usatvline Chapter 60 We are the Rome of the East
Chapter 60 We are the Rome of the East
Chapter 60 We are the Rome of the East (Eighth Update)
Chang Desheng thought to himself, "They've come," but his face remained expressionless: "Please speak."
"In the tropical jungle," Hessman said slowly, "the visibility is limited, the terrain is complex, and the natives know every tree and every swamp. If you were leading a company of 120 men, equipped with Mauser 1871s and two Gatling guns, and you were ambushed on the march, the ambush would be carried out by 300 to 500 armed natives with muzzle-loading rifles, bows and arrows, blowguns, and possibly one or two old bronze cannons. It would be a rainy afternoon, and visibility would be less than 50 meters."
He paused, looking at Chang Desheng: "How would you deploy your standard procedures learned in the classrooms of the War Academy?"
That's a barb!
The meeting room was so quiet you could hear someone breathing. Zhang Zhensheng looked at Chang Desheng nervously, while Xiao Maoqi picked up his coffee cup and pretended to take a sip.
Chang Desheng did not answer immediately.
He closed his eyes. What flashed through his mind wasn't Clausewitz, nor the textbooks from the War Academy, but the conditioned reflexes honed through countless nights in front of the screen, pixel by pixel: How to block the most paths with the fewest people? How to create opportunities to advance using smoke and flashbangs? When to "gamble" and when to "save your weapon"?
The "map understanding" concepts from those games strangely overlapped with the rainforest terrain before them. The core idea was simple: in complex terrain, information and control are more important than marksmanship.
Ten seconds later, he opened his eyes.
"Sergeant Major," he said, "the core of your problem is being ambushed. But my approach is to never put yourself in a passive position where you're 'ambushed.'"
He tapped the table with his finger, as if drawing a diagram: "If this were my mission, I would consider the entire marching route as several points that must be controlled. For example, this river bend, this high ground, this clearing in the woods. About a mile before and after each point, I would send out scouts in advance—not for reconnaissance, but to clear and pre-position the area, using machetes to cut concealed firing ports at key locations, and setting up tripwires and early warning devices with vines and branches."
Hessman frowned: "This will take a lot of time and manpower."
"But it gives us the initiative," Chang Desheng said. "This isn't called marching; it's called rolling occupation. My main force is always behind the points we've already controlled. If the forward scouts encounter trouble, they don't rush in for a direct fight; they immediately retreat to their pre-arranged positions, simultaneously using whistles or signal flares to indicate the enemy's direction. And then—"
He looked at Hessman: "Then, in your best way: use two Gatling guns to block all possible paths the enemy might take, and engage in prolonged, rhythmic suppressive fire. Don't shoot people, shoot the woods, the bushes, anything that can hide. The goal isn't to kill, but to create fear and chaos, to deprive them of their freedom of movement."
"This is very similar to—" Hessman said thoughtfully.
"It's very similar to what you did when you were clearing out strongholds in East Africa, right?" Chang Desheng chimed in, "But on a smaller scale and more flexible. The war games at the War Academy taught us that the best way to deal with scattered troops is not to chase them down, but to draw a circle around them and force them to play within your rules. When they can't stand it anymore and want to break out or regroup, the flaws will appear."
He concluded, "So my plan is: use control points to create advantageous terrain, use firepower to demarcate the combat zone, and patiently wait to force the enemy to make a mistake. Casualties? They'll only happen the moment they can't hold back and jump out of their bunkers. And we'll always be behind our bunkers."
Hessmann remained silent.
Little Moltke put down his coffee cup and clapped lightly three times, but the gesture was enough.
"Very good," said Moltke, "Then, Sergeant Major, do you have any further questions?"
Hessmann didn't look at Moltke, but kept his eyes on Chang Desheng.
"There's one more question," he said, his voice lower but deeper than before, "Mr. Commissioner, why are you going to Southeast Asia?"
He stared coldly at Chang Desheng, his gaze as if he were sizing up a thief who had broken into someone's backyard and was trying to take over a piece of land.
"For revenge? For territory? Or for—" He paused, a mocking smile appearing on his face, "or, like us, to 'spread civilization'?"
What a despicable imperialist who doesn't even bother with demonstrations!
Chang Desheng didn't rush to answer. He picked up the cup of coffee in front of him, which had long since gone cold, and took a sip—it was so bitter that he grimaced, but it cleared his mind a bit.
"Why should we go to Southeast Asia? Sergeant, your question is like asking the Romans why they went to Germania, Britain, Gaul, North Africa, or Spain."
Hessman paused for a moment.
