Podcasts about chiang kai

Last time we spoke about the Battle of Taierzhuang. Following the fall of Nanjing in December 1937, the Second Sino-Japanese War entered a brutal phase of attrition as Japan sought to consolidate control and press toward central China. Chinese defense prioritized key rail corridors and urban strongholds, with Xuzhou, the JinPu and Longhai lines, and the Huai River system forming crucial lifelines. By early 1938, Japanese offensives aimed to link with forces around Beijing and Nanjing and encircle Chinese positions in the Central Yangtze region, threatening Wuhan. In response, Chiang Kai-shek fortified Xuzhou and expanded defenses to deter a pincer move, eventually amassing roughly 300,000 troops along strategic lines. Taierzhuang became a focal point when Japanese divisions attempted to press south and link with northern elements. Chinese commanders Li Zongren, Bai Chongxi, Tang Enbo, and Sun Lianzhong coordinated to complicate Japanese plans through offensive-defensive actions, counterattacks, and encirclement efforts. The victory, though numerically costly, thwarted immediate Japanese objectives and foreshadowed further attritional struggles ahead.   #171 The Flooding of the Yellow River Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. We last left off with a significant event during the Xuzhou campaign. Three Japanese divisions under General Itagaki Seishiro moved south to attack Taierzhuang and were met by forces commanded by Li Zongren, Sun Lianzhong, and Tang Enbo, whose units possessed a decent amount of artillery. In a two-week engagement from March 22 to April 7, the battle devolved into a costly urban warfare. Fighting was vicious, often conducted in close quarters and at night. The urban environment negated Japanese advantages in armor and artillery, allowing Chinese forces to contend on equal terms. The Chinese also disrupted Japanese logistics by resupplying their own troops and severing rear supply lines, draining Japanese ammunition, supplies, and reinforcements. By April 7, the Japanese were compelled to retreat, marking the first Chinese victory of the war. However both sides suffered heavy losses, with around 20,000 casualties on each side. In the aftermath of this rare victory, Chiang Kai-Shek pushed Tang Enbo and Li Zongren to capitalize on their success and increased deployments in the Taierzhuang theater to about 450,000 troops. Yet the Chinese Army remained hampered by fundamental problems. The parochialism that had crippled Chiang's forces over the preceding months resurfaced. Although the generals had agreed to coordinate in a war of resistance, each still prioritized the safety of his own troops, wary of Chiang's bid to consolidate power. Li Zongren, for example, did not deploy his top Guangxi provincial troops at Taierzhuang and sought to shift most of the fighting onto Tang Enbo's forces. Chiang's colleagues were mindful of the fates of Han Fuju of Shandong and Zhang Xueliang of Manchuria: Han was executed for refusing to fight, while Zhang, after allowing Chiang to reduce the size of his northeastern army, ended up under house arrest. They were right to distrust Chiang. He believed, after all, that provincial armies should come under a unified national command, which he would lead. From a national-unity perspective, his aspiration was not unreasonable. But it fed suspicion among other military leaders that participation in the anti-Japanese war would dilute their power. The divided nature of the command also hindered logistics, making ammunition and food supplies to the front unreliable and easy to cut off. By late April the Chinese had reinforced the Xuzhou area to between 450,000-600,000 to capitalize on their victory. However these armies were plagued with command and control issues. Likewise the Japanese licked their wounds and reinforced the area to roughly 400,000, with fresh troops and supplies flowing in from Tianjin and Nanjing. The Japanese continued with their objective of encircling Chinese forces. The North China Area Army comprised four divisions and two infantry brigades drawn from the Kwantung Army, while the Central China Expeditionary Army consisted of three divisions and the 1st and 2nd Tank Battalions along with motorized support units. The 5th Tank Battalion supported the 3rd Infantry Division as it advanced north along the railway toward Xuzhou. Fighting to the west, east, and north of Xuzhou was intense, resulting in heavy casualties on both sides. On 18 April, the Japanese advanced southward toward Pizhou. Tang Enbo's 20th Army Corps, together with the 2nd, 22nd, 46th, and 59th corps, resisted fiercely, culminating in a stalemate by the end of April. The 60th Corps of the Yunnan Army engaged the Japanese 10th Division at Yuwang Mountain for nearly a month, repelling multiple assaults. By the time it ceded its position to the Guizhou 140th Division and withdrew on 15 May, the corps had sustained losses exceeding half of its forces. Simultaneously, the Japanese conducted offensives along both banks of the Huai River, where Chinese defenders held out for several weeks. Nevertheless, Japanese artillery and aerial bombardment gradually tilted the balance, allowing the attackers to seize Mengcheng on 9 May and Hefei on 14 May. From there, the southern flank split into two parts: one force moved west and then north to cut off the Longhai Railway escape route from Xuzhou, while another division moved directly north along the railway toward Suxian, just outside Xuzhou. Simultaneously, to the north, Japanese units from north China massed at Jining and began moving south beyond Tengxian. Along the coast, an amphibious landing was made at Lianyungang to reinforce troops attacking from the east. The remaining portions of Taierzhuang were captured in May, a development symbolically significant to Tokyo. On 17 May, Japanese artillery further tightened the noose around Xuzhou, striking targets inside the city.  To preserve its strength, the Nationalist government ordered the abandonment of Xuzhou and directed its main forces to break out toward northern Jiangsu, northern Anhui, and eastern Henan. To deter the Japanese army's rapid westward advance and penetration into northern Henan and western Shandong, many leading military and political figures within the Nationalist government proposed breaching dams over the Yellow River to delay the offensive, a strategy that would have been highly advantageous to the Nationalist forces at the time. Chiang Kai-shek vetoed the proposal outright, insisting that the Nationalist army could still resist. He understood that with tens of millions of Chinese lives at stake and a sliver of hope remaining, the levee plan must not be undertaken. Then a significant battle broke out at Lanfeng. Chiang also recognized that defeat could allow the elite Japanese mechanized divisions, the 14th, 16th, and 10th, to advance directly toward Zhengzhou. If Zhengzhou fell, the Japanese mechanized forces on the plains could advance unimpeded toward Tongguan. Their southward push would threaten Xi'an, Xiangfan, and Nanyang, directly jeopardizing the southwest's rear defenses. Concurrently, the Japanese would advance along the Huai River north of the Dabie Mountains toward Wuhan, creating a pincer with operations along the Yangtze River.  Now what followed was arguably the most important and skillful Chinese maneuver of the Xuzhou campaign: a brilliantly executed strategic retreat to the south and west across the Jinpu railway line. On May 15, Li Zongren, in consultation with Chiang Kai-shek, decided to withdraw from Xuzhou and focus on an escape plan. The evacuation of civilians and military personnel began that day. Li ordered troops to melt into the countryside and move south and west at night, crossing the Jinpu Railway and splitting into four groups that would head west. The plan was to regroup in the rugged Dabie Mountains region to the south and prepare for the defense of Wuhan. Li's generals departed reluctantly, having held out for so long; Tang Enbo was said to have wept. Under cover of night, about forty divisions, over 200,000 men, marched out of Japanese reach in less than a week. A critical moment occurred on May 18, when fog and a sandstorm obscured the retreating troops as they crossed the Jinpu Railway. By May 21, Li wired Chiang Kai-shek to report that the withdrawal was complete. He mobilized nearly all of the Kuomintang Central Army's elite units, such as the 74th Army, withdrawn from Xuzhou and transferred directly to Lanfeng, with a resolute intent to “burn their boats.” The force engaged the Japanese in a decisive battle at Lanfeng, aiming to secure the last line of defense for the Yellow River, a position carrying the lives of millions of Chinese civilians. Yet Chiang Kai-shek's strategy was not universally understood by all participating generals, who regarded it as akin to striking a rock with an egg. For the battle of Lanfeng the Chinese mobilized nearly all of the Kuomintang Central Army's elite forces, comprising 14 divisions totaling over 150,000 men. Among these, the 46th Division of the 27th Army, formerly the Central Training Brigade and the 36th, 88th, and 87th Divisions of the 71st Army were German-equipped. Additionally, the 8th Army, the Tax Police Corps having been reorganized into the Ministry of Finance's Anti-Smuggling Corps, the 74th Army, and Hu Zongnan's 17th Corps, the new 1st Army, equipped with the 8th Division were elite Nationalist troops that had demonstrated strong performance in the battle of Shanghai and the battle of Nanjing, and were outfitted with advanced matériel. However, these so-called “elite” forces were heavily degraded during the campaigns in Shanghai and Nanjing. The 46th Division and Hu Zongnan's 17th Corps sustained casualties above 85% in Nanjing, while the 88th and 87th Divisions suffered losses of up to 90%. The 74th Army and the 36th Division also endured losses exceeding 75%. Their German-made equipment incurred substantial losses; although replenishment occurred, inventories resembled roughly a half-German and half-Chinese mix. With very limited heavy weapons and a severe shortage of anti-tank artillery, they could not effectively match the elite Japanese regiments. Hu Zongnan's 17th Corps maintained its national equipment via a close relationship with Chiang Kai-shek. In contrast, the 74th Army, after fighting in Shanghai, Nanjing, and Xuzhou, suffered heavy casualties, and the few German weapons it had were largely destroyed at Nanjing, leaving it to rely on a mix of domestically produced and Hanyang-made armaments. The new recruits added to each unit largely lacked combat experience, with nearly half of the intake having received basic training. The hardest hit was Li Hanhun's 64th Army, established less than a year prior and already unpopular within the Guangdong Army. Although classified as one of the three Type A divisions, the 155th, 156th, and 187th Divisions, it was equipped entirely with Hanyang-made firearms. Its direct artillery battalion possessed only about 20 older mortars and three Type 92 infantry guns, limiting its heavy firepower to roughly that of a Japanese battalion. The 195th Division and several miscellaneous units were even less prominent, reorganized from local militias and lacking Hanyang rifles. Additionally, three batches of artillery purchased from the Soviet Union arrived in Lanzhou via Xinjiang between March and June 1938. Except for the 52nd Artillery Regiment assigned to the 200th Division, the other artillery regiments had recently received their weapons and were still undergoing training. The 200th Division, had been fighting awhile for in the Xuzhou area and incurred heavy casualties, was still in training and could only deploy its remaining tank battalion and armored vehicle company. The tank battalion was equipped with T-26 light tanks and a small number of remaining British Vickers tanks, while the armored vehicle company consisted entirely of Italian Fiat CV33 armored cars. The disparity in numbers was substantial, and this tank unit did not participate in the battle.  As for the Japanese, the 14th Division was an elite Type A formation. Originally organized with four regiments totaling over 30,000 men, the division's strength was later augmented. Doihara's 14th Division received supplements, a full infantry regiment and three artillery regiments, to prevent it from being surrounded and annihilated, effectively transforming the unit into a mobile reinforced division. Consequently, the division's mounted strength expanded to more than 40,000 personnel, comprising five infantry regiments and four artillery regiments. The four artillery regiments, the 24th Artillery Regiment, the 3rd Independence Mountain Artillery Regiment, the 5th Field Heavy Artillery Regiment, and the 6th Field Heavy Artillery Regiment, possessed substantial heavy firepower, including 150mm heavy howitzers and 105mm long-range field cannons, placing them far in excess of the Nationalist forces at Lanfeng. In addition, both the 14th and later the 16th Divisions commanded tank regiments with nearly 200 light and medium tanks each, while Nationalist forces were markedly short of anti-tank artillery. At the same time, the Nationalist Air Force, though it had procured more than 200 aircraft of various types from the Soviet Union, remained heavily reliant on Soviet aid-to-China aircraft, amounting to over 100 machines, and could defend only a few cities such as Wuhan, Nanchang, and Chongqing. In this context, Japanese forces effectively dominated the Battle of Lanfeng. Moreover, reports indicate that the Japanese employed poison gas on the battlefield, while elite Nationalist troops possessed only a limited number of gas masks, creating a stark disparity in chemical warfare preparedness. Despite these disparities, Chiang Kai-shek and the Nationalist government were initially unaware of the updated strength and composition of the Doihara Division. Faced with constrained options, Chiang chose to press ahead with combat operations. On May 12, 1939, after crossing the Yellow River, the IJA 14th Division continued its southward advance toward Lanfeng. The division's objective was to sever the Longhai Railway, disrupt the main Nationalist retreat toward Zhengzhou, and seize Zhengzhou itself. By May 15, the division split into two columns at Caoxian and moved toward key nodes on the Longhai Line. Major General Toyotomi Fusatarou led two infantry regiments, one cavalry regiment, and one artillery regiment in the main assault toward Kaocheng with the aim of directly capturing Lanfeng. Doihara led three infantry regiments and three artillery regiments toward Neihuang and Minquan, threatening Guide. In response, the Nationalist forces concentrated along the railway from Lanfeng to Guide, uniting Song Xilian's 71st Army, Gui Yongqing's 27th Army, Yu Jishi's 74th Army, Li Hanhun's 64th Army, and Huang Jie's 8th Army. From May 15 to 17, the Fengjiu Brigade, advancing toward Lanfeng, met stubborn resistance near Kaocheng from roughly five divisions under Song Xilian and was forced to shift its effort toward Yejigang and Neihuang. The defense near Neihuang, including Shen Ke's 106th Division and Liang Kai's 195th Division, ultimately faltered, allowing Doihara's division to seize Neihuang, Yejigang, Mazhuangzhai, and Renheji. Nevertheless, the Nationalist forces managed to contain the Japanese advance east and west of the area, preventing a complete encirclement. Chiang Kai-shek ordered Cheng Qian, commander-in-chief of the 1st War Zone, to encircle and annihilate the Japanese 14th Division. The deployment plan mapped three routes: the Eastern Route Army, under Li Hanhun, would include the 74th Army, the 155th Division of the 64th Army, a brigade of the 88th Division, and a regiment of the 87th Division, advancing westward from Guide); the Western Route Army, commanded by Gui Yongqing, would comprise the 27th Army, the 71st Army, the 61st Division, and the 78th Division, advancing eastward from Lanfeng; and the Northern Route Army, formed by Sun Tongxuan's 3rd Army and Shang Zhen's 20th Army, was to cut off the enemy's retreat to the north bank of the Yellow River near Dingtao, Heze, Dongming, and Kaocheng, while attacking the Doihara Division from the east, west, and north to annihilate it in a single decisive operation.  On May 21, the Nationalist Army mounted a full-scale offensive. Yu Jishi's 74th Army, commanded by Wang Yaowu's 51st Division, joined a brigade of Song Xilian's 71st Army, led by the 88th Division, and drove the Japanese forces at Mazhuangzhai into retreat, capturing Neihuang and Renheji. The main Japanese force, more than 6,000 strong, withdrew southwest to Yangjiji and Shuangtaji. Song Xilian, commanding Shen Fazao's 87th Division, launched a sharp assault on Yejigang (Yifeng). The Japanese abandoned the stronghold, but their main body continued advancing toward Yangjiji, with some units retreating to Donggangtou and Maoguzhai. On May 23, Song Xilian's 71st Army and Yu Jishi's 74th Army enveloped and annihilated enemy forces at Donggangtou and Maoguzhai. That evening they seized Ximaoguzhai, Yangzhuang, and Helou, eliminating more than a thousand Japanese troops. The Japanese troops at Donggangtou fled toward Lanfeng. Meanwhile, Gui Yongqing's forces were retreating through Lanfeng. His superior strength, Jiang Fusheng's 36th Division, Li Liangrong's 46th Division, Zhong Song's 61st Division, Li Wen's 78th Division, Long Muhan's 88th Division, and Shen Ke's 106th Division—had held defensive positions along the Lanfeng–Yangji line. Equipped with a tank battalion and armored vehicle company commanded by Qiu Qingquan, they blocked the enemy's westward advance and awaited Japanese exhaustion. However, under the Japanese offensive, Gui Yongqing's poor command led to the loss of Maji and Mengjiaoji, forcing the 27th Army to retreat across its entire front. Its main force fled toward Qixian and Kaifeng. The Japanese seized the opportunity to capture Quxingji, Luowangzhai, and Luowang Railway Station west of Lanfeng. Before retreating, Gui Yongqing ordered Long Muhan to dispatch a brigade to replace the 106th Division in defending Lanfeng, while he directed the 106th Division to fall back to Shiyuan. Frightened by the enemy, Long Muhan unilaterally withdrew his troops on the night of the 23rd, leaving Lanfeng undefended. On the 24th, Japanese troops advancing westward from Donggangtou entered Lanfeng unopposed and, relying on well-fortified fortifications, held their ground until reinforcements arrived. In the initial four days, the Nationalist offensive failed to overwhelm the Japanese, who escaped encirclement and annihilation. The four infantry and artillery regiments and one cavalry regiment on the Japanese side managed to hold the line along Lanfeng, Luowangzhai, Sanyizhai, Lanfengkou, Quxingji, Yang'erzhai, and Chenliukou on the south bank of the Yellow River, offering stubborn resistance. The Longhai Railway was completely cut off. Chiang Kai-shek, furious upon hearing the news while stationed in Zhengzhou, ordered the execution of Long Muhan, commander of the 88th Division, to restore military morale. He also decided to consolidate Hu Zongnan's, Li Hanhun's, Yu Jishi's, Song Xilian's, and Gui Yongqing's troops into the 1st Corps, with Xue Yue as commander-in-chief. On the morning of May 25, they launched a determined counterattack on Doihara's 14th Division. Song Xilian personally led the front lines on May 24 to rally the defeated 88th Division.  Starting on May 25, after three days of intense combat, Li Hanhun's 64th Army advanced to seize Luowang Station and Luowangzhai, while Song Xilian's 71st Army retook Lanfeng City, temporarily reopening the Longhai Line to traffic. At Sanyi Village, Gui Yongqing's 27th Army and Yu Jishi's 74th Army captured a series of outlying positions, including Yang'eyao, Chailou, Cailou, Hezhai, Xuelou, and Baowangsi. Despite these gains, more than 6,000 Japanese troops offered stubborn resistance. During the fighting, Ji Hongru, commander of the 302nd Regiment, was seriously wounded but continued to fight, shouting, “Don't worry about my death! Brothers, fight on!” He ultimately died a heroic death from his wounds. By May 27, Chiang Kai-shek, concerned that the forces had not yet delivered a decisive victory at Lanfeng, personally reprimanded the participating generals and ordered them to completely encircle and annihilate the enemy west of Lanfeng by the following day. He warned that if the opportunity was missed and Japanese reinforcements arrived, the position could be endangered. The next day, Chiang Kai-shek issued another telegram, urging Cheng Qian's First War Zone and all participating units to press the offensive. The telegram allegedly had this in it “It will forever be a laughingstock in the history of warfare.” Meanwhile on the other side, to prevent the annihilation of Doihara's 14th Division, the elite Japanese 16th Division and the 3rd Mixed Brigade, totaling over 40,000 men, launched a westward assault from Dangshan, capturing Yucheng on May 26. They then began probing the outskirts of Guide. Huang Jie's Eighth Army, responsible for the defense, withdrew to the outskirts of Guide that evening. On May 28, Huang Jie again led his troops on his own initiative, retreating to Liuhe and Kaifeng, leaving only the 187th Division to defend Zhuji Station and Guide City. At dawn on May 29, Peng Linsheng, commander of the 187th Division, also withdrew his troops, leaving Guide a deserted city. The Japanese occupied Guide without a fight. The loss of Guide dramatically shifted the tide of the war. Threatened on the flanks by the Japanese 16th Division, the Nationalist forces were forced onto the defensive. On May 28, the Japanese 14th Division concentrated its forces to counterattack Gui Yongqing's troops, but they were defeated again, allowing the Japanese to stabilize their position. At the same time, the fall of Shangqiu compelled Xue Yue's corps to withdraw five divisions to block the enemy in Shangqiu, and the Nationalist Army shifted to a defensive posture with the 14th Division holding Sanyizhai and Quxingji. To the north of the battlefield, the Japanese 4th Mixed Brigade, numbering over 10,000 men, was preparing to force a crossing of the Yellow River in order to join with the nearby 14th Division. More seriously, the 10th Division, together with its 13th Mixed Brigade and totaling more than 40,000 men, had captured Woyang and Bozhou on the Henan-Anhui border and was rapidly encircling eastern Henan. By the time of the Battle of Lanfeng, Japanese forces had deployed more than 100,000 troops, effectively surrounding the Nationalist army. On May 31, the First War Zone decided to withdraw completely, and the Battle of Lanfeng ended in defeat for the Nationalists, forcing Chiang Kai-shek to authorize diverting the Yellow River embankment to relieve pressure. The consequence was a deteriorating strategic situation, as encirclement tightened and reinforcement options dwindled, driving a retreat from the Lanfeng front. The National Army suffered more than 67,000 casualties, killed and wounded more than 10,000 Japanese soldiers, Lanfeng was lost, and Zhengzhou was in danger.  As in Nanjing, this Chinese army might have lived to fight another day, but the effect on Xuzhou itself was horrific. The city had endured Japanese bombardment since August 1937, and the population's mood swung between cautious hope and utter despair. In March, Du Zhongyuan visited Xuzhou. Before he left Wuhan, friends told him that “the city was desolate and the people were terrified, all the inhabitants of Xuzhou were quietly getting on with their business … sometimes it was even calmer than Wuhan.” The Australian journalist Rhodes Farmer recalled a similar image in a book published at war's end, noting the “ordinary townsfolk who became wardens, fire-fighters and first-aid workers during the raid and then went back to their civil jobs.” Yet the mid-May departure of Nationalist troops left the city and its outskirts at the mercy of an angry Imperial Army. Bombing continued through the final days of battle, and a single raid on May 14, 1938 killed 700 people. Around Xuzhou, buildings and bridges were destroyed—some by retreating Chinese forces, some by advancing Japanese troops. Taierzhuang, the scene of the earlier iconic defense, was utterly destroyed. Canadian Jesuits who remained in Xuzhou after its fall recorded that more than a third of the houses were razed, and most of the local population had fled in terror. In rural areas around the city, massacres were repeatedly reported, many witnessed by missionaries. Beyond the atrocities of the Japanese, locals faced banditry in the absence of law enforcement, and vital agricultural work such as planting seed ground to a halt. The loss of Xuzhou was both strategic and symbolic. It dealt a severe blow to Chiang's attempt to hold central China and to control regional troop movements. Morale, which Taierzhuang had briefly boosted, was battered again though not extinguished. The fall signaled that the war would be long, and that swift victory against Japan was no longer likely. Mao Zedong's Yan'an base, far to the northwest, grasped the meaning of defeat there. In May 1938 he delivered one of his most celebrated lectures, “On Protracted War,” chiding those who had over-optimistically claimed the Xuzhou campaign could be a quasi-decisive victory and arguing that, after Taierzhuang, some had become “giddy.” Mao insisted that China would ultimately prevail, yet he warned that it could not be won quickly, and that the War of Resistance would be protracted. In the meantime, the development of guerrilla warfare remained an essential piece of the long-term strategy that the Communist armies would pursue in north China. Yet the loss of Xuzhou did not necessarily portend a long war; it could, instead, presage a war that would be terrifyingly short. By spring 1938 the Chinese defenders were desperate. There was a real danger that the entire war effort could collapse, and the Nationalist governments' notable success as protectors of a shrinking “Free China” lay in avoiding total disaster. Government propaganda had successfully portrayed a plan beyond retreat to foreign observers, yet had Tokyo captured Wuhan in the spring, the Chinese Army would have had to withdraw at speed, reinforcing perceptions of disintegration. Western governments were unlikely to intervene unless convinced it was in their interests. Within the Nationalist leadership, competing instincts persisted. The government pursued welfare measures for the people in the midst of a massive refugee relief effort, the state and local organizations, aided by the International Red Cross, housed large numbers of refugees in 1937–1938. Yet there was a harsher strain within policy circles, with some officials willing to sacrifice individual lives for strategic or political ends as the Japanese threat intensified. Throughout central China, the Yellow River, China's “Sorrow”, loomed as the dominant geographic force shaping history. The loess-laden river, notorious for floods and shifting channels, was banked by massive dikes near Zhengzhou, exactly along the line the Japanese would traverse toward Wuhan. Using the river as a military instrument was discussed as a drastic option: Chiang and Cheng Qian's First War Zone contemplated diverting or breaching the dikes to halt or slow the Japanese advance, a measure that could buy time but would unleash enormous civilian suffering. The idea dated back to 1887 floods that cost hundreds of thousands of lives, and even in 1935 Alexander von Falkenhausen had warned that the Yellow River could become the final line of defense. In 1938 Chiang, recognizing the futility of defeating the Japanese by conventional means at Zhengzhou, considered unleashing the river's force if necessary to impede the invaders. The political and strategic calculus was stark: protect central China and Wuhan, even if it required drastic and morally fraught measures. A more humane leader might have hesitated to break the dikes and spare the dams, allowing the Japanese to take Wuhan. But Chiang Kai-shek believed that if the dikes were not breached and Wuhan fell within days, the Nationalist government might be unable to relocate to Chongqing in time and would likely surrender, leaving Japan in control of almost all of China. Some have compared the choice to France's surrender in June 1940, underscoring that Chiang's decision came during the country's most terrifying assault, with Chinese forces much weaker and less trained than their European counterparts. The dilemma over whether to break the Yellow River dikes grew out of desperation. Chiang ultimately ordered General Wei Rulin to blow the dike that held the Yellow River in central Henan. There was no doubt about the consequences: floods would inundate vast areas of central China, creating a waterlogged barrier that would halt the Japanese advance. Yet for the plan to succeed, it had to be carried out quickly, and the government could offer no public warning in case the Japanese detected it and accelerated their movement. Xiong Xianyu, chief of staff in the 8th Division at the time, recorded the urgency of those hours in his diary. The Japanese were already on the north bank of the Yellow River, briefly delayed when the Chinese army blew up the railway bridge across the river. The destruction of the dikes was the next step: if the area became a sea of mud, there would be no way the Japanese could even attempt to reconstruct the bridge. Blasting the dikes proved easier in theory than in practice. Holding back such a massive body of water required substantial engineering, dams thick and well fortified. The army made its first attempts to blow the dike at the small town of Zhaokou between June 4 and 6, 1938, but the structure proved too durable; another nearby attempt failed as well. Hour by hour, the Japanese moved closer. Division commander Jiang Zaizhen asked Xiong Xianyu for his opinion on where they might breach the dams. Xiong wrote “I discussed the topography, and said that two places, Madukou and Huayuankou, were both possible.” But Madukou was too close to Zhaokou, where the breach had already failed, presenting a danger that the Japanese might reach it very soon. The village of Huayuankou, however, lay farther away and on a bend in the river: “To give ourselves enough time, Huayuankou would be best.” At first, the soldiers treated the task as a military engineering assignment, an “exciting” one in Xiong's words. Xiong and Wei Rulin conducted their first site inspection after dark, late on June 6. The surroundings offered a deceptive calm: Xiong recounted “The wind blew softly, and the river water trickled pleasantly.” Yet gauging the water level proved difficult, hampered by murky moonlight and burned-out flashlights. They spent the night in their car to determine precisely where to break the dike as soon as day broke. But daylight seemed to bring home the consequences of what they planned to do, and the soldiers grew increasingly anxious. Wang Songmei, commander of the 2nd Regiment, addressed the workers about to breach the dike: “My brothers, this plan will be of benefit to our country and our nation, and will lessen the harm that is being done to the people.In the future, you'll find good wives and have plenty of children.” Wang's words were meant to reassure the men of the political necessity of their actions and that fate would not, in the traditional Chinese sense, deny them a family because of the enormity of their deeds. General Wei confirmed that Huayuankou was the right spot, and on June 8 the work began, with about 2,000 men taking part. The Nationalist government was eager to ensure rapid progress. Xiong recorded that the “highest authorities”,, kept making telephone calls from Wuhan to check on progress. In addition, the party sent performers to sing and play music to bolster the workers' spirits. Senior General Shang Zhen announced to the laborers that if they breached the dam by midnight on June 8, each would receive 2,000 yuan; if they achieved it by six the next morning, they would still be paid 1,000 yuan. They needed encouragement, for the diggers had no artificial assistance. After the initial failures at Zhaokou, Wei's troops relied entirely on manual labor, with no explosives used. Yet the workers earned their payments, and the dike was breached in just a few hours. On the morning of June 9, Xiong recorded a rapid shift in mood: the atmosphere became tense and solemn. Initially, the river flow was modest, but by about 1:00 p.m. the water surged “fiercely,” flowing “like 10,000 horses.” Looking toward the distance, Xiong felt as though a sea had appeared before him. “My heart ached,” he wrote. The force of the water widened the breach, and a deadly stream hundreds of feet wide comprising about three-quarters of the river's volume—rushed southeast across the central Chinese plains. “We did this to stop the enemy,” Xiong reflected, “so we didn't regret the huge sacrifice, as it was for a greater victory.” Yet he and the other soldiers also saw a grim reality: the troops who had taken on the task of destroying the railway bridge and the dikes could not bear the flood's consequences alone. It would be up to the government and the people of the nation to provide relief for the countless households uprooted by the flood. In fact, the previous evening Commander Jiang had telephoned to request assistance for those flooded out of their homes.   Wei, Xiong, and their troops managed to escape by wooden boats. Hundreds of thousands of farmers trapped in the floods were far less fortunate. Time magazine's correspondent Theodore White reported on the devastation a few days later “Last week “The Ungovernable” [i.e. the Yellow River] lashed out with a flood which promised to change not only its own course but also the course of the whole Sino-Japanese War. Severe breaks in the dikes near Kaifeng sent a five-foot wall of water fanning out over a 500-squaremile area, spreading death. Toll from Yellow River floods is not so much from quick drowning as from gradual disease and starvation. The river's filth settles ankle-deep on the fields, mothering germs, smothering crops. Last week, about 500,000 peasants were driven from 2,000 communities to await rescue or death on whatever dry ground they could find”. Chiang's government had committed one of the grossest acts of violence against its own people, and he knew that the publicity could be a damaging blow to its reputation. He decided to divert blame by announcing that the dike had been broken, but blaming the breach on Japanese aerial bombing. The Japanese, in turn, fiercely denied having bombed the dikes. White's reporting reflected the immediate response of most foreigners; having heard about the atrocities at Nanjing and Xuzhou, he was disinclined to give the Japanese the benefit of the doubt. Furthermore, at the very time that the Yellow River was flooding central China, the Japanese were heavily bombing Guangzhou, causing thousands of casualties. To White, the Japanese counterargument—that the Chinese themselves were responsible, seemed unthinkable: “These accusations, foreign observers thought, were absurd. For the Chinese to check the Japanese advance at possible sacrifice of half a million lives would be a monstrous pyrrhic victory. Besides, dike-cutting is the blackest of Chinese crimes, and the Chinese Army would hardly risk universal censure for slight tactical gains.” But, of course, that is exactly what they had done. During the war the Nationalists never admitted that they, not the Japanese, had breached the dikes. But the truth quickly became widely known. Just a month later, on July 19, US Ambassador Johnson noted, in private communication, that the “Chinese blocked the advance on Chengchow [Zhengzhou] by breaching the Yellow River dikes.” Eventually some 54,000 square kilometers of central China were inundated by the floods. If the Japanese had committed such an act, it would have been remembered as the prime atrocity of the war, dwarfing even the Nanjing Massacre or the Chongqing air raids in terms of the number of people who suffered. Accurate statistics were impossible to obtain in the midst of wartime chaos and disaster, but in 1948 figures issued by the Nationalists themselves suggested enormous casualties: for the three affected provinces of Henan, Anhui, and Jiangsu, the number of dead was put at 844,489, with some 4.8 million becoming refugees. More recent studies place the numbers lower, but still estimate the dead at around 500,000, and 3–5 million refugees. In contrast, the devastating May 1939 air raids on Chongqing killed some thousands. Xiong reflected in his diary that the breaching of the Yellow River dikes was a sacrifice for a greater victory. Even to some Japanese it seemed that the tactic had been successful in the short term: the first secretary at the US Embassy in Wuhan reported that the flood had “completely checked the Japanese advance on Chengchow” and had prevented them taking Wuhan by rail. Instead, he predicted, the attack was likely to come by water and along the north shore of the Yangtze. Supporters of the dike breaches could argue that these acts saved central China and Chiang's headquarters in Wuhan for another five months. The Japanese were indeed prevented from advancing along the Long–Hai railway toward Wuhan. In the short term the floods did what the Nationalists wanted. But the flooding was a tactic, a breathing space, and did not solve the fundamental problem: China's armies needed strong leadership and rapid reform. Some historians suggest that Chiang's decision was pointless anyway, since it merely delayed the inevitable. Theodore White was right: no strategic advantage could make the deaths of 500,000 of China's own people a worthwhile price to pay. However, Chiang Kai-shek's decision can be partly explained, though not excused, by the context. We can now look back at the actions of the Nationalists and argue that they should not have held on to Wuhan, or that their actions in breaching the dam were unjustifiable in the extreme. But for Chiang, in the hot summer of 1938, it seemed his only hope was to deny Japan as much of China for as long as possible and create the best possible circumstances for a long war from China's interior, while keeping the world's attention on what Japan was doing. The short delay won by the flooding was itself part of the strategy. In the struggle raging within the soul of the Nationalist Party, the callous, calculating streak had won, for the time being. The breaking of the dikes marked a turning point as the Nationalists committed an act whose terrible consequences they would eventually have to expiate. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In late 1937, China's frontline trembled as Japanese forces closed in on Wuhan. Chiang Kai-shek faced a brutal choice: endure costly defenses or unleash a desperate gamble. Chiangs' radical plan emerged: breach the Yellow River dikes at Huayuankou to flood central China, buying time. The flood roared, washing villages and futures away, yet slowing the enemy. The battlefield paused, while a nation weighed courage against civilian suffering, victory against devastating costs.

