Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Various thoughts, the slight guilt and uneasiness that Matsui Ishi originally felt due to the casualties, were quickly replaced by a stronger madness, a determination to achieve the goal by any means necessary.

He turned abruptly and gave a hoarse but unquestionable command to the open office door and the staff outside:

"Send a message to all troops! Do not rest! Do not stop! Pursue the defeated enemy and advance towards Nanjing with all your might!

Tell all the division commanders, I don’t want the process, I only want the results!

Before the end of the month, my headquarters will be located in the Presidential Palace in Nanjing! Anyone who dares to miss this opportunity will be subject to military law!

His order was full of urgency and hostility. The staff outside the door noticed that Matsui Iwane was not in good condition, and they looked at each other with worries in their hearts.

The troops were already exhausted after continuous hard fighting and were in urgent need of rest and replenishment.

If we continue to attack with such reckless abandon, I'm afraid...

But no one dared to disobey the commander who was obviously in an irritable and semi-crazy state at this time.

The order was passed down quickly.

The Japanese army's iron hooves, driven by the aftermath of a tragic victory and the commander's crazy spur, rumbled into action again, rushing towards the thousand-year-old capital whose gates were already wide open with a deeper desire for killing and a hysterical despair.

Matsui Iwane continued to stand in front of the map, like a statue about to collapse.

Outside the window, it is a winter day in the south of the Yangtze River that is about to be completely ignited by war.

Half of his heart was filled with a burning desire to conquer Nanjing and gain promotion, while the other half was filled with a chilling fear of the unknown revenge behind Takuto Takazaki's silence.

The intertwined and torn relationship between these two extreme emotions made him slide step by step into deeper paranoia and madness.

He knew that he had no way out.

Nanjing is his only salvation, and it may also be... his final burial place.

. . . . . . . . . . .

In December in Tianjin, the north wind is biting and the lead-gray clouds are hanging low, as if heavy snow will fall at any time.

The Haihe River, carrying floating ice, flowed silently eastward. The whistles of the Japanese Navy's small gunboats patrolling the river also sounded particularly sharp and monotonous.

This important port city in the north, under the occupation of the Japanese army, maintained a strange atmosphere of order on the surface but turbulent undercurrents inside.

The Tianjin Japanese Military Police Headquarters located in the Japanese Concession was the most strict part of this atmosphere.

The tall courtyard wall is covered with electric fences, and the sentries behind the sandbag fortifications at the gate are armed with live ammunition, their eyes vigilantly scanning every person passing by.

The Rising Sun Flag fluttered in the cold wind, exuding an unquestionable sense of oppression.

At this time in Tianjin Port, the cold sea breeze, carrying a salty and fishy smell, blew across the huge transport ships docked at the dock.

Among them, several ships flying the Kwantung Army flag were particularly eye-catching. They were the fleet transporting the vanguard of the Kwantung Army's 4th Division to the south.

The main force of the division has not yet arrived at the port, but the commanders of the division headquarters and core regiments have arrived with the first batch of ships for a brief replenishment of fresh water, fuel and some fresh fruits and vegetables.

Almost at the same time as the ship's cables were tied, a visiting card with extremely respectful words and the official seal of the commander of the 4th Division was delivered by the division staff on horseback to the Tianjin Japanese Military Police Headquarters in the Japanese Concession.

The content of the visiting card was nothing more than polite words like "I am sorry to bother you when I pass by your precious place. I hope you will grant me an audience." However, the three characters "Matsui no Mikoto" at the end of the card and the substantial list of "hometown specialties" attached to the card clearly conveyed the visitor's humility and "sincerity."

When Zhou Zhengqing received the visiting card, an imperceptible smile crossed his lips.

Matsui Ming's arrival had long been expected. To be more precise, it was Zhou Zhengqing who invited them here.

However, what Zhou Zhengqing didn't expect was that the "traditions" of the Fourth Division and the temperaments of these senior officers were exactly as rumored.

The so-called "courtesy visit" was nothing more than a necessary formality to maintain the shady but incredibly profitable "business" relationship. By the way, it was also a way to take care of the local tyrants in Tianjin, an important hub in North China, on the eve of going south to ensure that the logistics channels were unobstructed.

"Reply to Division Commander Matsui, the Military Police Headquarters is ready to welcome you." Zhou Zhengqing said lightly to Yamaya Masaki who came to report.

. . . . . .

At 2:3 p.m., several black cars with flags of Kwantung Army generals flying on them, escorted by a team of three-wheeled motorcycles and trucks full of armed soldiers, drove out of the bustling dock area quietly but with a clear purpose, passed through the streets under martial law, and finally stopped steadily in the slightly empty square in front of the gate of the Military Police Headquarters.

Although the convoy was full of momentum, the roar of the engines was deliberately restrained, as if they were afraid of disturbing the owner of the place.

At the headquarters gate, a group of military police officers led by Zhou Zhengqing were already standing solemnly on both sides of the gate, waiting for visitors.

Zhou Zhengqing was not wearing a heavy military coat, but only an exquisite black kimono without any wrinkles.

The calm and composed demeanor that naturally emanates from him is enough to make people ignore his age and only feel an invisible sense of oppression.

In the eyes of those who did not go to Shanghai and stayed at the gendarmerie headquarters, such as Koteng Saburo, Ogura Daichi, Yamatani Masaki, Mitsuda Shoma and others, the aura Zhou Zhengqing exuded at this time was a perfect fusion of the innate nobility of a top aristocratic family and the majesty of the highest commander of the gendarmerie system who held the power of life and death.

To Zhou Zhengqing's left, half a step behind, stood Nanzō Yunko, the chief of the Special High Section of the Military Police Headquarters.

Even in such a formal occasion, Nanjō Yunko could not hide her charming demeanor. Her fitted military uniform outlined her graceful curves. She had a perfect smile on her face, between respect and intimacy. Her eyes seemed to be able to see into the most secret corners of people's hearts.

Nanzō Yunko's appearance made Sakurako, who was dressed as a maid and hiding herself behind Zhou Zhengqing, grit her teeth and stare at Nanzō Yunko's snow-white neck.

As for Nanzō Yunko, the hairs on her neck stood on end at this moment. . . . .

On the right are Saburo Koto, chief of the General Affairs Department of the headquarters, and Daichi Ogura, captain of the weapons service team.

Koto Saburo is thin and has a fair face, looking like a civil servant.

Ogura Daichi is more sturdy and has dark skin, but his eyes are clear and revealing that no matter how he schemes, he can't understand. . . .

Standing behind Zhou Zhengqing, almost parallel to Nanzō Yunko, was a young man named Xu Zhongyi, wearing a sophisticated dark suit and an expensive camel-hair coat.

His hair was combed meticulously and shiny, and his face was filled with the warm but not flattering smile that was unique to businessmen. His eyes were extremely lively, always observing the movements around him.

Although he was not a soldier, he did not feel awkward standing among a group of officers. Instead, he seemed to be in his element.