseers were unusually silent, merely standing on either side of the line, showing no urge; this abnormal behavior made the prisoners murmur inwardly, a subtle unease.

In the corner of the formation, Shanben Jianci and Jiman Yixiong stood a few meters apart.

Both hunched, faces covered in mineral dust; beneath their tattered prison garb, exposed arms and necks bore scars of varying depth, the marks left by overseers' whips, each line snarling.

The two noticed the surrounding oddity, exchanged a glance, and saw the same unease and vigilance in each other's murky eyes.

Neither of them had ever seen Jiang Anguo, nor knew who this sharply dressed, imposing Chinese officer was.

Jiang Anguo also wore no rank insignia, so he couldn't determine the young men's ranks.

They were not captured in Jingzhou; they belonged to the Japanese Army's 39th Division, 232nd Regiment stationed at Zhijiang, originally ordered to reinforce the besieged 13th Division's 104th Regiment at Xiaoting.

Yet they never imagined that during the march they would encounter a battalion and a Guard Company from the whole regiment; after a fierce battle, although they outnumbered the enemy, their firepower was weaker than that of the Independent Regiment at the time, and they ultimately became prisoners.

After being captured, they were blindfolded, forced onto a plane, and along the way everyone thought they would be secretly executed, their hearts full of despair.

But when the blindfolds were removed, they realized they had been taken to this hot, humid, dusty minefield, and from then on lived days of nonstop mining.

Sixteen hours of intense labor each day, heavy shackles grinding their ankles, to prevent the prisoners from escaping.

The overseers' whips struck without mercy, each blow lethal, tearing skin and flesh; scabs on their backs were repeatedly ground away, leaving no intact skin.

Hunger and pain became daily torments, their dignity already trampled to pieces.

Soon, the prisoners lined up and received their lunch.

A small coarse rice ball, the only food they have all day, the sole hope that sustains them through the long labor.

Shanben Jianci took the rice ball, hesitated not at all, and immediately devoured it ravenously; the coarse grains scraped his throat, yet he paid no mind, as if it were a delicacy.

He was too hungry; sixteen hours of intense mining had drained all his strength, and this rice ball was far from enough to fill his empty stomach.

In the line, some prisoners, after receiving the rice ball, did not eat it all at once but carefully broke off a small piece, hiding it in the hem of their prison garb.

They knew the long labor still lay ahead, this food far insufficient; hiding a portion would be useful when the afternoon became unbearable, to have a bite to fill the stomach.