Last time we spoke about the Nanjing Massacre. Japanese forces breached Nanjing as Chinese defenders retreated under heavy bombardment, and the city fell on December 13. In the following weeks, civilians and disarmed soldiers endured systematic slaughter, mass executions, rapes, looting, and arson, with casualties mounting rapidly. Among the most brutal episodes were hundreds of executions near the Safety Zone, mass shootings along the Yangtze River, and killings at improvised sites and “killing fields.” The massacre involved tens of thousands of prisoners, with estimates up to 300,000 victims. Women and children were subjected to widespread rape, mutilation, and terror intended to crush morale and resistance. Although the Safety Zone saved many lives, it could not shield all refugees from harm, and looting and arson devastated large parts of the city. Foreign witnesses, missionaries, and diary entries documented the extensive brutality and the apparent premeditated nature of many acts, noting the collapse of discipline among troops and orders that shaped the violence.    #169 Nanjing has Fallen, the War is not Over Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. Directly after the fall of Nanjing, rumors circulated among the city's foreigners that Tang Shengzhi had been executed for his inability to hold the city against the Japanese onslaught. In fact, unlike many of his subordinates who fought in the defense, he survived. On December 12, he slipped through Yijiang Gate, where bullets from the 36th Division had claimed numerous victims, and sailed across the Yangtze to safety. Chiang Kai-shek protected him from bearing direct consequences for Nanjing's collapse. Tang was not unscathed, however. After the conquest of Nanjing, a dejected Tang met General Li Zongren at Xuzhou Railway Station. In a brief 20-minute conversation, Tang lamented, “Sir, Nanjing's fall has been unexpectedly rapid. How can I face the world?” Li, who had previously taunted Tang for over-eagerness, offered sympathy. “Don't be discouraged. Victory or defeat comes every day for the soldier. Our war of resistance is a long-term proposition. The loss of one city is not decisive.” By December 1937, the outlook for Chiang Kai-shek's regime remained bleak. Despite his public pledges, he had failed to defend the capital. Its sturdy walls, which had withstood earlier sieges, were breached in less than 100 hours. Foreign observers remained pessimistic about the prospects of continuing the fight against Japan. The New York Times wrote “The capture of Nanking was the most overwhelming defeat suffered by the Chinese and one of the most tragic military debacles in modern warfare. In defending Nanking, the Chinese allowed themselves to be surrounded and then slaughtered… The graveyard of tens of thousands of Chinese soldiers may also be the graveyard of all Chinese hopes of resisting conquest by Japan.” Foreign diplomats doubted Chiang's ability to sustain the war, shrinking the question to whether he would stubbornly continue a losing fight or seek peace. US Ambassador Nelson Johnson wrote in a letter to Admiral Yarnell, then commander of the US Asicatic Fleet “There is little left now for the Chinese to do except to carry on a desultory warfare in the country, or to negotiate for the best terms they can get”.  The Japanese, too, acted as if Chiang Kai-shek had already lost the war. They assumed the generalissimo was a spent force in Chinese politics as well, and that a gentle push would suffice to topple his regime like a house of cards. On December 14, Prime Minister Konoe announced that Chiang's losses of Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai, and now Nanjing, had created a new situation. “The National Government has become but a shadow of its former self. If a new Chinese regime emerged to replace Chiang's government, Japan would deal with it, provided it is a regime headed in the right direction.” Konoe spoke the same day as a Liaison Conference in Tokyo, where civilian and military leaders debated how to treat China now that it had been thoroughly beaten on the battlefield. Japanese demands had grown significantly: beyond recognizing Manchukuo, Japan pressed for the creation of pro-Japanese regimes in Inner Mongolia and the north China area. The same day, a puppet government was established in Japanese-occupied Beijing. While these demands aimed to end China as a unitary state, Japanese policy was moving toward the same goal. The transmissions of these demands via German diplomatic channels caused shock and consternation in Chinese government circles, and the Chinese engaged in what many regarded as stalling tactics. Even at this late stage, there was division among Japan's top decision makers. Tada, deputy chief of the Army General Staff, feared a protracted war in China and urged keeping negotiations alive. He faced strong opposition from the cabinet, including the foreign minister and the ministers of the army and navy, and ultimately he relented. Tada stated “In this state of emergency, it is necessary to avoid any political upheaval that might arise from a struggle between the Cabinet and the Army General Staff.” Although he disagreed, he no longer challenged the uncompromising stance toward China. On January 16, 1938, Japan publicly stated that it would “cease henceforth to deal with” Chiang Kai-shek. This was a line that could not be uncrossed. War was the only option. Germany, the mediator between China and Japan, also considered Chiang a losing bet. In late January 1938, von Dirksen, the German ambassador in Tokyo, urged a fundamental shift in German diplomacy and advocated abandoning China in favor of Japan. He warned that this was a matter of urgency, since Japan harbored grudges against Germany for its half-hearted peace efforts. In a report, von Dirksen wrote that Japan, “in her deep ill humor, will confront us with unpleasant decisions at an inopportune moment.” Von Dirksen's view carried the day in Berlin. Nazi Germany and Hirohito's Japan were on a trajectory that, within three years, would forge the Axis and place Berlin and Tokyo in the same camp in a conflict that would eventually span the globe. Rabe, who returned to Germany in 1938, found that his account of Japanese atrocities in Nanjing largely fell on deaf ears. He was even visited by the Gestapo, which apparently pressed him to keep quiet about what he had seen. Ambassador von Dirksen also argued in his January 1938 report that China should be abandoned because of its increasingly friendly ties with the Soviet Union. There was some merit to this claim. Soviet aid to China was substantial: by the end of 1937, 450 Soviet aviators were serving in China. Without them, Japan likely would have enjoyed air superiority. Chiang Kai-shek, it seemed, did not fully understand the Russians' motives. They were supplying aircraft and pilots to keep China in the war while keeping themselves out. After Nanjing's fall, Chiang nevertheless reached out to Joseph Stalin, inviting direct Soviet participation in the war. Stalin politely declined, noting that if the Soviet Union joined the conflict, “the world would say the Soviet Union was an aggressor, and sympathy for Japan around the world would immediately increase.” In a rare moment of candor a few months later, the Soviet deputy commissar for foreign affairs spoke with the French ambassador, describing the situation in China as “splendid.” He expected China to continue fighting for several more years, after which Japan would be too weakened to undertake major operations against the Soviet Union. It was clear that China was being used. Whatever the motive, China was receiving vital help from Stalin's Russia while the rest of the world stood on the sidelines, reluctant to upset Japan. Until Operation Barbarossa, when the Soviet Union was forced to the brink by the German Army and could no longer sustain extensive overseas aid, it supplied China with 904 planes, 1,516 trucks, 1,140 artillery pieces, 9,720 machine guns, 50,000 rifles, 31,600 bombs, and more. Despite all of this, all in all, China's position proved less disastrous than many observers had feared. Chinese officials later argued that the battle of Nanjing was not the unmitigated fiasco it appeared to be. Tang Shengzhi had this to say in his memoirs“I think the main purpose of defending Nanjing was to buy time, to allow troops that had just been pulled out of battle to rest and regroup. It wasn't simply because it was the capital or the site of Sun Yat-sen's mausoleum.” Tan Daoping, an officer in Nanjing, described the battle “as a moderate success because it drew the Japanese in land”. This of course was a strategy anticipated by interwar military thinker Jiang Baili. It also allowed dozens of Chinese divisions to escape Shanghai, since the Japanese forces that could have pursued them were tied down with the task of taking Nanjing. Tan Daoping wrote after the war “They erred in believing they could wage a quick war and decide victory immediately. Instead, their dream was shattered; parts of their forces were worn out, and they were hindered from achieving a swift end”. Even so, it was a steep price was paid in Chinese lives. As in Shanghai, the commanders in Nanjing thought they could fight on the basis of sheer willpower. Chinese officer Qin Guo Qi wrote in his memoirs “In modern war, you can't just rely on the spirit of the troops. You can't merely rely on physical courage and stamina. The battle of Nanjing explains that better than anything”. As for the Brigade commander of the 87th division, Chen Yiding, who emerged from Nanjing with only a few hundred survivors, was enraged. “During the five days of the battle for Nanjing, my superiors didn't see me even once. They didn't do their duty. They also did not explain the overall deployments in the Nanjing area. What's worse, they didn't give us any order to retreat. And afterwards I didn't hear of any commander being disciplined for failing to do his job.” Now back in November of 1937, Chiang Kai-shek had moved his command to the great trinity of Wuhan. For the Nationalists, Wuhan was a symbolically potent stronghold: three municipalities in one, Hankou, Wuchang, and Hanyang. They had all grown prosperous as gateways between coastal China and the interior. But the autumn disasters of 1937 thrust Wuhan into new prominence, and, a decade after it had ceased to be the temporary capital, it again became the seat of military command and resistance. Leading Nationalist politicians had been seen in the city in the months before the war, fueling suspicions that Wuhan would play a major role in any imminent conflict. By the end of the year, the generals and their staffs, along with most of the foreign embassies, had moved upriver. Yet as 1937 slipped into 1938, the Japanese advance seemed practically unstoppable. From the destruction of Shanghai, to the massacre in Nanjing, to the growing vulnerability of Wuhan, the NRA government appeared powerless against the onslaught.  Now the Japanese government faced several options: expanding the scope of the war to force China into submission, which would risk further depletion of Japan's military and economic resources; establishing an alternative regime in China as a bridge for reconciliation, thereby bypassing the Nationalist government for negotiations; and engaging in indirect or direct peace negotiations with the Nationalist Government, despite the failure of previous attempts, while still seeking new opportunities for negotiation. However, the Nanjing massacre did not compel the Chinese government and its people to submit. On January 2, Chiang Kai-shek wrote in his diary, “The conditions proposed by Japan are equivalent to the conquest and extinction of our country. Rather than submitting and perishing, it is better to perish in defeat,” choosing to refuse negotiations and continue resistance.  In January 1938 there was a new escalation of hostilities. Up to that point, Japan had not officially declared war, even during the Shanghai campaign and the Nanjing massacre. However on January 11, an Imperial Conference was held in Tokyo in the presence of Emperor Hirohito. Prime Minister Konoe outlined a “Fundamental Policy to deal with the China Incident.”The Imperial Conference was attended by Prime Minister Fumimaro Konoe, Army Chief of Staff Prince Kan'in, Navy Minister Admiral Fushimi, and others to reassess its policy toward China. Citing the Nationalist Government's delay and lack of sincerity, the Japanese leadership decided to terminate Trautmann's mediation. At the conference, Japan articulated a dual strategy: if the Nationalist Government did not seek peace, Japan would no longer regard it as a viable negotiating partner, instead supporting emerging regimes, seeking to resolve issues through incidents, and aiming either to eliminate or incorporate the existing central government; if the Nationalist Government sought reconciliation, it would be required to cease resistance, cooperate with Japan against communism, and pursue economic cooperation, including officially recognizing Manchukuo and allowing Japanese troops in Inner Mongolia, North China, Central China, and co-governance of Shanghai. The Konoe cabinet relayed this proposal to the German ambassador in Japan on December 22, 1937: It called for: diplomatic recognition of Manchukuo; autonomy for Inner Mongolia; cessation of all anti-Japanese and anti-Manchukuo policies; cooperation between Japan, Manchukuo, and China against communism; war reparations; demilitarized zones in North China and Inner Mongolia; and a trade agreement among Japan, Manchukuo, and China.  Its terms were too severe, including reparations payable to Japan and new political arrangements that would formalize the separation of north China under Japanese control. Chiang's government would have seventy-two hours to accept; if they refused, Tokyo would no longer recognize the Nationalist government and would seek to destroy it.  On January 13, 1938, the Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Chonghui informed Germany that China needed a fuller understanding of the additional conditions for peace talks to make a decision. The January 15 deadline for accepting Japan's terms elapsed without Chinese acceptance. Six days after the deadline for a Chinese government reply, an Imperial Conference “Gozen Kaigi” was convened in Tokyo to consider how to handle Trautmann's mediation. The navy, seeing the war as essentially an army matter, offered no strong position; the army pressed for ending the war through diplomatic means, arguing that they faced a far more formidable Far Eastern Soviet threat at the northern Manchukuo border and wished to avoid protracted attrition warfare. Foreign Minister Kōki Hirota, however, strongly disagreed with the army, insisting there was no viable path to Trautmann's mediation given the vast gap between Chinese and Japanese positions. A second conference followed on January 15, 1938, attended by the empire's principal cabinet members and military leaders, but without the emperor's presence. The debate grew heated over whether to continue Trautmann's mediation. Hayao Tada, Deputy Chief of Army General Staff, argued for continuation, while Konoe, Hirota, Navy Minister Mitsumasa Yonai, and War Minister Hajime Sugiyama opposed him. Ultimately, Tada acceded to the position of Konoe and Hirota. On the same day, Konoe conveyed the cabinet's conclusion, termination of Trautmann's mediation, to the emperor. The Japanese government then issued a statement on January 16 declaring that it would no longer treat the Nationalist Government as a bargaining partner, signaling the establishment of a new Chinese regime that would cooperate with Japan and a realignment of bilateral relations. This became known as the first Konoe statement, through which Tokyo formally ended Trautmann's mediation attempt. The Chinese government was still weighing its response when, at noon on January 16, Konoe publicly declared, “Hereafter, the Imperial Government will not deal with the National Government.” In Japanese, this became the infamous aite ni sezu (“absolutely no dealing”). Over the following days, the Japanese government made it clear that this was a formal breach of relations, “stronger even than a declaration of war,” in the words of Foreign Minister Hirota Kōki. The Chinese ambassador to Japan, who had been in Tokyo for six months since hostilities began, was finally recalled. At the end of January, Chiang summoned a military conference and declared that the top strategic priority would be to defend the east-central Chinese city of Xuzhou, about 500 kilometers north of Wuhan. This decision, like the mobilization near Lugouqiao, was heavily influenced by the railway: Xuzhou sat at the midpoint of the Tianjin–Pukou Jinpu line, and its seizure would grant the Japanese mastery over north–south travel in central China. The Jinpu line also crossed the Longhai line, China's main cross-country artery from Lanzhou to the port of Lianyungang, north of Shanghai. The Japanese military command marked the Jinpu line as a target in spring 1938. Control over Xuzhou and the rail lines threading through it were thus seen as vital to the defense of Wuhan, which lay to the city's south. Chiang's defense strategy fit into a larger plan evolving since the 1920s, when the military thinker Jiang Baili had first proposed a long war against Japan; Jiang's foresight earned him a position as an adviser to Chiang in 1938. Jiang had previously run the Baoding military academy, a predecessor of the Whampoa academy, which had trained many of China's finest young officers in the early republic 1912–1922. Now, many of the generals who had trained under Jiang gathered in Wuhan and would play crucial roles in defending the city: Chen Cheng, Bai Chongxi, Tang Shengzhi, and Xue Yue. They remained loyal to Chiang but sought to avoid his tendency to micromanage every aspect of strategy.  Nobody could say with certainty whether Wuhan would endure the Japanese onslaught, and outsiders' predictions were gloomy. As Wuhan's inhabitants tasted their unexpected new freedoms, the Japanese pressed on with their conquest of central China. After taking Nanjing, the IJA 13th Division crossed the Yangtze River to the north and advanced to the Outang and Mingguang lines on the east bank of the Chihe River in Anhui Province, while the 2nd Army of the North China Front crossed the Yellow River to the south between Qingcheng and Jiyang in Shandong, occupied Jinan, and pressed toward Jining, Mengyin, and Qingdao. To open the Jinpu Railway and connect the northern and southern battlefields, the Japanese headquarters mobilized eight divisions, three brigades, and two detachments , totaling about 240,000 men. They were commanded by General Hata Shunroku, commander of the Central China Expeditionary Army, and Terauchi Hisaichi, commander of the North China Front Army. Their plan was a north–south advance: first seize Xuzhou, a strategic city in east China; then take Zhengzhou in the west along the Longhai Railway connecting Lanzhou and Lianyungang; and finally push toward Wuhan in the south along the Pinghan Railway connecting Beijing and Hankou. At the beginning of 1938, Japan's domestic mobilization and military reorganization had not yet been completed, and there was a shortage of troops to expand the front. At the Emperor's Imperial Conference on February 16, 1938, the General Staff Headquarters argued against launching operations before the summer of 1938, preferring to consolidate the front in 1938 and undertake a large-scale battle in 1939. Although the Northern China Expeditionary Force and the Central China Expeditionary Force proposed a plan to open the Jinpu Line to connect the northern and southern battlefields, the proposal was not approved by the domestic General Staff Headquarters. The Chinese army, commanded by Li Zongren, commander-in-chief of the Fifth War Zone, mobilized about 64 divisions and three brigades, totaling roughly 600,000 men. The main force was positioned north of Xuzhou to resist the southern Japanese advance, with a portion deployed along the southern Jinpu Railway to block the southern push and secure Xuzhou. Early in the campaign, Chiang Kai-shek redeployed the heavy artillery brigade originally promised to Han Fuju to Tang Enbo's forces. To preserve his strength, Shandong Provincial Governor Han Fuju abandoned the longstanding Yellow River defenses in Shandong, allowing the Japanese to capture the Shandong capital of Jinan in early March 1938. This defection opened the Jinpu Railway to attack. The Japanese 10th Division, under Rensuke Isogai, seized Tai'an, Jining, and Dawenkou, ultimately placing northern Shandong under Japanese control. The aim was to crush the Chinese between the two halves of a pincer movement. At Yixian and Huaiyuan, north of Xuzhou, both sides fought to the death: the Chinese could not drive back the Japanese, but the Japanese could not scatter the defenders either. At Linyi, about 50 kilometers northeast of Xuzhou, Zhang Zizhong, who had previously disgraced himself by abandoning an earlier battlefield—became a national hero for his determined efforts to stop the Japanese troops led by Itagaki Seishirō, the conqueror of Manchuria. The Japanese hoped that they could pour in as many as 400,000 troops to destroy the Chinese forces holding eastern and central China. Chiang Kai-shek was determined that this should not happen, recognizing that the fall of Xuzhou would place Wuhan in extreme danger. On April 1, 1938, he addressed Nationalist Party delegates, linking the defense of Wuhan to the fate of the party itself. He noted that although the Japanese had invaded seven provinces, they had only captured provincial capitals and main transport routes, while villages and towns off those routes remained unconquered. The Japanese, he argued, might muster more than half a million soldiers, but after eight or nine months of hard fighting they had become bogged down. Chiang asserted that as long as Guangzhou (Canton) remained in Chinese hands, it would be of little significance if the Japanese invaded Wuhan, since Guangzhou would keep China's sea links open and Guangdong, Sun Yat-sen's homeland, would serve as a revolutionary base area. If the “woren” Japanese “dwarfs” attacked Wuhan and Guangzhou, it would cost them dearly and threaten their control over the occupied zones. He reiterated his plan: “the base area for our war will not be in the zones east of the Beiping–Wuhan or Wuhan–Guangdong railway lines, but to their west.” For this reason he authorized withdrawing Chinese troops behind the railway lines. Chiang's speech mixed defiance with an explanation of why regrouping was necessary; it was a bold public posture in the face of a developing military disaster, yet it reflected the impossible balance he faced between signaling resolve and avoiding overcommitment of a city that might still fall. Holding Xuzhou as the first priority required Chiang Kai-shek to place a great deal of trust in one of his rivals: the southwestern general Li Zongren. The relationship between Chiang and Li would become one of the most ambivalent in wartime China. Li hailed from Guangxi, a province in southwestern China long regarded by the eastern heartland as half civilized. Its people had rarely felt fully part of the empire ruled from Beijing or even Nanjing, and early in the republic there was a strong push for regional autonomy. Li was part of a cohort of young officers trained in regional academies who sought to bring Guangxi under national control; he joined the Nationalist Party in 1923, the year Sun Yat-sen announced his alliance with the Soviets. Li was not a Baoding Academy graduate but had trained at Yunnan's equivalent institution, which shared similar views on military professionalism. He enthusiastically took part in the Northern Expedition (1926–1928) and played a crucial role in the National Revolutionary Army's ascent to control over much of north China. Yet after the Nanjing government took power, Li grew wary of Chiang's bid to centralize authority in his own person. In 1930 Li's so‑called “Guangxi clique” participated in the Central Plains War, the failed effort by militarist leaders to topple Chiang; although the plot failed, Li retreated to his southwest base, ready to challenge Chiang again. The occupation of Manchuria in 1931 reinforced Li's belief that a Japanese threat posed a greater danger than Chiang's centralization. The tension between the two men was evident from the outset of the war. On October 10, 1937, Chiang appointed Li commander of the Fifth War Zone; Li agreed on the condition that Chiang refrain from issuing shouling—personal commands—to Li's subordinates. Chiang complied, a sign of the value he placed on Li's leadership and the caution with which he treated Li and his Guangxi ally Bai Chongxi. As Chiang sought any possible victory amid retreat and destruction, he needed Li to deliver results. As part of the public-relations front, journalists were given access to commanders on the Xuzhou front. Li and his circle sought to shape their image as capable leaders to visiting reporters, with Du Zhongyuan among the most active observers. Du praised the “formidable southwestern general, Li Zongren,” calling him “elegant and refined” and “vastly magnanimous.” In language echoing the era's soldiers' public presentation, Du suggested that Li's forces operated under strict, even disciplined, orders “The most important point in the people's war is that . . . troops do not harass the people of the country. If the people are the water, the soldiers are the fish, and if you have fish with no water, inevitably they're going to choke; worse still is to use our water to nurture the enemy's fish — that really is incomparably stupid”.  Within the southern front, on January 26, 1938, the Japanese 13th Division attacked Fengyang and Bengbu in Anhui Province, while Li Pinxian, Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the 5th War Zone, directed operations south of Xuzhou. The defending 31st Corps of the 11th Group Army, after resisting on the west bank of the Chi River, retreated to the west of Dingyuan and Fengyang. By February 3, the Japanese had captured Linhuai Pass and Bengbu. From the 9th to the 10th, the main force of the 13th Division forced a crossing of the Huai River at Bengbu and Linhuai Pass respectively, and began an offensive against the north bank. The 51st Corps, reorganized from the Central Plains Northeast Army and led by Commander Yu Xuezhong, engaged in fierce combat with the Japanese. Positions on both sides of the Huai shifted repeatedly, producing a riverine bloodbath through intense hand-to-hand fighting. After ten days of engagement, the Fifth War Zone, under Zhang Zizhong, commander of the 59th Army, rushed to the Guzhen area to reinforce the 51st Army, and the two forces stubbornly resisted the Japanese on the north bank of the Huai River. Meanwhile, on the south bank, the 48th Army of the 21st Group Army held the Luqiao area, while the 7th Army, in coordination with the 31st Army, executed a flanking attack on the flanks and rear of the Japanese forces in Dingyuan, compelling the main body of the 13th Division to redeploy to the north bank for support. Seizing the initiative, the 59th and 51st Armies launched a counteroffensive, reclaiming all positions north of the Huai River by early March. The 31st Army then moved from the south bank to the north, and the two sides faced across the river. Subsequently, the 51st and 59th Armies were ordered to reinforce the northern front, while the 31st Army continued to hold the Huai River to ensure that all Chinese forces covering the Battle of Xuzhou were safely withdrawn. Within the northern front, in late February, the Japanese Second Army began its southward push along multiple routes. The eastern axis saw the 5th Division moving south from Weixian present-day Weifang, in Shandong, capturing Yishui, Juxian, and Rizhao before pressing directly toward Linyi, as units of the Nationalist Third Corps' 40th Army and others mounted strenuous resistance. The 59th Army was ordered to reinforce and arrived on March 12 at the west bank of the Yi River in the northern suburbs of Linyi, joining the 40th Army in a counterattack that, after five days and nights of ferocious fighting, inflicted heavy losses on the Japanese and forced them to retreat toward Juxian. On the western route, the Seya Detachment (roughly a brigade) of the Japanese 10th Division crossed the Grand Canal from Jining and attacked Jiaxiang, meeting stiff resistance from the Third Army and being thwarted, while continuing to advance south along the Jinpu Railway. The Isogai Division, advancing on the northern route without awaiting help from the southeast and east, moved southward from Liangxiadian, south of Zouxian, on March 14, with the plan to strike Tengxian, present-day Tengzhou on March 15 and push south toward Xuzhou. The defending 22nd Army and the 41st Corps fought bravely and suffered heavy casualties in a hard battle that lasted until March 17, during which Wang Mingzhang, commander of the 122nd Division defending Teng County, was killed in action. Meanwhile, a separate Japanese thrust under Itagaki Seishirō landed on the Jiaodong Peninsula and occupied Qingdao, advancing along the Jiaoji Line to strike Linyi, a key military town in southern Shandong. Pang Bingxun's 40th Army engaged the invaders in fierce combat, and later, elements of Zhang Zizhong's 333rd Brigade of the 111th Division, reinforced by the 57th Army, joined Pang Bingxun's forces to launch a double-sided pincer that temporarily repelled the Japanese attack on Linyi. By late March 1938 a frightening reality loomed: the Japanese were close to prevailing on the Xuzhou front. The North China Area Army, commanded by Itagaki Seishirō, Nishio Toshizō, and Isogai Rensuke, was poised to link up with the Central China Expeditionary Force under Hata Shunroku in a united drive toward central China. Li Zongren, together with his senior lieutenants Bai Chongxi and Tang Enbo, decided to confront the invaders at Taierzhuang, the traditional stone-walled city that would become a focal point of their defense. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Nanjing falls after one of humanities worst atrocities. Chiang Kai-Shek's war command has been pushed to Wuhan, but the Japanese are not stopping their advance. Trautmann's mediation is over and now Japan has its sights on Xuzhou and its critical railway junctions. Japan does not realize it yet, but she is now entering a long war of attrition.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Last time we spoke about the continuation of the war after Nanjing's fall. The fall of Nanjing in December 1937 marked a pivotal juncture in the Second Sino-Japanese War, ushering in a brutal phase of attrition that shaped both strategy and diplomacy in early 1938. As Japanese forces sought to restructure China's political order, their strategy extended beyond battlefield victories to the establishment of puppet arrangements and coercive diplomacy. Soviet aid provided critical support, while German and broader Axis diplomacy wavered, shaping a nuanced backdrop for China's options. In response, Chinese command decisions focused on defending crucial rail corridors and urban strongholds, with Wuhan emerging as a strategic hub and the Jinpu and Longhai railways becoming lifelines of resistance. The defense around Xuzhou and the Huai River system illustrated Chinese determination to prolong resistance despite daunting odds. By early 1938, the war appeared as a drawn-out struggle, with China conserving core bases even as Japan pressed toward central China.   #170 The Battle of Taierzhuang Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. Following their victory at Nanjing, the Japanese North China Area Army sought to push southward and link up with the Japanese Eleventh Army between Beijing and Nanjing. The two formations were intended to advance along the northern and southern ends of the JinPu railway, meet at Xuzhou, and then coordinate a pincer movement into Chinese strongholds in the Central Yangtze region, capturing Jiujiang first and then Wuhan. Recognizing Xuzhou's strategic importance, Chinese leadership made its defense a top priority. Xuzhou stood at the midpoint of the JinPu line and at the intersection with the Longhai Line, China's main east–west corridor from Lanzhou to Lianyungang. If seized, Japanese control of these routes would grant mobility for north–south movement across central China. At the end of January, Chiang Kai-shek convened a military conference in Wuchang and declared the defense of Xuzhou the highest strategic objective. Chinese preparations expanded from an initial core of 80,000 troops to about 300,000, deployed along the JinPu and Longhai lines to draw in and overstretch Japanese offensives. A frightening reality loomed by late March 1938: the Japanese were nearing victory on the Xuzhou front. The North China Area Army, led by Generals Itagaki Seishirô, Nishio Toshizô, and Isogai Rensuke, aimed to link up with the Central China Expeditionary Force under General Hata Shunroku for a coordinated drive into central China. Li Zongren and his senior colleagues, including Generals Bai Chongxi and Tang Enbo, resolved to meet the Japanese at the traditional stone-walled city of Taierzhuang. Taierzhuang was not large, but it held strategic significance. It sat along the Grand Canal, China's major north–south waterway, and on a rail line that connected the Jinpu and Longhai lines, thus bypassing Xuzhou. Chiang Kai-shek himself visited Xuzhou on March 24. While Xuzhou remained in Chinese hands, the Japanese forces to the north and south were still separated. Losing Xuzhou would close the pincer. By late March, Chinese troops seemed to be gaining ground at Taierzhuang, but the Japanese began reinforcing, pulling soldiers from General Isogai Rensuke's column. The defending commanders grew uncertain about their ability to hold the position, yet Chiang Kai-shek made his stance clear in an April 1, 1938 telegram: “the enemy at Taierzhuang must be destroyed.” Chiang Kai-shek dispatched his Vice Chief of Staff, Bai Chongxi, to Xuzhou in January 1938. Li Zongren and Bai Chongxi were old comrades from the New Guangxi Clique, and their collaboration dated back to the Northern Expedition, including the Battle of Longtan. Li also received the 21st Group Army from the 3rd War Area. This Guangxi unit, commanded by Liao Lei, comprised the 7th and 47th Armies. Around the same time, Sun Zhen's 22nd Group Army, another Sichuan clique unit, arrived in the Shanxi-Henan region, but was rebuffed by both Yan Xishan, then commander of the 2nd War Area and Shanxi's chairman and Cheng Qian, commander of the 1st War Area and Henan's chairman. Yan and Cheng harbored strong reservations about Sichuan units due to discipline issues, notably their rampant opium consumption. Under Sun Zhen's leadership, the 22nd Group Army deployed four of its six divisions to aid the Northern China effort. Organized under the 41st and 45th Armies, the contingent began a foot march toward Taiyuan on September 1, covering more than 50 days and approximately 1,400 kilometers. Upon reaching Shanxi, they faced a harsh, icy winter and had no winter uniforms or even a single map of the province. They nevertheless engaged the Japanese for ten days at Yangquan, suffering heavy casualties. Strapped for supplies, they broke into a Shanxi clique supply depot, which enraged Yan Xishan and led to their expulsion from the province. The 22nd withdrew westward into the 1st War Area, only to have its request for resupply rejected by Cheng Qian. Meanwhile to the south Colonel Rippei Ogisu led Japanese 13th Division to push westward from Nanjing in two columns during early February: the northern column targeted Mingguang, while the southern column aimed for Chuxian. Both routes were checked by Wei Yunsong's 31st Army, which had been assigned to defend the southern stretch of the Jinpu railway under Li Zongren. Despite facing a clearly inferior force, the Japanese could not gain ground after more than a month of sustained attacks. In response, Japan deployed armored and artillery reinforcements from Nanjing. The Chinese withdrew to the southwestern outskirts of Dingyuan to avoid a direct clash with their reinforced adversaries. By this point, Yu Xuezhong's 51st Army had taken up a defensive position on the northern banks of the Huai River, establishing a line between Bengbu and Huaiyuan. The Japanese then captured Mingguang, Dingyuan, and Bengbu in succession and pressed toward Huaiyuan. However, their supply lines were intercepted by the Chinese 31st Corps, which conducted flanking attacks from the southwest. The situation worsened when the Chinese 7th Army, commanded by Liao Lei, arrived at Hefei to reinforce the 31st Army. Facing three Chinese corps simultaneously, the Japanese were effectively boxed south of the Huai River and, despite air superiority and a superior overall firepower, could not advance further. As a result, the Chinese thwarted the Japanese plan to move the 13th Division north along the Jinpu railway and link up with the Isogai 10th Division to execute a pincer against Xuzhou. Meanwhile in the north, after amphibious landings at Qingdao, the Japanese 5th Division, commanded by Seishiro Itagaki, advanced southwest along the Taiwei Highway, spearheaded by its 21st Infantry Brigade. They faced Pang Bingxun's 3rd Group Army. Although labeled a Group Army, Pang's force actually comprised only the 40th Army, which itself consisted of the 39th Division from the Northwestern Army, commanded by Ma-Fawu. The 39th Division's five regiments delayed the Japanese advance toward Linyi for over a month. The Japanese captured Ju County on 22 February and moved toward Linyi by 2 March. The 59th Army, commanded by Zhang Zizhong, led its troops on a forced march day and night toward Linyi. Seizing the opportunity, the 59th Army did not rest after reaching Yishui. In the early morning of the 14th, Zhang Zizhong ordered the entire army to covertly cross the Yishui River and attack the right flank of the Japanese “Iron Army” 5th Division. They broke through enemy defenses at Tingzitou, Dataiping, Shenjia Taiping, Xujia Taiping, and Shalingzi. Initially caught off guard, the enemy sustained heavy losses, and over a night more than a thousand Japanese soldiers were annihilated. The 59th Army fought fiercely, engaging in brutal hand-to-hand combat. By 4:00 a.m. on the 17th, the 59th Army had secured all of the Japanese main positions. That same day, Pang Bingxun seized the moment to lead his troops in a fierce flank attack, effectively supporting the 59th Army's frontal assault. On the 18th, Zhang and Pang's forces attacked the Japanese from the east, south, and west. After three days and nights of bloody fighting, they finally defeated the 3rd Battalion of the 11th Regiment, which had crossed the river, and annihilated most of it. The 59th Army completed its counterattack but suffered over 6,000 casualties, with more than 2,000 Japanese killed or wounded. News of the Linyi victory prompted commendations from Chiang Kai-shek and Li Zongren. General Li Zongren, commander of the 5th War Zone, judged that the Japanese were temporarily unable to mount a large-scale offensive and that Linyi could be held for the time being. On March 20, he ordered the 59th Army westward to block the Japanese Seya Detachment. On March 21, the Japanese Sakamoto Detachment, after a brief reorganization and learning of the Linyi detachment, launched another offensive. The 3rd Corps, understrength and without reinforcements, was compelled to retreat steadily before the Japanese. General Pang Bingxun, commander of the 3rd Corps, urgently telegraphed Chiang Kai-shek, requesting reinforcements. Chiang Kai-shek received the telegram and, at approximately 9:00 AM on the 23rd, ordered the 59th Army to return to Linyi to join with the 3rd Corps in repelling the Sakamoto Detachment. Fierce fighting ensued with heavy Chinese losses, and the situation in Linyi again grew precarious. At a critical moment, the 333rd Brigade of the 111th Division and the Cavalry Regiment of the 13th Army were rushed to reinforce Linyi. Facing attacks from two directions, the Japanese withdrew, losing almost two battalions in the process. This engagement shattered the myth of Japanese invincibility and embarrassed commander Seishirō Itagaki, even startling IJA headquarters. Although the 5th Division later regrouped and attempted another push, it had lost the element of surprise. The defeat at Linyi at the hands of comparatively poorly equipped Chinese regional units set the stage for the eventual battle at Tai'erzhuang. Of the three Japanese divisions advancing into the Chinese 5th War Area, the 10th Division, commanded by Rensuke Isogai, achieved the greatest initial success. Departing from Hebei, it crossed the Yellow River and moved south along the Jinpu railway. With KMT General Han Fuju ordering his forces to desert their posts, the Japanese captured Zhoucun and reached Jinan with little resistance. They then pushed south along two columns from Tai'an. The eastern column captured Mengyin before driving west to seize Sishui; the western column moved southwest along the Jinpu railway, capturing Yanzhou, Zouxian, and Jining, before turning northwest to take Wenshang. Chiang Kai-shek subsequently ordered Li Zongren to employ “offensive defense”, seizing the initiative to strike rather than merely defend. Li deployed Sun Zhen's 22nd Group Army to attack Zouxian from the south, while Pang Bingxun's 40th Division advanced north along the 22nd's left flank to strike Mengyin and Sishui. Sun Tongxuan's 3rd Group Army also advanced from the south, delivering a two-pronged assault on the Japanese at Jining. Fierce fighting from 12 to 25 February, particularly by the 12th Corps, helped mitigate the reputational damage previously inflicted on Shandong units by Han Fuju. In response to Chinese counterattacks, the Japanese revised their strategy: they canceled their original plan to push directly westward from Nanjing toward Wuhan, freeing more troops for the push toward Xuzhou. On March 15, the Japanese 10th Division struck the Chinese 122nd Division, focusing the action around Tengxian and Lincheng. Chinese reinforcements from the 85th Corps arrived the following day but were driven back on March 17. With air support, tanks, and heavy artillery, the Japanese breached the Chinese lines on March 18. The remaining Chinese forces, bolstered by the 52nd Corps, withdrew to the town of Yixian. The Japanese attacked Yixian and overran an entire Chinese regiment in a brutal 24-hour engagement. By March 19, the Japanese began advancing on the walled town of Taierzhuang. To counter the Japanese advance, the Chinese 2nd Army Group under General Sun Lianzhong was deployed to Taierzhuang. The 31st Division, commanded by General Chi Fengcheng, reached Taierzhuang on March 22 and was ordered to delay the Japanese advance until the remainder of the Army Group could arrive. On March 23, the 31st Division sallied from Taierzhuang toward Yixian, where they were engaged by two Japanese battalions reinforced with three tanks and four armored cars. The Chinese troops occupied a series of hills and managed to defend against a Japanese regiment (~3,000 men) for the rest of the day. On March 24, a Japanese force of about 5,000 attacked the 31st Division. Another Japanese unit pressed the Chinese from Yixian, forcing them to withdraw back into Taierzhuang itself. The Japanese then assaulted the town, with a 300-strong contingent breaching the northeast gate at 20:00. They were subsequently driven back toward the Chenghuang temple, which the Chinese set on fire, annihilating the Japanese force. The next day, the Japanese renewed the assault through the breached gate and secured the eastern portion of the district, while also breaking through the northwest corner from the outside and capturing the Wenchang Pavilion. On March 25, a morning Japanese onslaught was repelled. The Japanese then shelled Chinese positions with artillery and air strikes. In the afternoon, the Chinese deployed an armored train toward Yixian, which ambushed a column of Japanese soldiers near a hamlet, killing or wounding several dozen before retreating back to Taierzhuang. By nightfall, three thousand Chinese troops launched a night assault, pushing the Japanese lines northeast to dawn. The following three days subjected the Chinese defenders to sustained aerial and artillery bombardment. The Chinese managed to repulse several successive Japanese assaults but sustained thousands of casualties in the process. On March 28, Chinese artillery support arrived, including two 155 mm and ten 75 mm pieces. On the night of March 29, the Japanese finally breached the wall. Setting out from the district's southern outskirts, a Chinese assault squad stormed the Wenchang Pavilion from the south and east, killing nearly the entire Japanese garrison aside from four taken as prisoners of war. The Chinese then retook the northwest corner of the district. Even by the brutal standards already established in the war, the fighting at Taierzhuang was fierce, with combatants facing one another at close quarters. Sheng Cheng's notes preserve the battlefield memories of Chi Fengcheng, one of the campaign's standout officers “We had a battle for the little lanes [of the town], and unprecedentedly, not just streets and lanes, but even courtyards and houses. Neither side was willing to budge. Sometimes we'd capture a house, and dig a hole in the wall to approach the enemy. Sometimes the enemy would be digging a hole in the same wall at the same time. Sometimes we faced each other with hand grenades — or we might even bite each other. Or when we could hear that the enemy was in the house, then we'd climb the roof and drop bombs inside — and kill them all.” The battle raged for a week. On April 1, General Chi requested volunteers for a near-suicide mission to seize a building: among fifty-seven selected, only ten survived. A single soldier claimed to have fired on a Japanese bomber and succeeded in bringing it down; he and his comrades then set the aircraft ablaze before another plane could arrive to rescue the pilot. One participant described the brutal conditions of the battle “"The battle continued day and night. The flames lit up the sky. Often all that separated our forces was a single wall. The soldiers would beat holes in the masonry to snipe at each other. We would be fighting for days over a single building, causing dozens of fatalities." The conditions were so brutal that Chinese officers imposed severe measures to maintain discipline. Junior officers were repeatedly forbidden to retreat and were often ordered to personally replace casualties within their ranks. Li Zongren even warned Tang Enbo that failure to fulfill his duties would lead him to be “treated as Han Fuju had been.” In Taierzhuang's cramped streets, Japan's artillery and air superiority offered little advantage; whenever either service was employed amid the dense melee, casualties were roughly even on both sides. The fighting devolved into close-quarters combat carried out primarily by infantry, with rifles, pistols, hand grenades, bayonets, and knives forming the core of each side's arsenal. The battle unfolded largely hand-to-hand, frequently in darkness. The stone buildings of Taierzhuang provided substantial cover from fire and shrapnel. It was precisely under these close-quarters conditions that Chinese soldiers could stand as equals, if not superior, to their Japanese opponents, mirroring, in some respects, the experiences seen in Luodian, Shanghai, the year before. On March 31, General Sun Lianzhong arrived to assume command of the 2nd Army Group. A Japanese assault later that day was repulsed, but a Chinese counterattack also stalled. At 04:00 on April 1, the Japanese attacked the Chinese lines with support from 11 tanks. The Chinese defenders, armed with German-made 37mm Pak-36 antitank guns, destroyed eight of the armored vehicles at point-blank range. Similar incidents recurred throughout the battle, with numerous Japanese tanks knocked out by Chinese artillery and by suicide squads. In one engagement, Chinese suicide bombers annihilated four Japanese tanks with bundles of grenades. On April 2 and 3, Chi urged the Chinese defenders around Taierzhuang's north station to assess the evolving situation. The troops reported distress, crying and sneezing, caused by tear gas deployed by the Japanese against Chinese positions at Taierzhuang's north station, but the defenders remained unmoved. They then launched a massive armored assault outside the city walls, with 30 tanks and 60 armored cars, yet managed only to drive the Chinese 27th Division back to the Grand Canal. The fighting continued to rage on April 4 and 5. By then, the Japanese had captured roughly two-thirds of Taierzhuang, though the Chinese still held the South Gate. It was through this entry point that the Chinese command managed to keep their troops supplied. The Chinese also thwarted Japanese efforts to replenish their dwindling stocks of arms and ammunition. In consequence, the Japanese attackers were worn down progressively. Although the Japanese possessed superior firepower, including cannon and heavy artillery, the cramped conditions within Taierzhuang nullified this advantage for the moment. The Chinese command succeeded in keeping their own supplies flowing, a recurring weakness in other engagements and also prevented the Japanese from replenishing their dwindling stock of arms and bullets. Gradually, the Japanese maneuvered into a state of attrition. The deadlock of the battle was broken by events unfolding outside Taierzhuang, where fresh Chinese divisions had encircled the Japanese forces in Taierzhuang from the flanks and rear. After consulting their German advisors earlier, the commanders of the 5th War Area prepared a double envelopment of the exposed Japanese forces in Taierzhuang. Between March and April 1938, the Nationalist Air Force deployed squadrons from the 3rd and 4th Pursuit Groups, fighter-attack aircraft, in long-distance air interdiction and close-air support of the Taierzhuang operations. Approximately 30 aircraft, mostly Soviet-made, were deployed in bombing raids against Japanese positions. On 26 March, Tang Enbo's 20th Army, equipped with artillery units, attacked Japanese forces at Yixian, inflicting heavy casualties and routing the survivors. Tang then swung south to strike the Japanese flank northeast of Taierzhuang. Simultaneously, the Chinese 55th Corps, comprised of two divisions, executed a surprise crossing of the Grand Canal and cut the railway line near Lincheng. As a result, Tang isolated the Japanese attackers from their rear and severed their supply lines. On 1 April, the Japanese 5th Division sent a brigade to relieve the encircled 10th Division. Tang countered by blocking the brigade's advance and then attacking from the rear, driving them south into the encirclement. On 3 April, the Chinese 2nd Group Army launched a counter-offensive, with the 30th and 110th Divisions pushing northward into Beiluo and Nigou, respectively. By 6 April, the Chinese 85th and 52nd Armies linked up at Taodun, just west of Lanling. The combined force then advanced north-westward, capturing Ganlugou. Two more Chinese divisions arrived a few days later. By April 5, Taierzhuang's Japanese units were fully surrounded, with seven Chinese divisions to the north and four to the south closing in. The Japanese divisions inside Taierzhuang had exhausted their supplies, running critically low on ammunition, fuel, and food, while many troops endured fatigue and dehydration after more than a week of brutal fighting. Sensing imminent victory, the Chinese forces surged with renewed fury and attacked the encircled Japanese, executing wounded soldiers where they lay with rifle and pistol shots. Chinese troops also deployed Soviet tanks against the defenders. Japanese artillery could not reply effectively due to a shortage of shells, and their tanks were immobilized by a lack of fuel. Attempts to drop supplies by air failed, with most packages falling into Chinese hands. Over time, Japanese infantry were progressively reduced to firing only their machine guns and mortars, then their rifles and machine guns, and ultimately resorted to bayonet charges. With the success of the Chinese counter-attacks, the Japanese line finally collapsed on April 7. The 10th and 5th Divisions, drained of personnel and ammunition, were forced to retreat. By this point, around 2,000 Japanese soldiers managed to break out of Taierzhuang, leaving thousands of their comrades dead behind. Some of the escapees reportedly committed hara-kiri. Chinese casualties were roughly comparable, marking a significant improvement over the heavier losses suffered in Shanghai and Nanjing. The Japanese had lost the battle for numerous reasons. Japanese efforts were hampered by the "offensive-defensive" operations carried out by various Chinese regional units, effectively preventing the three Japanese divisions from ever linking up with each other. Despite repeated use of heavy artillery, air strikes, and gas, the Japanese could not expel the Chinese 2nd Group Army from Taierzhuang and its surrounding areas, even as the defenders risked total annihilation. The Japanese also failed to block the Chinese 20th Group Army's maneuver around their rear positions, which severed retreat routes and enabled a Chinese counter-encirclement. After Han Fuju's insubordination and subsequent execution, the Chinese high command tightened discipline at the top, transmitting a stringent order flow down to the ranks. This atmosphere of strict discipline inspired even junior soldiers to risk their lives in executing orders. A “dare-to-die corps” was effectively employed against Japanese units. They used swords and wore suicide vests fashioned from grenades. Due to a lack of anti-armor weaponry, suicide bombing was also employed against the Japanese. Chinese troops, as part of the “dare-to-die” corps, strapped explosives such as grenade packs or dynamite to their bodies and charged at Japanese tanks to blow them up.  The Chinese later asserted that about 20,000 Japanese had perished, though the actual toll was likely closer to 8,000. The Japanese also sustained heavy material losses. Because of fuel shortages and their rapid retreat, many tanks, trucks, and artillery pieces were abandoned on the battlefield and subsequently captured by Chinese forces. Frank Dorn recorded losses of 40 tanks, over 70 armored cars, and 100 trucks of various sizes. In addition to vehicles, the Japanese lost dozens of artillery pieces and thousands of machine guns and rifles. Many of these weapons were collected by the Chinese for future use. The Chinese side also endured severe casualties, possibly up to 30,000, with Taierzhuang itself nearly razed. Yet for once, the Chinese achieved a decisive victory, sparking an outburst of joy across unoccupied China. Du Zhongyuan wrote of “the glorious killing of the enemy,” and even Katharine Hand, though isolated in Japanese-controlled Shandong, heard the news. The victory delivered a much-needed morale boost to both the army and the broader population. Sheng Cheng recorded evening conversations with soldiers from General Chi Fengcheng's division, who shared light-hearted banter with their senior officer. At one moment, the men recalled Chi as having given them “the secret of war. when you get food, eat it; when you can sleep, take it.” Such familiar, brisk maxims carried extra resonance now that the Nationalist forces had demonstrated their willingness and ability to stand their ground rather than retreat. The victors may have celebrated a glorious victory, but they did not forget that their enemies were human. Chi recalled a scene he encountered: he had picked up a Japanese officer's helmet, its left side scorched by gunpowder, with a trace of blood, the mark of a fatal wound taken from behind. Elsewhere in Taierzhuang, relics of the fallen were found: images of the Buddha, wooden fish, and flags bearing slogans. A makeshift crematorium in the north station had been interrupted mid-process: “Not all the bones had been completely burned.” After the battle, Li Zongren asked Sheng if he had found souvenirs on the battlefield. Sheng replied that he had discovered love letters on the corpses of Japanese soldiers, as well as a photograph of a girl, perhaps a hometown sweetheart labeled “19 years old, February 1938.” These details stood in stark contrast to news coverage that depicted the Japanese solely as demons, devils, and “dwarf bandits.” The foreign community noted the new, optimistic turn of events and the way it seemed to revive the resistance effort. US ambassador Nelson Johnson wrote to Secretary of State Cordell Hull from Wuhan just days after Taierzhuang, passing on reports from American military observers: one had spent time in Shanxi and been impressed by Communist success in mobilizing guerrilla fighters against the Japanese; another had spent three days observing the fighting at Taierzhuang and confirmed that “Chinese troops in the field there won a well-deserved victory over Japanese troops, administering the first defeat that Japanese troops have suffered in the field in modern times.” This reinforced Johnson's view that Japan would need to apply far more force than it had anticipated to pacify China. He noted that the mood in unoccupied China had likewise shifted. “Conditions here at Hankow have changed from an atmosphere of pessimism to one of dogged optimism. The Government is more united under Chiang and there is a feeling that the future is not entirely hopeless due to the recent failure of Japanese arms at Hsuchow [Xuzhou] . . . I find no evidence for a desire for a peace by compromise among  Chinese, and doubt whether the Government could persuade its army or its people to accept such a peace. The spirit of resistance is slowly spreading among the people who are awakening to a feeling that this is their war. Japanese air raids in the interior and atrocities by Japanese soldiers upon civilian populations are responsible for this stiffening of the people.”. The British had long been wary of Chiang Kai-shek, but Sir Archibald Clark Kerr, the British ambassador in China, wrote to the new British foreign secretary, Lord Halifax, on April 29, 1938, shortly after the Taierzhuang victory, and offered grudging credit to China's leader “[Chiang] has now become the symbol of Chinese unity, which he himself has so far failed to achieve, but which the Japanese are well on the way to achieving for him . . . The days when Chinese people did not care who governed them seem to have gone . . . my visit to Central China from out of the gloom and depression of Shanghai has left me stimulated and more than disposed to believe that provided the financial end can be kept up Chinese resistance may be so prolonged and effective that in the end the Japanese effort may be frustrated . . . Chiang Kai-shek is obstinate and difficult to deal with . . . Nonetheless [the Nationalists] are making in their muddlIn the exhilaration of a rare victory”. Chiang pressured Tang and Li to build on their success, increasing the area's troop strength to about 450,000. Yet the Chinese Army remained plagued by deeper structural issues. The parochialism that had repeatedly hampered Chiang's forces over the past six months resurfaced. Although the various generals had agreed to unite in a broader war of resistance, each prioritized the safety of his own troops, wary of any move by Chiang to centralize power. For example, Li Zongren refrained from utilizing his top Guangxi forces at Taierzhuang, attempting to shift the bulk of the fighting onto Tang Enbo's units. The generals were aware of the fates of two colleagues: Han Fuju of Shandong was executed for his refusal to fight, while Zhang Xueliang of Manchuria had allowed Chiang to reduce the size of his northeastern army and ended up under house arrest. They were justified in distrusting Chiang. He truly believed, after all, that provincial armies should come under a national military command led by himself. From a national-unity standpoint, Chiang's aim was not unreasonable. But it bred suspicion among other military leaders that participation in the anti-Japanese war would erode their own power. The fragmented command structure also hindered logistics, making ammunition and food supplies to the front unreliable and easy to cut off a good job of things in extremely difficult circumstances. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. The Chinese victory at the battle of Tairzhuang was a much needed morale boost after the long string of defeats to Japan. As incredible as it was however, it would amount to merely a bloody nose for the Imperial Japanese Army. Now Japan would unleash even more devastation to secure Xuzhou and ultimately march upon Wuhan.

