Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Qian Dajun didn't say anything else, but Dai Li and Xu Baichuan already understood the meaning behind the "but".

Moving the capital involves too many issues and it is difficult to make a decision.

Resistance from the war hawks, concerns about international image, and the resettlement of millions of soldiers and civilians...each of these is a daunting challenge.

"What instructions does the president have?" Dai Li asked anxiously.

Qian Dajun shook his head. "The president just said 'I understand' and asked the officers to continue discussing the deployment of defenses, but..."

He lowered his voice and said, "My wife just came out for a moment and asked me to tell you that this information is very important. Thank you for your hard work."

Dai Li's heart suddenly fell back into his stomach.

Thank you for your hard work! These three simple words made Dai Li's tense face relax.

These three words are enough.

He also knew that he had done his best.

The decision of the higher-ups will not be easily changed because of his report.

All he could do was continue to perform his duties.

As we left the residence, the night grew darker.

. . . . . . . .

At dawn on December 20, 1937, the Xicheng defense line completely collapsed.

The 100,000 remaining soldiers rushed towards Nanjing like a flood that broke through the dam, carrying with them the fleeing civilians.

The Beijing-Shanghai Highway, once an economic artery, has now become a mixture of survival channel and death trap.

The retreating sequence has lost its organization.

The mules and horses of the 88th Division's artillery battalion dragged the last two 75mm mountain guns forward with difficulty. The wheels of the guns were stuck deep in the mud, which was a mixture of the heavy rain the night before and the trampling of countless people.

Lieutenant Colonel Battalion Commander Li Zhensheng personally swung his knife to cut the noose, saluted his beloved artillery for the last time, and ordered it to be blown up with tears in his eyes.

After the loud bang, he turned and shouted to the soldiers: "The guns are gone, but the people are still here! When we get to Nanjing, we can still fight the Japs with rifles!"

Among the refugee group, the carriage of Wuxi squire Chen Mingda was particularly conspicuous.

This luxurious carriage, which once only carried silk and tea, was now filled with seriously wounded soldiers.

His daughter Chen Wanyu tore her silk cheongsam to bandage the soldiers, and her hands were soaked in blood so that her original skin color could not be seen.

As a Japanese reconnaissance plane swooped in to strafed, she threw herself on a young soldier with a broken leg. The bullet grazed her hair and pierced the shaft of the cart.

The driver was shot and killed, and Chen Mingda silently took over the reins. The palms of this middle-aged businessman, who had never done any rough work, were instantly covered with blisters.

At the former site of a lime kiln on the outskirts of Changzhou, a blocking battle destined to be forgotten by history is taking place.

Yang Huaijing, commander of the 402nd Regiment of the 134th Division of the 20th Army of the Sichuan Army, was a history teacher at a middle school in Chengdu before the war.

He wore thick glasses and a worn wool sweater under his military uniform, which was knitted by his wife.

His tactics were full of intellectual whimsy. He ordered his soldiers to collect firecrackers from all over the city, place them in iron barrels and set them off to simulate gunshots.

The scarecrow was dressed in military gear and placed in a conspicuous place to attract Japanese firepower.

They even took advantage of the complex terrain of the lime kiln and set up a "maze-like" defense system.

When the vanguard of the Japanese 36th Regiment broke in, the officers and soldiers of the Sichuan Army opened fire from the firing holes of the abandoned brick kiln, knocking down dozens of people in an instant.

When the battle was at its fiercest, Yang Huaijing stood on the roof of the kiln. The dust raised by the shells covered him, but he remained motionless.

The adjutant tried to pull him into hiding, but he pushed him away and said, "Today's matter means death! Remember, you will still be a hero twenty years from now!"

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the Japanese army dispatched flat-fire artillery to blast open the kiln factory gate.

Yang Huaijing ordered the burning of the military flag and led the remaining hundred or so people to launch a counterattack.

Before charging, he took out his pocket watch to check the time and carefully put it back into his inner pocket. It was a gift from his mentor when he was studying abroad. The word "Peace" was engraved on the watch cover.

When the loud sound of the explosives being detonated was heard, the hands of the pocket watch stopped forever at 3:25.

At the same time, the Yangtze River waterway has become another lifeline.

The officers and soldiers retreating from Jiangyin Fortress crowded onto a temporarily requisitioned civilian boat. Zhao Shoucheng, a veteran of the artillery regiment, stood at the bow, staring silently at the bodies of his comrades floating on the river.

An unexpected encounter erupted in the middle of the river. Three Japanese motorboats attempted to intercept the fleet. Zhao Shoucheng grabbed the boat's only Maxim machine gun and shouted to the trainee artilleryman, "Watch out, boys! When shooting at moving targets, you have to calculate your lead time!"

Amidst the flying of hot shell casings, a motorboat caught fire and sank.

But when the machine guns on the other two Japanese boats opened fire, the wooden civilian ship was instantly riddled with holes.

In the final moments before the ship sank, Zhao Shoucheng put a life jacket on the sixteen-year-old trainee artilleryman and pushed him into the river: "Remember! Go back alive and tell future generations that there are no cowards in our naval artillery regiment!"

He held the machine gun and continued shooting until the river water reached his chest.

The boy was rescued after floating in the icy river for two hours. . . .

. . . . .

The spontaneous assistance of the people along the way constitutes the warmest background on the road to transformation.

In Danyang, the peasant woman Wang Liu set up ten large pots in her yard and cooked porridge day and night.

This mother who had lost her three sons treated passing soldiers as her own children and forced boiled eggs into their pockets.

What is even more touching is the perseverance of the intellectual community.

Richard Brady, an American doctor at Zhenjiang Church Hospital, refused to evacuate and turned the hospital into a field aid station.

As Japanese planes bombed nearby neighborhoods, he stood on a rooftop and spray-painted a giant red cross, defending the principle of medical neutrality with his body.

After the operating light went out, nurse Lin Shuyi insisted on using a flashlight to illuminate the amputation surgery. Her white coat had already been stained brown by blood.

. . . . . . . . . .

When the vanguard arrived at the outskirts of Nanjing, fantasy and reality collided violently.

Liao Yaoxiang, chief of staff of the teaching corps, stood on the Zhongshan Gate, observing the so-called defense line through a telescope, his brows furrowed more and more.

There were fatal flaws in the construction of the fortifications: the cement of the Purple Mountain bunker complex was not dry, and the firing range of the machine gun bunkers on Yuhuatai was blocked by civilian houses. . . .

What is more serious is the chaos in the command system.

The garrison commander insisted on the "burn the boats" strategy and ordered the confiscation of all river crossing boats, but did not formulate a detailed street fighting plan.

Song Xilian, commander of the 36th Division, privately complained to his colleagues: "Commander, you want to emulate Xiang Yu, but Nanjing is not Gaixia, and we don't have the Wujiang River to retreat to!"

The reorganization of the troops entering the city was full of tragedy.

The remnants of the 66th Army of the Guangdong Army were incorporated into the 83rd Army. The soldiers from Lingnan were wearing thin uniforms and shivering in the cold wind of Jiangnan.

The quartermaster searched the warehouse and could only find captured Japanese coats to distribute.

The reorganization of special forces is even more difficult.

Artillery commander Shao Baichang was disheartened when he checked his assets. The army had less than 30 usable heavy artillery pieces and only enough ammunition for two days.

There is a strange polarization in the city of Nanjing.

On the one hand, wealthy families still hold dances at the Central Hotel, where the piano music and distant artillery fire form an absurd symphony.

On the other hand, ordinary people huddled in refugee camps and reinforced air-raid shelters with door panels.