newbobooks Chapter 43 A World-Wide Earthquake and the Mighty Army's Advance
Chapter 43 A World-Wide Earthquake and the Mighty Army's Advance
[Unlimited Pay-to-Win System]
Current funds: £2,334,716 (+£1 per second)
Unlocked technologies: German-made 88mm anti-aircraft gun, 280mm Krupp coastal defense cannon, 533mm torpedo, Panzer I Ausf. A, MG34 general purpose machine gun, S-type bouncing mine...
Newly unlocked: [Land Combat Heavy Firepower Zone] (Click to view)
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Chen Zijun took the red encrypted telegram from Mo Lanzhi's hand and slowly unfolded it.
One hundred thousand troops, the most elite and ever-victorious army of the Fengtian clique, carrying heavy firepower and White Russian mercenaries, have crossed the provincial borders across the board.
Target: Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces.
Anyone who saw this information would probably have their legs go weak and sit down on the spot.
This is the elite Fengtian clique that just defeated the Zhili clique and was poised to conquer the world!
They were fully equipped with Japanese weapons and had Belarusian mercenaries; this was something those bumpkins from the Zhili clique couldn't compare to.
But Chen Zijun simply folded the telegram and put it in the breast pocket of his military uniform.
"Lanzhi, you've worked hard. Go back and rest now."
"Young Marshal! There are 100,000 men here!" Mo Lanzhi's usually calm voice cracked.
Chen Zijun turned and glanced at the river surface, which was still billowing black smoke. Less than two hours after the wreckage of the Izumo sank, diesel fuel and blood mixed together, turning most of the Wusongkou into a dark red.
"What's the rush?"
He patted the dust off his sleeves, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"The sea creatures have just been fed, and now the land creatures are rushing to deliver food. What a good thing."
"Hu Qiankuan!"
"arrive!"
"Have you retrieved Nanyang Silang's pistol yet?"
Hu Qiankuan was stunned: "Reporting to the young marshal! We've retrieved him! He's even retrieved half of his military cap and a flag!"
Chen Zijun smiled.
That wasn't an ordinary flag. It was the flag of the Izumo, the Rising Sun Flag.
"Okay. Take all of these back to Shanghai. I want to hang them right above the Bund gate so that everyone, whether foreigner or Chinese, will look up and take a good look when they pass by."
His voice turned cold.
"Then a nationwide telegram was sent. It said that Chen, at the mouth of the Wusong River, sent the massive Japanese warship, weighing tens of thousands of tons, along with its crew, to the bottom of the Yangtze River!"
"yes!"
at the same time.
Tokyo. Naval Ministry Headquarters.
At six in the morning, Tokyo was still shrouded in a thin, gray fog, but the operations conference room on the third floor of the Navy Ministry was already in an uproar.
"Baka! How is this possible?!"
The Vice Minister of the Navy slammed the telegram on the table, his face contorted in agony. "The Izumo displaces 9,800 tons! Six-inch main armor belt! Eight eight-inch main guns! This is the face of the Empire! How could it possibly be sunk by a Chinese warlord?"
No one answered him.
A dozen or so high-ranking military officers sat in the conference room, all of them pale-faced, as if their fathers had died.
Because people are indeed dying there.
The Izumo had a total of 740 officers and men, plus the crew of the two escort destroyers, for a total of more than 1,100 people.
They were all wiped out. Not a single one returned alive.
"That madman surnamed Chen..."
A major general staff officer, his voice trembling, opened the intelligence summary. "Not only did they sink the Izumo... but they also ordered machine guns to be used to mow down the Imperial soldiers who had fallen into the water... they didn't even spare those who were waving white flags..."
"That's enough!"
The bigwigs in the Navy Ministry clenched their fists tightly.
Humiliation. The greatest humiliation since the founding of the Imperial Japanese Navy!
"Assemble the Combined Fleet! Deploy the battlecruisers Kongo and Kirishima south! I'm going to blast that Wusongkou to smithereens!"
"no."
A deep voice came from the corner.
The speaker was the head of the First Section of the Military Command, a middle-aged officer with a small mustache. He adjusted his glasses, his tone calm but decisive.
