GBP Chapter 476 This is no longer an ordinary guerrilla force!
Chapter 476 This is no longer an ordinary guerrilla force!
Faced with the question, the staff officer lowered his head even more:
"My apologies, Commander. This guerrilla group is extremely cunning. Their attacks are incredibly swift and sudden, their firepower intense and brief. Once they succeed, they never pause, immediately retreating using the complex terrain.
"The various factions didn't even capture any weapons, and even... they barely left behind any enemy corpses. They cleared the battlefield and retreated at an astonishing speed..."
As he spoke, the staff officer's voice became lower and lower.
Moritake Tanabe fell silent, realizing the seriousness of the problem.
Their tactics, equipment and efficiency have undergone a qualitative leap.
Behind this, there must be systematic and strong support and armament from the People's Security Army on the other side of the strait. This is definitely not good news.
And then look at his own 25th Army: what a bleak situation it is in?
The telegrams from headquarters were always the same: "Hold on firmly, there will be a way!"
However, the countless telegrams he sent requesting reinforcements, weapons, ammunition and food supplies all fell on deaf ears, without even a ripple.
Ever since the Anshun Army firmly controlled the throat of the Malacca Strait, and the war on Luzon Island became tense, Sumatra Island became an isolated island and no longer received any soldiers, rice or bullets.
(Tanabe Moritake didn't know at this moment that the backbone of his brother's navy had been completely broken in the Leyte Gulf, and the Combined Fleet was dead in name only, with only the Yamato Hotel lingering in the port).
The only thing he could be thankful for was that Sumatra had fertile land and abundant resources.
As long as we continue to "collect food", we can at least ensure that tens of thousands of mouths will not starve to death.
The standard weapons and ammunition piled up in the warehouse, as well as the large amount of old equipment left behind by the Dutch colonial army when they surrendered, are enough to support them in "holding on" on the island until the end of time.
If just passively taking a beating can be considered as holding on.
As for where this "firm hold" ends?
Tanabe Moritake was at a loss. Should he just live one day at a time?
He could only wave his hands feebly and give orders in a tone that he himself didn't quite believe, pretending to have everything under control:
"Inform all units to be on high alert. Soldiers are strictly prohibited from going out alone. Units sent to the countryside for 'supply collection' missions must be strengthened to squadron (company) level at the very least. Infantry guns or rapid-fire guns must be equipped to provide fire support."
"Also," he paused, then added, "in order to strengthen local security and effectively eliminate banditry, we should recruit another group of 'volunteers' (i.e., puppet troops) to be incorporated into the 'Homeland Defense Volunteer Army.'
Tell them that serving the Locust Army means a bright future. We will definitely fulfill the independence we promised them, but it will take some time..."
Tanabe Moritake knew that this was just drinking poison to quench thirst.
For the sake of precious oil resources, the country will never really allow these natives to be independent, but what other options does it have besides doing so?
In addition to the Anmin Army bomber group that "punches in" on time every day and the elusive 277th Regiment.
At this time in the Eastern Sindhu Islands of the Netherlands, on the surface, the devil's ruling machine seemed to be still operating in an orderly manner and was far from collapsing.
Under high pressure, a pathological "order" is maintained.
Except Zhang Chi, no one could imagine that two young men from Java would control the destiny of this thousand-island country in the future.
In the northern part of Java, a young intellectual named Su Jiaruo is carefully moving among the puppet organization "People's Power Center" (PUTERA) supported by the Japanese.
The air was filled with the dull smell of cheap tobacco and moldy paper.
Su Jiaruo was slightly bent over, reporting a draft on "Promoting Rural Education in Java" to a arrogant Japanese cultural consultant in fluent and almost perfect Japanese.
Because of his humble and gentle appearance, gentle eyes, and a just right humble smile on his lips, every subtle body language perfectly interprets the word "respectful".
Thus he won the superficial approval and trust of his advisors.
"Hai, Mr. Watanabe, your suggestions are very valuable. We will make careful revisions to ensure they align with the spirit of co-prosperity and enhance the public's understanding and support for the Locust Army."
"Well, Susan, you're great! Do a good job!" Consultant Watanabe patted his shoulder with satisfaction and walked away with a cigarette in his mouth.
The moment the office door closed, the mask of meekness on Su Jiaruo's face faded away like the tide.
He straightened his slightly bent back, his eyes became sharp and deep, and he walked to the window, looking at the street outside the window guarded by Japanese patrols and puppet troops.
Beneath that humble appearance, an unparalleled ambition is burning.
He used the PUTERA platform to cleverly avoid the close surveillance of the Japanese and made extensive friends with nationalist patriots, religious leaders and intellectuals in Java, Sumatra and other places.
In those secret gatherings with closed doors and windows and only dim candlelight, Su Jiaruo seemed like a different person.