Last time we spoke about the battle of Nanjing. In December 1937, as the battle for Nanjing unfolded, terror inundated its residents, seeking safety amid the turmoil. General Tang Shengzhi rallied the Chinese forces, determined to defend against the advancing Japanese army. Fierce fighting erupted at the Gate of Enlightenment, where the determined Chinese soldiers resisted merciless assaults while tragedy loomed. By mid-December, the Japanese made substantial advances, employing relentless artillery fire to breach Nanjing's defenses. Leaders called for strategic retreats, yet amid chaos and despair, many young Chinese soldiers, driven by nationalism, continued to resist. By December 13, Nanjing succumbed to the invaders, marking a tragic chapter in history. As destruction enveloped the city, the resilience of its defenders became a poignant tale of courage amidst the horrors of war, forever marking Nanjing as a symbol of enduring hope in the face of despair.   #168 The Nanjing Massacre Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. So obvious disclaimer, today we will be talking about, arguably one of if not the most horrific war atrocities ever committed. To be blunt, it may have been worse than some of the things we talked about back during the fall of the Ming Dynasty, when bandit armies raped and pillaged cities. The Nanjing Massacre as its become known is well documented by both Chinese and foreign sources. There is an abundance of primary sources, many well verified. Its going to be extremely graphic, I am going to try and tell it to the fullest. So if you got a weak stomach perhaps sit this one out, you have been warned. Chen Yiding began evacuating his troops from the area surrounding the Gate of Enlightenment before dawn on December 13. En route to Xiaguan, he took the time to visit a dozen of his soldiers housed in a makeshift hospital located in an old cemetery. These men were too severely injured to participate in the evacuation, and Chen had to leave them with only a few words of encouragement. Little did he know, within days, they would all perish in their beds, victims of the Japanese forces. Upon arriving in Xiaguan later that morning, Chen was met with grim news: his divisional commander had crossed the Yangtze River with his chief of staff the previous afternoon. Now, he was on his own. He didn't linger near the riverside chaos, quickly realizing there was nothing he could do there. Instead, he chose to move downstream, hoping to find a secure spot for himself and his soldiers to wait out the next few days before devising an escape from the war zone.  He was fortunate, for soon the Japanese would live up to their notorious reputation developed during their advance from Shanghai; they were not inclined to take prisoners. That afternoon, several hundred Chinese soldiers arrived at the northern end of the Safety Zone. The committee responsible for the area stated that they could offer no assistance. In a misguided attempt to boost morale, they suggested that if the soldiers surrendered and promised not to engage in combat, the Japanese would likely show them "merciful treatment." This optimism was woefully misplaced. Later that same day, Japanese troops entered the zone, dragging out 200 Chinese men, the majority of them soldiers, for execution just outside the city. On December 13, Japanese soldiers started patrolling the riverbank, shooting at anything and anyone floating downstream. Their comrades aboard naval vessels in the river cheered them on, applauding each time they struck another helpless victim in the water. Civilians were not spared either. While traveling through downtown Nanjing as the battle concluded, Rabe observed dead men and women every 100 to 200 yards, most of them shot in the back. A long line of Chinese men marched down the street, numbering in the hundreds, all destined for death. In a cruel twist, they were compelled to carry a large Japanese flag. They were herded into a vacant lot by a couple of Japanese soldiers and as recalled by American correspondent Archibald Steele "There, they were brutally shot dead in small groups. One Japanese soldier stood over the growing pile of corpses, firing into any bodies that showed movement." The killings commenced almost immediately after the fall of Nanjing. The victorious Japanese spread out into the city streets, seeking victims. Those unfortunate enough to be captured faced instant execution or were taken to larger killing fields to meet a grim fate alongside other Chinese prisoners. Initially, the Japanese targeted former soldiers, whether real or imagined, but within hours, the scope of victims expanded to include individuals of all age groups and genders. By the end of the first day of occupation, civilian bodies littered the streets of downtown Nanjing at a rate of roughly one per block. The defenseless and innocent were subjected to murder, torture, and humiliation in a relentless spree of violence that persisted for six harrowing weeks. At the time of the attack, Nanjing felt eerily abandoned, houses stood boarded up, vehicles lay toppled in the streets, and the once-ubiquitous rickshaws had vanished. However, hundreds of thousands remained hidden indoors, seeking refuge. The most visible sign of the city's new rulers was the display of the Japanese flag. On the morning of December 14, the Rising Sun flag was hoisted across the city, seen in front of private homes, businesses, and public buildings. Many of these flags were hastily made, often a simple white sheet with a red rag affixed, hoping to be spared. As the days progressed, horrifying accounts of violence began to emerge. A barber, the sole survivor among eight people in his shop when the Japanese arrived, was admitted to a hospital with a stab wound that had nearly severed his head from his body, damaging all muscles at the back of his neck down to his spinal canal. A woman suffered a brutal throat wound, while another pregnant woman was bayoneted in the abdomen, resulting in the death of her unborn child. A man witnessed his wife being stabbed through the heart and then saw his child hurled from a window to the street several floors below. These are but a few stories of individual atrocities committed. Alongside this there were mass executions, predominantly targeting young able-bodied men, in an effort to weaken Nanjing and deprive it of any potential resistance in the future. American professor, Lewis Smythe recalled “The disarmed soldier problem was our most serious one for the first three days, but it was soon resolved, as the Japanese shot all of them.” On the evening of December 15, the Japanese rounded up 1,300 former soldiers from the Safety Zone, binding them in groups of about 100 and marching them away in silence. A group of foreigners, permitted to leave Nanjing on a Japanese gunboat, accidentally became witnesses to the ensuing slaughter. While waiting for their vessel, they took a brief walk along the riverbank and stumbled upon a scene of mass execution, observing the Japanese shooting the men one by one in the back of the neck. “We observed about 100 such executions until the Japanese officer in charge noticed us and ordered us to leave immediately”. Not all killings were premeditated; many occurred impulsively. A common example was when Japanese soldiers led lines of Chinese POWs to holding points, tightly bound together with ropes. Every few yards, a Japanese soldier would stand guard with a fixed bayonet aimed at the prisoners as they trudged forward. Suddenly, one of the prisoners slipped, causing a domino effect as he fell, dragging down the men in front of and behind him. The entire group soon found themselves collapsed on the ground, struggling to stand. The Japanese guards lost their patience, jabbing their bayonets into the writhing bodies until none remained alive. In one of the largest massacres, Japanese troops from the Yamada Detachment, including the 65th Infantry Regiment, systematically executed between 17,000 and 20,000 Chinese prisoners from December 15 to 17. These prisoners were taken to the banks of the Yangtze River near Mufushan, where they were machine-gunned to death. The bodies were then disposed of by either burning or flushing them downstream. Recent research by Ono Kenji has revealed that these mass killings were premeditated and carried out systematically, in accordance with orders issued directly by Prince Asaka. A soldier from the IJA's 13th Division described killing wounded survivors of the Mufushan massacre in his diary “I figured that I'd never get another chance like this, so I stabbed thirty of the damned Chinks. Climbing atop the mountain of corpses, I felt like a real devil-slayer, stabbing again and again, with all my might. 'Ugh, ugh,' the Chinks groaned. There were old folks as well as kids, but we killed them lock, stock, and barrel. I also borrowed a buddy's sword and tried to decapitate some. I've never experienced anything so unusual”. Frequently, the Japanese just left their victims wherever they fell. Corpses began to accumulate in the streets, exposed to the elements and onlookers. Cars constantly were forced to run over corpses. Corpses were scavenged by stray dogs, which, in turn, were consumed by starving people. The water became toxic; workers in the Safety Zone discovered ponds clogged with human remains. In other instances, the Japanese gathered their machine-gunned or bayoneted victims into large heaps, doused them in kerosene, and set them ablaze. Archibald Steele wrote for the Chicago Daily News on December 17th “I saw a grisly scene at the north gate, where what was once a group of 200 men had become a smoldering mass of flesh and bones, so severely burned around the neck and head that it was difficult to believe he was still human.” During the chaos in the beginning, whereupon the Japanese had not yet fully conquered the city, its defenders scrambled desperately to escape before it was too late. Individually or in small groups, they sought vulnerabilities in the enemy lines, acutely aware that their survival hinged on their success. Months of conflict had trained them to expect no mercy if captured; previous experiences had instilled in them the belief that a swift death at the hands of the Japanese would be a fortunate outcome. On December 12, amid intense artillery fire and aerial bombardment, General Tang Sheng-chi issued the order for his troops to retreat. However, conflicting directives and a breakdown in discipline transformed the ensuing events into a disaster. While some Chinese units successfully crossed the river, a far greater number were ensnared in the widespread chaos that engulfed the city. In their desperation to evade capture, some Chinese soldiers resorted to stripping civilians of their clothing to disguise themselves, while many others were shot by their own supervisory units as they attempted to flee.Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of individual escape stories emerged from this period. In some rare instances, entire units, even up to divisional strength, successfully infiltrated Japanese lines to reach safety. For others, such as the 156th Division, there were detailed plans outlining escape routes from Nanjing. Several soldiers and officers adhered to this three-day trek, skillfully evading Japanese patrols until they reached Ningguo, located south of the capital. Nonetheless, these cases were exceptions. The vast majority of soldiers from China's defeated army faced significant risk and were more likely to be captured than to escape. Some of Chiang Kai-shek's most elite units suffered near total annihilation. Only about a thousand soldiers from the 88th Division managed to cross the Yangtze safely, as did another thousand from the Training Division, while a mere 300 from the 87th Division survived. Even for units like the 156th Division, the escape plans were only effective for those who learned of them. These plans were hurriedly disseminated through the ranks as defeat loomed, leaving mere chance to determine who received the information. Many stayed trapped in Nanjing, which had become a fatal snare. One day, Japanese soldiers visited schools within Nanjing's Safety Zone, aware that these locations sheltered many refugees. They called for all former soldiers to step forward, promising safety in exchange for labor. Many believed that the long days of hiding were finally coming to an end and complied with the request. However, they were led to an abandoned house, where they were stripped naked and bound together in groups of five. Outside, a large bonfire had been ignited. They were then bayoneted and, while still alive, thrown onto the flames. Only a few managed to escape and share the horrifying tale. The Japanese were of course well aware that numerous soldiers were hiding in Nanjing, disguised as locals, evidenced by the piles of military uniforms and equipment accumulating in the streets. Consequently, they initiated a systematic search for soldiers within hours of taking control. The Safety Zone was not spared, as the Japanese Army suspected that Chinese soldiers had sought refuge there. On December 16, they raided Ginling College, despite a policy prohibiting the admission of men, except for elderly residents in a designated dining room. The soldiers brought axes to force open doors that were not immediately complied with and positioned six machine guns on the campus, prepared to fire at anyone attempting to escape. Ultimately, they found nothing. In cases where they did encounter young men of military age, the soldiers lined them up, scrutinizing for distinct telltale features such as close-cropped hair, helmet marks, or shoulder blisters from carrying a rifle. Many men, who had never served in the military but bore callouses from hard manual labor, were captured based on the assumption that such marks indicated military experience. As noted by Goerge Fitch the head of Nanjing's YMCA “Rickshaw coolies, carpenters, and other laborers are frequently taken”. The Japanese employed additional, more cunning tactics to root out soldiers. During an inspection of a camp within the Safety Zone, they struggled to get the approximately 6,000 men and women to surrender. Before leaving, they resorted to one last trick. “Attention!” a voice commanded in flawless Chinese. Many young men, conditioned by months or years of military training, instinctively responded. Even though most realized their mistake almost immediately, it was too late; the Japanese herded them away. Given the scale of the slaughter, efforts were soon organized to facilitate the killing and disposal of as many individuals as possible in the shortest time. Rows of prisoners were mowed down by machine-gun fire, while those injured were finished off with single bullets or bayonets. Much of the mass murder occurred near the Yangtze River, where victims could be disposed of easily by being pushed into the water, hoping the current would carry them away.As the weeks progressed and the Japanese grew increasingly concerned about the possibility of former soldiers still at large, the dragnet tightened. Beginning in late December, Japanese authorities implemented a registration system for all residents of Nanjing. At Ginling College, this process lasted about a week and resulted in scenes of almost indescribable chaos, as the Japanese also decided to register residents from the surrounding areas on campus. First, the men were registered, followed by the women. Often, women attended the registration to help save their husbands and sons, who would otherwise have been taken as suspected former soldiers. Despite these efforts, a total of 28 men were ultimately seized during the registration process at Ginling College. Each individual who registered received a document from the authorities. However, it soon became clear that this paper provided little protection against the caprices of the Japanese military. That winter in Nanjing, everyone was a potential victim. While systematic mass killings primarily targeted young men of military age, every category of people faced death in the days and weeks following the Japanese conquest of Nanjing. Reports indicated that fifty police officers from the Safety Zone were executed for permitting Chinese soldiers to enter the area. The city's firefighters were taken away to meet an uncertain fate, and six street sweepers were killed inside their dwelling. Like an uncontrollable epidemic, the victors' bloodlust seemed to escalate continuously, seeking out new victims. When the Japanese ordered the Safety Zone committee to supply workers for the electricity plant in Xiaguan to restore its operations, they provided 54 individuals. Within days, 43 of them were dead. Although young men were especially targeted, the Japanese made no distinctions based on age or sex. American missionary John G. Magee documented numerous instances of indiscriminate killings, including the chilling account of two families nearly exterminated. Stabbings, shootings, and rapes marked the slaughter of three generations of innocents, including toddlers aged four and two; the older child was bayoneted, while the younger was struck in the head with a sword. The only survivors were a badly injured eight-year-old girl and her four-year-old sister, who spent the following fortnight beside their mother's decaying body. The violence was often accompanied by various forms of humiliation, as if to utterly break the spirit of the conquered people. One woman lost her parents and three children. When she purchased a coffin for her father, a Japanese soldier tore the lid off and discarded the old man's body in the street. Another soldier, in a drunken stupor, raped a Chinese woman and then vomited on her. In yet another incident, a soldier encountered a family of six huddled over a pot of thin rice soup; he stepped over them and urinated into their pot before continuing on his way, laughing heartlessly. The atrocities committed at Nanjing were not akin to something like the Holocaust. Within places like Auschwitz killings became industrialized and often took on an impersonal, unemotional character. The murders in Nanjing had an almost intimate quality, with each individual perpetrator bearing the blood of their victims on their hands, sometimes literally. In this sense, the Nanjing atrocities resemble the early Holocaust killings executed by German Einsatzgruppen in Eastern Europe, prior to the implementation of gas chambers. How many died during the Nanjing Massacre? Eyewitnesses at the time recognized that the Japanese behavior had few immediate precedents. Missionary John Magee compared the situation to the Turkish genocide of the Armenians during World War I, which was still fresh in memory. Despite this, no consensus emerged regarding the exact number of fatalities, a state of affairs that would persist for nearly eight decades. In his first comprehensive account of the atrocities following the conquest of the capital, New York Times correspondent Tillman Durdin reported that 33,000 Chinese soldiers lost their lives in Nanjing, including 20,000 who were executed. Foreign correspondent Frank Oliver claimed in a 1939 publication that 24,000 men, women, and children were put to death during the first month of the city's occupation. As time progressed, much larger figures began to circulate. After returning to Germany in 1938, John Rabe held a lecture where he cited European estimates that between 50,000 and 60,000 people had died. In February 1942, Chiang Kai-shek stated that 200,000 were slaughtered within one week. The Nanjing tribunal established by Chiang's government to try Japanese war criminals in 1946 and 1947 reported that more than 300,000 lives had been lost following the city's fall. The highest estimate recorded comes from a Chinese military expert, who put the death toll at 430,000. Currently, the figure most commonly accepted in official Chinese media is 300,000, a number also cited by various authors sympathetic to China's contemporary regime. The debate over the Nanjing death toll has been a complex and extensive discussion, likely to remain unresolved to everyone's satisfaction. As missionary and Nanjing University teacher Miner Searle Bates remarked when he testified before the International Military Tribunal for the Far East in July 1946, “The scope of this killing was so extensive that no one can provide a complete picture of it.” On December 16, American missionary Minnie Vautrin witnessed a truck passing by Ginling College, loaded with eight to ten girls. When they saw the Western woman, they cried out, "Jiu ming! Jiu ming!" which means “Help! Help!” Vautrin felt powerless, fully aware of the fate that awaited them. As early as Tuesday of that week, she had documented rumors of girls being raped. The following night, women were taken in large numbers from their homes. Another missionary, John Magee wrote to his wife “The most horrible thing now is the raping of the women, which has been going on in the most shameless way I have ever known”. A tentative list compiled by Lewis Smythe detailed instances of rape occurring soon after the Japanese Army entered Nanjing: four girls at noon on December 14; four more women that evening; three female refugees on December 15; and a young wife around the same time. The accounts revealed chilling individual horrors. A 15-year-old girl was taken to a barracks housing 200 to 300 Japanese soldiers and locked in a room, where she was raped multiple times daily. Victims ranged from as young as 11 to over 80. American correspondent Edgar Snow recalled “Discards were often bayoneted by drunken soldiers,. Frequently, mothers had to witness their babies being beheaded, only to then be raped themselves.” Y.M.C.A. head George Fitch reported the case of a woman whose five-month-old infant was deliberately smothered by a soldier to silence its cries while he raped her. Such acts were a gruesome form of humiliation, designed to demonstrate that the vanquished were powerless to protect their own families. Japanese soldier Takokoro Kozo recalled “Women suffered most. No matter how young or old, they all could not escape the fate of being raped. We sent out coal trucks to the city streets and villages to seize a lot of women. And then each of them was allocated to fifteen to twenty soldiers for sexual intercourse and abuse. After raping we would also kill them”. Women were frequently killed immediately after being raped, often through horrific mutilations, such as being penetrated with bayonets, long bamboo sticks, or other objects. For instance, one six-months-pregnant woman was stabbed sixteen times in the face and body, with one stab penetrating her abdomen and killing her unborn child. In another case, a young woman had a beer bottle forcibly inserted into her vagina after being raped, and was subsequently shot.  On December 19, 1937, the Reverend James M. McCallum wrote in his diary “I know not where to end. Never I have heard or read such brutality. Rape! Rape! Rape! We estimate at least 1,000 cases a night and many by day. In case of resistance or anything that seems like disapproval, there is a bayonet stab or a bullet... People are hysterical... Women are being carried off every morning, afternoon and evening. The whole Japanese army seems to be free to go and come as it pleases, and to do whatever it pleases”.  Rabe wrote in his diary dated December 17 “wo Japanese soldiers have climbed over the garden wall and are about to break into our house. When I appear they give the excuse that they saw two Chinese soldiers climb over the wall. When I show them my party badge, they return the same way. In one of the houses in the narrow street behind my garden wall, a woman was raped, and then wounded in the neck with a bayonet. I managed to get an ambulance so we can take her to Kulou Hospital... Last night up to 1,000 women and girls are said to have been raped, about 100 girls at Ginling College...alone. You hear nothing but rape. If husbands or brothers intervene, they're shot. What you hear and see on all sides is the brutality and bestiality of the Japanese soldiers”. In a documentary film about the Nanjing Massacre, In the Name of the Emperor, a former Japanese soldier named Shiro Azuma spoke candidly about the process of rape and murder in Nanjing. “At first we used some kinky words like Pikankan. Pi means "hip", kankan means "look". Pikankan means, "Let's see a woman open up her legs." Chinese women didn't wear under-pants. Instead, they wore trousers tied with a string. There was no belt. As we pulled the string, the buttocks were exposed. We "pikankan". We looked. After a while we would say something like, "It's my day to take a bath," and we took turns raping them. It would be all right if we only raped them. I shouldn't say all right. But we always stabbed and killed them. Because dead bodies don't talk”. Without anyone to defend them, the women of Nanjing resorted to desperate measures for their safety. The young and attractive cut their hair and smeared soot on their faces to diminish their allure. Others donned boys' clothes or the garments of elderly women. However, the Japanese were well aware of these tactics and were not easily deceived. As American correspondent Snow described, it was an orgy of unprecedented debauchery, involving not only the lower ranks of the Japanese military but also officers who turned their quarters into harems, bedding a new captive each night. Open-air sexual assaults were common. During the first ten days of occupation, groups of Japanese soldiers entered the Ginling campus ten to twenty times daily, brandishing fixed bayonets stained with fresh blood. So overwhelmed, Vautrin decided to prioritize saving lives over salvaging possessions, spending those early days frantically moving across campus to prevent marauding soldiers from taking away women. A particularly tense situation unfolded on the evening of December 17, when Vautrin and other staff members at Ginling College were called to the front of the campus to confront a group of Japanese soldiers. Earlier, Vautrin had received documentation from another officer affirming that the area was a legitimate refugee camp. The soldiers torn up the document in front of her. For hours, with armed Japanese soldiers encircling them, Vautrin and her colleagues were left standing or kneeling, uncertain of what awaited them. Gradually, it became clear that they had been lured to the front gate so that other soldiers could enter through a side entrance and abduct twelve women. As Vautrin recalled “Never shall I forget the scene. The dried leaves rattling, the moaning of the wind, the cries of women being led away.” The staff remained at the entrance until 11:00 pm, fearing that hiding soldiers might fire on them if they moved. This was the only time that Vautrin was unable to prevent rape, a failure that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Some Japanese soldiers, seeking young girls, ordered a middle-aged Chinese woman to assist them in finding targets. When she either could not or would not comply, they shot a rifle across her abdomen, narrowly missing and taking away “three handbreadths of flesh.” When the Japanese Army entered Nanjing, little damage had been inflicted on the buildings, as noted by U.S. missionary James McCallum at the end of December. On the first day of their occupation, Japanese soldiers immediately dispersed into Nanjing in small groups, breaking shop windows and looting the goods within. They carried away their spoils in crates and stolen rickshaws. Initially, the looting was partly a makeshift response to the poor logistics of the Japanese Army. Combat soldiers had arrived well ahead of their supply lines and faced severe food shortages until the roads reopened and the Yangtze River became navigable.  Every building in Nanjing was looted and turned upside down. Everything not nailed down was stolen: doors and window frames were removed, safes opened with rifle shots or grenades. Japanese soldiers often pillaged property while the owners were present, threatening them with bayonets. Abandoned cars littered the streets, typically overturned and stripped of useful items, including batteries. Like Russian soldiers in Berlin seven and a half years later, the rank-and-file soldiers displayed a particular interest in watches. As the scale of plunder grew, transportation became scarce. By the end of December, looting was being conducted using trucks. When vehicles were unavailable, Japanese soldiers resorted to wheelbarrows and even children's prams. Mules, donkeys, and people were also commandeered. Just as during their advance from Shanghai to Nanjing, the Chinese were forced to assist in looting their own homes. A common sight was a Japanese soldier leading a group of Chinese down the street, laden with stolen goods. While Chinese soldiers had also engaged in some looting during their evacuation of Nanjing, it was nothing compared to the scale of the Japanese victors' plunder. The Chinese forces had deliberately avoided breaking into foreign buildings, a distinction that the Japanese disregarded. The American, British, and German embassies, along with the ambassadors' residences, were ransacked, stripped of everything from bedding and money to watches, rugs, and artwork. The American School was looted, and its wall breached to remove the piano. As the Japanese stripped the city, they also began to burn it. While the winter sky could have been sparkling, it was instead filled with smoke from thousands of fires across the city. Some fires resulted from carelessness, such as when soldiers cooked meat from a stolen cow over a bonfire, accidentally igniting an ancient building. Others were acts of mindless vandalism. The Nanking Music Shop saw all its instruments and sheets piled in the street and set ablaze. The extent of the massacre can, to some degree, be linked to a breakdown in discipline among Japanese soldiers. Released from weeks or months of hardship on the battlefield, many soldiers experienced an intoxicating sense of freedom, resembling misbehaving boys. The deterioration of order among Japanese soldiers astonished those familiar with the stories of the stringent discipline within Japan's armed forces. Observers commented on soldiers laughing at proclamations from their own officers or tearing up orders and tossing them to the ground. Some foreign witnesses speculated that this lack of discipline was exacerbated by the absence of visible individual numbers on soldiers, making it challenging to identify wrongdoers. The issue also stemmed from the quality of the Japanese officer corps and their ability to manage a large army of young men, many of whom were experiencing freedom from societal constraints for the first time. Not all officers rose to the occasion; Vautrin witnessed an officer almost fail to prevent a soldier from raping a girl. Even worse, some officers transitioned from passive bystanders, guilty by inaction, to active participants in prolonged rape sessions. While a few attempted to instill discipline among their troops, their efforts often fell short. A Japanese colonel, for instance, slapped a soldier attempting to rape a Chinese woman. Another general was seen striking a private who had bayoneted a Chinese man and threatened two Germans, raising questions about how much of this discipline was merely performative for the benefit of foreign observers. Ultimately, disciplinary measures had little impact. As Rabe noted in his diary dated December 18th “The soldiers have almost no regard for their officers”. The absence of effective higher leadership during this critical period likely exacerbated the problem. General Matsui had been suffering from malaria since November 3, which left him largely incapacitated from December 5 to 15. A subordinate later testified that he had been informed of "incidents of stealing, killing, assault, and rape and had become quite enraged.” Although Matsui may have been displeased by the unruly behavior of his soldiers, it is conceivable that his inaction led to even greater levels of atrocity than might have occurred otherwise. He insisted on holding a victory parade on December 17, immediately after recovering from his illness, which likely triggered a security frenzy among Japanese officers concerned about the safety of Prince Asaka, uncle to Emperor Hirohito. This reaction likely prompted a surge in searches for, and executions of, suspected former Chinese soldiers. The Japanese high command in Tokyo was also aware of the unraveling discipline. On January 4, 1938, Army Headquarters sent Matsui an unusually direct message ordering him to restore control among his troops: Our old friend Ishiwara Kanji bitterly criticized the situation and placed the blame on Matsui “We earnestly request enhancement of military discipline and public morals. The morale of the Japanese had never been at a lower level.” A detachment of military police eventually arrived in Nanjing, leading to some improvements, though their presence was mixed. Some officers stationed outside the Safety Zone ignored atrocities occurring before them and, in some cases, participated directly. At Ginling College, the experience with military police was decidedly uneven. The first group of about 25 men tasked with guarding the college ended up committing rape themselves.  Despite frequent visits from Japanese soldiers in search of loot and victims to assault, the Safety Zone was perceived as successful. Many believed that both the zone and the work of its managing committee were responsible for saving countless lives. W. Plumer Mills, vice chairman of the committee, noted that the zone “did give some protection during the fighting…but the chief usefulness of the Zone has been the measure of protection it has afforded to the people since the occupation.” Shortly after the Japanese conquest, the population of the Safety Zone swelled to a quarter million people. Around 70,000 of these were organized into 25 pre-arranged camps, while the majority sought accommodation wherever possible. Makeshift “mat-shed villages” sprang up in vacant areas throughout the zone. Nanjing quickly became informally divided into two distinct cities. Outside the Safety Zone, the atmosphere was ghostly, with a population dwindling to around 10,000, while within the zone, bustling activity thrived. Shanghai Road, which ran through the center of the zone and had once been a wide boulevard, transformed into a hub of barter and trade, resembling a festive market during Chinese New Year, overflowing with makeshift stalls, tea shops, and restaurants, making it nearly impossible to traverse by vehicle. The Japanese held a degree of respect for Westerners, although this sentiment was not universal and did not always offer protection. Many foreigners tried to safeguard their homes by displaying their national flags outside, but they often found that Japanese soldiers would break in regardless. To protect Ginling College, American flags were displayed at eight locations around the compound, and a large 30-foot American flag was spread out in the center. However, this proved to be “of absolutely no use” in preventing Japanese soldiers from entering the area. Despite this, there was some limited outright hostility towards Americans. Stronger negative sentiments were directed towards the Russians and the British, who were viewed as representatives of nations with competing interests against the Japanese Empire. The Japanese displayed particular reverence for one nationality, the Germans. Rabe would shout “Deutsch” or “Hitler” to command respect from unruly Japanese soldiers or show them his swastika armband, indicating his allegiance to the Nazi Party. Germany was seen as a rising power and rapidly becoming one of Japan's closest allies, a fellow outcast in global politics. However, as time passed, the limits of this respect became evident; individual soldiers began searching for women within the German embassy compound, and eventually, nearly all German buildings were broken into. Despite all the challenges, there was no doubting that foreigners offered a form of protection unavailable elsewhere. Within days of the Japanese conquest, women and children began appearing in large numbers outside Rabe's home, kneeling and knocking their heads on the ground as they begged to be let into his already overcrowded garden.  At 1:00 pm on January 1, the Chinese were proclaimed rulers of their own city, or at least this is what Japanese propaganda sought to convey. On the first day of the new year, a puppet government was established in a ceremony held just north of the Safety Zone. A new five-bar flag, the one associated with the early Chinese republic was raised, signaling a patriotic spirit in a gesture that felt unconvincing. As the new leaders took office, vowing to resurrect their city, buildings burned all around them. The ceremony marked the culmination of two weeks of preparatory work. As early as December 15, General Matsui met with a local Chinese leader, referred to in the Japanese commander's diary only as Chen, who had been selected to assist in forming this new puppet government. Chen had been present in the northern port city of Tianjin two years earlier when Matsui helped establish the Chinese chapter of the Greater Asia Association. He subscribed to Matsui's concepts of “Asia for Asians,” but cautioned that Chinese fears of the Japanese would complicate the governance of the conquered territories.   The new government aligned with the Japanese army to implement a system of indoctrination centered on conservatism, primarily targeting the youth, who were perceived as most likely to resist. The indoctrination included messages like, “You must follow the old custom in marriage, letting your parents make arrangements for you. You must not go to theaters or study English, etc. China and Japan must become one, and then the nation will be strong.” Few were deceived by these attempts to win hearts and minds. The government-sanctioned newspaper, the Xinshengbao, or New Life Journal, was immediately dismissed as a crude vehicle for propaganda. Additionally, the government made minimal progress in more urgent tasks, such as restoring peacetime conditions and revitalizing Nanjing's economy, a challenge made formidable by Japanese brutality. Given the fate of the first group of volunteers at the electricity plant after the conquest, no one could be found to fill the needed 40 to 45 worker slots. The same was true for firefighters. The predictable outcomes followed. Water and limited power were restored to parts of the city by January 2, but within two days, the city was plunged back into darkness. By January 13, the waterworks were still non-operational, and the power supply remained intermittent while fires continued to blaze well into January. The government was not taken seriously, struggling even with the Japanese. It quickly built a reputation for being venal and corrupt. One of its names was the Nanjing Autonomous Government, which a clever member of the foreign community humorously rebranded as the “Automatic Government,” reflecting its actual role as a puppet regime devoid of autonomy.  While Nanjing endured its own nightmarish reality, the city's inhabitants had little understanding of the events transpiring beyond its walls. The first radio news that reached foreign residents came on January 7, reporting Japanese air raids on Wuhan. There were also unconfirmed rumors suggesting that Hangzhou was experiencing similar horrors to those in Nanjing, but details were scarce. It was perhaps expected that reports from afar would be limited in wartime, yet information about situations closer to Nanjing was similarly scarce, and the horrific truth gradually dawned on the city's populace. A Westerner who managed to escape east from Nanjing in early January reported that all villages within a 20-mile radius had been burned to the ground. Outside the city, Japanese soldiers were randomly shooting civilians, including children. A German who drove an hour from Nanjing encountered no living souls. After the conquest, Chinese who managed to leave Nanjing reported that every pond between the city and Juyong was filled with the decaying corpses of people and animals. Many of the atrocities committed during this time appeared to stem from boredom and a search for cheap thrills. American missionary Magee witnessed a young farmer who had sustained severe burns on his upper body. After the soldiers demanded money from him and he failed to comply, they doused him in kerosene and set him ablaze. Similarly, a young boy suffered horrific burns after he failed to lead a group of soldiers to his “mama.” People in the rural areas surrounding Nanjing faced danger from numerous directions. Not only were they potential targets for marauding Japanese soldiers, but they were also at risk from bands of Chinese outlaws, who preyed on the large influx of refugees on the roads and the few souls who remained at home despite the fierce conflict raging nearby. Magee encountered a 49-year-old woman whose home was invaded by bandits looking for money. “When she and her husband said they had none they battered her head and breast with a stool and burned her feet until she revealed their savings of between four and five dollars.” In the absence of a formal government, informal authority was often wielded by secret societies. For instance, the “Big Sword Society” reportedly offered protection not only against Japanese soldiers and local bandits but also against small groups of Chinese troops seeking to escape back to their lines and resorting to theft for survival. What a blast from the past eh?   Rumors began to circulate in early January 1938 that the Chinese Army was preparing to retake Nanjing and that Chiang Kai-shek's soldiers had already been spotted inside the city walls. Many of the small makeshift Japanese flags that had appeared outside private homes in mid-December suddenly vanished, and some Chinese residents who had been wearing Japanese armbands hastily removed them. There was even talk of launching an attack on the Japanese embassy. Word spread that the Japanese were becoming frightened and were searching for Chinese clothing to disguise themselves as civilians in the event of a retreat. In reality, none of this was true. The Chinese Army was still reorganizing after the costly campaign that had forced it from Shanghai to Nanjing and then further into the interior. However, this did not imply that the Japanese had achieved complete control over the city. After six weeks of terror, Nanjing began to reassert itself. Japanese soldiers faced fatalities and injuries in skirmishes with members of secret organizations like the “Yellow Spears” and the “Big Sword Society.”  After the New Year, the population within the Safety Zone began to dwindle. A week into 1938, the number of refugees at Ginling College, which had peaked at more than 10,000, fell to around 5,000. Less than a month after the conquest, many former residents started returning to their homes during the day and then coming back to the college at night. Still, the city was far from safe, and even for those whose homes were located within the Safety Zone, Vautrin believed it was unwise to stray too far from her refugee camp. One month after Japanese forces had surged through its gates, Nanjing was a thoroughly devastated city, with fires still being set every day and night. By mid-January, estimates suggested that more than half the city had been burned down, with the main shopping district completely gone, as well as the entertainment area surrounding the Confucius Temple. Nevertheless, slowly but surely, the shell-shocked city began to pull itself together and started the long process of renewal. Vautrin considered opening an industrial school offering four-month courses for women to help compensate for the loss of labor resulting from the indiscriminate killing of men. Chinese New Year fell on January 31, 1938. Celebrated throughout Asia, it was also recognized by the Japanese. It was a “dismal, muddy” day, and as many feared, soldiers who appeared “too happy” from excessive drinking attempted to enter the Safety Zone in search of women but were stopped. The sound of thousands of firecrackers filled the air, fulfilling the age-old purpose of scaring away evil spirits. Refugees in Rabe's compound presented him with a large red silk banner adorned with a gold Chinese inscription. His Chinese friends translated the message for him “You are the living Buddha For a hundred thousand people”. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In December 1937, the battle for Nanjing left its residents in terror as the Japanese army advanced. Following the invasion, a horrific massacre began, with thousands targeted in brutal killings, torture, and humiliation. Civilians and soldiers alike were indiscriminately slain, and the Japanese military showed no mercy. To this day the Nanjing Massacre stands as a testament to the unbelievable evil man holds within him.