Chang Desheng stared into Hessman's grey-blue eyes and answered his own question: "The Romans went to build roads, cities, legislatures, and teach Latin. They turned the Gauls into Roman citizens and sent the sons of Germanic chieftains to the Senate. A hundred years later, the people in those places spoke of Rome with every word... Those places became part of Roman civilization. And you, Sergeant, your ancestors must have been Romans like that, right?"
"Your Rome no longer exists! But we," he pointed to himself, then vaguely to the east, "are the Rome of that land... a Rome that is still alive! Not living well, but not dead yet. Our ancestors did business and mined in Southeast Asia..."
When the port was being built, the ancestors of those sultans were still picking fruit from the trees. We're not going to seize land—we're going home, to bring back sons who have been lost for hundreds of years, and to teach them to read, to farm, and to live a good life.
Zhang Zhensheng stared wide-eyed at Chang Desheng. What he said made perfect sense! We're not "going abroad," we're going home!
Mao Qi stopped pointing. He stared at Chang Desheng with a complicated expression, as if he were getting to know this student all over again.
Hessman stared at Chang Desheng, seemingly a little angry—this Easterner dared to compare China to the Rome of the East!
But this explanation doesn't seem wrong!
"A very—very interesting statement." Hessman, who hadn't received much formal education, was momentarily at a loss for words when arguing with Chang Desheng. He stood up, his movements still stiff. "Commissioner, you are more eloquent than many officers I've met! The text of the agreement is ready; I'll go get it right away."
He stopped at the door without turning around.
"Committee member," his voice was still a bit harsh, but less barbed, "please provide me with information on Borneo's topography, climate, and tribal distribution as soon as possible."
After saying that, he opened the door and left.
Only three people remained in the meeting room.
Zhang Zhensheng let out a long breath. Xiao Maoqi leaned back in his chair, took out a silver cigarette case from his pocket, flicked out a cigarette, and lit it. He took a drag, and the smoke slowly rose in the winter sunlight streaming in through the window.
"Zhenbang," he said with a smile, "Hessman is one of the toughest nails I've ever seen, and you've managed to persuade him."
Chang Desheng smiled wryly: "Teacher, why do I have a feeling he'll still be a troublemaker in the future?"
"Take it slow," Moltke flicked his cigarette ash. "His Majesty is very concerned about the affairs of Southeast Asia. He has always believed that the German Empire needs a reliable and stable partner in the Far East."
Chang Desheng remained expressionless: "Yes, teacher. The Beiyang government has always regarded Germany as its most trustworthy friend."
"Friends should help each other," Moltke said. "The Empire is willing to help the Beiyang Fleet gain benefits from the South Seas. In return, the Beiyang Fleet should help the Empire gain some convenience in the Far East."
He paused, looking at Chang Desheng: "For example, a friendly port where the Imperial fleet can dock and resupply—not Pontianak, but further north."
""
North Korea.
These two words flashed through Chang Desheng's mind.
He nodded, then made a promise: "Rest assured, teacher. Once the situation in Pontianak is stable, the Beiyang Army will do its utmost to find suitable ports for the Empire in the Far East, whether in Korea or—or anywhere else."
Little Moltke clearly understood. He pondered for a moment and nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good," he said. "Well then, Zhenbang, it's up to you now. Remember—"
He stood up, walked over to Chang Desheng, and patted him on the shoulder.
"Professional, responsible, and controllable," Moltke said in a low voice, emphasizing each word. "These are Your Majesty's requirements, and also my requirements for you."
Professional, responsible, and controllable.
Chang Desheng thought to himself: I've managed to latch onto this powerful patron, but this patron is too heavy, and there's a dog leash attached to him. The other end of that leash is held in the hand of that young, impetuous emperor in the Berlin palace.
Chang Desheng, dragging his ailing body, walked out of the East Africa Company building.
The cold winter wind of Berlin blew in his face, and he wrapped his coat tighter around himself and shivered.
Across the street, a black carriage was parked quietly. The curtains were drawn, obscuring the view inside.
Chang Desheng glanced at it, but didn't pay attention. He waved and hailed a horse-drawn carriage.
Unbeknownst to him, inside that black carriage, Minister Saionji was whispering to a young woman beside him, dressed in an elegant English dress and possessing a delicate and beautiful face, "Miss Haruko, that is Chang Desheng. Colonel Fukushima said that he may be the biggest trouble for the Empire for the next twenty years."
The woman watched Chang Desheng's retreating figure as he boarded the car through the crack in the window, a faint smile appearing on her lips.
"I understand," she said softly in Japanese. "Please tell Mr. Fukushima that I will keep a close watch on him."
"From Berlin to Southeast Asia..."
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