"Intelligence indicates that Chen Zijun deployed at least four 280mm Krupp coastal defense guns at Wusongkou. It is very likely that the Germans secretly sold them after the Treaty of Versailles."
"With this armored fortress in place, our warships would be sitting ducks if they sailed over there. No matter how large the Kongo is, its protective belt can't withstand a close-range direct hit from a 280mm armor-piercing round."
He turned to the next page.
"What's worse is that he also has torpedo boats. The Izumo was sunk because it was forced into the shore gun fire sector by the torpedoes from these boats. Destroyers in shallow waters simply can't catch up, and we have no idea how many more he has hidden."
The conference room fell into a deathly silence once again.
half an hour.
The Vice Minister of the Navy slammed his hand on the table, stood up, and said, "We request permission from His Majesty the Emperor!"
That afternoon, in the Imperial Study of the palace, a fine Chinese porcelain vase was smashed to pieces.
However, the Japanese Empire ultimately did not send a joint fleet.
It's not that I don't want to, it's that I don't dare.
Without knowing how many cards the other side still holds, sending over the Kongo and Kirishima—their true lifelines—would be risky. If they lost another ship, the Imperial Japanese Navy would become a laughingstock worldwide.
Enduring hardship and biding one's time. Temporarily retreating. Waiting for a better opportunity.
This was the final decision made by Tokyo.
But everyone knew in their hearts that this insult would be repaid in full sooner or later.
Mid-October 1924.
The news of the sinking of the Izumo spread like wildfire around the world at the speed of undersea cables and radio waves.
The London Times broke with tradition and dedicated a full page to the headline: "Eastern warlords sink 10,000-ton warship, Far East order faces reshaping."
Intelligence agencies in Paris, Berlin, Moscow, and Washington are frantically gathering all information about the "Chen Family Army" and the "Wusongkou Fortress".
And within China?
It's completely boiling over!
"Extra! Extra! A great victory!"
Newspaper boys in major cities across the country shouted themselves hoarse.
At the Bund gate in Shanghai, Nanyang Shiro's pistol, half-capped military cap, and the Rising Sun Flag charred by artillery fire were hung high on an iron frame directly above the gate.
There was a piece of red paper underneath with four large characters written on it.
Those who offend China shall perish.
The streets were deserted as everyone was out.
The common people crowded under the city gate, looking up at the charred and tattered flag. Some cried loudly, some clapped and cheered, and some knelt on the ground and kowtowed vigorously.
How many years has it been?
Thirty years have passed since the First Sino-Japanese War!
When have the Chinese ever won such a resounding victory?
On this day, the prestige of Chen Jiajun reached an unprecedented peak.
But while some people are happy, others are getting restless.
The North. The Fengtian clique's main camp. The military train dispatch center between Shenyang and Nanjing.
Zhang Jialiang sat in his luxurious command carriage, flipping through battle reports, his eyes gleaming with the sharpness of a predator.
"The Izumo sank? Good, very good."
He slammed the battle report on the table. Yang Yuting, the chief of staff of the Fengtian clique sitting opposite him, frowned and remained silent.
"Young Marshal...aren't you worried about that Chen Zijun? He even sank a Japanese warship weighing tens of thousands of tons..."
"So what if it sinks?"
Zhang Jialiang stood up, walked to the carriage window, and looked out at the endless military trains.
Forty-seven military trains in total. They stretched as far as the eye could see.
One hundred thousand of the Fengtian clique's most elite and ever-victorious troops. They were all armed with Japanese Type 38 rifles, plus more than sixty 75mm field guns, twelve French-made Renault FT tanks driven by White Russian mercenaries, and twenty heavy machine guns purchased from the Japanese.
This is all of Zhang Jialiang's assets.
That was also the capital that allowed him to take over the entire Jiangnan region.
"Chief of Staff Yang, think about this." Zhang Jialiang turned around, one hand resting on the map. "Chen Zijun just finished a deadly naval battle. Did he run out of ammunition? How many torpedoes did he have left? How many of his men died? How many were wounded? Have you calculated these things?"
Yang Yuting remained silent.
"What is war about? It's about ammunition, supplies, and human lives!"
Zhang Jialiang slammed his hand on the table. "No matter how capable Chen Zijun is, he'll eventually run out of ammunition! Can he just drop 280mm shells from the sky? What's behind him? A few dilapidated arsenals? A few blast furnaces that have just started smoking?"