Hello Youtube Members, Patreons and Pacific War week by week listeners. Yes this was intended to be an exclusive episode to join the 29 others over on my Youtube Membership and Patreon, but since we are drawing to the end of the Pacific War week by week series, I felt compelled to make some special episodes to answer some of the bigger questions. Why did Japan, or better said, why did Emperor Hirohito decide to finally surrender? It seems obvious on the face of it, but there is actually a lot more to it than bombs or Soviet invasions. I guess you can call this episode a teaser or a shameless plug for going over to my Youtube Membership or Patreon. There's honestly a lot of interesting subjects such as ‘why was the japanese army so brutal”, “Hirohito's war time responsibility”, “the 4 part Kanji Ishiwara series”. Thus if you liked this one please show some love and check out my other stuff on my Youtube Membership or over at www.patreon.com/pacificwarchannel.   Stating all of that lets just jump right into it.   We first need to start off briefly looking at Emperor Hirohito.    Upon taking the throne, Emperor Hirohito in 1926 Hirohito inherited a financial crisis and a military that was increasingly seizing control of governmental policies. From the beginning, despite what many of you older audience members may have been told, Hirohito intensely followed all military decisions. Hirohito chose when to act and when not to. When the Kwantung Army assassinated Zhang Zuolin, he indulged their insubordination. This emboldened them to invade Manchuria in 1931, whereupon Hirohito was furious and demanded they be reigned in. Attempts were made, but they were heavily undermined by radicals. Hirohito could have put his foot down, but he chose not to. On September 22nd, at 4:20pm Hirohito said to the IJA Chief of General staff, Kanaya Hanzo “although this time it couldn't be helped, the army had to be more careful in the future”. Thus Hirohito again acquiesced to the military, despite wanting them to stop or at least localize the conflict. The military had disregarded his wishes, they should have been severely punished. Why did Hirohito not take a firmer stance?    Again for older audience members you may have heard, “hirohito was a hostage at the whim of his own military”. This narrative made it seem he was some sort of hostage emperor, but this is not the case at all. In fact Hirohito was instrumental in many military decisions from 1931-1945. The reason this, I will call it “myth” , went on was because after Japan's surrender, the US basically rewrote the Japanese constitution and covered up the Emperor's involvement in all the nasty stuff, to maintain control over Japan. Yeah it sounds a bit conspiracy esque, but I assure you it was indeed the case. This narrative held firm all the way until Hirohito's death, when finally meeting notes and personal accounts from those close to him came out, illuminating a lot. Though to this day, many records are still red -tapped.   The reason Hirohito did not stamp his foot down has to do with the Kokutai.    The Kokutai   So before I carry on, I have to explain what exactly is the Kokutai.    The Kokutai, loosely translated as "national essence," refers to the qualities that distinguish the Japanese identity. However, this concept is remarkably vague and poorly defined; even Japanese historians acknowledge this ambiguity. In contrast to Kokutai is seitai, or "form of government." While the Kokutai embodies the eternal and immutable aspects of Japanese polity—rooted in history, traditions, and customs centered around the Emperor—Japan's seitai has evolved significantly throughout its extensive history. For instance, shoguns governed for over 700 years until 1868, when the Meiji Restoration reinstated direct imperial rule.   Nevertheless, Emperor Meiji's direct authority came to an end with the adoption of the Meiji Constitution in 1889, which established a constitutional monarchy, introducing significant complexities into the governance system.   Article 4 of the constitution declares: “The Emperor is the head of the Empire, combining in Himself the rights of sovereignty, uniting the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of government, although subject to the consent of the Imperial Diet.” Under this framework, the Emperor alone possessed the power to appoint or dismiss ministers of state, declare war, negotiate peace, conclude treaties, direct national administration, and command the army and navy.   A glaring flaw in this arrangement is the inherent ambiguity of the Meiji Constitution. While it established a democratic parliament, it simultaneously afforded the Emperor absolute authority to usurp it. The document failed to clearly define the relationships between the executive, legislative, and judicial branches, and its language was intentionally vague. Most critically, the military—the army and navy—were not directly accountable to the civilian government.    So with the kokutai, the Emperor is a divine figure who embodies the state's sovereignty. It was not necessarily the Emperor's job to surrender on behalf of the official government of Japan, but he most certainly could do so, given the Japanese people still remained faithful to the kokutai.    Now Hirohito did not live an ordinary life. According to the imperial custom, Japanese royals were raised apart from their parents, at the age of 3 he was placed in the care of the Kwamura family who vowed to raise him to be unselfish, persevering in the face of difficulties, respectful of the views of others and immune to fear. One thing that was absolutely indoctrinated into him was to defend the kokutai. It became his top mission as a monarch, it was the only mission in many ways. At the very core of how he saw the world and how he acted, it was always to protect the kokutai.    So when the Japanese military began these insubordinate acts, Hirohito's primary concern was to the kokutai, ie: anything that threatened his imperial authority and the imperial institution itself. Although the military usurped his authority, the operations had been successful. Hirohito was not at all opposed to seeing his empire expand. He understood the value of manchuria, he was fully onboard with the military plans to eventually seize control over it, but these radicals were accelerating things to quickly for everyone's liking. He turned a blind eye, dished light punishments and carried on. However the local conflict escalated. It traveled to Shanghai by 1932 and here Hirohito took action. He understood Shanghai was full of western powers. Nations like Britain and America could place economic sanctions on Japan if things were allowed to get out of hand here. So he ordered General Yoshinori Shirakawa to bring the Shanghai expedition to a close.    During this period, two factions emerged within the Japanese military: the Kodoha, or “Imperial Way,” and the Toseiha, or “Control” faction. The Kodoha was founded by General Sadao Araki and his protégé, Jinzaburo Masaki. Their primary objective was a Shōwa Restoration aimed at purging Japan of corrupt politicians and businessmen, especially those associated with the zaibatsu. Composed mainly of young army officers, the Kodoha espoused a romanticized and radical interpretation of Bushido, idealizing pre-industrial Japan, which Araki believed had been tainted by Western influences. To achieve their goals, they resorted to assassinations and planned a coup d'état.   In response, the Toseiha faction was formed, initially led by Lt. General Tetsuzan Nagata and later by Hideki Tojo. Like the Kodoha, the Toseiha sought a Shōwa Restoration but adopted a more moderate and conservative approach. They recognized the importance of preserving traditional values while integrating Western ideals, advocating for a balanced perspective. The Toseiha promoted pragmatic military strategies to navigate the complexities of modern warfare. Although they acknowledged the existence of corrupt politicians and zaibatsu, they preferred to work within the existing political system, anticipating that future total wars would necessitate a strengthened industrial and military capacity. Their ranks primarily included promising graduates from the Imperial Japanese Army (IJA) Academy, Army Staff College, and select naval members. The most significant distinction between the two factions was that the Toseiha explicitly rejected the use of a coup d'état in pursuit of their goals.   Between 1932-1936 radical officers, mostly of the Kodoha faction assassinated politicians and military leaders trying to usher in a showa restoration. You might be led to believe this was in the interest of Hirohito, you would be mistaken. Hirohito did not want a military dictatorship at the whim of the cult of the emperor. Ironic to say, given how WW2 turns out mind you. This really would have been a hostage situation. Hirohito wanted to maintain the exact ambiguous situation that was Showa Era Japan pre 1945. He saw this as the most ideal structure to defend the kokutai, because blame could not be placed solely upon his shoulders. He always maintained a get out of jail free card one could say.    The February 26 incident of 1936, was the climax of the Kodoha faction. They performed a mutiny trying to usher in a SHowa restoration. They assumed when their messenger came to the emperor he would join them and take direct rule. Instead Hirohito was furious. His first thought was the mutineers were trying to enlist his brother Chichibu to overthrow him. He dragged his brother who was a fraternizer amongst the kodoha members mind you, into a meeting, demanding he never associate with them again nor attempt to challenge him. Then Hirohito furious demanded the mutineers be dealt with. At one point he even threatened to lead the imperial guards to put them down. The coup failed, the kodoha faction was destroyed. Ironically the toseiha faction were the ones to do it and thus they became the defacto ruling clique.    The military, especially the kwantung army did not stop with their insubordination.    On July 8th of 1937 the Kwangtung army performed the Marco Polo Bridge incident, ushering in the second sino-japanese war. This was one of many false flag operations they had pulled off over the years. Upon being told about this Hirohito's first response was whether the USSR would invade Manchukuo over the matter. This is what he said to Prime Minister Konoe and army minister Sugiyama “What will you do if the Soviets attack us from the rear?” he asked the prince. Kan'in answered, “I believe the army will rise to the occasion.” The emperor repeated his question: “That's no more than army dogma. What will you actually do in the unlikely event that Soviet [forces] attack?” The prince said only, “We will have no choice.” His Majesty seemed very dissatisfied. Hirohito furious demanded to know what contingency plans existed and his advisors told him before he gave his red seal of approval to invade northern china.   Henceforth he micromanaged a lot of the military decisions going forward and he oversaw the forming and dissolving of numerous cabinets and positions when things went his way or did not in the military and political scene.  Emperor Hirohito was presented with several opportunities to cause cease-fires or peace settlements during the war years. One of the best possible moments to end it all came during the attack on Nanking when Chiang Kai-sheks military were in disarray. On July 11 of 1938, the commander of the 19th division fought a border clash with the USSR known to us in the west as the battle of Lake Khasan. It was a costly defeat for Japan and in the diary of Harada Kumao he noted Hirohito scolded Army minister Itagaki “Hereafter not a single soldier is to be moved without my permission.” When it looked like the USSR would not press for a counter attack across the border, Hirohito gave the order for offensives in China to recommence, again an example of him deciding when to lay down the hammer.   By 1939 the US began threatening sanctions for what Japan was doing in China. Hirohito complained to his chief aide de camp Hata Shunroku on August 5th “It could be a great blow to scrap metal and oil”. Hirohito was livid and scolded many of his top officials and forced the appointment of General Abe to prime minister and demanded of him “to cooperate with the US and Britain and preserve internal order”.   Fast forward a bit, with war raging in Europe Hirohito, on June 19th of 1940 Hirohito asked if chief of staff Prince Kan'in and Army Minister Hata “At a time when peace will soon come in the European situation, will there be a deployment of troops to the Netherlands Indies and French Indochina?” This question highlighted Hirohito's belief at that time that Germany was close to achieving victory, which led him to gradually consider deploying troops to French Indochina and the Dutch East Indies since neither of those parent nations was in a position to protect their territories and vital resources. Regarding the war in China, the Japanese aimed to stop the flow of materials entering China from places like Hong Kong. Hirohito received reports indicating that Britain would not agree to block the shipment of materials into China via Hong Kong. The military recognized that an invasion of Hong Kong might be necessary, which would mean declaring war on Britain. When this was communicated to him, Hirohito responded, “If that occurs, I'm sure America will enforce an embargo, don't you think?” In response, Kido, the lord of the privy seal, reassured him by stating, “The nation must be fully prepared to resist, proceeding with caution and avoiding being drawn into events instigated by foreign interests.”   Hirohito went through countless meetings, but eventually signed order number 458 authorizing the invasion of French Indochina, knowing full well the consequences. The US,UK and Netherlands began embargoes of oil, rubber and iron. In the words of Admiral Takagai “As time passes and this situation continues, our empire will either be totally defeated or forced to fight a hopeless war. Therefore we should pursue war and diplomacy together. If there is no prospect of securing our final line of national survival by diplomatic negotiations, we must be resolved to fight.” Hirohito understood the predicament full well, that each day Japan was wasting its oil reserves, if they were to strike it had to be quickly.   On October 13th Hirohito told his closest advisor Koichi Kido “In the present situation there seems to be little hope for the Japan–U.S. negotiations. If hostilities erupt this time, I think I may have to issue a declaration of war.”   The reason I am bringing up all this stuff is to solidify, Hirohito had agency, he was micromanaging and forming decisions. After the war broke out with the west, Hirohito did have the ability to stamp his foot down. Of course there could have been wild repercussions, his military could have usurped him with Chichibu, it was definitely possible. But you need to keep this mind set, as far as why Hirohito acts or doesn't, its always to protect the Kokutai. Thus one of the levers for peace, solely rested on Hirohito's perception if the kokutai could be retained or not.    From the outset of the Pacific War, Hirohito believed Germany was going to defeat the USSR. In line with his military leaders, they all believed Japan had to seize everything they could in the asia-pacific and thwart off the US until a negotiated peace could be met. Hirohito committed himself to overseeing the war, determined to achieve victory at any cost. He was a very cautious leader, he meticulously analyzed each campaign, anticipating potential setbacks and crafting worst-case scenario predictions. He maintained a skeptical view of the reports from his senior officials and was often harshly critical of high commanders.   While he did not frequently visit the front lines like other commanders in chief, Hirohito wielded significant influence over theater operations, shaping both planning and execution whenever he deemed necessary. Similar to his approach during the war in China, he issued the highest military orders from the Imperial Headquarters, conducted audited conferences, and made decisions communicated under his name. He regularly welcomed generals and admirals to the imperial palace for detailed briefings on the battlefront and visited various military bases, battleships, and army and naval headquarters. His inspections encompassed military schools and other significant military institutions, adding to his comprehensive involvement in the war effort.   Now the war went extremely well for Japan until the battle of Midway. This was as major setback, but Japan retained the initiative. Then the Guadalcanal campaign saw Japan lose the initiative to the Americans. Upon receiving the initial report of the Ichiki detachment's destruction, Hirohito remarked, “I am sure it [Guadalcanal] can be held.” Despite the numerous reports detailing the devastating effects of tropical diseases and starvation on his troops, he persistently demanded greater efforts from them. Hirohito exerted continuous pressure on his naval and land commanders to retake the island. On September 15th, November 5th, and November 11th, he requested additional Imperial Japanese Army (IJA) troops and aircraft to be allocated to the cause.   General Sugiyama expressed concerns about dispatching more IJA pilots due to their inexperience in transoceanic combat, preferring to reinforce the North China Army for an attack on Chongqing instead. Hirohito pressed the issue again, but Sugiyama responded that the IJA had diverted its air resources to New Guinea and Rabaul. Undeterred by the objections from senior commanders, Hirohito persisted in his demands. By late November, it became evident that Guadalcanal was a lost cause.   At an Imperial Headquarters conference on December 31st, 1942, the chiefs of staff proposed canceling the attempts to recapture Guadalcanal. Hirohito sanctioned this decision but stated, “It is unacceptable to just give up on capturing Guadalcanal. We must launch an offensive elsewhere.” He insisted on this point, leading to the selection of new strategic targets in the Solomons, north of New Georgia, and in the Stanley Range on New Guinea. Hirohito even threatened to withhold authorization for withdrawing troops from Guadalcanal until a new plan was established. He later opposed the withdrawal from Munda Airfield, as it contradicted the newly defined defensive line.   As the defensive perimeter in the central and northern Solomons began to crumble, Hirohito continued to insist that the navy engage in decisive battles to regain the initiative, allowing for the transport of supplies to the many soldiers trapped on various islands. When he learned of the navy's failure to reinforce Lae on March 3rd, he asked, “Then why didn't you change plans immediately and land at Madan? This is a failure, but it can teach us a good lesson and become a source of future success. Do this for me so I can have peace of mind for a while.” The phrase “Do this for me” would come to be his signature rallying cry.   After Guadal canal, it was loss after loss for Japan. By February of 1944, Hirohito forced Sugiyama to resign so Hideki Tojo could take his position as chief of the general staff, note Tojo was prime minister and army minister at this point. Hirohito worked alongside Tojo to plan some last ditch efforts to change the war situation. The most significant one was Operation Ichi-Go. As much damage as they did to China with that, Chiang Kai-Shek's government survived. Hirohito watched as island by island fell to the Americans. When the Americans were poised to take Saipan he warned Tojo “If we ever lose Saipan, repeated air attacks on Tokyo will follow. No matter what it takes, we have to hold there.” Saipan fell, so Hirohito stopped supporting Tojo and allowed his rivals to take down his cabinet by june 18th of 1944.    Hirohito remained resolute in his determination to wrest victory from the Allies. On October 18th, the Imperial Headquarters ordered a decisive naval engagement, leading to the Battle of Leyte Gulf. After the war, Hirohito publicly stated, "Contrary to the views of the Army and Navy General Staffs, I consented to the showdown battle at Leyte, believing that if we launched an attack and America hesitated, we might find an opportunity to negotiate." Leyte Gulf didnt work. The military began the kamikaze program. On new years day of 1945 Hirohito inspected the special last meal rations given to departing kamikaze units. Iwo Jima fell. Okinawa remained, and Hirohito lashed out “Is it because we failed to sink enemy transports that we've let the enemy get ashore? Isn't there any way to defend Okinawa from the landing enemy forces?” On the second day of Okinawa's invasion Hirohito ordered a counter landing by the 32nd army and urged the navy to counterattack in every way possible. It was a horrible failure, it cost the lives of up to 120,000 Japanese combatants, 170,000 noncombatants. The Americans lost 12,500 killed and 33,000 wounded. An absolute bloodbath.    The Surrender time   Now we come to the time period where Japan seriously began looking for ways to surrender. In Europe Germany was heading to its defeat and Japan knew this. As for Japan, their army in Burma had been annihilated. Their forces in China were faring better after Operation Ichi-go, having opened up a land corridor along the main railway from Beiping to Wuhan and from throughout Guangdong but still stuck in a deadlock stalemate, facing a guerrilla war that was costing them 64% of their military expenditures. They deeply feared once the Soviets finished up with Germany, they would undoubtedly turn east against Manchuria. With the Soviets attacking from the north, the US would attack from the south, perhaps landing in Shanghai and the home islands. The Kamikaze tactics were proving formidable, but not nearly enough. By 1945, 43% of the IJA were now stationed in Japan, Korea and Formosa, bracing for the final stand. Former prime minister Reijiro Wakatsuki came out of retirement in may of 1945, having heard Germany collapsed, to urge Hirohito and the Prime Minister Kantaro Suzuki to open negotiations with the US as soon as possible. However he also said “the enemy must first be made to see the disadvantages of continuing the war”. To this Hirohito's chief counselor Makino Nobuaki said that “the ultimate priority is to develop an advantageous war situation.” Advisor admiral Kesiuke Okada said Japan should wait for “a moment favorable for us,” then make peace. Advisors Kiichiro Hiranuma and Koki Hirota advised the emperor to fight on until the end.   Now I want to bring in a key player to the surrender decision, that of Prince Konoe. Konoe was very close to Hirohito and understood the emperors mentality, especially how he viewed things in relation to the kokutai.    The senior statesman Prince Konoe had been consulting with Hirohito for over 18 months at this point trying to convey the message that if the war continued it would threaten the kokutai. Many months prior, he confided in the emperor's brother, Prince Takamatsu, that the army was suffering from “a cancer” in the form of the Toseiha faction. However, he noted that “Kido and others” did not share his perspective, while “his Majesty is relatively unconcerned with ideological issues.” For the past four years, he continued, the emperor had been advised and still believed that “the true extremists are the Kodoha faction.” In reality, the greater threat to the kokutai arose from the Toseiha faction. Konoe further asserted that if the war escalated, they would attempt to alter the kokutai.   Konoe speculated that whether the threat originated from communists within the nation, primarily referring to left-wing radicals in the Toseiha faction, or from the “Anglo-American enemy,” both would seek to preserve the emperor while pushing towards the country's communization.In his written report to the emperor on February 14, which Kido listened to attentively, Konoe elaborated on his conspiracy theory. He asserted that the Soviet Union regarded Japan as its primary threat in East Asia. The Soviets had allied with the Chinese Communists, the largest and most formidable Communist party in Asia, and were collaborating with the United States and Britain to drive Japan out of China. He warned that they would enter the war when the opportunity arose.   Defeat, he cautioned the emperor, was inevitable if the conflict persisted. However, he emphasized that a far greater fear was the potential destruction of the kokutai. The ongoing war was eroding the domestic status quo, unleashing forces that threatened Japan and its imperial institution from within as much as from external adversaries. The real danger lay in the emperor's and Kido's trust in the generals of the Toseiha faction, who were unintentionally facilitating the communization of Japan. Konoe implored for a swift peace settlement before a Communist revolution emerged, making the preservation of the kokutai impossible. Hirohito agreed with Konoe but stated “ To end the war would be “very difficult unless we make one more military gain.” Konoe allegedly replied, “Is that possible? It must happen soon. If we have to wait much longer, . . . [a mere battle victory] will mean nothing.” Hirohito replied “If we hold out long enough in this war, we may be able to win, but what worries me is whether the nation will be able to endure it until then.”   On February 15th of 1945, Hirohito's intelligence warned the Soviet Union would likely abrogate its Neutrality Pact with Japan. Even Tojo conceded there was a 50/50 chance the USSR would invade Manchuria. In March, the US began B-29 incendiary bombing raids over Tokyo, turning 40% of the capital into ash. On March 18th, Hirohito with some aides drove around the capital to witness the devastation. The civilians looked exhausted and bewildered to Hirohito. Factory production was collapsing, absenteeism was rising, instances of lese majeste were running rampant. For the next 5 months imperial family members and senior statesmen all began speaking to Hirohito about the “crises of the kokutai”. The threat Konoe had warned about for months was becoming the main talking point. It seemed like the Japanese people within the countryside and urban areas remained steadfast in the resolve to obey their leaders, work and sacrifice for their nation, but for how long would they feel so?    It was only after the battle for Okinawa was lost and 60 Japanese cities had been leveled by American incendiary bombs that Hirohito openly indicated he wanted to negotiate a surrender.   Kido's diary reveals the first clear indication that the emperor might be urged to consider an early peace on June 8, 1945, when Kido drafted his “Draft Plan for Controlling the Crisis Situation.” This marked a pivotal moment. It followed the unintentional bombing of the Imperial Palace, the complete loss of hope for saving Okinawa, and coincided with the day the Supreme War Leadership Council adopted the “Basic Policy for the Future Direction of the War.” With the fighting in Europe concluded, Japan found itself entirely isolated. Kido's plan, although vague, proposed seeking the Soviet Union's assistance as an intermediary to help Japan gain leverage in negotiations with its adversaries. By drafting this plan, Kido signaled the end of his long alliance with the military hard-liners. Hirohito's acceptance of it indicated his readiness for an early peace.   Hirohito was moved to an underground bunker in the mountains of Matsushiro in Nagano prefecture where upon those around him noted he fell into a deep depression. On June 22nd  Hirohito informed the Supreme War Leadership Council he wanted them to open diplomatic maneuvers to end the war. In early July Soviet Ambassador Jacob Malik broke off inconclusive talks with Hirota. Hirohito stepped in immediately and ordered a new special envoy be sent to Moscow. However Hirohito nor the Suzuki government had concrete plans on how to mediate a surrender through the Soviets. The only things they did prioritize was a guarantee of the emperors political position and retainment of the imperial system, ie the kokutai. This was taken into consideration rather than ending the war as quickly as possible to save the lives of millions.    From April 8, 1945, until Japan's capitulation, the Suzuki government's chief war policy was “Ketsugo,” an advanced iteration of the “Shosango” (Victory Number 3) plan for defending the homeland. The hallmark of this strategy was a heavy reliance on suicide tactics, including deploying a massive number of kamikaze “special attack” planes, human torpedoes launched from submarines, dynamite-stuffed “crash boats” powered by truck engines, human rocket bombs carried by aircraft, and suicide assaults by specially trained ground units.   While preparations for Operation Ketsu progressed, the Imperial Diet convened on June 9 to pass a Wartime Emergency Measures Law, along with five additional measures aimed at mobilizing the entire nation for this final battle. On the same day, the emperor, who had yet to initiate efforts to end the war, issued another imperial rescript in conjunction with the Diet's convocation, instructing the nation to “smash the inordinate ambitions of the enemy nations” and “achieve the goals of the war.” Concurrently, the controlled press launched a daily die-for-the-emperor campaign to foster gratitude for the imperial benevolence and, from around mid-July onward, initiated a campaign to “protect the kokutai.”   The Americans countered with their own propaganda aimed at breaking Japan's will to fight. B-29 bombers dropped millions of leaflets written in Japanese, announcing the next scheduled targets for bombing raids and urging surrender, while using the emperor to challenge the militarists. Leaflets bearing the chrysanthemum crest criticized the “military cliques” for “forcing the entire nation to commit suicide” and called on “everyone” to “exercise their constitutional right to make direct appeals [for peace] to the Emperor.” They asserted that “even the powerful military cliques cannot stop the mighty march for peace of the Emperor and the people.” One notable batch of seven million leaflets conveyed the terms of the “joint declaration” issued by the United States, Great Britain, and China. “Today we come not to bomb you,” they stated. “We are dropping this leaflet to inform you of the response from the United States government to your government's request for conditions of surrender.... Whether the war stops immediately depends on your government. You will understand how to end the war if you read these two official notifications.”   Amid pressures from imperial edicts to continue preparations for a final battle and focus solely on victory, the Japanese people were also subjected to an intense American psychological warfare campaign in addition to aerial bombardment. During late July and August, prefectural governors, police chiefs, and officers of the “special higher police” submitted reports to the Home Ministry detailing the rapidly deteriorating national morale.    Now on the other side, Roosevelt made it known back in January of 1943 at the Casablanca conference, the allies would only accept unconditional surrender. By 1945, the allies understood the predicament this left Japan with. On May 8th of 1945, Truman added “Japan's surrender would not mean the extermination or enslavement of the Japanese people” trying to indicate a non vindictive spirit. However the Kokutai question always remained ambiguous. State Department Joseph Grew, the former ambassador to Japan, began arguing to Truman they needed to make public a clear definition of the terms to persuade Japan to surrender. As he argued to Truman: Emperor Hirohito was seen as the key figure in Japan's surrender, likened to a "queen bee in a hive... surrounded by the attentions of the hive." Throughout the war, he was characterized in various ways—as a “puppet” of the militarists, a constitutional monarch, and a pacifist. Grew had immense faith in the influence exerted by what he referred to as the “moderates” surrounding the Japanese throne.    However many of Grew's colleagues argued the future existence of the monarchy was intolerable as it was akin to fascism. Many wanted to punish the emperor. Truman was in a tug of war. The Potsdam declaration issued on July 26th of 1945 came in the form of a ultimatum aiming to quicken japans surrender. Truman clarified the terms for the unconditional surrender at the end of its terms: "We call upon the government of Japan to proclaim now the unconditional surrender of all Japanese armed forces, and to provide proper and adequate assurances of their good faith in such action. The alternative for Japan is prompt and utter destruction." Zero mention of the emperor. Grew had argued to add “this may include a constitutional monarchy under the present dynasty.” But it was deleted from the article. The status of the emperor was not guaranteed, the kokutai was thus up in the air.    The next day, the Suzuki cabinet rejected the terms. The Japanese leadership and Hirohito were still banking and awaiting Soviet replies to their terms.    Lets talk about the Soviet talks now   Back on July 12th ambassador Naotake Satō sent this message to the Soviets: “His Majesty the Emperor, mindful of the fact that the present war daily brings greater evil and sacrifice upon the peoples of all the belligerent powers, desires from his heart that it may be quickly terminated. But so long as England and the United States insist upon unconditional surrender, the Japanese Empire has no alternative but to fight on with all its strength for the honor and existence of the Motherland”.  However the Soviets had made commitments to their allies, promising in fact to invade Japan to aid them.    As for the Soviets their primary objective was to ensure unrestricted access to the Pacific Ocean. The year-round ice-free areas of the Soviet Pacific coastline, particularly Vladivostok, could be blockaded by air and sea from Sakhalin Island and the Kurile Islands. Securing these territories to guarantee free access to the Soya Strait was their main goal. Secondary objectives included acquiring leases for the Chinese Eastern Railway, the Southern Manchuria Railway, as well as gaining control over Dairen and Port Arthur.   To achieve these aims, Stalin and Molotov prolonged negotiations with the Japanese, creating a false sense of hope for a Soviet-mediated peace. Simultaneously, in their discussions with the United States and Britain, the Soviets insisted on strict adherence to the Cairo Declaration, which had been reaffirmed at the Yalta Conference. This declaration stipulated that the Allies would not accept a separate or conditional peace with Japan; thus, the Japanese would need to surrender unconditionally to all the Allies. The Soviets aimed to prolong the war by opposing any efforts to dilute this requirement. This approach would provide the Soviets with the necessary time to complete the transfer of their troops from the Western Front to the Far East and to conquer Manchuria, Inner Mongolia, northern Korea, South Sakhalin, the Kuriles, and potentially Hokkaidō, starting with an assault on Rumoi. AUGUST 1945   Thus we come to at last the critical point, August of 1945.    The Americans prepared for the deployment of atomic bombs and for an invasion of southern Kyushu, known as Operation Olympic, scheduled to commence on November 1. At 8:15 A.M. on August 6, a single B-29 bomber, the Enola Gay dropped little boy, devastating much of the undefended city of Hiroshima, instantly killing an estimated 100,000 to 140,000 people and leading to the deaths of possibly another 100,000 over the next five years. At the epicenter of the explosion, “a light appeared 3,000 times brighter than the sun,” creating a fireball that emitted thermal radiation capable of “instantly scorching humans, trees, and houses.” As the air heated and rushed upward, cold air surged in to ignite a firestorm. Hours later, a whirlwind escalated the flames to their peak until more than eight square miles were virtually reduced to cinders. Subsequently, black, muddy rain filled with radioactive fallout began to fall. Two days later, using Japan's rejection of the Potsdam Declaration as a pretext, the Soviet Union declared war on Japan. Then on August 9, the United States dropped a second atomic bomb on Nagasaki, resulting in the immediate deaths of approximately 35,000 to 40,000 people and injuring more than 60,000.   Meanwhile, in Tokyo, during the critical period between the Potsdam Declaration and the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Emperor Hirohito remained silent about accepting the Potsdam terms. However, on July 25 and 31, he explicitly conveyed to Kido that the imperial regalia must be defended at all costs. The three sacred objects—a mirror, a curved jewel, and a sword—symbolized the legitimacy of his rule through the northern court and were integral to his identity as the divine sovereign. Hirohito's focus was on protecting these symbols of office, as he insisted on having them brought to the palace. This fixation on maintaining his symbols occurred during a pivotal moment when the pressing issue was whether to accept immediate capitulation. Reflecting on this, he was unprepared to seize the opportunity to end the war himself.   Prime Minister Suzuki, following his initial rejection of the Potsdam ultimatum, also saw no need for further action. His Cabinet Advisory Council, which included the president of Asano Cement, the founder of the Nissan consortium, the vice president of the Bank of Japan, and other representatives from the nation's leading business interests that had profited significantly from the war, convened on the morning of August 3. They recommended accepting the Potsdam terms, arguing that the United States would permit Japan to retain its non-military industries and continue participating in world trade.    Here are some reactions to the two bombs and invasion of Manchuria.    Yonai Mitsumasa said to admiral Takagi Sokichi, on August 12, that “I think the term is perhaps inappropriate, but the atomic bombs and the Soviet entry into the war are, in a sense, gifts from the gods [tenyu, also “heaven-sent blessings”]. This way we don't have to say that we quit the war because of domestic circumstances. I've long been advocating control of our crisis, but neither from fear of an enemy attack nor because of the atomic bombs and the Soviet entry into the war. The main reason is my anxiety over the domestic situation. So, it is rather fortunate that we can now control matters without revealing the domestic situation”.    Konoe's characterized the Soviet involvement in the war as “a godsend for controlling the army,”. Kido viewed of both the atomic bombings and the Soviet entry into the conflict as “useful” elements for ensuring a smooth transition. A nascent power struggle was unfolding, rendering the potential death toll—whether one hundred thousand or two hundred thousand—immaterial to those involved, as long as their desired outcome was achieved: an end to the war that would leave the monarchy intact and capable of managing the discontent that defeat would inevitably provoke. Throughout the final acts of this wartime drama, the Japanese “moderates” found it easier to capitulate to external pressures than to take decisive action on their own to conclude the war.   Another illuminating looks at Japan's elite's perspective on surrender terms was the document titled “Essentials of Peace Negotiations” (wahei kosho no yoryo). Drafted by Konoe and his adviser, retired Lt. Gen. Sakai Koji, after Konoe had reluctantly accepted a mission to Moscow, this document, stipulated the preservation of the emperor system, along with most of the imperial prerogatives, as the absolute minimum condition for peace. It defined the “original” or “essential homeland” as including the southern half of the Kurile Islands but showed a willingness to concede all overseas territories to the enemy, including Okinawa and the American-occupied Bonin Islands, as well as the southern half of Sakhalin. The “Essentials” also accepted complete disarmament for an unspecified period, thereby compromising on the issues of demobilizing and disarming the armed forces. More significantly, an “explanation” attached to the “Essentials” emphasized that “the main aim is to secure the imperial line and maintain the political role of the emperor.”    Why Japan surrendered   We come to it atleast after a long podcast. Why did Japan ultimately surrender?   The twin psychological shocks of the first atomic bomb and the Soviet entry into the war, combined with Kido's and the emperor's concern over escalating public criticism of the throne and its occupant, fueled an almost paranoid fear that, sooner or later, the populace would react violently against their leaders if the war persisted much longer. These factors ultimately led Hirohito to accept, in principle, the terms of the Potsdam Declaration.   At the first meeting of the six member constituents of the Supreme War Leadership Council, held from 10:30 A.M. to 1:00 P.M. on August 9, Army Minister Anami Korechika, Chiefs of Staff Umezu Yoshijiro, representing the army, and Yonai, representing the navy, along with Tōgō, from the Foreign Ministry, were expected to discuss the acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration. Instead, the conversation revolved around whether to attempt a conditional surrender—specifically, should they insist on one condition, the preservation of the kokutai, or four?   After Suzuki addressed the assembly regarding the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and the Soviet attack, Yonai, as recounted by Navy Chief of Staff Toyoda, was the first to speak, framing the issue in terms of four conditions. “Let's start to talk, Do we accept the Potsdam Declaration with no conditions? If not, and we wish to insist on attaching hopes and conditions, we may do so this way. First, preservation of the kokutai; then for the rest, the main items in the Potsdam Declaration: treatment of war criminals, method of disarmament, and the matter of sending in an army of occupation.” Thus, the participants identified what they perceived to be the ambiguous points within the Potsdam Declaration and used them as the foundation for their discussions.   The army insisted on four conditions: First, the preservation of the kokutai, which they considered distinct from the Potsdam Declaration itself. The other conditions proposed were, second, that the Imperial Headquarters assume responsibility for disarmament and demobilization; third, a prohibition on occupation; and fourth, the delegation of the punishment of war criminals to the Japanese government. The army equated the kokutai with the emperor's right of supreme command. Their self-serving desire for autonomous war crimes trials was based on the belief that the Allies would use such trials to politically indict the military. Consequently, army leaders aimed to preempt the activities of any international tribunal by conducting their own trials—similar to the approach taken by the uninvaded and unrepentant Germans after World War I.   Supporting the military's views during cabinet meetings that day were three civilian members of the Suzuki cabinet: Justice Minister Matsuzaka Hiromasa, Home Minister Yasui Toji, and Minister of Health Okada Tadahiko. At the imperial conference that night, which extended into the early hours of the tenth, Foreign Minister Tōgō's interpretation of the “preservation of the kokutai” referred solely to the safeguarding of the Imperial House or dynasty, rather than the continuation of Hirohito's reign.   Hiranuma, another advocate for the single condition, interpreted the kokutai as the “emperor's sovereign right to rule the state [not] deriving from national law. Even if the entire nation is sacrificed to the war, we must preserve both the kokutai and the security of the imperial house.” This discrepancy illustrated that there was no completely unified understanding of what the kokutai entailed; the debate over one condition versus four represented conflicting visions for the future of the Japanese state and masked the competition for political power that was already unfolding.   It remains doubtful whether the emperor and Kido initially sided with Tōgō against the four conditions proposed by the senior military leaders. A more likely inference is that both men retained sympathies for the hardliners, both military and civilian, who preferred to continue the futile war rather than surrender immediately and unconditionally. This may explain why, on August 9, Konoe had Hosokawa Morisada approach Navy General Headquarters to urge the emperor's brother, Prince Takamatsu, to pressure Hirohito (through Kido) to accept the Potsdam terms. Later that afternoon, Konoe enlisted the help of diplomat Shigemitsu Mamoru to persuade Kido to reconsider his stance on the four conditions. Ultimately, at the urging of Takamatsu and Shigemitsu, Kido did shift to support Tōgō's position.   At the end of the war, as at its beginning and throughout every stage of its progression, Emperor Hirohito played a highly active role in supporting the actions carried out in his name. From the very beginning of the Asia-Pacific war, the emperor played a significant role in the unfolding events around him. Prior to the Battle of Okinawa, he consistently advocated for a decisive victory. Afterward, he acknowledged the necessity of pursuing an early peace, although he did not favor an immediate cessation of hostilities. Instead, he wavered, steering Japan toward ongoing warfare rather than direct negotiations with the Allies. When the final crisis fully unfolded, the only option left was unconditional surrender. Even then, he continued to procrastinate until the atomic bomb was dropped and the Soviets launched their attack. The wartime emperor ideology that once sustained morale made it exceedingly difficult for Japan's leaders to accept the act of surrender. Aware of their objective defeat, yet indifferent to the suffering the war inflicted on their own people—as well as on the populations of Asia, the Pacific, and the West whose lives they had disrupted—the emperor and his military leaders sought a means to lose without appearing to lose. They aimed to mitigate domestic criticism following surrender while preserving their power structure.   Blinded by their fixation on the fate of the imperial house and committed to an overly optimistic diplomacy toward the Soviet Union, Japan's leaders missed several opportunities to end their lost war. Would Japan's leaders have surrendered more promptly if the Truman administration had “clarified” the status of the emperor before the cataclysmic double shocks of the atomic bomb and the Soviet entry into the war? Probably not. However, it is likely they would have surrendered to prevent the kokutai from being destroyed from within. The evidence suggests that the first atomic bomb and the Soviet declaration of war led Hirohito, Kido, and other members of the court to believe that continuing the war would inevitably result in that destruction. They recognized that the populace was war-weary and despondent, with rising hostility toward the military and the government, accompanied by increasing criticism of the emperor himself. More specifically, Kido and Hirohito were privy to Home Ministry reports, which contained information from governors and police chiefs nationwide. These reports indicated that citizens were beginning to label the emperor as an incompetent leader responsible for the deteriorating war situation.   