He was no longer the timid clerk, but transformed into a magical orator.
He lowered his voice, but every word was like thunder as he passionately expounded on the humiliation of a century of colonization and painted a magnificent blueprint for an independent, unified and powerful country after breaking free from the double shackles of the Netherlands and the Japanese.
He is like a huge magnet, quietly gathering scattered forces.
The dormancy and maneuvering at this moment are precisely to accumulate strength and wait for that earth-shattering moment - to become the future president of the Thousand Islands Country, who will be listed as one of the F4 of the Non-Aligned Movement along with Nehru and Nasser.
In central Java, a young man named Suhaji is undergoing a completely different process of development.
He joined the puppet local armed forces formed by the Japanese, the "Homeland Defense Volunteer Army" (PETA), and with a certain cultural foundation and "cleverness", he quickly got a small position as a platoon leader.
In the brutal training and ideological indoctrination day after day, he eagerly absorbed the "Bushido spirit" and extreme militarism taught by the Japanese instructors - emphasizing absolute obedience, strict hierarchy, and sacrificing everything for "lofty goals."
He witnessed with his own eyes the brutal interrogation of villagers suspected of "collaborating with the enemy" by the Japanese army, and under the orders of the instructors, he personally wielded a whip and severely beat those "cowards" who collapsed due to exhaustion.
On one occasion, he even served as a member of a firing squad and numbly pulled the trigger, executing a villager accused of providing intelligence to the guerrillas.
The look in the eyes of the tortured person before his death did not frighten him. Instead, the praise from the Japanese instructor for "loyalty to duty" gave rise to a distorted sense of "mission" and a sense of identity as part of the powerful system.
These experiences, like quenched venom, were gradually infecting his young mind and distorting his values.
At this moment, he was immersed in the illusory pleasure of holding a little power, and believed in the so-called lies of common prosperity portrayed by the Japanese instructors. He was completely unaware that he was being shaped into a tool of some kind of cold power politics in the future.
Perhaps even he himself cannot imagine now that he will overthrow Su Jiaruo in the future and hold power for thirty years.
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The speeding "Army No. 1" special train traveled through the night, with the carriages shaking slightly.
Zhang Chi lay in the spacious and comfortable luxury berth, with the regular roar of rails echoing in his ears, but his thoughts had already flown across the strait and landed on the southern archipelago.
The inertia of history is huge, but he, a butterfly traveling through time, must flap his wings.
For the sake of the oil fields in Sumatra and Borneo, Zhang Chi must not give these two young people the opportunity to grow.
On the speeding train, Zhang Chi was lying on the luxurious big bed. As the train swayed, his thoughts drifted to Java Island thousands of miles away.
"277th Special Operations Regiment..." He whispered to himself, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.
This elite force, with Lin Laisheng as its advisor and many special forces members as its instructors, has actually been controlled by the Security Army and infiltrated into Sumatra. It is a sharp knife he has buried in advance.
As "active guerrillas" under the Allied camp, while fighting the Japanese invaders, they "incidentally" eliminated some stubborn forces in Java that were dependent on the Japanese invaders, and even some key figures themselves. In the chaotic context of war, isn't this reasonable and difficult to trace?
A cold plan took shape in his mind, and Zhang Chi fell into a deep sleep accompanied by the monotonous lullaby of the train.
When he opened his eyes again, the morning sun had already shone through the window, illuminating the carriage.
The familiar sight outside the window told him that the train had arrived in the suburbs of Yangon. A long whistle pierced the morning silence as the special train slowly pulled into Yangon Central Railway Station.
The platform was already crowded with people and colorful flags were waving.
The military band played a majestic march.
When Zhang Chi, dressed in a neat general's uniform, walked out of the carriage surrounded by his adjutants and guards, warm cheers came like a tsunami.
The most eye-catching thing was a group of children from a local primary school in the front row of the platform.
They were wearing neat school uniforms, the boys in short jackets and trousers, and the girls in tube skirts and white tops. Their little faces were flushed with excitement, and they held tightly in their hands the freshly picked flowers still covered with morning dew.
Bright hibiscus, white jasmine garlands, and golden rosewood flowers.
Under the organization of the teacher, they lined up. Whether they were Chinese or natives, they all shouted welcome words in Mandarin with a childish accent, and timidly but sincerely presented the bouquets in their hands to their leader.
A rare, warm smile came from the heart on Zhang Chi's face.
He bent down and patiently shook hands with these lovely children one by one, took the fragrant bouquets from their hands, touched their heads, and gently said "thank you".
After a brief welcome ceremony, Zhang Chi did not stay for long.
He boarded the black bulletproof car waiting outside the station. Under the escort of the security convoy, the convoy drove away from the noisy platform and sped towards the Yangon Port area.
The first stop of the inspection will be the Yangon Shipyard.
There, the future of South China Sea maritime power is being nurtured.