He gritted his teeth and gave a cold laugh.
"Last time, I lost two cavalry brigades in Luoyan Valley. Six thousand lives. I remember that blood debt."
"How dare he?"
Zhang Jialiang had been holding this in for almost two months.
Now, he's going to collect this debt himself.
"Pass on my orders! Take Nanjing within three days! Within five days, I'm going to the Paramount Ballroom for a drink!"
Yang Yuting opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing, only nodding emphatically.
A hundred thousand troops. Rolling iron wheels. A dark mass rolled toward the border of Jiangsu.
At the same time.
Longhua Road Garrison Command Headquarters. Underground Operations Room.
A huge model of a sand table occupied the entire room.
Shen Li stood in front of the sand table, his forehead covered in sweat. The small red flag in his hand was steady, though, because he had just planted more than a hundred red flags in the north direction of the sand table.
Each red flag represents a battalion.
More than one hundred battalions. One hundred thousand people.
"Young Marshal..." Shen Li swallowed hard. "The vanguard of the Fengtian clique has already passed Xuzhou. At this rate, they could be at the gates of Nanjing in as little as three days."
He took a deep breath.
"We don't have enough troops on land. The shore artillery at Wusongkou can't reach the land. The ammunition consumed in the naval battle will take time to replenish. The arsenal in Ma'anshan has only just started production, and its capacity is far from keeping up. Even if we include the Second Division in Taicang and Zang Keping's tank company, what we can muster is..."
"Less than 30,000 people."
Chen Zijun finished speaking for him.
Shen Li gave a wry smile: "Young Marshal, don't worry, I'm here. But this trouble... is indeed big."
Chen Zijun remained silent.
He walked to the sand table and looked at the dense array of red arrows, which resembled a pack of hungry wolves sweeping in from the north.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't a bitter smile. It was the kind of smile that made Shen Li break out in a cold sweat.
"Old Shen."
"exist."
"What kind of guns did Zhang Jialiang's 100,000 men use?"
Shen Li was taken aback: "A Type 38 rifle. The Japanese sold it to him."
"What kind of cannon?"
"75mm French field guns and Japanese mountain guns."
"What tank?"
"The twelve Renault FTs driven by the Belarusian mercenaries are the same model as the two we flattened in Taicang."
"Um."
Chen Zijun responded softly.
Then he raised his hand and gently tapped the air.
A semi-transparent screen, visible only to him, popped up in front of his eyes.
At the very top, eight large characters were prominently displayed:
[Land Warfare Heavy Firepower Zone]
The redemption list below is slowly unfolding in an extremely enticing manner.
105mmleFH18型榴弹炮、150mmsFH18型重榴弹炮、37mmPak36反坦克炮、81mmGrW34重型迫击炮……
Chen Zijun's eyes lit up.
He turned to look at Shen Li.
"Go. Call Huixin here."
"Now?" Shen Li was somewhat surprised.
Yes. Now. Immediately. Right now.
Chen Zijun turned his head again, staring at the densely packed red flags on the sand table, like a swarm of ants, and a slow smile appeared on his lips.
"The beasts of the sea are full. The beasts of the land want to loosen their bones? Fine."
"Withdraw all the money you made from sulfonamides these past two days. Prepare a 'steel downpour' for Zhang Jialiang."
Shen Li suddenly looked up.
There was not a trace of panic in the young marshal's eyes. There was only an excitement that he was all too familiar with.
It's exactly the same as when we laid mines in Luoyan Valley.
Shen Li gritted his teeth and snapped to attention, giving a sharp salute: "Yes, sir! Don't worry, young marshal, I'm here!"
He turned and strode out of the operations room.
Behind him, Chen Zijun stood alone facing the system panel that only he could see.
At the top of the panel, the number representing the current funds is steadily increasing at a rate of one pound per second.
Four million two hundred and one thousand.
Add to that the exorbitant profits from sulfonamides being shipped back these days...
That's enough. More than enough.
Chen Zijun muttered to himself, his voice very soft, but every word was icy cold.
"Zhang Jialiang, do you think I'm out of bullets after the naval battle?"
You're wrong.
"My bullets are counted in pounds."