This is the third variable, never spoken about. Many first look at the atomic bombs. Bigger brain people turn to the Soviet Invasion of Manchuria. But hardly anyone reads about how the collapse of Japan's social fabric, scared the shit out of the Emperor and his closest advisors. You can't have a kokutai, without a populace that worshiped you.    When the emperor expressed in February, “What worries me is whether the nation [could] endure” long enough to achieve victory, he was not merely voicing concern for the suffering of his subjects; rather, he feared that such suffering could lead to social upheaval—in short, revolution. At that time, he referred to the ordinary, war-related hardships of food shortages, air raids, devastated cities, destruction of homes, and the omnipresent grief from the loss of loved ones. The atomic bomb escalated death, pain, and suffering to unimaginably higher levels, intensifying the threat from within. After the bombings of Japan and two atomic bombs, Hirohito was in a dark way, given a golden get out of jail free card. Hirohito could now save his suffering people from further anguish by surrendering, allowing him to deflect responsibility for leading them into misery while adopting an air of benevolence and care. Indeed, Hirohito did care—though not primarily for the Japanese people, but rather for the survival of his own imperial house and throne.   After the bombing of Hiroshima, Hirohito delayed for a full two days before instructing Kido, shortly before 10 A.M. on August 9, to “quickly control the situation” because “the Soviet [Union]” had declared war. Kido immediately communicated with Prime Minister Suzuki, who began arrangements for an Imperial Conference scheduled for later that night. Following the seidan of August 10, Chief Cabinet Secretary Sakomizu took charge of drafting the “Imperial Rescript Ending the War” based on Hirohito's directives. Assisted by two scholars of the Chinese classics, Kawada Mizuho and Yasuoka Masahiro, Sakomizu worked tirelessly for over three days before submitting a version of the rescript to the Suzuki cabinet. After six hours of contentious discussion on the night of August 14, the cabinet modified and approved the document. Hirohito promptly signed it, and Shimomura and Kido persuaded him to record a suitably opaque final version for broadcast to the nation.   On the night of August 14, the Suzuki government notified the United States and other Allied nations that it had accepted both the Potsdam Declaration and the Byrnes letter of August 11. Accelerating the emperor's actions during this climactic moment of the unconditional surrender drama was the American psychological warfare campaign. When a leaflet dropped from B-29 bombers came into Kido's possession on the night of August 13 or the morning of the fourteenth, he conferred with the emperor and explained the gravity of the situation. The latest enemy leaflets were informing the Japanese people of the government's notification of surrender under one condition, along with the full text of Byrnes's response. If this continued, it would undermine the imperial government's reliance on secrecy to obscure the true nature of the lost war and the reasons for the prolonged surrender delay.   Given Kido's and the emperor's concerns about rising signs of defeatism, including criticism of the throne, immediate action was necessary to prevent the populace from acting on their own initiative. Thus, the second seidan was convened. At noon on August 15, the Japanese people gathered around their radio receivers and heard, for the first time, the high-pitched voice of their emperor telling them:    “After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions obtaining in Our Empire today, We have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary measure. We have ordered Our Government to communicate to the Governments of the United States, Great Britain, China and the Soviet Union that Our Empire accepts the provisions of their Joint Declaration. To strive for the common prosperity and happiness of all nations as well as the security and well-being of Our subjects is the solemn obligation which has been handed down by Our Imperial Ancestors and which lies close to Our heart. Indeed, We declared war on America and Britain out of Our sincere desire to ensure Japan's self-preservation and the stabilization of East Asia, it being far from Our thought either to infringe upon the sovereignty of other nations or to embark upon territorial aggrandizement. But now the war has lasted for nearly four years. Despite the best that has been done by everyone—the gallant fighting of the military and naval forces, the diligence and assiduity of Our servants of the State, and the devoted service of Our one hundred million people—the war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan's advantage, while the general trends of the world have all turned against her interest. Moreover, the enemy has begun to employ a new and most cruel bomb, the power of which to do damage is, indeed, incalculable, taking the toll of many innocent lives. Should we continue to fight, not only would it result in an ultimate collapse and obliteration of the Japanese nation, but also it would lead to the total extinction of human civilization. Such being the case, how are We to save the millions of Our subjects, or to atone Ourselves before the hallowed spirits of Our Imperial Ancestors? This is the reason why We have ordered the acceptance of the provisions of the Joint Declaration of the Powers... The hardships and sufferings to which Our nation is to be subjected hereafter will be certainly great. We are keenly aware of the inmost feelings of all of you, Our subjects. However, it is according to the dictates of time and fate that We have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is unsufferable”.   Clearly Hirohito sought to justify his decision to surrender by citing the dropping of the atomic bombs. He wanted to become the saviour of the Japanese people. Hirohito wanted to obfuscate the issue of accountability, to prevent expressions of strife and anger and to strengthen domestic unity around himself, to protect and raise the kokutai.  Interestingly, the surrender declaration to the civilian population was not the same one sent to the military. On August 17th Hirohito issued a second “rescript to soldiers and sailors” throughout the asia-pacific.   “ Now that the Soviet Union has entered the war against us, to continue . . . under the present conditions at home and abroad would only recklessly incur even more damage to ourselves and result in endangering the very foundation of the empire's existence. Therefore, even though enormous fighting spirit still exists in the Imperial Navy and Army, I am going to make peace with the United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union, as well as with Chungking, in order to maintain our glorious national polity”.   The lesser-known August 17 rescript to the army and navy specified Soviet participation as the sole reason for surrender, while maintaining the kokutai as the primary aim. Dissembling until the end—and even beyond—it was noted that the emperor presented two different justifications for his delayed surrender. Both statements were likely true.   Months later Hirohito's said this about his decision to surrender “The main motive behind my decision at that time was that if we . . . did not act, the Japanese race would perish and I would be unable to protect my loyal subjects [sekishi—literally, “children”]. Second, Kido agreed with me on the matter of defending the kokutai. If the enemy landed near Ise Bay, both Ise and Atsuta Shrines would immediately come under their control. There would be no time to transfer the sacred treasures [regalia] of the imperial family and no hope of protecting them. Under these circumstances, protection of the kokutai would be difficult. For these reasons, I thought at the time that I must make peace even at the sacrifice of myself.”    There exists this sort of childish argument today whether it was the atomic bombs or the Soviet Invasion that caused Japan to surrender. However, this overlooks as I think I've explained in 9000 words jeez, the influence of the kokutai. Defending the kokutai was Hirohito's number one priority. The Soviets threatened it. Communism threatened it. What Japan perceived to be “democracy” threatened it. American victory threatened it. And the destruction of Japan's social fabric threatened it. I love this one piece of history, that I have only come across in one book, that being the main one I am using here.   On August 12th, Hirohito came to the imperial family to tell them he had made the decision to surrender. His uncle Prince Yasuhiko Asaka asked him whether the war would be continued if the kokutai could not be preserved. Hirohito replied “of course”.

Last time we spoke about the beginning of the battle of Nanjing. As the relentless tide of war approached Nanjing in December 1937, fear gripped its residents. As atrocities unfolded in the countryside, civilians flocked toward safety zones, desperate for refuge. Under the command of General Tang Shengzhi, the Chinese forces prepared for a fierce defense, determined to hold their ground against the technologically superior invaders. Despite heavy losses and internal strife, hopes flickered among the defenders, fueled by the valor of their troops. Key positions like Old Tiger's Cave became battlegrounds, exemplifying the fierce resistance against the Japanese advance. On December 9, as artillery fire enveloped the city, a battle for the Gate of Enlightenment commenced. Both sides suffered grievously, with the Chinese soldiers fighting to the last, unwilling to yield an inch of their soil. Each assault from Japan met with relentless counterattacks, turning Nanjing into a symbol of perseverance amidst impending doom, as the siege marked a critical chapter in the conflict, foreshadowing the brutal events that would follow.   #167 The Battle of Nanjing Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. By mid-December, the landscape surrounding Nanjing was eerily quiet. The Japanese Army marched through what seemed to be desolate fields and mountains, but they were not truly empty. Civilians were scarce, with most having fled, but a few remained in their homes, hiding in cellars and barns, clinging to the hope that the war would bypass them. Meanwhile, thousands of Chinese soldiers, left behind and unable to keep pace with their units, still posed a significant danger to the Japanese forces. The Japanese Army had not truly conquered the territory east and south of Nanjing; they had merely passed through. Mopping-up operations became a top priority. Soldiers from the 16th Infantry Division, stationed near Purple Mountain, spent early December conducting these missions far from the city's walls. “Chinese stragglers may be hiding in this area, and they must be flushed out. Any small structure of no strategic value to the Japanese Army must be burned!” This command rang out to the division's soldiers as they spread across the countryside around Unicorn Gate. Soon, isolated fires began to illuminate the horizon, one for each home. Soldiers from the 9th Infantry Division, who were not directly engaged in combat south of the Gate of Enlightenment, were also conducting similar mopping-up operations. On December 11 at noon, one squad received orders to investigate a suspicious farm building. Although it had been searched previously, movement inside prompted renewed caution. The Japanese entered carefully, moving from room to room. In the basement, they discovered eight Chinese soldiers who offered no resistance, immediately raising their hands in surrender. Bound together, they were brought outside. Using a few Chinese words supplemented by sign language, the Japanese gathered that the Chinese had been in the vicinity where one of their comrades had been killed days earlier. Unanimously, they decided the prisoners should be executed in front of their comrade's grave. Some of the older soldiers hesitated, reluctant to partake in the killings, leaving it to the younger ones to carry out the order. Soon, eight headless bodies lay sprawled before a solitary Japanese grave.  On the morning of December 11, the first soldiers of the 6th Japanese Infantry Division finally spotted the distant city wall of Nanjing. They had been engaged in fierce combat for nearly two days, attempting to dislodge the tenacious defenders of the Yuhuatai plateau, the elite soldiers of the 88th Division. In a desperate bid to maintain their foothold on Yuhuatai, the 88th Division deployed its reserved 528th Regiment along with a battalion of engineers. Despite their efforts, the regiment's ranks had been depleted, filled with inexperienced recruits, and their leadership nearly obliterated, limiting their effectiveness. Under the relentless assaults from the Japanese forces, their defenses began to falter almost immediately. Faced with the stiff resistance at the Gate of Enlightenment, the Japanese shifted their focus to the Chinese Gate on December 11. Japanese aircraft were summoned for tactical air support, forcing the 88th Division's defenders to retreat behind the wall. This withdrawal occurred swiftly and somewhat chaotically, allowing the Japanese to pursue closely. Before the Chinese could regroup, 300 Japanese soldiers had breached the wall. Only the mobilization of all available forces enabled the Chinese to push the attackers back outside. Meanwhile, the left flank of the 88th Division, stationed east of Chinese Gate, remained outside the wall. Here, they clashed with elements of the 9th Japanese Division but faced intense pressure and were compelled to fall back. By the end of the day, the Chinese division had shortened its defensive line, regrouping in front of the city wall. Plans for a nighttime counterattack were ultimately abandoned, as it became clear that the division's soldiers were too fatigued to mount an effective offensive. Overall, it proved to be a successful day for the Japanese 10th Army. Further south, the Kunisaki Detachment successfully crossed the Yangtze River at Cihu village, beginning their advance toward Pukou. Its special amphibious training made the detachment ideally suited for the operation, but its limited numbers, essentially a reinforced infantry regiment, raised concerns at field headquarters about whether it could accomplish the task alone. Prince Asaka proposed transporting part of the 13th Division across the Yangtze further north to sever the railway connecting Tianjin to Pukou, cutting off a potential retreat route for Chinese forces that had escaped Nanjing.  On December 11, Japanese artillery shells rained down relentlessly, targeting both the interior and exterior of Nanjing's city walls. Administrators of the Safety Zone were alarmed to witness several shells landing perilously close to its southern edge. In a bid to provide some semblance of security, American and foreign flags were raised around the zone's perimeter, though their protective influence against artillery fire from miles away was negligible. The leaders of the Safety Zone faced an unexpected dilemma: how to handle lawbreakers with the city courts now out of operation. That day, they encountered a thief caught in the act. As Rabe noted in his diary “We sentence the thief to death, then pardon him and reduce his punishment to 24 hours in jail, and ultimately, due to the absence of a jail, we simply let him go”. Refugees continued to pour in, with a total of 850 having found shelter at Ginling College. Vautrin and her colleagues began to feel that their initial estimate of 2,700 women and children seeking refuge on the campus was overly optimistic. They were soon proven wrong. On the banks of the Yangtze River, hundreds of injured soldiers and civilians were lining up to be ferried across to Pukou, where trains awaited to transport them further inland and away from danger. Many had been waiting for days without food. While ferries made continuous trips across the river to rescue as many as possible, the process was painfully slow. As of late December 10, approximately 1,500 wounded civilians remained stranded on the south bank of the Yangtze. The Japanese forces were confronted by a fiercely determined enemy composed largely of young soldiers from the Training Division. These soldiers had the advantage of having been stationed near Purple Mountain for several years, making them familiar with the terrain. Additionally, they were part of an elite unit, groomed not just in equipment and training but also instilled with a sense of nationalism rooted in Chiang Kai-shek's ideology. Li Xikai, the commander of the division's 3rd Regiment, had set up his command post directly in the path of the primary Japanese advance, yet his regiment continued to resist. Despite the fierce resistance, the Japanese gradually gained control over the Purple Mountain area. General Nakajima Kesago, commander of the 16th Division, visited an artillery observation post early in the day and was pleased to receive reports that his troops had captured two peaks of Purple Mountain and were poised to take the main peak.  Yet there loomed a problem on Nakajima's right flank. A widening gap was emerging between the 16th Division and the 13th Division, which had advanced along the southern bank of the Yangtze. There was a risk that Chinese forces could escape through this lightly guarded area. The 13th Division was stationed in the strategically important river port city of Zhenjiang, preparing to cross the Yangtze. The Central China Area Army ordered the 13th Division to mobilize three infantry battalions and one artillery battalion. This new formation, known as the Yamada Detachment after its commander, Yamada Senji, was tasked with remaining on the Yangtze's south bank and advancing westward to capture two Chinese fortresses on the river: Mt. Wulong and Mt. Mufu. This redeployment alleviated concerns about the gap, allowing the 16th Division to focus on the city wall. As the sun dipped towards the horizon, one Captain Akao Junzo prepared for what he believed would be his final assault. He had been ordered to seize a hill northeast of Sun Yat-sen Gate that overlooked the city entrance. His commander told him “The attack on Nanjing will likely be the last battle of this war, and I hope your company can be at the front when the enemy's lines are breached”. The hill was fortified with numerous machine gun positions, reinforced with mud, bricks, and tiles, and connected by an intricate network of trenches. Dense rows of barbed wire lay before the positions, designed to halt attackers and expose them to machine-gun fire. Additionally, the area was likely heavily mined, and Chinese soldiers maintained a high level of alertness. Akao knew this all too well; when he crawled forward and slightly lifted his head to survey the landscape, he triggered a hail of bullets, one of which grazed his helmet. Around late afternoon, four mountain guns from the regimental artillery began firing on the Chinese positions, sustaining the bombardment for over an hour. By 5:00 pm, as the winter sky darkened, Akao decided it was time to launch the attack. Expecting close-quarters combat, he instructed his men to carry only their rifles and small entrenchment tools. With the entire company poised to move, he dispatched a small group of soldiers ahead to cut openings in the barbed wire while receiving covering fire from the mountain guns and the rifles and machine guns of their comrades. The remainder of the company advanced with swords raised and bayonets fixed. As they approached within about 700 feet of the enemy positions, the artillery bombardment ceased as planned. The enemy, still reeling from the ferocity of the earlier assault, scrambled in a panic from their trenches, retreating in disarray. Akao and his fellow soldiers pressed forward, cutting down any opposition in their path. Seizing the momentum, Akao charged to occupy the hill that had been his target. He found it deserted upon his arrival and sent a triumphant message back to command, reporting that the objective had been achieved. However, the reply he received left him baffled: he was ordered to withdraw with his company and return to their lines. Apparently, the regimental command deemed the position too precarious. Sensing that a precious advantage was being squandered, Akao disregarded the order. Before his company could establish a defensive position on the hill, the Chinese launched a counterattack. Lying down, the Japanese soldiers returned fire while frantically digging into the earth to fortify their position. Gradually, they began to form a rudimentary perimeter at the summit. The fighting continued into the night. Exhausted from days without sleep, many soldiers rotated between guard duty and rest, dozing off intermittently in their shallow trenches, reassuring one another that everything would be alright before drifting back to sleep. They successfully repelled all attempts by the Chinese to reclaim the hill and were eventually relieved. On December 11, after leaving his capital, Chiang Kai-shek took time to reflect on everything that had happened in his diary. He reassured himself that his nationalist revolution would persist, regardless of whether he held Nanjing, “Temporary defeat can be turned into eventual victory.” Yet he did not fear so much the Japanese invasion itself, but rather how the weakening of his nationalist government might allow the Communists to rise. He wrote about how his nation was on the brink of becoming a second Spain. While foreign invasions were undoubtedly disastrous, they could eventually be overcome, if not immediately, then over years or decades. Sometimes, this could be achieved merely by absorbing the outmatched invader and assimilating them into Chinese society. In contrast, internal unrest posed a far more fundamental threat to the survival of any regime. As we have seen in this series, going back to the mid 19th century, was it the foreign empires of Britain, France and Russia that threatened to destroy the Qing dynasty, or was it the internal civil war brought on by the Taiping? As Chiang famously put it “the Japanese were a treatable disease of the skin. Communism however was a disease of the heart”. Chiang could accept a humiliating but rapid retreat from Nanjing. In his view, it would be far more difficult to recover from a bloody yet futile struggle for the city that might cost him what remained of his best troops. A prolonged defensive battle, he reasoned, would be a tragic waste and could shift the balance of power decisively in favor of the Communists. This new mindset was reflected in a telegram he sent late on December 11 to Tang Shengzhi: “If the situation becomes untenable, it is permissible to find the opportune moment to retreat to regroup in the rear in anticipation of future counterattacks.” On December 12, tankettes cautiously plunged into the Yuhuatai plateau. Unexpectedly the Chinese defenders abandoned their positions and rushed down the hillside toward Nanjing's walls. Upon discovering this, the Japanese tankettes opened fire on the retreating Chinese, cutting swathes through the masses and sending bodies tumbling down the slope. Some Japanese infantry caught up, joining in the slaughter and laughing boisterously as they reveled in the chaos. A tankette column escorted a group of engineers to the Nanjing wall and then drove east along the moat until they reached a large gate, flanked by two smaller openings, all securely shut. A chilling message, painted in blue, adorned the gate's surface. Written in Chinese characters, it conveyed a stark warning: “We Swear Revenge on the Enemy.” The wall itself loomed three stories high, but Japanese artillery was already targeting it, this was known as the Chinese Gate. Now that Yuhuatai was virtually in Japanese hands, capturing the gate had become the primary objective. At this location, the wall stood 70 feet tall, protected by a 100-foot moat to the outside. All bridges spanning the moat had been destroyed. The area around the gate was heavily defended, with approximately one machine gun positioned every 50 yards atop the wall. Inside, the gate was reinforced with a formidable barrier of sandbags. Chinese infantry armed with mortars and small arms could fire down on the Japanese attackers while others had established isolated positions in nearby buildings that had survived the “scorched earth” policy. Taking the gate and the heavily fortified southwestern corner of the wall was the responsibility of the 6th Division. The division was deploying its regiments: the 13th, the 47th, and the 23rd from east to west. The 45th Regiment, the final unit of the division, was tasked with skirting the western side of the wall and advancing northward, aiming for the Yangtze docks at Xiaguan. The soldiers of the division had already formed a rough understanding of the formidable defenses they were facing. During the night between December 11 and 12, they had advanced nearly to the wall, gathering intelligence to prepare for an assault at dawn. As planned, the assault commenced. Field artillery fired round after round at the gate, but the wall sustained minimal damage. A Japanese tank rolled up, firing point-blank at the gate but producing no visible effect. Next, it was the engineers' turn. A “dare-to-die” squad, equipped with long ladders, crept as close to the wall as possible without exposing themselves and then sprinted the final distance. The moment they broke into the open, a Chinese machine gun opened fire, cutting them down to the last man. At noon, three Japanese planes soared overhead, dropping bombs near a Chinese-held building outside the gate. The smoke from the resulting fire briefly obscured the area. Seizing the opportunity presented by the reduced visibility, a large group of Chinese soldiers holed up inside attempted to dash back to the wall. The Japanese spotted their movement instantly, and every soldier in the line opened fire. The fleeing Chinese were mowed down like ripe grass, collapsing in heaps.  Meanwhile the battle for the Gate of Enlightenment was drawing to a close. On the Chinese side of the wall, confusion reigned regarding the overall situation on December 12. Chen Yiding, brigade commander of the 87th Division, had been warned that heads would roll if the Gate of Enlightenment fell to the Japanese. Hearing the sounds of fierce fighting on the edges of Yuhuatai and seeing the smoke rise from numerous fires on Purple Mountain, he was left in the dark about their implications, surrounded by the fog of war. Chen's troops had finally managed to establish a telephone link to the rear, but by mid-afternoon, it was cut off, likely due to a stray artillery shell. After dark, Chen sent an officer to his left flank to make contact with the Chinese forces there. The report that followed was far from reassuring. A unit from Guangdong Province was abandoning its positions and retreating north, attempting to exit the capital through one of the gates in the city wall. The officer had attempted to inquire about their destination, but the retreating soldiers ignored him. With neighboring units evacuating autonomously, a significant gap was opening in the Chinese line atop the wall between the Gate of Enlightenment and Sun Yat-sen Gate. A frightening possibility emerged: the Japanese could walk right in across the undefended southeastern corner of the city wall and surround Chen Yiding's troops before they had a chance to withdraw. The situation was becoming untenable, a fact underscored by the artillery fire raining down on Chen's position. Despite this, retreat was not a simple decision for Chen and the other commanders of the 87th Division. They had been garrisoned in Nanjing before the war, and the city had become home to many of the soldiers. Shortly after midnight, Chen called a meeting with his senior officers. After considerable discussion, they concluded that they had no choice but to withdraw. Nonetheless, Chen insisted that everyone sign a document confirming their support for this decision, recognizing the potential danger of taking such a significant step without consensus. After all, his own life had been threatened if the situation deteriorated further. Soon after, the Chinese began to move out of their positions. The Japanese were initially unaware of the retreat; all they noticed during the night between December 12 and 13 was that the Chinese artillery fire began to grow increasingly distant. By 4:00 am it had stopped completely. The few remaining Chinese were quickly overwhelmed and killed. In the end, the gate, which had cost so many lives during the seemingly endless battle, was taken almost effortlessly by the Japanese. Soldiers of the 9th Division, stationed outside the wall, scrambled up the slope created by the previous days' shelling. Once at the top, they thrust their hands into the air, shouting “Banzai!” so loudly that they believed their families back home in Japan might hear them. Tears streamed down their faces as soldiers embraced and shook hands, reflecting on the friends they had lost throughout the months of fighting, from Shanghai to their current position. They reassured each other that their sacrifices had been worth it for this very moment. On December 12,  the slopes of Purple Mountain  were ablaze. Zhou Zhenqiang, commander of the Training Division's 1st Brigade, led his men in a desperate struggle to maintain control of the mountain's forested peaks. However, they were being overwhelmed by the better-equipped Japanese troops, and Zhou knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to relinquish his position. Zhou found himself unable to obtain any information from his superiors about the overall situation, despite repeated attempts to contact the Training Division's headquarters. He dispatched a runner, who returned a few hours later with disheartening news: the divisional commander had left late in the afternoon. Other reports indicated a general breakdown in command. The elite 88th Division was in disarray, and an entire division of Guangdong troops, that being the same force that had abandoned the wall near the Gate of Enlightenment, had been spotted marching out of the Gate of Great Peace, seemingly intent on returning home. With indications of collapse all around him, Zhou decided to execute an orderly withdrawal from Purple Mountain, leaving a small contingent behind to cover the retreat. His troops entered through the city wall at Sun Yat-sen Gate and marched in disciplined columns through the streets of Nanjing, where signs of imminent anarchy were evident. Chinese soldiers were scattered everywhere, speaking a cacophony of dialects, yet they appeared to lack any coherent command. Tang Shengzhi's grip on the situation was weakening. Meanwhile Japan's 13th Air Group had been busy with the final stages of the battle for Nanjing.  In the morning of December 12, after raiding Chinese positions at Sun Yat-sen Gate, they  received new orders. Intelligence indicated that Chinese ships, laden with troops, were moving up the Yangtze from Nanjing. Japanese infantry on the ground could only watch as this prize slipped through their fingers, and the army requested air support. All available planes at Changzhou, a mix of A4N fighters and Yokosuka B4Y bombers, totaling 24 aircraft, were assembled for the crucial mission. The day was clear, providing excellent visibility as the pilots headed toward the section of the Yangtze where they believed the vessels would be, based on reasonable assumptions about their speed. At 1:30 p.m., 28 nautical miles upriver from Nanjing, the pilots sighted four ships. Trusting their military intelligence, they saw no need for further identification. Initially, the B4Ys bombed the vessels from a considerable height. One bomb struck the lead ship, a military vessel, disabling its forward gun and snapping the foremast. Then, a first wave of six A4Ns dove down over the line of ships, attacking individually. In total, they dropped about 20 bombs. Several exploded close enough to the lead vessel to damage its hull and injure crew members on deck. A 30-caliber machine gun on board was manned, with gunners stripped to the waist firing at the Japanese planes but failing to score a hit. Several of the A4Ns strafed the ship with machine-gun fire. After 20 minutes of sustained bombing and strafing, the result was utter devastation. The lead vessel was stuck in mid-river, riddled with bullets, aflame, and listing to starboard. Two other ships were beached on the right bank, while another sat stranded on the left. Satisfied with their mission, the Japanese aviators broke off and returned to their temporary base. Upon their landing in Changzhou, instead of receiving accolades, the pilots were met with reprimands. Why hadn't they sunk all the vessels? They were ordered to return immediately to finish the job. Though they didn't find the original targets, they stumbled upon four other vessels closer to Nanjing. One aircraft dove toward the ships, releasing a 60-kilogram bomb that struck one vessel. As the pilot pulled up, he caught sight of the Union Jack on the hull and realized his mistake; he had inadvertently targeted neutral ships. The other pilots recognized the significance of the markings as well and withheld their bombs. The vessel was identified as the SS Wantung. Soon after, the Japanese pilots understood that the ships they had attacked earlier upriver from Nanjing were also Western; three of them were Standard Oil tankers. The last vessel, which had sustained the most damage, was the USS Panay, a lightly armed flat-bottomed gunboat,  tasked with protecting American lives and property along China's longest river. The Panay had been instrumental in evacuating American citizens from the war zone in November and December. On the day it was attacked, the Panay was carrying four American embassy personnel and ten American and foreign journalists to safety. The ship's doctor converted the engine room into a makeshift sick bay, treating a steady stream of injured personnel. By the end, he was tending to 45 patients. The soldiers and passengers were evacuated in two small boats to a nearby marshy island covered in reeds, where they hid, fearful of further strafing. From their hiding place, they watched as a Japanese powerboat filled with soldiers approached the Panay. After firing more volleys at the vessel, the soldiers boarded it, remaining for only five minutes before departing. The American flag still flew from the bow at that time. At 3:54 pm, the Panay rolled over to starboard and sank in seven to ten fathoms of water. Cold and frightened, the survivors waded through knee-deep mud to a nearby village, assisting those too severely wounded to walk.  Meanwhile back at Chinese Gate, the mutual slaughter continued into the afternoon of December 12. The Japanese made no significant progress, although their failure was not for lack of trying. The commanders of the 6th Division had strategically placed the boundary between the 13th and 47th Regiments exactly at the gate, encouraging both units to compete to be the first to seize the position. Yet, despite their efforts, it became clear that willpower alone was not enough to breach the Chinese defenses at Chinese Gate. In peacetime, Nanjing's city gates served as entry points into a bustling capital, but in wartime, they transformed into heavily fortified and nearly impregnable strongholds. Any Japanese officer hoping for a swift victory would soon be disappointed; by early afternoon, the situation at the gate had devolved into a stalemate. The section of the wall manned by the 47th Infantry Regiment, located east of the gate, also saw little meaningful movement as the day wore on. Japanese soldiers, pinned down by Chinese fire from atop the wall, could do little more than take pride in a symbolic triumph. A small group of soldiers had managed to reach the wall and place a ladder against it, but it fell nearly ten feet short of the top. One soldier skillfully scaled the last portion, gripping protruding bricks and crevices of the nearly vertical surface. The entire Japanese front watched him with bated breath. He reached the top and unfurled a Japanese flag, but it immediately drew intense Chinese fire, forcing him to duck for cover. Soon, he vanished from sight, raising concerns among his compatriots about his fate. Later, it was revealed that he had taken refuge in a depression in the wall, waiting out the battle. The real breakthrough of the day would occur west of the gate. The 23rd Regiment was deployed there with orders to capture sections of the wall near the southwestern corner. It became evident that the wall could not be scaled without first bringing up artillery to create gaps in its solid masonry. A significant portion of the divisional fire support, 36 small-caliber mountain guns, four 100mm howitzers, and four 150mm howitzers, was assigned to this section. Artillery observers were also sent to the 23rd Regiment's forward command post to coordinate with the infantry and assess the effects of the shelling. By mid-afternoon, the artillery bombardment had created a ravine-like hole in the wall large enough for an assault. The 23rd Regiment positioned its 2nd and 3rd Battalions at the front, with the 1st Battalion held in reserve. First, the engineers undertook the challenging task. As the assault commenced, the rest of the regiment provided covering fire to force the Chinese defenders to seek shelter while the engineers charged into the 70-foot-wide moat. Once a human chain formed, they held up ladders as a makeshift bridge, allowing a company from the 3rd Battalion to rush across and into the gap in the wall. As the batteries switched to close infantry support, they laid down a barrage around the breach to prevent Chinese interference as the attack entered its decisive phase. The Japanese soldiers scrambled up the rubble, created by the artillery fire, which rose several dozen feet high. Shortly before 5:00 p.m., the Japanese seized control of the southwestern segment of the wall. The Chinese launched several counterattacks to reclaim the position, but none were successful. This action ultimately sealed Nanjing's fate; beyond the wall, there was nothing left to save the ancient city and its inhabitants. As defeat appeared imminent, more and more civilians sought safety in foreign-controlled areas, though danger still loomed large. Bits of shrapnel narrowly missed Dr. Robert Wilson while he operated in the Safety Zone. Every square foot of John Rabe's property became filled with families, many camping in the open with their own blankets. Some sought refuge under his large swastika flag, believing that this would make the area especially “bomb-proof” given the growing friendship between Tokyo and Berlin; they assumed Japanese aviators would think twice before targeting a region seemingly under German protection. With just hours left before the Japanese Army was expected to gain control, the residents of Nanjing made their last preparations, prioritizing personal survival. The brutal behavior of Japanese troops in conquered territories fueled intense concern over the possible fate of injured soldiers who might fall into enemy hands. As Nanjing's last hours as a free city unfolded, it became imperative for local hospitals to evacuate as many wounded soldiers as possible across the Yangtze. On December 12, doctors found a motorboat stranded on the riverbank, having apparently broken down. They managed to repair it and ferried several hundred patients to safety throughout the day. Throughout December 12, the citizens of Nanjing were subjected to the unsettling cacophony of heavy shelling, mixed with the roar of bombers overhead. By evening, the entire horizon south of the city glowed with flames. The sound of fighting emanated from all directions, continuing long after sunset. However, in the middle of the night, activity began to wan. Every few minutes, the muffled thuds of shells could still be heard, though their origin was unclear. For the most part, an eerie silence prevailed, as if the city was holding its breath in anticipation of the final onslaught. Chiang Kai-shek had indicated he would understand if Tang chose to abandon the capital. However, on December 12, he reversed his stance, sending a telegram to Tang expressing optimism that the Nanjing garrison could hold out significantly longer. In his words “If you do not shy away from sacrifices, you will be able to hold high the banner of our nation and our army, and this could transform defeat into victory. If you can hold out one more day, you will add to the pride of the Chinese nation. If you can hold out for half a month or more, the domestic and international situation could see a substantial change.” Tang adopted a hardline approach toward any signs of defeatism among his troops. When he learned that General Sun Yuanliang, commander of the formerly elite 88th Division, was leading approximately 2,000 men from the Gate of Enlightenment to the dock area, Tang acted swiftly. He dispatched Song Xilian, the commanding general of the 36th Division, to halt the retreat. When the two units met, a fratricidal clash nearly occurred. Fortunately, the 88th Division agreed to return to the gate and continue fighting. Whatever Tang's plans, they were rendered irrelevant at 3:00 pm,  when he received another telegram from Chiang, this time ordering a full retreat. Rumors that the Chinese Army had started evacuating Nanjing triggerec panic among many units. Thousands abandoned their positions and joined the throngs of soldiers and civilians moving slowly down the city's main avenues. The crowd seemed to have collectively decided that getting a boat out of Nanjing was the best option, and by late afternoon, a solid mass of humanity stretched for miles through the city toward the dock areas at Xiaguan. To reach Xiaguan, everyone had to pass through Yijiang Gate. This relatively modern structure had served as the main entry point for visitors arriving in Nanjing by boat in recent decades and now only half of the main entrance was open. A crowd of that size trying to get through such a narrow bottleneck was a recipe for disaster. Those unfortunate enough to be right at the front felt the crushing pressure of tens of thousands of individuals pushing from behind. In that densely packed throng, stumbling and falling to the ground was akin to a death sentence; anyone who went down was inevitably crushed by the oncoming waves of terrified civilians and soldiers. As chaos erupted, discipline evaporated entirely. Officers lost control over their men, leading to infighting among the soldiers. Pushing and shoving escalated into fistfights, and trucks drove directly into the mass of people to force their way through. Tanks, emitting sounds akin to prehistoric beasts, rolled through the mob, crushing many under their weight. Amid the madness, some soldiers, driven by frustration over the lack of movement, began shooting into the crowd at random. To relieve the pressure at Yijiang Gate, some units were ordered to exit Nanjing via the Gate of Great Peace at the northeastern corner of the city wall. Upon arrival, they found the entrance nearly sealed shut. Thick walls of sandbags had been erected around it, leaving only a narrow opening through which one person could pass at a time. Massive crowds fought among themselves to get through; even under perfect order and discipline, it would have taken the entire night and most of the following day for everyone to pass. In the midst of the frantic chaos, it could take a week or more. During the night of the 12th, a select group of Japanese soldiers, chosen for the offensive, stripped their equipment down to the bare essentials: rifles, bayonets, and helmets. They avoided any gear that could produce a metallic noise, alerting the Chinese defenders to their approach. Stealthily, they moved up to the wall, carrying bamboo ladders tied together in threes for added height. Ascending the rungs, they ensured not to make a sound that could betray their position to an alert Chinese sentry. Everything hinged on remaining undetected; even a couple of hand grenades tossed down the wall could halt the attack in its tracks. Reaching the top without being noticed, the soldiers quickly fanned out. Chinese soldiers stationed on the wall saw the swift dark figures and opened fire, but it was too late to thwart the assault. A brief fight ensued; most Japanese soldiers were too close to use their rifles and immediately resorted to their bayonets. The stunned defenders were pushed back, and the successful assault team established a perimeter, awaiting reinforcements from outside the wall. They didn't have to wait long. A massive assault along the length of the 6th Division's front line commenced at dawn on December 13. Japanese artillery concentrated its fire on a narrow section of the city wall, progressively working its way from the bottom up. Gradually, the shells formed a slope of debris that soldiers could use to scale the wall. A short air raid was executed, and after the planes had weakened the remaining resistance, a group of soldiers rushed up the slope. While their comrades provided covering fire, they climbed the last stretch, rolling down a rope ladder. Within minutes, 40 other Japanese soldiers had joined them. By 10:30 am, the Rising Sun flag was flying over the wall. The Japanese invaders were met with a horrific sight at the top of the wall. Beyond lay the grim aftermath of days of shelling. Some houses were leveled, while others burned. The ground was littered with bodies, some decapitated or disemboweled, and pools of blood surrounded them. As Chiang Kai-shek's order to abandon the city gradually filtered down to the troops manning the wall around Nanjing, things began to move rapidly.  By late morning on December 13, all the major entry points into the city had fallen to the Japanese. These included Chinese Gate in the southwest, the Gate of Enlightenment in the south, and Sun Yat-sen Gate in the east. The first thing that struck the Japanese soldiers upon ascending the wall was how starkly different it was from their expectations. They had anticipated a bustling city teeming with people, but instead, the area adjacent to the wall was characterized by farm plots, resembling countryside more than an urban center. The second notable observation was the complete absence of inhabitants. Cautiously, the Japanese soldiers entered the city they had just conquered, their bayonets fixed and rifles at the ready. Yet, surprisingly, very few shots were fired. After weeks of fearing death and injury, once the immediate danger receded, a certain stupor settled in. For most civilians in Nanjing, their initial encounter with the city's new rulers was uneventful. It took several hours for the Japanese to move from the wall into the urban parts of the capital. It was not until around noon that residents noticed the first groups of Japanese soldiers marching down the streets in clusters of six to twelve men. Initially, many met the conquerors with relief, hoping they would be treated fairly. Their optimism was bolstered by Japanese planes dropping leaflets over the city, reassuring residents of humane treatment. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. On December 9, fierce battles erupted, especially at the Gate of Enlightenment. Despite heavy fighting, the Chinese showed remarkable resilience, turning Nanjing into a symbol of determination. However, the tide shifted as overwhelming Japanese artillery and tactics began to breach defenses. By December 13, as chaos engulfed the city, the invaders claimed victory, but not without significant loss. Civilians, caught amid the destruction, clung to hope amid despair.

Last time we spoke about the battle of Lake Tai. In November 1937, as Japanese forces advanced, Nanjing's fate hung in the balance. Commander Tang Shengzhi led the desperate defense amidst disarray among Chinese generals, many advocating retreat. Despite political strife, civilians rallied, fortifying the city, knowing its fall could destroy Chiang Kai-Shek's government. On November 19, Japanese Commander Yanagawa seized the moment, directing his troops towards Nanjing, igniting panic in Tokyo.  As fierce battles erupted around Lake Tai, the Chinese forces, though outmatched in technology, employed guerilla tactics and stubborn resistance. Chinese artillery delivered devastating blows, and bold counterattacks kept Japanese momentum in check. However, as the month closed, the tide turned, logistical challenges and internal chaos hampered communication. The stage was set for one of the darkest chapters of modern Chinese history, where the battle for Nanjing would symbolize the struggle against oppression.   #165 Nanjing Surrounded Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. On December 1st, Jiangyin fell. That same day Japanese Army General Staff Deputy Chief Tada Hayao arrived to the Shanghai region to conduct an inspection of the front lines and personally deliver Tokyo's orders authorizing an assault upon Nanjing. The directive was exceptionally brief: “The Central China Area Army is to attack Nanjing in coordination with the Navy.”  Later that same day, at 7:00 pm more detailed instructions were issued by the Central China Area Army. The 10th Army was set to begin its decisive assault on Nanjing on December 3, advancing along two primary routes toward the capital. The left flank was to advance through Wuhu, while the right flank would move via the city of Lishui. The Shanghai Expeditionary Force, having endured more strain than the 10th Army due to its longer tenure at the front, was scheduled to launch its attack two days later, concentrating its forces around Danyang and Jurong. On December 2nd, Matsui received a promotion, given overall command of the Central China Area Army. The responsibility for the Shanghai Expeditionary Force was entrusted to a recent appointee in the Shanghai theater, Prince Asaka Yasuhiko, a member of the Imperial family. As Matsui noted in his diary that day "It's a great honor”. He promptly issued orders to ensure the prince's comfort and safety by all available means. At the age of 55, Prince Asaka, Emperor Hirohito's uncle, boasted a successful military background, including a tenure at the Japanese embassy in Paris. However, this experience had left its mark on him in two significant ways: he walked with a limp due to a car accident in France and spoke French fluently. Despite his talents and efforts, he did not earn the highest regard from Hirohito. He had not demonstrated the loyalty expected of him during the February 26th Coup attempt in 1936 and had since been met with a cold shoulder from the emperor Command in China presented a crucial opportunity for him to restore his standing in the eyes of Hirohito. Meanwhile over in the capital a war for air supremacy raged. More and more soviet pilots were arriving alongside their Polikarpov I-16 fighters. Exhausted from the long distance travel to Nanjing, the Soviet pilots were given no respite and tossed into the fray, performing 5 sorties in their first day. The Soviets were kept very busy as the Japanese increasingly unleashed raids against the airfields in the Nanjing region. The raids became so intense, the Chinese had to relocate their aircraft to bases hundreds of miles behind the front. While the Polikarpov I-16's were severely hampering the Japanese, suddenly a new adversary emerged. The Mitsubishi A5M fighter, still a prototype was rushed into service to help escort the bombers. This was the predecessor to the legendary A6M Zero fighter. Like I mentioned previously I wrote the Kings and Generals episode on the A6M Zero Fighter's history and over at my patreon I have a hour long podcast on it. Needless to say the A5M changed everything in the theater, taking away the advantage the Soviet fighters had wielded for a brief window of time.  At 9:00 am on December 2, a small customs cruiser waving a swastika flag docked at the Nanjing waterfront after making an overnight journey down the Yangtze River from Wuhan. German Ambassador Oskar Trautmann quickly disembarked, accompanied by embassy councilor Heinz Lautenschlager and Chinese Vice Foreign Minister Xu Mo. Trautmann's mission was so secretive that although he had dined with a secretary from the Italian embassy, an Axis partner just hours before departing from Wuhan, he made no mention of his impending trip.  Despite the secrecy surrounding his visit, news of Trautmann's arrival in Nanjing spread rapidly within the German community. Businessman John Rabe, noted in his diary that day “I assume his return has something to do with Germany's attempt to act as a mediator”. Just before Trautmann's arrival, Chiang Kai-shek had a meeting with his closest advisers, primarily military generals. Vice Foreign Minister Xu briefed those present on the peace conditions proposed by the Japanese nearly a month prior. Many in attendance were hearing these terms for the first time and were startled to discover that Japan did not require reductions in Chinese armaments. Bai Chongxi was the first to speak “If these are the only terms, then why should there be war?” Given that the Japanese proposal seemed to allow for the continuity of the Kuomintang led Chinese nation, the generals present, including Tang Shengzhi, agreed to use it as a basis for negotiations. Later, at 5:00 pm Chiang met with Trautmann. The German diplomat said “I believe it is necessary for China to declare its willingness to discuss the Japanese terms in a conciliatory spirit.” Chiang replied, “I intend to do so, but I also expect the same from Japan.” Chiang then explained that they needed to be addressed for peace talks with Japan to proceed, explicitly stating that he would not accept Japanese control over northern China and that he was unwilling to sacrifice his recent friendship with the Soviet Union to achieve peace with Japan. Having secured Chiang's agreement to initiate talks with Japan, Trautmann promptly returned to the German embassy to report to his superiors in Berlin. He then headed back to the docks, boarding the same vessel that had brought him to Nanjing, traveling back up the dark Yangtze River. One particular concern weighed heavily on Trautmann's mind: a request from Chiang to maintain absolute secrecy regarding the upcoming Sino-Japanese negotiations. Trautmann believed that Germany should support this request. He was convinced that if news leaked about Chiang's willingness to engage with the despised Japanese, it could spell the end of his government in China, allowing the Soviets to take charge. At this time, both the Germans and Japanese feared fragmenting China further. Both wanted the Kuomintang to remain in charge and maintain the status quo as they benefitted from it greatly. Staff officer Kawabe Torashiro after a recent tour of the front lines had this to say, “To dismantle the Chiang regime would leave it in a dire situation, giving it the desperate tenacity of a cornered rat in its struggle against Japan. Whether we destroy it or not, we would ultimately contribute to a fragmented China for many years, one that would be a significant drain on the Empire's resources well into the future.” Meanwhile, the city of Changzhou fell on December 2nd, without any resistance. Private Azuma Shiro landed at Changzhou and was ordered alongside his 20th regiment to prepare an assault upon Danyang,  a walled city located about 25 miles northwest of Changzhou. The road between the two locations was nearly straight, running parallel to the railway connecting Shanghai and Nanjing, allowing the 20th Regiment to make swift progress. Upon arriving at Danyang, Azuma's platoon cautiously approached a bamboo grove concealing a Chinese position. Suddenly, a ZB vz 26 machine gun opened fire. Taking cover, the Japanese soldiers entered a nearby cemetery, where the small grave mounds offered some protection. The platoon's knee mortars responded, firing shells that silenced the machine gun. Seizing the opportunity, they launched their assault, swords raised and bayonets fixed, shouting at the top of their lungs. As they closed the distance to the bamboo grove, the machine gun sliced them down. When they finally reached the trench, they discovered it was already abandoned; the occupants had fled mere moments before. Danyang also fell on December 2, clearing one of the significant obstacles in the 16th Division's path to Jurong. Meanwhile to the south, the 9th Division was advancing from Tianwangsi towards Chunhua village, just miles from the capital, while elements of the 3rd Division were also making significant headway. At the northern end of the front, the Amaya Detachment was approaching the Yangtze port city of Zhenjiang, preparing to cross the river and sweep west along the opposite bank. As Matsui noted in his diary that day “The enemy's entire defensive line has been breached, and their morale has declined sharply. I believe there won't be much fight left in them moving forward”. Although the Shanghai Expeditionary Force had yet to launch its final assault on the capital, the soldiers were managing to advance at an impressive pace. Matsui noted in his diary on December 4th “I plan for an orderly occupation of Nanjing. Before entering the city, we must offer Chiang Kai-shek or the garrison commander the opportunity to surrender. While occupying Nanjing, I hope we can avoid unnecessary damage to the city and harm to the population.” Over in Nanjing, Henri Johan Diederick de Fremery, a Dutch officer serving as an advisor to the Chinese army, had assessed the city's fortifications prior to the war and found them lacking. He noted that coastal batteries had been installed to the north and northeast of the city, including outdated muzzle-loaders. In his report he stated  “They might serve against warship attacks, but who would think of attacking this city with warships?” Although some artillery pieces were positioned along the city wall, they were insufficient in number. Some locations were poorly constructed due to material shortages. For instance, a portion of the wall between Sun Yat-sen Gate and the Gate of Enlightenment had been reinforced with makeshift structures, concrete on the outside and a fragile network of bamboo within. It was a façade that would collapse upon the impact of the first Japanese shell. Natural obstacles like Purple Mountain to the east and the Yuhuatai hills to the south existed, but little was done to incorporate these features into the defensive network. The river, which served as a natural moat, became shallower on the eastern side, allowing for relatively easy crossing. As further noted by de Fremery “Nanking cannot be justifiably termed a heavily defended city”. Meanwhile the Chinese Army was engaged in a frantic effort to prepare for the anticipated Japanese onslaught. Engineers readied to demolish strategic bridges, and in many cases, entire villages were set ablaze, blackening the horizon with thick smoke. Heart-wrenching scenes unfolded as farmers were evicted from homes that had been in their families for generations.  By the end of the first week of winter, distant bombings echoed through the air, with explosions powerful enough to rattle windows within the city. The front lines were alarmingly close, leading to a steady influx of injured Chinese soldiers into Nanjing on foot. A pervasive sense of foreboding enveloped the city. Amidst the gloom, there lingered a belief that despite impending challenges, life would somehow continue. On the morning of December 3, a ship departed from Nanjing, loaded with treasures that represented three millennia of Chinese history. Thousands of crates filled with irreplaceable bronzes, porcelain, paintings, and other art objects were sent upriver. These invaluable items had been moved from Beijing four years earlier and stored in vaults in Nanjing. It was evident that the situation could deteriorate rapidly, leaving little time to respond. On December 5, all US citizens in Nanjing were urged to pack their essential belongings and be prepared to leave the city on short notice. The following day, a final order was issued: all American passport holders were directed to make their way to the Yangtze docks and board a river gunboat awaiting them, the USS Panay. As the Japanese Army advanced westward toward Nanjing, it left behind a horrifying trail of arson, rape, and murder. Helpless civilians who fell into the hands of the victorious soldiers endured brutal treatment that often defied comprehension. Now similar to other episodes I have done on my own channel or Pacific War Week by Week, this is a disclaimer, I am about to talk about some gut wrenching horrifying stuff. We are reaching Nanjing, and yes the infamous massacre is going to be told to the fullest. So warning, its about to get graphic. At the hamlet of Nanqiantou 38 residents were met with atrocities that would become more and more common. The Japanese Army set fire to the twelve homes that comprised the hamlet, forcing the captives to witness the destruction. When some of the residents attempted to escape and salvage their belongings, the soldiers trapped them inside, locking the doors and sealing their fate as the roofs collapsed in flames. Among the victims, two women, one of whom was pregnant, were subjected to repeated rapes. In a particularly gruesome act, the soldiers “cut open the belly of the pregnant woman and gouged out the fetus.” Amid the chaos, a 2 year old boy cried out, and a soldier seized him from his mother's arms, throwing him into the flames. The frantic mother was bayoneted and discarded into a nearby creek. The remaining captives met a similar fate, dragged to the water's edge, stabbed, and pushed into the stream. The 170 miles between Shanghai and Nanjing transformed into a nightmarish wasteland of death and destruction. For miles, the only living beings visible were the deceased. The reputation of the Japanese soldiers preceded them, leading many Chinese civilians to prefer a swift death at their own hands rather than the prospect of a slow demise at the hands of the Japanese. While passing through the town of Pinghu on their way to Nanjing, First Lieutenant Nishizawa Benkichi and his men from the 114th Division spotted two Chinese girls across a river. They appeared to be strolling hand in hand, possibly sisters. As they stepped onto a bridge, the girls began to walk towards the Japanese soldiers but suddenly stopped. Still clasping hands, they jumped into the river, disappearing into the swift current. Military efficiency was accompanied by a staggering brutality, where victories against armed opponents were often followed by the massacre of unarmed women and children. This pattern parallels the incomprehensible behavior of German soldiers on the Eastern Front, though there are significant differences. The Germans viewed themselves as a superior race compared to their Slavic adversaries, labeling them as "untermensch." In contrast, the Japanese could not deny their connections to the Chinese. Japan's historical role as a major influence on Chinese civilization was undeniable, as reflected in aspects as basic as the shared writing system. To many Japanese, their nation's relationship with China resembled that of two brothers, one younger and righteous, the other older and misguided, in need of redemption. Matsui Iwane embodied this perspective. Alongside his military duties, he held a deep interest in fostering cooperation among the peoples of Asia, who he believed remained under the yoke of Western imperialism. Since his youth, Matsui had been captivated by China, and while other ambitious officers sought postings in Western capitals like Paris or London, he applied to serve in China, remaining there for nearly a decade as part of Japan's diplomatic representation. By the 1930s, Matsui's commitment to this pan-Asian vision had gained a political dimension, leading him to become a prominent founder of the Greater Asia Association in 1933. This of course was created mostly through the work of Kanji Ishiwara. What was once a exclusive on my patreon can be found over at Echoes of War or my youtube channel, its a four part series on the life of Ishiwara and it goes into the history of how he tried to forge pan asianism, but ultimately failed against his adversaries like Hideki Tojo. Its fascinating stuff, please if you are interested check it out on youtube and comment where you came from.  This organization, though dominated by Japan, has been described as "probably the single most influential organization propagating Pan-Asianism during the 15 year war. During a visit to China in late 1935, Matsui helped establish the Chinese Greater Asia Association in the northern port city of Tianjin. For individuals like Matsui, Japan's actions on the Asian mainland were akin to liberating its peoples. They viewed the establishment of the Japanese-controlled puppet state, Manchukuo, in northeast China in 1932, as a bold experiment in nation-building, hoping the rest of China would benefit similarly. As Matsui wrote in 1933 “Next, we must also extend to the 400 million people of China the same help and deep sympathy that we provided to Manchuria, relieving them of their miserable condition of political, economic, and intellectual subjugation by various countries of the world.” The violence perpetrated by the Japanese Army stemmed from numerous variables. One was a grotesque belief they were actually liberators to what they deemed, ungrateful Chinese. The Japanese believed their presence in China was partly for the benefit of the Chinese people and felt a messianic obligation to save them. This led to frustration akin to that of a father confronting a disobedient son, compelling them to punish what they perceived as disobedience. While the rank-and-file soldiers might not have reflected deeply on these issues, such philosophies filtered down from their leaders. Of course there is a lot more to it, and sorry again for shamelessly plugging it, but on my patreon I specifically did an episode titled “why the Japanese army was so brutal” where I went through everything involved. It ran from cultural issues, to the brutal system of abuse in the military, to racism, radicalization of male youth in Japan, its a very complicated matter. Because again, most of the atrocities were committed by 20-30 year old grunts who had families back home. This was not like the traditional “I was following orders” type of situation, these were atrocities committed by the lowest ranks upwards.  The safety zone, created by Rabe and a handful of other foreigners, began to take shape in the first week of December. It was officially announced, and four committees were established to manage food, housing, finances, and sanitation. Once the plans for the zone were publicized in local newspapers, scared Chinese civilians flocked to it by the hundreds. From its inception, the zone faced numerous problems. Thousands of bags of rice and flour intended for the future residents of the zone were left unguarded and quickly looted, leading many to assume they had been stolen by military personnel. More troubling were the issues that arose when Chinese military units began digging trenches and setting up field telephones within the safety zone, putting it at heightened risk of a Japanese attack. Chinese officers assured organizers that they would vacate the area, but the delay led to growing frustration among those overseeing the zone. Until all Chinese soldiers withdrew, the organizers could not erect flags to formally designate the area as demilitarized. Although the Japanese refused to officially recognize the safety zone, they pledged to respect it.    Following the outbreak of the battle for Shanghai, the Chinese Red Cross stepped in where military medicine had faltered, establishing first-aid teams and emergency hospitals while ensuring that wounded soldiers were accommodated in existing medical facilities. In October, they opened a 3,000-bed hospital on the campus of the National Central University, staffed by 300 doctors, nurses, and 400 orderlies. By the end of October, the hospital had admitted 1,200 patients and performed over 50 operations daily, primarily amputations. However, as the Japanese forces advanced toward Nanjing, doctors and nurses were evacuated westward along the Yangtze River. The entire Red Cross hospital was dismantled, and at the American Mission Hospital, the staff, which had initially numbered nearly 200 doctors, nurses, and trained personnel, dwindled to just 11 by the onset of winter.  With medical facilities on the brink of collapse, a group of foreigners took the initiative to improve conditions, achieving small victories along the way.  Back at the front, the 10th Army continued their march to Nanjing. On the right flank, the 114th Division had marched through Liyang within hours, covering 40 miles over the next two days to reach Lishui on December 4. Behind them, the 6th Division was still lagging somewhat, struggling to catch up after making a large detour east of Lake Tai. The Kunisaki Detachment was tasked with reaching the Yangtze at Taiping, crossing the river, and heading for Pukou, directly opposite Nanjing, to cut off any retreating Chinese forces. To the left of the 6th and 114th Divisions, the 18th Division received orders on December 2 to march northwest from the Guangde area toward Nanjing. However, when intelligence reports indicated that large numbers of Chinese troops were withdrawing south toward Ningguo, trying to escape encirclement, thus the 18th Division had its mission altered. On December 4, they were instructed to change course and press straight west, aiming to trap as many Chinese soldiers as possible. The residents of Nanjing were jolted awake by the roar of airplanes shortly before 6:00 am on December 7. It was the sound of Chiang Kai-shek and Song Meiling departing the capital. Three days before his departure, Japanese forces had advanced dangerously close, and their shelling had intensified to the point that he was forced to move from his residence on Purple Mountain to a villa belonging to a famous scholar who had since passed away, located within the city walls. While organizing his departure, Chiang kept the morale of the troops and civilians trapped in Nanjing at the forefront of his mind. In his diary, Chiang noted, “Staying in Nanjing until the last moment has not only enabled us to complete military preparations, but it has also boosted the morale of soldiers and civilians alike. The evacuation of necessary material has been carried out without disorder. I cannot imagine what might have happened if I had left ten days earlier.” On one of his last nights in Nanjing, Chiang gathered all officers of major general rank and above at Tang Shengzhi's headquarters in the Railroad Ministry. With the First Lady by his side, he delivered an inspiring pep talk ahead of the impending battle, emphasizing that although the Chinese had faced temporary setbacks, they had managed to strike back at the Japanese forces, thwarting their plans for a swift victory. Additionally, he noted that China had garnered the sympathy and support of the international community. “You're being watched by the entire nation, indeed by the whole world. We cannot abandon Nanjing!” He then formally handed overall responsibility for the defense of the capital to Tang Shengzhi, urging the officers to obey him as they would obey Chiang himself. He insisted that this would not be merely a symbolic fight; a sustained defense of Nanjing could tie down Japanese forces, giving the bulk of the Chinese Army the opportunity to regroup and strengthen. He promised that three divisions, fully equipped and at peak strength, would soon arrive from the southwestern province of Yunnan. He pledged to personally lead them back to Nanjing to break the siege.  Meanwhile on the front of the Shanghai Expeditionary Force, the 16th Division had broken through Chinese lines at the crucial town of Jurong, located 30 miles east of the Nanjing city wall, and was now advancing toward the village of Tangshui. To the south, the 9th Division had reached Chunhua, another strategic town straddling the approaches to the capital. Meanwhile, to the north, soldiers from the 13th Division were crossing the Yangtze River at Zhenjiang to establish a foothold on the other side. Progress was similarly swift in the 10th Army's sector. The 114th Division had advanced all the way to Molingguan, a town less than 20 miles south of Nanjing. The 6th Division, having rushed to the front since the order to capture China's capital had been issued in early December, was expected to arrive later that day. To the south of these two divisions, the 18th Division was set to capture the city of Ningguo while continuing its push toward the Yangtze, effectively completing the encirclement of Nanjing. By December 5th, Matsui and his staff completed its transfer from Shanghai to Suzhou, they issued a general directive for the attack on Nanjing. This order outlined two possible scenarios. In the best-case outcome, the Chinese defenders would surrender and open the city gates. In that event, each Japanese division would send in one battalion to complete the pacification of the city and eliminate any remaining pockets of resistance from soldiers unwilling to capitulate. In the worst-case scenario, if the Chinese commanders disregarded Japanese offers to surrender and prepared for a prolonged defense of their capital, Japan would unleash the full force of its artillery on the city. Each division would then send in one regiment to breach the city gates and engage in a fierce battle, fighting street by street and house by house. It quickly became evident to the Japanese, the Chinese had no intention to simply hand over their capital. New York times correspondent, F Tillman Durdin witnessed action between the recently arrived 154th and 156th divisions from southern China who were quickly encircled atop a cone-shaped peak. “The Japanese set a ring of fire around the peak. The flames, consuming trees and grass, gradually crept closer and closer to the summit, forcing the Chinese upward until, huddled together, they were mercilessly machine-gunned to death.” As the Japanese troops closed in on Nanjing, the level of destruction left in the wake of the Chinese defenders became increasingly apparent. Near the capital, hardly a bridge remained intact as efforts intensified to hinder the invaders. The rush to reach Nanjing heightened rivalries within the Japanese Army. In early December, soldiers from the 16th Infantry Division traversed hilly terrain at what they believed was a vigorous pace. Suddenly, to their left, they spotted a parallel column of Japanese soldiers, quickly identifying them as members of the 9th Infantry Division's 35th Regiment. The company commander shouted “Don't let the 35th beat us to Nanjing! Get moving!”  Cities, towns, villages, and hamlets lay in the path of Japan's multifaceted advance on Nanjing. Some areas fell without much resistance, while others were fiercely defended by Chinese soldiers determined to hold their ground until the end. Chunhua, a town located roughly 15 miles southeast of Nanjing, was among the latter. The town was defended by troops from the Chinese 51st Infantry Division, who had participated in some of the toughest battles around Shanghai during the autumn months. The 51st Division found its withdrawal to Nanjing cut off by fast-moving Japanese columns. Only with the assistance of local civilians were various units able to sneak back to the capital, filtering through enemy lines. Upon arrival, the division's soldiers had hoped for a chance to cross the Yangtze for much-needed rest. Instead, Chiang Kai-shek ordered them to immediately reinforce the defenses at Chunhua. As the troops arrived in Chunhua village in early December, they were dismayed to find the pillboxes in disrepair. Some bunkers had been buried too deep to function effectively as defensive structures, while others had excessively large embrasures that offered little to no protection from enemy fire. Most frustratingly, keys to the bunkers were often missing, making entry problematic. The division worked tirelessly to improve their positions using whatever materials could be requisitioned from the area, but time was too short to bring the defenses up to the standard the commanders desired. Nonetheless, they achieved significant upgrades: three lines of defenses in front of Chunhua, centered around several pillboxes; two rows of barbed wire; and an antitank ditch to complicate any advance. Hidden machine gun nests also provided surprises for the Japanese infantry. On December 4, the Japanese vanguard, a column of about 500 soldiers from the 9th Division, was spotted, and over the next two days, the solitary company at Shuhu endured intense assaults. The Chinese dispatched an armored platoon as temporary reinforcements, marking one of the rare instances when Chinese tanks confronted Japanese infantry directly. The Chinese lost three armored vehicles, while the Japanese reported around 40 casualties among their infantry. By the afternoon of December 6, the surviving Chinese soldiers at Shuhu, numbering fewer than 30, abandoned their positions and fought their way back to Chunhua, leaving their fallen comrades behind. Advancing units of Japan's 9th Division closely followed, initially avoiding contact with the Chinese defenses to conduct reconnaissance. Based on their observations, the Japanese concluded that although the Chinese defenses appeared well-prepared, they were thinly manned. Costly fighting resulted in the Japanese gaining control over only the first of the three Chinese defense lines. Determined to capture the next two lines, they once again depended heavily on their artillery.  In several sectors along the front, soldiers of the 9th Japanese Division found themselves caught in the deadly crossfire of Chinese machine guns, creating a virtual kill zone from which there was no escape. For the Chinese defenders, the conditions were equally horrific. As recalled by the commander of the Chinese 51st division, Wang Yaowu “The shelling was incessant. Body parts were flying through the air. Some men lost legs, others arms. Brains were splattered everywhere”. The division's 301st Regiment, which bore the brunt of the battle, suffered approximately 1,500 casualties among its officers and soldiers. On the second day of the battle for Chunhua, December 7, their left flank made some gains, penetrating the area behind the village. The breakthrough, however, came in the afternoon of December 8 when an entire regiment that had been lagging behind the rest of the 9th Division arrived just in time to join the fight. This bolstered the morale of the Japanese troops and provided momentum to their attack. By the end of that day, Chunhua was firmly under Japanese control. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. As the Japanese forces advanced, Nanjing's fate teetered on the brink. Commander Tang Shengzhi led a beleaguered defense amidst chaos, while civilians fortified the city, aware of its significance. On December 1, General Matsui officially ordered an assault on Nanjing. As Japanese troops closed in, brutality loomed on the horizon, heralding one of China's darkest chapters in its fight against oppression.

Last time we spoke about the Soviet Victory in Asia. After atomic bombings and Japan's surrender, the Soviets launched a rapid Manchurian invasion, driving toward Harbin, Mukden, Changchun, and Beijing. Shenyang was taken, seeing the capture of the last Emperor of China, Pu Yi. The Soviets continued their advances into Korea with port captures at Gensan and Pyongyang, and occupation of South Sakhalin and the Kuril Islands, ahead of anticipated American intervention. Stalin pushed for speed to avoid US naval landings, coordinating with Chinese forces and leveraging the Sino-Soviet pact while balancing relations with Chiang Kai-shek. As fronts closed, tens of thousands of Japanese POWs were taken, while harsh wartime reprisals, looting, and mass sexual violence against Japanese, Korean, and Chinese civilians were reported.  This episode is the Surrender of Japan Welcome to the Pacific War Podcast Week by Week, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about world war two? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on world war two and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel you can find a few videos all the way from the Opium Wars of the 1800's until the end of the Pacific War in 1945.  With the Manchurian Campaign over and Japan's surrender confirmed, we've reached the end of the Pacific War and the ushering of a new era. This journey took us 3 years, 8 months, and 27 days and it's been a rollercoaster. We've gone over numerous stories of heroism and horror, victory and defeat, trying to peel back a part of WW2 that often gets overshadowed by the war in Europe. Certainly the China War is almost completely ignored by the west, but fortunately for you all, as I end this series we have just entered the China war over at the Fall and Rise of China Podcast. Unlike this series where, to be blunt, I am hamstrung by the week by week format, over there I can tackle the subject as I see fit, full of personal accounts. I implore you if you want to revisit some of that action in China, jump over to the other podcast, I will be continuing it until the end of the Chinese civil war. One could say it will soon be a bit of a sequel to this one. Of course if you love this format and want more, you can check out the brand new Eastern Front week by week podcast, which really does match the horror of the Pacific war. Lastly if you just love hearing my dumb voice, come check out my podcast which also is in video format on the Pacific War Channel on Youtube, the Echoes of War podcast. Me and my co-host Gaurav tackle history from Ancient to Modern, often with guests and we blend the dialogue with maps, photos and clips. But stating all of that, lets get into it, the surrender of Japan. As we last saw, while the Soviet invasion of Manchuria raged, Emperor Hirohito announced the unconditional surrender of the Japanese Empire on August 15. Public reaction varied, yet most were stunned and bewildered, unable to grasp that Japan had surrendered for the first time in its history. Many wept openly as they listened to the Emperor's solemn message; others directed swift anger at the nation's leaders and the fighting services for failing to avert defeat; and some blamed themselves for falling short in their war effort. Above all, there was a deep sympathy for the Emperor, who had been forced to make such a tragic and painful decision.  In the wake of the Emperor's broadcast, war factories across the country dismissed their workers and shut their doors. Newspapers that had been ordered to pause their usual morning editions appeared in the afternoon, each carrying the Imperial Rescript, an unabridged translation of the Potsdam Declaration, and the notes exchanged with the Allied Powers. In Tokyo, crowds of weeping citizens gathered all afternoon in the vast plaza before the Imperial Palace and at the Meiji and Yasukuni Shrines to bow in reverence and prayer. The shock and grief of the moment, coupled with the dark uncertainty about the future, prevented any widespread sense of relief that the fighting had ended. Bombings and bloodshed were over, but defeat seemed likely to bring only continued hardship and privation. Starvation already gripped the land, and the nation faced the looming breakdown of public discipline and order, acts of violence and oppression by occupying forces, and a heavy burden of reparations. Yet despite the grim outlook, the Emperor's assurance that he would remain to guide the people through the difficult days ahead offered a measure of solace and courage. His appeal for strict compliance with the Imperial will left a lasting impression, and the refrain “Reverent Obedience to the Rescript” became the rallying cry as the nation prepared to endure the consequences of capitulation. Immediately after the Emperor's broadcast, Prime Minister Suzuki's cabinet tendered its collective resignation, yet Hirohito commanded them to remain in office until a new cabinet could be formed. Accordingly, Suzuki delivered another broadcast that evening, urging the nation to unite in absolute loyalty to the throne in this grave national crisis, and stressing that the Emperor's decision to end the war had been taken out of compassion for his subjects and in careful consideration of the circumstances. Thus, the shocked and grief-stricken population understood that this decision represented the Emperor's actual will rather than a ratified act of the Government, assuring that the nation as a whole would obediently accept the Imperial command. Consequently, most Japanese simply went on with their lives as best they could; yet some military officers, such as General Anami, chose suicide over surrender. Another key figure who committed seppuku between August 15 and 16 was Vice-Admiral Onishi Takijiro, the father of the kamikaze. Onishi's suicide note apologized to the roughly 4,000 pilots he had sent to their deaths and urged all surviving young civilians to work toward rebuilding Japan and fostering peace among nations. Additionally, despite being called “the hero of the August 15 incident” for his peacekeeping role in the attempted coup d'état, General Tanaka felt responsible for the damage done to Tokyo and shot himself on August 24. Following the final Imperial conference on 14 August, the Army's “Big Three”, War Minister Anami, Chief of the Army General Staff Umezu, and Inspectorate-General of Military Training General Kenji Doihara, met at the War Ministry together with Field Marshals Hata and Sugiyama, the senior operational commanders of the homeland's Army forces. These five men affixed their seals to a joint resolution pledging that the Army would “conduct itself in accordance with the Imperial decision to the last.” The resolution was endorsed immediately afterward by General Masakazu Kawabe, the overall commander of the Army air forces in the homeland. In accordance with this decision, General Anami and General Umezu separately convened meetings of their senior subordinates during the afternoon of the 14th, informing them of the outcome of the final Imperial conference and directing strict obedience to the Emperor's command. Shortly thereafter, special instructions to the same effect were radioed to all top operational commanders jointly in the names of the War Minister and Chief of Army General Staff. The Army and Navy authorities acted promptly, and their decisive stance proved, for the most part, highly effective. In the Army, where the threat of upheaval was most acute, the final, unequivocal decision of its top leaders to heed the Emperor's will delivered a crippling blow to the smoldering coup plot by the young officers to block the surrender. The conspirators had based their plans on unified action by the Army as a whole; with that unified stance effectively ruled out, most of the principal plotters reluctantly abandoned the coup d'état scheme on the afternoon of 14 August. At the same time, the weakened Imperial Japanese Navy took steps to ensure disciplined compliance with the surrender decision. Only Admiral Ugaki chose to challenge this with his final actions. After listening to Japan's defeat, Admiral Ugaki Kayō's diary recorded that he had not yet received an official cease-fire order, and that, since he alone was to blame for the failure of Japanese aviators to stop the American advance, he would fly one last mission himself to embody the true spirit of bushido. His subordinates protested, and even after Ugaki had climbed into the back seat of a Yokosuka D4Y4 of the 701st Kokutai dive bomber piloted by Lieutenant Tatsuo Nakatsuru, Warrant Officer Akiyoshi Endo, whose place in the kamikaze roster Ugaki had usurped, also climbed into the same space that the admiral had already occupied. Thus, the aircraft containing Ugaki took off with three men piloted by Nakatsuru, with Endo providing reconnaissance, and Ugaki himself, rather than the two crew members that filled the other ten aircraft. Before boarding his aircraft, Ugaki posed for pictures and removed his rank insignia from his dark green uniform, taking only a ceremonial short sword given to him by Admiral Yamamoto. Elements of this last flight most likely followed the Ryukyu flyway southwest to the many small islands north of Okinawa, where U.S. forces were still on alert at the potential end of hostilities. Endo served as radioman during the mission, sending Ugaki's final messages, the last of which at 19:24 reported that the plane had begun its dive onto an American vessel. However, U.S. Navy records do not indicate any successful kamikaze attack on that day, and it is likely that all aircraft on the mission with the exception of three that returned due to engine problems crashed into the ocean, struck down by American anti-aircraft fire. Although there are no precise accounts of an intercept made by Navy or Marine fighters or Pacific Fleet surface units against enemy aircraft in this vicinity at the time of surrender. it is likely the aircraft crashed into the ocean or was shot down by American anti-aircraft fire. In any event, the crew of LST-926 reported finding the still-smoldering remains of a cockpit with three bodies on the beach of Iheyajima Island, with Ugaki's remains allegedly among them. Meanwhile, we have already covered the Truman–Stalin agreement that Japanese forces north of the 38th parallel would surrender to the Soviets while those to the south would surrender to the Americans, along with the subsequent Soviet occupation of Manchuria, North Korea, South Sakhalin, and the Kurile Islands. Yet even before the first atomic bomb was dropped, and well before the Potsdam Conference, General MacArthur and his staff were planning a peaceful occupation of Japan and the Korean Peninsula. The first edition of this plan, designated “Blacklist,” appeared on July 16 and called for a progressive, orderly occupation in strength of an estimated fourteen major areas in Japan and three to six areas in Korea, so that the Allies could exercise unhampered control over the various phases of administration. These operations would employ 22 divisions and 3 regiments, together with air and naval elements, and would utilize all United States forces immediately available in the Pacific. The plan also provided for the maximum use of existing Japanese political and administrative organizations, since these agencies already exerted effective control over the population and could be employed to good advantage by the Allies. The final edition of “Blacklist,” issued on August 8, was divided into three main phases of occupation. The first phase included the Kanto Plain, the Kobe–Osaka–Kyoto areas, the Nagasaki–Sasebo area in Kyushu, the Keijo district in Korea, and the Aomori–Ominato area of northern Honshu. The second phase covered the Shimonoseki–Fukuoka and Nagoya areas, Sapporo in Hokkaido, and Fusan in Korea. The third phase comprised the Hiroshima–Kure area, Kochi in Shikoku, the Okayama, Tsuruga, and Niigata areas, Sendai in northern Honshu, Otomari in Karafuto, and the Gunzan–Zenshu area in Korea. Although the Joint Chiefs of Staff initially favored Admiral Nimitz's “Campus” Plan, which envisioned entry into Japan by Army forces only after an emergency occupation of Tokyo Bay by advanced naval units and the seizure of key positions ashore near each anchorage, MacArthur argued that naval forces were not designed to perform the preliminary occupation of a hostile country whose ground divisions remained intact, and he contended that occupying large land areas was fundamentally an Army mission. He ultimately convinced them that occupation by a weak Allied force might provoke resistance from dissident Japanese elements among the bomb-shattered population and could therefore lead to grave repercussions. The formal directive for the occupation of Japan, Korea, and the China coast was issued by the Joint Chiefs of Staff on August 11. The immediate objectives were to secure the early entry of occupying forces into major strategic areas, to control critical ports, port facilities, and airfields, and to demobilize and disarm enemy troops. First priority went to the prompt occupation of Japan, second to the consolidation of Keijo in Korea, and third to operations on the China coast and in Formosa. MacArthur was to assume responsibility for the forces entering Japan and Korea; General Wedemeyer was assigned operational control of the forces landing on the China coast and was instructed to coordinate his plans with the Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek; and Japanese forces in Southeast Asia were earmarked for surrender to Admiral Mountbatten. With the agreement of the Soviet, Chinese, and British governments, President Truman designated MacArthur as Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers on August 15, thereby granting him final authority for the execution of the terms of surrender and occupation. In this capacity, MacArthur promptly notified the Emperor and the Japanese Government that he was authorized to arrange for the cessation of hostilities at the earliest practicable date and directed that the Japanese forces terminate hostilities immediately and that he be notified at once of the effective date and hour of such termination. He further directed that Japan send to Manila on August 17 “a competent representative empowered to receive in the name of the Emperor of Japan, the Japanese Imperial Government, and the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters certain requirements for carrying into effect the terms of surrender.” General MacArthur's stipulations to the Japanese Government included specific instructions regarding the journey of the Japanese representatives to Manila. The emissaries were to leave Sata Misaki, at the southern tip of Kyushu, on the morning of August 17. They were to travel in a Douglas DC-3-type transport plane, painted white and marked with green crosses on the wings and fuselage, and to fly under Allied escort to an airdrome on Lejima in the Ryukyus. From there, the Japanese would be transported to Manila in a United States plane. The code designation chosen for communication between the Japanese plane and US forces was the symbolic word “Bataan.” Implementation challenges arose almost immediately due to disagreements within Imperial General Headquarters and the Foreign Office over the exact nature of the mission. Some officials interpreted the instructions as requiring the delegates to carry full powers to receive and agree to the actual terms of surrender, effectively making them top representatives of the Government and High Command. Others understood the mission to be strictly preparatory, aimed only at working out technical surrender arrangements and procedures. Late in the afternoon of August 16, a message was sent to MacArthur's headquarters seeking clarification and more time to organize the mission. MacArthur replied that signing the surrender terms would not be among the tasks of the Japanese representatives dispatched to Manila, assured the Japanese that their proposed measures were satisfactory, and pledged that every precaution would be taken to ensure the safety of the Emperor's representatives on their mission. Although preparations were made with all possible speed, on August 16 the Japanese notified that this delegation would be somewhat delayed due to the scarcity of time allowed for its formation. At the same time, MacArthur was notified that Hirohito had issued an order commanding the entire armed forces of his nation to halt their fighting immediately. The wide dispersion and the disrupted communications of the Japanese forces, however, made the rapid and complete implementation of such an order exceedingly difficult, so it was expected that the Imperial order would take approximately two to twelve days to reach forces throughout the Pacific and Asiatic areas. On August 17, the Emperor personally backed up these orders with a special Rescript to the armed services, carefully worded to assuage military aversion to surrender. Suzuki was also replaced on this date, with the former commander of the General Defense Army, General Prince Higashikuni Naruhiko, becoming the new Prime Minister with the initial tasks to hastily form a new cabinet capable of effecting the difficult transition to peace swiftly and without incident. The Government and Imperial General Headquarters moved quickly to hasten the preparations, but the appointment of the mission's head was held up pending the installation of the Higashikuni Cabinet. The premier-designate pressed for a rapid formation of the government, and on the afternoon of the 17th the official ceremony of installation took place in the Emperor's presence. Until General Shimomura could be summoned to Tokyo from the North China Area Army, Prince Higashikuni himself assumed the portfolio of War Minister concurrently with the premiership, Admiral Mitsumasa Yonai remaining in the critical post of Navy Minister, and Prince Ayamaro Konoe, by Marquis Kido's recommendation, entered the Cabinet as Minister without Portfolio to act as Higashikuni's closest advisor. The Foreign Minister role went to Mamoru Shigemitsu, who had previously served in the Koiso Cabinet. With the new government installed, Prince Higashikuni broadcast to the nation on the evening of 17 August, declaring that his policies as Premier would conform to the Emperor's wishes as expressed in the Imperial mandate to form a Cabinet. These policies were to control the armed forces, maintain public order, and surmount the national crisis, with scrupulous respect for the Constitution and the Imperial Rescript terminating the war. The cabinet's installation removed one delay, and in the afternoon of the same day a message from General MacArthur's headquarters clarified the mission's nature and purpose. Based on this clarification, it was promptly decided that Lieutenant General Torashiro Kawabe, Deputy Chief of the Army General Staff, should head a delegation of sixteen members, mainly representing the Army and Navy General Staffs. Kawabe was formally appointed by the Emperor on 18 August. By late afternoon that same day, the data required by the Allied Supreme Commander had largely been assembled, and a message was dispatched to Manila informing General MacArthur's headquarters that the mission was prepared to depart the following morning. The itinerary received prompt approval from the Supreme Commander. Indeed, the decision to appoint a member of the Imperial Family who had a respectable career in the armed forces was aimed both at appeasing the population and at reassuring the military. MacArthur appointed General Eichelberger's 8th Army to initiate the occupation unassisted through September 22, at which point General Krueger's 6th Army would join the effort. General Hodge's 24th Corps was assigned to execute Operation Blacklist Forty, the occupation of the Korean Peninsula south of the 38th Parallel. MacArthur's tentative schedule for the occupation outlined an initial advance party of 150 communications experts and engineers under Colonel Charles Tench, which would land at Atsugi Airfield on August 23. Naval forces under Admiral Halsey's 3rd Fleet were to enter Tokyo Bay on August 24, followed by MacArthur's arrival at Atsugi the next day and the start of the main landings of airborne troops and naval and marine forces. The formal surrender instrument was to be signed aboard an American battleship in Tokyo Bay on August 28, with initial troop landings in southern Kyushu planned for August 29–30. By September 4, Hodge's 24th Corps was to land at Inchon and begin the occupation of South Korea. In the meantime, per MacArthur's directions, a sixteen-man Japanese delegation headed by Lieutenant-General Kawabe Torashiro, Vice-Chief of the Army General Staff, left Sata Misaki on the morning of August 19; after landing at Iejima, the delegation transferred to an American transport and arrived at Nichols Field at about 18:00. That night, the representatives held their first conference with MacArthur's staff, led by Lieutenant-General Richard Sutherland. During the two days of conference, American linguists scanned, translated, and photostated the various reports, maps, and charts the Japanese had brought with them. Negotiations also resulted in permission for the Japanese to supervise the disarmament and demobilization of their own armed forces under Allied supervision, and provided for three extra days of preparation before the first occupying unit landed on the Japanese home islands on August 26. At the close of the conference, Kawabe was handed the documents containing the “Requirements of the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers,” which concerned the arrival of the first echelons of Allied forces, the formal surrender ceremony, and the reception of the occupation forces. Also given were a draft Imperial Proclamation by which the Emperor would accept the terms of the Potsdam Declaration and command his subjects to cease hostilities, a copy of General Order No. 1 by which Imperial General Headquarters would direct all military and naval commanders to lay down their arms and surrender their units to designated Allied commanders, and the Instrument of Surrender itself, which would later be signed on board an American battleship in Tokyo Bay. After the Manila Conference ended, the Japanese delegation began its return to Japan at 13:00 on August 20; but due to mechanical problems and a forced landing near Hamamatsu, they did not reach Tokyo until August 21. With the scheduled arrival of the advanced party of the Allied occupation forces only five days away, the Japanese immediately began disarming combat units in the initial-occupation areas and evacuating them from those areas. The basic orders stated that Allied forces would begin occupying the homeland on 26 August and reaffirmed the intention ofImperial General Headquarters "to insure absolute obedience to the Imperial Rescript of 14 August, to prevent the occurrence of trouble with the occupying forces, and thus to demonstrate Japan's sincerity to the world." The Japanese government announced that all phases of the occupation by Allied troops would be peaceful and urged the public not to panic or resort to violence against the occupying forces. While they sought to reassure the population, they faced die-hard anti-surrender elements within the IJN, with ominous signs of trouble both from Kyushu, where many sea and air special-attack units were poised to meet an invasion, and from Atsugi, the main entry point for Allied airborne troops into the Tokyo Bay area. At Kanoya, Ugaki's successor, Vice-Admiral Kusaka Ryonosuke, hastened the separation of units from their weapons and the evacuation of naval personnel. At Atsugi, an even more threatening situation developed in the Navy's 302nd Air Group. Immediately after the announcement of the surrender, extremist elements in the group led by Captain Kozono Yasuna flew over Atsugi and the surrounding area, scattering leaflets urging the continuation of the war on the ground and claiming that the surrender edict was not the Emperor's true will but the machination of "traitors around the Throne." The extremists, numbering 83 junior officers and noncommissioned officers, did not commit hostile acts but refused to obey orders from their superior commanders. On August 19, Prince Takamatsu, the Emperor's brother and a navy captain, telephoned Atsugi and personally appealed to Captain Kozono and his followers to obey the Imperial decision. This intervention did not end the incident; on August 21 the extremists seized a number of aircraft and flew them to Army airfields in Saitama Prefecture in hopes of gaining support from Army air units. They failed in this attempt, and it was not until August 25 that all members of the group had surrendered. As a result of the Atsugi incident, on August 22 the Emperor dispatched Captain Prince Takamatsu Nabuhito and Vice-Admiral Prince Kuni Asaakira to various naval commands on Honshu and Kyushu to reiterate the necessity of strict obedience to the surrender decision. Both princes immediately left Tokyo to carry out this mission, but the situation improved over the next two days, and they were recalled before completing their tours. By this point, a typhoon struck the Kanto region on the night of August 22, causing heavy damage and interrupting communications and transport vital for evacuating troops from the occupation zone. This led to further delays in Japanese preparations for the arrival of occupation forces, and the Americans ultimately agreed to a two-day postponement of the preliminary landings. On August 27 at 10:30, elements of the 3rd Fleet entered Sagami Bay as the first step in the delayed occupation schedule. At 09:00 on August 28, Tench's advanced party landed at Atsugi to complete technical arrangements for the arrival of the main forces. Two days later, the main body of the airborne occupation forces began streaming into Atsugi, while naval and marine forces simultaneously landed at Yokosuka on the south shore of Tokyo Bay. There were no signs of resistance, and the initial occupation proceeded successfully.  Shortly after 1400, a famous C-54  the name “Bataan” in large letters on its nose circled the field and glided in for a landing. General MacArthur stepped from the aircraft, accompanied by General Sutherland and his staff officers. The operation proceeded smoothly. MacArthur paused momentarily to inspect the airfield, then climbed into a waiting automobile for the drive to Yokohama. Thousands of Japanese troops were posted along the fifteen miles of road from Atsugi to Yokohama to guard the route of the Allied motor cavalcade as it proceeded to the temporary SCAP Headquarters in Japan's great seaport city. The Supreme Commander established his headquarters provisionally in the Yokohama Customs House. The headquarters of the American Eighth Army and the Far East Air Force were also established in Yokohama, and representatives of the United States Pacific Fleet were attached to the Supreme Commander's headquarters. The intensive preparation and excitement surrounding the first landings on the Japanese mainland did not interfere with the mission of affording relief and rescue to Allied personnel who were internees or prisoners in Japan. Despite bad weather delaying the occupation operation, units of the Far East Air Forces and planes from the Third Fleet continued their surveillance missions. On 25 August they began dropping relief supplies, food, medicine, and clothing, to Allied soldiers and civilians in prisoner-of-war and internment camps across the main islands. While the advance echelon of the occupation forces was still on Okinawa, “mercy teams” were organized to accompany the first elements of the Eighth Army Headquarters. Immediately after the initial landings, these teams established contact with the Swiss and Swedish Legations, the International Red Cross, the United States Navy, and the Japanese Liaison Office, and rushed to expedite the release and evacuation, where necessary, of thousands of Allied internees.  On September 1, the Reconnaissance Troop of the 11th Airborne Division conducted a subsidiary airlift operation, flying from Atsugi to occupy Kisarazu Airfield; and on the morning of September 2, the 1st Cavalry Division began landing at Yokohama to secure most of the strategic areas along the shores of Tokyo Bay, with Tokyo itself remaining unoccupied. Concurrently, the surrender ceremony took place aboard Halsey's flagship, the battleship Missouri, crowded with representatives of the United Nations that had participated in the Pacific War.  General MacArthur presided over the epoch-making ceremony, and with the following words he inaugurated the proceedings which would ring down the curtain of war in the Pacific “We are gathered here, representatives of the major warring powers, to conclude a solemn agreement whereby peace may be restored. The issues, involving divergent ideals and ideologies, have been determined on the battlefields of the world and hence are not for our discussion or debate. Nor is it for us here to meet, representing as we do a majority of the people of the earth, in a spirit of distrust, malice or hatred. But rather it is for us, both victors and vanquished, to rise to that higher dignity which alone befits the sacred purposes we are about to serve, committing all our peoples unreservedly to faithful compliance with the understandings they are here formally to assume. It is my earnest hope, and indeed the hope of all mankind, that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past — a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice. The terms and conditions upon which surrender of the Japanese Imperial Forces is here to be given and accepted are contained in the instrument of surrender now before you…”.  The Supreme Commander then invited the two Japanese plenipotentiaries to sign the duplicate surrender documents : Foreign Minister Shigemitsu, on behalf of the Emperor and the Japanese Government, and General Umezu, for the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters. He then called forward two famous former prisoners of the Japanese to stand behind him while he himself affixed his signature to the formal acceptance of the surrender : Gen. Jonathan M. Wainwright, hero of Bataan and Corregidor and Lt. Gen. Sir Arthur E. Percival, who had been forced to yield the British stronghold at Singapore. General MacArthur was followed in turn by Admiral Nimitz, who signed on behalf of the United States. Alongside the recently liberated Generals Wainwright and Percival, who had been captured during the Japanese conquest of the Philippines and Singapore respectively, MacArthur then signed the surrender documents, followed by Admiral Nimitz and representatives of the other United Nations present. The Instrument of Surrender was completely signed within twenty minutes. Shortly afterwards, MacArthur broadcast the announcement of peace to the world, famously saying, “Today the guns are silent.” Immediately following the signing of the surrender articles, the Imperial Proclamation of capitulation was issued, commanding overseas forces to cease hostilities and lay down their arms; however, it would take many days, and in some cases weeks, for the official word of surrender to be carried along Japan's badly disrupted communications channels. Various devices were employed by American commanders to transmit news of final defeat to dispersed and isolated enemy troops, such as plane-strewn leaflets, loudspeaker broadcasts, strategically placed signboards, and prisoner-of-war volunteers. Already, the bypassed Japanese garrison at Mille Atoll had surrendered on August 22; yet the first large-scale surrender of Japanese forces came on August 27, when Lieutenant-General Ishii Yoshio surrendered Morotai and Halmahera to the 93rd Division. On August 30, a British Pacific Fleet force under Rear-Admiral Cecil Harcourt entered Victoria Harbour to begin the liberation of Hong Kong; and the following day, Rear-Admiral Matsubara Masata surrendered Minami-Torishima. In the Marianas, the Japanese commanders on Rota and Pagan Islands relinquished their commands almost simultaneously with the Tokyo Bay ceremony of September 2. Later that day, the same was done by Lieutenant-General Inoue Sadae in the Palaus and by Lieutenant-General Mugikura Shunzaburo and Vice-Admiral Hara Chuichi at Truk in the Carolines. Additionally, as part of Operation Jurist, a British detachment under Vice-Admiral Harold Walker received the surrender of the Japanese garrison on Penang Island. In the Philippines, local commanders in the central Bukidnon Province, Infanta, the Bataan Peninsula, and the Cagayan Valley had already surrendered by September 2. On September 3, General Yamashita and Vice-Admiral Okawachi Denshichi met with General Wainwright, General Percival, and Lieutenant-General Wilhelm Styer, Commanding General of Army Forces of the Western Pacific, to sign the formal surrender of the Japanese forces in the Philippines. With Yamashita's capitulation, subordinate commanders throughout the islands began surrendering in increasing numbers, though some stragglers remained unaware of the capitulation. Concurrently, while Yamashita was yielding his Philippine forces, Lieutenant-General Tachibana Yoshio's 109th Division surrendered in the Bonins on September 3. On September 4, Rear-Admiral Sakaibara Shigematsu and Colonel Chikamori Shigeharu surrendered their garrison on Wake Island, as did the garrison on Aguigan Island in the Marianas. Also on September 4, an advanced party of the 24th Corps landed at Kimpo Airfield near Keijo to prepare the groundwork for the occupation of South Korea; and under Operation Tiderace, Mountbatten's large British and French naval force arrived off Singapore and accepted the surrender of Japanese forces there. On September 5, Rear-Admiral Masuda Nisuke surrendered his garrison on Jaluit Atoll in the Marshalls, as did the garrison of Yap Island. The overall surrender of Japanese forces in the Solomons and Bismarcks and in the Wewak area of New Guinea was finally signed on September 6 by General Imamura Hitoshi and Vice-Admiral Kusaka Jinichi aboard the aircraft carrier Glory off Rabaul, the former center of Japanese power in the South Pacific. Furthermore, Lieutenant-General Nomi Toshio, representing remaining Japanese naval and army forces in the Ryukyus, officially capitulated on September 7 at the headquarters of General Stilwell's 10th Army on Okinawa. The following day, Tokyo was finally occupied by the Americans, and looking south, General Kanda and Vice-Admiral Baron Samejima Tomoshige agreed to travel to General Savige's headquarters at Torokina to sign the surrender of Bougainville. On September 8, Rear-Admiral Kamada Michiaki's 22nd Naval Special Base Force at Samarinda surrendered to General Milford's 7th Australian Division, as did the Japanese garrison on Kosrae Island in the Carolines. On September 9, a wave of surrenders continued: the official capitulation of all Japanese forces in the China Theater occurred at the Central Military Academy in Nanking, with General Okamura surrendering to General He Yingqin, the commander-in-chief of the Republic of China National Revolutionary Army; subsequently, on October 10, 47 divisions from the former Imperial Japanese Army officially surrendered to Chinese military officials and allied representatives at the Forbidden City in Beijing. The broader context of rehabilitation and reconstruction after the protracted war was daunting, with the Nationalists weakened and Chiang Kai-shek's policies contributing to Mao Zedong's strengthened position, shaping the early dynamics of the resumption of the Chinese Civil War. Meanwhile, on September 9, Hodge landed the 7th Division at Inchon to begin the occupation of South Korea. In the throne room of the Governor's Palace at Keijo, soon to be renamed Seoul, the surrender instrument was signed by General Abe Nobuyuki, the Governor-General of Korea; Lieutenant-General Kozuki Yoshio, commander of the 17th Area Army and of the Korean Army; and Vice-Admiral Yamaguchi Gisaburo, commander of the Japanese Naval Forces in Korea. The sequence continued with the 25th Indian Division landing in Selangor and Negeri Sembilan on Malaya to capture Port Dickson, while Lieutenant-General Teshima Fusataro's 2nd Army officially surrendered to General Blamey at Morotai, enabling Australian occupation of much of the eastern Dutch East Indies. On September 10, the Japanese garrisons on the Wotje and Maloelap Atolls in the Marshalls surrendered, and Lieutenant-General Baba Masao surrendered all Japanese forces in North Borneo to General Wootten's 9th Australian Division. After Imamura's surrender, Major-General Kenneth Eather's 11th Australian Division landed at Rabaul to begin occupation, and the garrison on Muschu and Kairiru Islands also capitulated. On September 11, General Adachi finally surrendered his 18th Army in the Wewak area, concluding the bloody New Guinea Campaign, while Major-General Yamamura Hyoe's 71st Independent Mixed Brigade surrendered at Kuching and Lieutenant-General Watanabe Masao's 52nd Independent Mixed Brigade surrendered on Ponape Island in the Carolines. Additionally, the 20th Indian Division, with French troops, arrived at Saigon as part of Operation Masterdom and accepted the surrender of Lieutenant-General Tsuchihashi Yuitsu, who had already met with Viet Minh envoys and agreed to turn power over to the Democratic Republic of Vietnam.  When the Japanese surrendered to the Allies on 15 August 1945, the Viet Minh immediately launched the insurrection they had prepared for a long time. Across the countryside, “People's Revolutionary Committees” took over administrative positions, often acting on their own initiative, and in the cities the Japanese stood by as the Vietnamese took control. By the morning of August 19, the Viet Minh had seized Hanoi, rapidly expanding their control over northern Vietnam in the following days. The Nguyen dynasty, with its puppet government led by Tran Trong Kim, collapsed when Emperor Bao Dai abdicated on August 25. By late August, the Viet Minh controlled most of Vietnam. On 2 September, in Hanoi's Ba Dinh Square, Ho Chi Minh proclaimed the independence of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. As the Viet Minh began extending control across the country, the new government's attention turned to the arrival of Allied troops and the French attempt to reassert colonial authority, signaling the onset of a new and contentious phase in Vietnam's struggle.  French Indochina had been left in chaos by the Japanese occupation. On 11 September British and Indian troops of the 20th Indian Division under Major General Douglas Gracey arrived at Saigon as part of Operation Masterdom. After the Japanese surrender, all French prisoners had been gathered on the outskirts of Saigon and Hanoi, and the sentries disappeared on 18 September; six months of captivity cost an additional 1,500 lives. By 22 September 1945, all prisoners were liberated by Gracey's men, armed, and dispatched in combat units toward Saigon to conquer it from the Viet Minh, later joined by the French Far East Expeditionary Corps, established to fight the Japanese arriving a few weeks later. Around the same time, General Lu Han's 200,000 Chinese National Revolutionary Army troops of the 1st Front Army occupied Indochina north of the 16th parallel, with 90,000 arriving by October; the 62nd Army came on 26 September to Nam Dinh and Haiphong, Lang Son and Cao Bang were occupied by the Guangxi 62nd Army Corps, and the Red River region and Lai Cai were occupied by a column from Yunnan. Lu Han occupied the French governor-general's palace after ejecting the French staff under Sainteny. Consequently, while General Lu Han's Chinese troops occupied northern Indochina and allowed the Vietnamese Provisional Government to remain in control there, the British and French forces would have to contest control of Saigon. On September 12, a surrender instrument was signed at the Singapore Municipal Building for all Southern Army forces in Southeast Asia, the Dutch East Indies, and the eastern islands; General Terauchi, then in a hospital in Saigon after a stroke, learned of Burma's fall and had his deputy commander and leader of the 7th Area Army, Lieutenant-General Itagaki Seishiro, surrender on his behalf to Mountbatten, after which a British military administration was formed to govern the island until March 1946. The Japanese Burma Area Army surrendered the same day as Mountbatten's ceremony in Singapore, and Indian forces in Malaya reached Kuala Lumpur to liberate the Malay capital, though the British were slow to reestablish control over all of Malaya, with eastern Pahang remaining beyond reach for three more weeks. On September 13, the Japanese garrisons on Nauru and Ocean Islands surrendered to Brigadier John Stevenson, and three days later Major-General Okada Umekichi and Vice-Admiral Fujita Ruitaro formally signed the instrument of surrender at Hong Kong. In the meantime, following the Allied call for surrender, Japan had decided to grant Indonesian independence to complicate Dutch reoccupation: Sukarno and Mohammad Hatta signed Indonesia's Proclamation of Independence on August 17 and were appointed president and vice-president the next day, with Indonesian youths spreading news across Java via Japanese news and telegraph facilities and Bandung's news broadcast by radio. The Dutch, as the former colonial power, viewed the republicans as collaborators with the Japanese and sought to restore their colonial rule due to lingering political and economic interests in the former Dutch East Indies, a stance that helped trigger a four-year war for Indonesian independence. Fighting also erupted in Sumatra and the Celebes, though the 26th Indian Division managed to land at Padang on October 10. On October 21, Lieutenant-General Tanabe Moritake and Vice-Admiral Hirose Sueto surrendered all Japanese forces on Sumatra, yet British control over the country would dwindle in the ensuing civil conflict. Meanwhile, Formosa (Taiwan) was placed under the control of the Kuomintang-led Republic of China by General Order No. 1 and the Instrument of Surrender; Chiang Kai-shek appointed General Chen Yi as Chief Executive of Taiwan Province and commander of the Taiwan Garrison Command on September 1. After several days of preparation, an advance party moved into Taihoku on October 5, with additional personnel arriving from Shanghai and Chongqing between October 5 and 24, and on October 25 General Ando Rikichi signed the surrender document at Taipei City Hall. But that's the end for this week, and for the Pacific War.  Boy oh boy, its been a long journey hasn't it? Now before letting you orphans go into the wild, I will remind you, while this podcast has come to an end, I still write and narrate Kings and Generals Eastern Front week by week and the Fall and Rise of China Podcasts. Atop all that I have my own video-podcast Echoes of War, that can be found on Youtube or all podcast platforms. I really hope to continue entertaining you guys, so if you venture over to the other podcasts, comment you came from here! I also have some parting gifts to you all, I have decided to release a few Pacific War related exclusive episodes from my Youtuber Membership / patreon at www.patreon.com/pacificwarchannel. At the time I am writing this, over there I have roughly 32 episodes, one is uploaded every month alongside countless other goodies. Thank you all for being part of this long lasting journey. Kings and Generals literally grabbed me out of the blue when I was but a small silly person doing youtube videos using an old camera, I have barely gotten any better at it. I loved making this series, and I look forward to continuing other series going forward! You know where to find me, if you have any requests going forward the best way to reach me is just comment on my Youtube channel or email me, the email address can be found on my youtube channel. This has been Craig of the Pacific War Channel and narrator of the Pacific war week by week podcast, over and out!

Last time we spoke about the crossing of Nanjing's Rubicon. By November 1, Shanghai had become a lost cause, the Chinese were forced to retreat. In the wake of this turmoil, the Japanese set their sights on Nanjing, keenly aware that its fall would spell disaster for Chiang Kai-Shek's government. Despite the desperate situation, guerrilla fighters began fortifying the city as civilians rallied to support the defense, preparing for the inevitable assault that loomed. However, political divisions plagued the Chinese leadership, with some generals advocating for abandoning the city. After intense discussions, it was decided that Nanjing would be a hill worth dying on, driven largely by propaganda needs. As November 12 approached, Japanese troops rapidly advanced west, capturing towns along the way and inflicting unimaginable brutality. On November 19, Yanagawa, a commander, took the initiative, decreeing that pursuing the retreating Chinese forces toward Nanjing was paramount.    #164 The Battle of Lake Tai Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. As the Chinese troops fled westwards, at 7:00 am on November 19th, Yanagawa issued instructions to his troops in the field. “The enemy's command system is in disarray, and a mood of defeat has descended over their entire army. They have lost the will to fight. We must not miss the opportunity to pursue the enemy to Nanjing.” The order went out to the 10th Army, sending, the 6th, 18th, and 114th Divisions west along the southern shore of Lake Tai, passing through Huzhou before turning right towards Nanjing. The Kunisaki Detachment, trained for rapid movement by water and land, was ordered east along the Yangtze River near Wuhu city and, if possible, cross the river to cut off the Chinese Army's retreat from Nanjing. Yanagawa envisioned an operation unlike any other conducted by the Japanese Army in recent history. He believed this could not only end the war but also surpass previous victories, such as the defeat of tsarist Russia more than three decades earlier. Confident in a swift victory, he wrote in a follow-up message to his commanders, “The day is near when the banner of the Rising Sun will fly over Nanjing's city wall.” However, Yanagawa's order elicited panic in Tokyo once it became known. His superiors viewed it as an outrageous attempt to entirely change the war focus away from the north. They understood that taking Nanjing was primarily a political decision rather than a strategic one. There was still hopes of finding terms through the Germans to end the conflict, thus carving up more of China. The Japanese did not want to become bogged down in a real war. Major General Tada was particularly opposed to increasing efforts on the Shanghai front. He belonged to a faction that believed the best way to avoid a quagmire in China was to deliver a swift, decisive blow to the Chinese Army. This mindset had turned him into a major advocate for landing a strong force in Hangzhou Bay in early November. Nevertheless, he had initially resisted expanding operations to the Suzhou-Jiaxing line, only relenting on the condition that this line would not be crossed under any circumstances. Tada's immediate response was to halt the 10th Army's offensive. Shimomura Sadamu, Ishiwara Kanji's hardline successor as chief of operations, strongly disagreed, arguing that field commanders should have the authority to make significant decisions. Undeterred, Tada insisted on restraining the field commanders, and at 6:00 pm on November 20th, the Army General Staff sent a cable to the Central China Area Army reprimanding them for advancing beyond Order No. 600, which had established the Suzhou-Jiaxing line. The response from the Central China Area Army arrived two days later whereupon the field commanders argued that Nanjing needed to be captured to bring the war to an early conclusion. To do otherwise, they argued, would provide the enemy with an opportunity to regain the will to fight. Moreover, the officers claimed that delaying the decisive battle would not sit well with the Japanese public, potentially jeopardizing national unity. On the same day it responded to Tokyo, the Central China Area Army instructed the 10th Army to proceed cautiously: “The pursuit to Nanjing is to be halted, although you may still send an advance force towards Huzhou. Each division is to select four or five battalions to pursue the enemy rapidly”. The remainder of the troops were instructed to advance towards Huzhou and prepare to join the pursuit “at any time.” Meanwhile Chiang Kai-shek officially appointed Tang Shengzhi as the commandant of Nanjing's garrison. Born in 1889, Tang embodied the era of officers leading China into war with Japan. They straddled the line between old and new China. During their youth, they lived in a society that had seen little change for centuries, where young men immersed themselves in 2,000-year-old classics to prepare for life. Like their ancestors across countless generations, they were governed by an emperor residing in a distant capital. Following the 1911 revolution, they embraced the new republic and received modern military training, Tang, for instance, at the esteemed Baoding Academy in northern China. Yet, they struggled to fully relinquish their traditional mindsets. These traditional beliefs often included a significant distrust of foreigners. Before his appointment as garrison commander, Tang had led the garrison's operations section. During this time, Chiang Kai-shek suggested that he permit the German chief advisor, General Alexander von Falkenhausen, to attend staff meetings. Tang hesitated, expressing concern due to Falkenhausen's past as a military official in Japan and the current alliance between Germany, Italy, and Japan. “That's not good, is it?” he asked. Chiang reassured him that Falkenhausen was an experienced officer who remembered earlier loyalties despite political shifts in Berlin. “It's all right,” Chiang insisted, “we can trust him.” Reluctantly, Tang acquiesced but never fully trusted the German officer. Tang also faced issues with morale. He was Hunanese, the majority of his troops were locals, many from Nanjing. Tang also suffered from many ongoing illnesses. While he put on a bravado face, its unlikely he expected to be able to defend the capital for very long. On November 19th, the IJA 16th division and Shigeto Detachment conquered Changshu, a crucial point along the Wufu defense line, spanning from Fushan on the Yangtze to Suzhou and then to Wujiang sitting on the shores of Lake Tai. The fight for Changshu had surprised the Japanese. As they approached they ran into a network of interlocking cement pillboxes that had to be taken individually, resulting in heavy casualties. Frequently, when the Japanese believed they had finally destroyed a position and advanced, they were dismayed to discover that some defenders remained alive, continuing to fire at their flanks. Another obstacle facing them was Chinese artillery. During the night's capture of the city, the Japanese makeshift camps were hit relentlessly by bombardment. That same day further south, the IJA 9th division captured Suzhou , reporting to the press they did so without firing a single shot. General Matsui wrote in his diary “The enemy troops near Suzhou have completely lost their morale. Some soldiers are discarding their equipment and surrendering, while others flee westward in utter chaos. Our forces have not encountered the resistance we anticipated. So far, the Shanghai Expeditionary Force has achieved all its objectives. I am thrilled by this.” In reality, this was mere propaganda. The IJA 9th Division actually had to overpower a series of Chinese pillboxes outside the city. Once they entered through the medieval walls, they faced the task of eliminating pockets of resistance one by one. According to Japanese sources, over 1,000 Chinese soldiers were killed during these clearing operations. The Japanese found a wealth of spoils in Suzhou. Among the booty were 100 artillery pieces and other military equipment. Historically known as one of China's wealthiest cities, Suzhou still contained an abundance of loot even after months of conflict. Many Japanese soldiers had their pockets filled with cigarettes after raiding a tobacco factory, while others transported barrels filled with coins after robbing a bank. Meanwhile the government had officially moved from Nanjing to Chongqing. Chongqing was an unusual choice for the new capital as it was historically something of a backwater, not very cosmopolitan such as the great coastal cities in the east. However it was distant enough to be out of reach from the Japanese land forces, but not so distant that it would make governing China impossible. Not all the governmental agencies moved to Chongqing at once. The foreign ministry first moved to Wuhan, as did most of the foreign diplomats. Yet out of some several hundred foreign nationals, 30 American and 19 British did stay behind in Nanjing. Tang Shengzhi met with the remaining foreign community and began promising them guarantees of their lives and property would be protected to the fullest. In turn the foreign community were thinking up ways to help defend the city's civilian population. They formed a special demilitarized district, akin to the one in Shanghai. They named it the Jacquinot Safety Zone after its founder, French Jesuit Robert Jacquinot de Besange. An international committee for establishing a neutral zone for noncombatants in Nanjing was formed on November 19th and famously John Rabe chaired it. The committee knew their neutral zone depended solely upon Japan respecting it, thus Rabe was an ideal pick for chairman. Meanwhile Chiang Kai-Shek was determined to stay for as long as possible in Nanjing, and remain in the public view to maintain morale. Song Meiling also went around touring the capital by automobile to raise public spirit. Preparations for battle were being dished out in haste. Du Yuming, the commander of Nanjing's armored regiment was called up to the headquarters of He Yingqin, then chief of staff. There Du was briefed on Chiang Kai-Shek's war plans and how his tiny armored force would fit in. He Yingqin said “It has been decided that Tang Shengzhi is to defend Nanjing. Chairman Chiang wants the German vehicles to stay in Nanjing and fight.” This was referring to their Leichter Panzerspahwagen or “sd KFZ 221” armored cars. These were recent purchases from Germany. Du questioned using them however “The German vehicles are the best armor we have at the moment, but they have no cannon, only machine guns, so their firepower is limited. We just have 15 of them. And they are not suited for the terrain around Nanjing, with all its rivers and lakes.” Du instead argued for using the British-made Vickers Carden Lloyd tanks. Of these China had recently purchased the amphibious variants. Du said “Those tanks both have machine guns and cannon, and they can float. They are much more useful for the Nanjing area.” He further suggested the tanks might even make it to the other side of the Yangtze once all hope was out. To this He replied “No, don't even think about crossing the Yangtze. The chairman wants the tank crews to fight to the death.” As far as war strategy was concerned, China had actually developed one against Japan decades prior. Ever since the nasty conflicts between the two nations had broken out back during the Great War days, China sought an answer to Japan's aggression. One man rose to the occasion, a young officer named Jiang Baili. In 1922 Jiang wrote “The only way to prevail over the enemy, will be to do the opposite of what he does in every respect. It will be to his advantage to seek a quick resolution; we should aim for protracted warfare. He will try to focus on a decisive blow at the front line; we should move to the second line of defense and rob him of the opportunity to concentrate his forces in one place.” Soon Jiang became the forefather in China for theories involving protracted war. One could also call it a war of attrition, and it was the type of war suited to China. In the words of Jiang “We should thank our ancestors. China is blessed with two major advantages, a vast land area and a huge population. Abstaining from fighting will be enough. And if we do fight, we should drag it out. We should force the front to move west, and turn our weakness into strength, while allowing the enemy to overstretch himself”. China's geography significantly influenced Jiang's military strategy. In his works titled Organization of Mechanized Forces, Jiang wrote “The flat North Chinese plain offers ideal conditions for a large mechanized army. In contrast, the agricultural regions further south, characterized by their mix of rice paddies and waterways, are far less suitable.” Faced with a technologically superior enemy, China had no option but to draw the opponent away from the north, where their armored units would dominate the battlefield, to the Yangtze River area, where their mobility would be severely restricted. Jiang served as the director of the prestigious military academy at Baoding, near Beijing, where he could instill his philosophies in the minds of upcoming leaders of the Chinese armed forces, including Tang Shengzhi. Tang was able to put Jiang's theories into practice. In the autumn of 1935, he played a crucial role in planning and executing the decade's largest military maneuver. Conducted south of the Yangtze, between Nanjing and Shanghai, this drill involved over 20,000 troops, allowing for a realistic simulation of battle conditions. Its primary objective was to test the strategy of "luring the enemy in deep." Upon concluding the maneuver, Tang described the location as exceptionally well chosen, a tank commander's nightmare. The area consisted of steep hills alongside rivers, with very few robust roads and virtually no bridges capable of supporting tanks. Countless small paddy fields were divided by dikes that rarely exceeded a few feet in width, perfectly suited for swift infantry movements but utterly inadequate for tracked vehicles. It appeared to be a graveyard for any mechanized army. As the war broke out with Japan, Jiang's ideas initially seemed validated. Chiang Kai-shek deliberately refrained from deploying his best troops to the northern Beijing area. Instead, he chose to instigate a significant battle in and around Shanghai, where the terrain presented the exact disadvantages for Japanese armor that Jiang had anticipated. Although the Japanese gradually introduced tactical innovations that allowed them to navigate the partly submerged paddy fields north and west of Shanghai, their tanks often found themselves forced along elevated roads, making them vulnerable targets for hidden Chinese infantry. For several weeks during September and October, the Shanghai area indeed resembled a quagmire, seemingly poised to ensnare the Japanese forces until they were utterly depleted. However, the successful Japanese landings in early November, first in Hangzhou Bay and then on the south bank of the Yangtze, dramatically changed things. The stalemate was broken, allowing the Japanese Army to advance despite the persistent challenges posed by the local geography. What would happen next would determine whether Jiang's theories from a decade earlier could work or if Japan's tanks would ultimately triumph even in the river terrain south of the Yangtze.  The Japanese field commanders' decision to shift their focus from defeating Chinese forces near Shanghai to pursuing them all the way to Nanjing, sent ripples throughout the ranks. Every unit had to reconsider their plans, but none felt the impact more acutely than the 6th Division. As one of the first contingents of the 10th Army to come ashore in Hangzhou Bay in early November, its soldiers had advanced with remarkable ease, cutting through the defenses like a knife through butter. Now, with orders to drive west towards Nanjing, they were required to make a huge U-turn and head south. Geography hurt them greatly, specifically the presence of Lake Tai. The original Shanghai Expeditionary Force, bolstered by the 16th Division and other newly arrived units, was set to advance north of the lake, while the 10th Army was tasked with operations to the south of it. This situation implied that the 6th Division had to hurry to catch up with the rest of the 10th Army.   Upon turning south, they reached Jiashan on November 21, only to face a brutal outbreak of cholera among their ranks, which delayed their advance by three days. Meanwhile the other elements of the 10th Army, including the Kunisaki Detachment and the 18th and 114th Divisions advanced  rapidly, entering Huzhou on November 23. To speed up their advance they had commandeered every vessel they could grab and tossed men in piece meal across the southern bank of Lake Tai to its western shore.  However the 10th army was unaware that they would soon face a brutal fight. As the Chinese government evacuated Nanjing, fresh troops from Sichuan province in southwest China were being unloaded at the city's docks and marched toward imminent danger. Starting to disembark on November 20, these soldiers formed the Chinese 23rd Group Army. They presented an exotic sight, sporting broad straw hats typical of southern China, often adorned with yellow and green camouflage patterns. While some appeared freshly uniformed, many were ill-prepared for the colder central Chinese winter, dressed in thin cotton better suited for subtropical climates. A number looked as ragged as the most destitute coolie. Nearly all wore straw shoes that required repairs every evening after a long day of marching. Their equipment was rudimentary and often quite primitive. The most common weapon among the newly arrived soldiers was a locally produced rifle from Sichuan, yet many had no firearms at all, carrying only “stout sticks and packs” into battle. Each division had a maximum of a dozen light machine guns, and radio communication was available only at the brigade level and above. The absence of any artillery or heavy equipment was quite alarming. It was as if they expected to be facing a warlord army of the 1920s. They were organized into five divisions and two brigades, supplied by Liu Xiang, a notable southern warlord. Remarkably, Liu Xiang had been one of Chiang Kai-shek's worst enemies less than a year prior. Now, Liu's troops fought alongside Chiang's against Japan, yet their loyalties remained fiercely provincial, listening to Liu Xiang rather than Chiang Kai-shek. China's warlord era never really ended. Chiang Kai-Shek was actually doing two things at once, meeting the enemy but also getting warlord troops away from their provincial powerbase. This in turn would reduce the influence of regional warlords. Now the Chinese recognized the had to stop the Japanese from reaching Wuhu, a Yangtze port city due south of Nanjing, basically the last escape route from the capital. If it was captured, those in Nanjing would be effectively stuck. General Gu Zhutong, who personally witnessed the chaotic evacuation of Suzhou, had already dispatched two divisions from Guangxi province to block the Japanese advance. However, they were quickly routed. Liu Xiang's troops were then sent to fill the gap on the battlefield. By the last week of November, the Japanese 10th Army and the newly arrived Sichuan divisions, were converging on the same area southwest of Lake Tai. Marching as quickly as possible, they were fated to clash in one of the bloodiest battles of the entire Nanjing campaign. As the Sichuanese troops reached the battlefield at the end of November, they  quickly realized just how ill-equipped they were to confront the modern Japanese Army. The Sichuan divisions hurried towards Lake Tai, primarily marching after sunset to avoid harassment from Japanese aircraft. A significant challenge for the soldiers was the condition of the roads, which were paved with gravel that wore down their straw shoes. Despite their best efforts to repair their footwear late at night, many soldiers found themselves entering battle barefoot. Along their route, they encountered numerous Chinese soldiers retreating. One particular column caught their attention; these troops were better uniformed and equipped, appearing as though they had not seen battle at all. They looked rested and well-nourished, as if they had just emerged from their barracks. This prompted unspoken doubts among the Sichuanese soldiers. Upon arriving in Guangde, the 145th Division quickly began fortifying its positions, particularly around a strategic airfield near the city and dispatched units towards the town of Sian. On November 25, skirmishes erupted throughout the day, and on the following day, the Chinese soldiers began facing the full force of the advancing enemy. Japanese planes bombed the Chinese positions near Sian, followed by rapid tank assaults from the 18th Japanese Division. Unaccustomed to combat against armored vehicles, they quickly routed. The Japanese forces rolled over the shattered Chinese defenses and advanced to capture Sian with minimal resistance. To make matters worse, amidst this critical moment when the Sichuan troops were engaged in their first battle against a foreign enemy, Liu Xiang, fell seriously ill. In his place, Chiang Kai-shek assigned one of his most trusted commanders, Chen Cheng. The Sichuanese soldiers were not happy with the new alien commander. Meanwhile, the Nine Power Treaty Conference in Brussels held its final session. The delegates concluded three weeks of fruitless discussions with a declaration that immediately struck observers as lacking any real substance. The decree stated “Force by itself can provide no just and lasting solution for disputes between nations,”. This was met with approval from all participants except Italy, one of Japan's few allies in Europe. They strongly urged that hostilities be suspended and that peaceful processes be pursued, but offered zero consequences for either belligerent should they choose not to comply. As they say today in politics, a nothing burger. China found itself resorting to shaming the international community into action, with barely any success.  In Berlin, the evening following the conference's conclusion, diplomats gathered as the Japanese embassy hosted a dinner to mark the first anniversary of the Anti-Comintern Pact. Among the guests, though he probably really did not want to be there, was Adolf Hitler. The Japanese Communications Minister, Nagai Ryutaro, speaking via radio stated “The Sino-Japanese conflict is a holy struggle for us. The objective is to hold the Nanjing government accountable for its anti-Japanese stance, to liberate the Chinese people from the red menace, and to secure peace in the Far East.” By hosting such an event, Germany was basically signalling that she would abandon her old Chinese ally to forge a stronger partnership with Japan. This was driving the world into two camps that would emerge as the Axis and Allies. My favorite boardgame by the way, I make a lot of goofy videos on my youtube channel about it.  Back at the front, a city sat midway along the Yangtze River between Shanghai and Nanjing, Jiangyin. By Chinese standards, Jiangyin was not a large city; its population numbered just 50,000, most of whom had already fled by the end of November. The city's military significance had considerably diminished after a naval battle in late September resulted in the sinking of half the Chinese fleet, forcing the remainder to retreat upriver. Nevertheless, the Chinese still maintained control on land. This became a pressing concern for the Japanese after the fall of Suzhou and Changshu led to the collapse of the Wufu defensive line. Consequently, the next line of defense was the Xicheng line, of which Jiangyin formed the northern end. The city stood directly in the path of the 13th Japanese Division, positioned at the far right of the front line. Jiangyin featured 33 partially fortified hills, and like many other cities in the region, its primary defense was a robust 10-mile wall constructed of brick and stone. Standing 30 feet high, the wall was reinforced on the inside by an earthen embankment measuring up to 25 feet in diameter. Defending Jiangyin alone was the 112th Division, comprising approximately 5,000 soldiers. Only in November did it receive reinforcements from the 103rd Division, which had previously participated in the brutal fighting in Shanghai and withdrew westward after the Japanese victory there. Like the 112th, the 103rd also consisted of around 5,000 soldiers from former warlord armies, though they hailed from the hot and humid southwest of China rather than the cold and arid northeast. Both divisions faced an adversary with far superior equipment and training. Just hours after Japanese observation balloons appeared on the horizon, their artillery opened fire. The initial shells fell at approximately 30 second intervals, but the pace quickly accelerated. Most of the shells landed near the river, obliterating the buildings in that area. The explosions tore up telephone wires, severing communication between the scattered Chinese units. As the first shells began to fall over Jiangyin, Tang Shengzhi gathered with Chinese and foreign journalists in Nanjing, openly acknowledging the monumental challenge ahead but resolutely vowing to defend Nanjing to the bitter end. “Even though it is lagging behind in material terms, China has the will to fight. Since the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, we have suffered defeats in various theaters, but we will continue to fight until we achieve final victory.” Tang then promised that Nanjing would be fought to the last man. As early as November 14, the central government had ordered the evacuation of women and children from Nanjing, calling for all means of transportation available to be dedicated to this purpose. However, this directive proved to be an empty proclamation. Almost all resources were directed toward relocating government officials westward. Moving office furniture and filing cabinets took precedence over evacuating people. The government commandeered 600 trucks and 220 boats and ships to aid in this effort, but once those means of transportation were exhausted, little remained for the common people. In the final days of November, Nanjing's mayor, Ma Chaojun, attempted to rectify this dire situation. He sent a cable to the Ministry of Communications requesting that the ships used to relocate government agencies be returned to Nanjing as soon as possible to assist with the evacuation. For most vessels, there wasn't enough time to make the journey back. The people of Nanjing were left to fend for themselves. Meanwhile the battles south and west of the Lake Tai continued to rage in late November. While the 18th Japanese Division advanced toward Guangde, aiming eventually for Wuhu and the Yangtze River, the 114th Japanese Division received different orders. It turned right along the western bank of Lake Tai, clearly intending to push onward to Nanjing. Awaiting them was the 144th Chinese Division, consisting primarily of Sichuanese soldiers. They dug in across the one viable road running west of the lake, with a large body of water on one side and rugged terrain on the other. This terrain forced the Japanese to attack over a narrow front, constraining the advantage they held due to their technological superiority. The Chinese were able to concentrate their limited artillery, primarily mountain guns that could be disassembled and transported by mules or even men, on the advancing Japanese attackers, and utilized it effectively. They allowed the Japanese to shell their positions without immediate retaliation, waiting until the infantry was within 1,000 yards before ordering their mountain guns to open fire. The result was devastating; the Japanese column became disorganized, and their advance stalled. However, just as the Chinese artillery appeared on the verge of achieving a significant victory, the decision was made to withdraw. The officers responsible for the mountain guns argued that the Japanese would soon overrun their positions, and it was preferable to take preemptive measures to prevent their valuable equipment from falling into enemy hands. The commanders of the 144th Division reluctantly concurred. The Chinese did their best to maintain the facade that their artillery remained in position, but the Japanese quickly noticed the weakened defense and attacked with renewed fervor. Despite this setback, Chinese soldiers found their morale boosted as their division commander, Guo Junqi, led from the front, issuing orders from a stretcher after sustaining a leg injury. However, deprived of their artillery, the Chinese faced increasingly dire odds, and they were pushed back along the entire front. As the Chinese front neared collapse, the officers of the 144th Division faced yet another challenge: Japanese infantry approached across Lake Tai in boats commandeered in previous days. With no artillery to defend themselves, the Chinese could only direct small arms fire at the vessels, allowing the Japanese to make an almost unimpeded landing. This was the final straw. Under pressure from two sides, the 144th Division had no choice but to abandon its position, retreating westward toward the main Chinese force around Guangde. Jiangyin endured two days of continuous shelling before the Japanese infantry attack commenced, but the city was fortified to withstand such a bombardment of this magnitude and duration. The 33 hills in and around the city had long served as scenic viewpoints and natural strongholds. The tallest hill, known as Mount Ding, rose 900 feet above the area, providing a commanding view and boasted over 100 artillery pieces. By late November, when the Japanese Army reached the area, most civilians had fled, but their homes remained, and the Chinese defenders effectively utilized them, converting them into concealed strongholds. The attack by the Japanese 13th Division on November 29 was led by the 26th Brigade on its right flank and the 103rd Brigade on its left. The advance proved challenging, constantly disrupted by Chinese ambushes. As a row of Japanese soldiers cautiously crossed an empty field, gunshots would erupt, striking down one of their ranks while the others scrambled for cover, desperately trying to identify the source of the fire. The Chinese launched frequent counterattacks, and on several occasions, individual Japanese units found themselves cut off from the main body and had to be rescued. Despite some setbacks, the 13th Division made satisfactory progress, bolstered by both land and ship-based artillery, and soon nearly encircled Jiangyin, leaving only a narrow corridor to the west of the city. However, the Chinese artillery was well-prepared, effectively targeting Japanese vessels on the Yangtze River. This led to an artillery duel that lasted three hours, resulting in several hits on Japanese ships; however, the Chinese batteries also suffered considerable damage. In the sector of the 103rd Chinese Division, the defenders had taken time to construct deep antitank ditches, hindering the advance of Japanese armored units. During the night of November 29-30, the Chinese organized suicide missions behind enemy lines to level the playing field. Armed only with a belt, a combat knife, a rifle, and explosives, the soldiers infiltrated Japanese positions, targeting armored vehicles. They quietly climbed onto the tanks, dropping hand grenades into turrets or detonating explosives strapped to their bodies. Though reducing Japanese armored superiority granted the Chinese some time, the attackers' momentum simply could not be stopped. On November 30, the Japanese launched a relentless assault on Mount Ding, the dominant hill in the Jiangyin area. Supported by aircraft, artillery, and naval bombardments, Japanese infantry engaged the entrenched Chinese company at the summit. After a fierce and bloody battle, the Japanese succeeded in capturing the position. The Chinese company commander, Xia Min'an, withdrew with his troops toward Jiangyin to report the loss to the regimental command post. When the deputy commander of the 103rd Division, Dai Zhiqi, heard the news, he was furious and wanted to execute Xia on the spot. However, Xia's regimental commander intervened, saving him from a firing squad. Instead, he insisted that Xia redeem himself by recapturing the hill from the Japanese. Xia was put in command of a company that had previously been held in reserve. What followed was a fierce battle lasting over four hours. Eventually, the Japanese were forced to relinquish the hill, but the victory came at a steep price, with numerous casualties on both sides, including the death of Xia Min'an. The last days of November also witnessed chaotic fighting around Guangde, where the unfamiliar terrain added to the confusion for both sides. For the Chinese, this chaos was exacerbated by their upper command issuing contradictory orders, instructing troops to advance and retreat simultaneously. Pan Wenhua, the Sichuanese commander of the 23rd Army, prepared a pincer maneuver, directing the 13th Independent Brigade to launch a counterattack against the town of Sian, which was held by the Japanese, while the 146th Division would attack from the south. Both units set out immediately. However, due to a lack of radio equipment, a common issue among the Sichuanese forces, they did not receive the new orders to withdraw, which originated not from Pan Wenhua but from Chen Cheng, the Chiang Kai-shek loyalist who had taken command after Liu Xiang fell ill and was eager to assert his authority. Fortunately, the officers of the 13th Independent Brigade were alerted to the general order for withdrawal by neighboring units and managed to halt their advance on Sian in time. The 146th Division, however, had no such luck and continued its march toward the Japanese-occupied city. It was joined by the 14th Independent Brigade, which had just arrived from Wuhu and was also unaware of the general retreat order. Upon reaching Sian, these Chinese troops engaged in intense close combat with the Japanese. It was a familiar scenario of Japanese technological superiority pitted against Chinese determination. The Japanese brought armor up from the rear, while the Chinese lay in ambush, tossing hand grenades into tank turrets before jumping onto the burning vehicles to kill any surviving crew members. As the fighting around the flanks slowed, the area in front of Guangde became the focal point of the battle. Japanese soldiers advanced toward the city during the day, passing piles of dead Chinese and numerous houses set ablaze by retreating defenders. At night, the situation became perilous for the Japanese, as Chinese forces infiltrated their positions under the cover of darkness. In the confusion, small units from both sides often got lost and were just as likely to encounter hostile forces as friendly ones. Despite the chaos along the front lines, it was evident that the Japanese were gaining the upper hand primarily due to their material superiority. Japanese artillery bombarded Guangde, igniting many structures, while infantry approached the city from multiple directions. The Chinese 145th Division, led by Rao Guohua, was nearing its breaking point. In a desperate gamble, on November 30, Rao ordered one of his regiments to counterattack, but the regimental commander, sensing the futility of the move, simply refused. This refusal was a personal failure for Rao, one he could not accept. Deeply ashamed, Rao Guohua withdrew from Guangde. As darkness enveloped the battlefield, he and a small group of staff officers found a place to rest for the night in a house near a bamboo grove. Overwhelmed with anguish, he penned a letter to Liu Xiang, apparently unaware that Liu had been evacuated to the rear due to stomach issues. In the letter, he apologized for his inability to hold Guangde. Telling his bodyguard to get some rest, he stepped outside, disappearing into the bamboo grove. Shortly thereafter, his staff heard a single gunshot. When they rushed out and searched the dense bamboo, they found Rao sitting against a tree, his service weapon beside him. Blood streamed thickly from a wound to his temple. He was already dead. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. As the Japanese forces advanced on Nanjing, tensions escalated within the Chinese leadership. While Commander Tang Shengzhi fortified the city, some sought retreat. Japanese Commander Yanagawa, confident of victory, pushed his troops westward, disregarding high command's hesitations. Meanwhile, ill-equipped Sichuanese reinforcements hurried to defend Nanjing, braving cholera and disorganization. Intense battles unfolded around Lake Tai, marked by fierce ambushes and casualties. 

Last time we spoke about the fall of Shanghai. In October 1937 a small battalion led by Colonel Xie Jinyuan transformed the Sihang Warehouse into a fortress against the advancing Japanese army. These men, known as the "800 Heroes," became symbols of hope, rallying local citizens who provided vital support. Despite heavy casualties, they held out against overwhelming odds until a strategic retreat was ordered on November 1. As Japanese forces intensified their assaults, they breached the Chinese defenses and captured strategic positions along Suzhou Creek. The fighting was fierce, marked by desperate counterattacks from the besieged Chinese soldiers, who faced an unyielding enemy. By November 9, the Chinese faced a full retreat, their organized defenses collapsing into chaos as they fled the city. Desperate civilians sought refuge in the International Settlement but were met with hostility, exacerbating the terror of the moment. Amidst the turmoil, remaining forces continued to resist in pockets, holding out as long as possible. By November 11, Japanese troops raised their flag in the last stronghold, marking a grim victory.   #163 Crossing Nanjing's Rubicon Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. As the Japanese were mopping up Shanghai, Chiang Kai-Shek wrote in his diary on November 11th “I fear that they could threaten Nanjing”. Over In Shanghai, General Matsui Iwane was dealing with foreign correspondents, eager to learn what Japan's next move would be and to this he simply stated “For future developments, you had better ask Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek”. The correspondents were surprised by this response and pressed him further. He replied . “Chiang Kai-shek was reported to have predicted a five-year war, well, it might be that long. We don't know whether we will go to Nanjing or not. It all depends on Chiang.” At this point Shanghai was falling under Japanese control and now Matsui and his fellow field commanders were thinking, what's next? Nanjing was certainly the next objective. It was a common understanding amongst the Japanese leadership, that if the four main eastern cities of Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai and Nanjing were lost, Chiang Kai-Shek's government would collapse. Three of these cities had been taken, Nanjing was dangling like fresh fruit. Matsui's staff believed the Chinese units departing Shanghai would mount a stand immediately west of the city, probably a defensive line running from Jiading to Huangduzhen. On the night of November 11th, Matsui issued a command to all units in the Shanghai area to advance west along the railway towards Nanjing. Their first objective would be a line extending from Taicang to Kunshan. Chiang Kai-Shek was not only reeling from military defeats, but also the gradual loss of his German allies. The Germans were increasingly aligning with the Japanese. Chiang Kai-Shek was looking for new external help, so he turned to the Soviets. It was a marriage of convenience, Chiang Kai-Shek signed a non-aggression pact with the USSR that year and wasted no time pleading for aircraft and pilots. Moscow began sending them before the ink touched the paper. 200 aircraft and pilots in return for some essential minerals, wolfram and tungsten. The Sino-Soviet friendship even drew in an unlikely source of support, Sir Winston Churchill. The Soviet envoy to the UK described how during a meeting with Churchill “he greatly praised our tactics in the Far East: maintenance of neutrality and simultaneous aid to China in weaponry.” Soviet pilots found themselves dispatched to Nanjing where they were briefed by Yakov Vladimirovich Smushkevich, the deputy commander of the Soviet Air Force. “The Japanese armed forces are technically superior to the Chinese. The Chinese Air Force is a particular concern. Soviet pilots who have rushed to China's aid are currently in Nanjing. They are fighting valiantly.” Meanwhile back at Shanghai discipline and order that had characterized previous Chinese withdrawal had collapsed. Simply put, there were hundreds of thousands of men trying to retreat across the lower Yangtze region, it was a shitstorm. Many units had to disengage during combat with the enemy and scramble to pull out. Huang Qixiang, the deputy commander of the Chinese right flank in Shanghai, executed a strategic withdrawal moments before his command post succumbed to the advancing enemy forces. Just fifteen minutes after his departure, the area was overrun by Japanese troops. In a desperate bid to avoid capture, another general had to cross a creek, nearly drowning in the process. Rescued while barely clinging to life and drenched in icy water, he was welcomed by a peasant family who aided in his recovery before he resumed his arduous journey westward. The scale of this withdrawal, occurring both day and night, could hardly escape the enemy's notice, and its complexity made the operation increasingly difficult. The execution of the withdrawal exacerbated the situation significantly. Orders to abandon their positions started to trickle down immediately after the upper command made the decision. However, these orders reached the units in a disorganized manner. Many telephone lines had been sabotaged, and when soldiers were sent to relay the orders in person, they faced severe disruptions in the transportation network. Consequently, many units only became aware of the withdrawal when they witnessed the mass movements of their comrades heading westward. Upon realizing what was happening, many soldiers fled in a state of panic. There were no comprehensive plans outlining the retreat, no designated routes for the various units, nor any established timetables. The outcome was a chaotic scramble for survival. Soldiers who had fought side by side for three months suddenly found themselves competing against one another in a desperate race to escape. At bridges and other chokepoints, weary soldiers exhausted their last reserves of strength, brawling with their fellow troops to be the first to cross. Meanwhile, officers traveling in chauffeur-driven cars attempted to assert their rank to gain priority access to the roads, adding to the growing disorder that ensued. The massive army was hindered by its sheer size, resulting in miles of congested roads filled with men unable to move in any direction. This made them easy targets for Japanese aircraft, leading to a bloody cycle of repeated attacks. Planes adorned with the red Rising Sun insignia would emerge from the horizon, swooping down to strike at these vulnerable formations. As commander Chen Yiding recalled “The lack of organization and the gridlocked roads resulted in far more casualties than could have been avoided,”.  On November 12th, the newspaper Zhaongyang Ribao, published an editorial addressing the citizens of Nanjing, to remind them that tough times lay ahead now that Shanghai had fallen. The article stipulated they needed to prepare the city for the upcoming battle,  “Now, all the citizenry of the capital must fulfill their duty in a way that can serve as a model for the entire nation.” Nanjing in 1937 was a city touched by the war, but not enough to change the social fabric just yet. Cinema's remained open, the shopping arcade was crowded as usual, traffic was heavy along Zhongshan Road, order remained. Telephones remained on, except during air raids. Connections to the outside world functioned as they should, given this was the capital. The region had seen a good harvest in 1937, no one was going hungry. However as the front 200 miles away drew closer, bombing raids more frequent, fear of the enemy increased. Contact with the outside world gradually declined. By mid November the train link from Nanjing to Shanghai was severed.  While the fear amongst the populace increased, so did a newfound sense of common purpose against a common enemy. Poster calling for the Chinese to unite against the Japanese invaders were found throughout Nanjing. Residents were conscripted for various fortification efforts, with some receiving basic military training to help defend the city. Those who refused to cooperate faced severe penalties as “traitors,” while the majority willingly participated. Both military and civilian police were deployed throughout the city, diligently checking identities in an ongoing effort to root out spies and traitors. The authorities enforced a strict prohibition against discussing military matters in restaurants and other public venues. Then all the high ranking military officials and politicians families gradually began departing the city in secrecy. This was followed by said politicians and military officials. Twas not a good look. Nanjing soon saw its population decline from 1 million to half a million. Those who stayed behind were mainly the poor, or those anchored, like shopkeepers. Every day saw a steady stream of Nanjing citizens leaving the city over her main roads, fleeing into the countryside with carts full of belongings. On November 12th at 10am orders were issued for the Japanese to advance west. What had been a war of attrition, where inches of land were claimed with blood, suddenly it was a war of movement. As one Japanese soldier recalled “In the course of 50 days, I had moved only two miles. Now suddenly we were experiencing rapid advance”. As the Japanese came across small towns, they found large posters plastered on all the walls. These were all anti-japanese with some nationalist propaganda. The Japanese soldiers would tear them down and paint up their own messages “down with Chiang Kai-Shek!”.  Towns and cities west of Shanghai fell rapidly one after another, each succumbing to a grim pattern: swift conquest followed by widespread devastation. Jiading, a county seat with a population of approximately 30,000, succumbed to a prolonged siege. When the 10st division captured Jiading on November 13, after relentless shelling had leveled a third of the city, they began a massacre, indiscriminately killing nearly everyone in their path, men, women, and children alike. The battle and its aftermath resulted in over 8,000 casualties among the city's residents and surrounding countryside. One Japanese soldier referred to Jiading as “A city of death, in a mysteriously silent world in which the only sound was the tap of our own footsteps”.  On November 14, soldiers from the 9th Division reached Taicang, an ancient walled city designed to withstand lengthy sieges. As they crossed the 70-foot moat amid heavy fire, the Japanese troops confronted the formidable 20-foot-high city wall. After breaching the wall, their infantry swiftly entered the city and seized control. The destruction persisted long after the fighting ceased, with half of the city being devastated, including significant cultural institutions like the library, and salt and grain reserves were looted. It was as if the Japanese aimed to obliterate not just the material existence of the people but their spiritual foundation as well.  Casual cruelty marked the nature of warfare along the entire front, with few prisoners being taken. Ishii Seitaro, a soldier in the 13th Division's 26th Brigade, encountered a mass execution while marching alongside the Yangtze River. Several headless corpses floated nearby, yet three Chinese prisoners remained alive. A Japanese officer, personally overseeing the execution, wore a simple uniform, but the two ornate swords at his belt indicated his wealthy background. Approaching one prisoner, the officer dramatically drew one of the swords and brandished it through the air with exaggerated flair. In an almost theatrical display, he held it aloft, the blade trembling as if he were nervous. The prisoner, in stark contrast, exhibited an unnerving calmness as he knelt, awaiting his inevitable fate. The officer swung the sword down but failed to deliver a clean strike. Although he inflicted a deep gash to the prisoner's skull, it was not fatal. The prisoner collapsed, thrashing and emitting a prolonged scream that sent chills through those present. The officer, seemingly exhilarated by the anguish he caused, began wildly slashing at the figure until the screams subsided. Ishii turned away in horror, his mind swirling with confusion. Why were the Chinese being executed? Had they not surrendered?  Three months into the war's expansion to the Yangtze region, air raids had become an all too frequent menace in Nanjing. The first major raid came on August 15th and increased each week. On the night of August 27, approximately 30 bombs were dropped on Purple Mountain, specifically targeting the Memorial Park for Sun Yat-sen, aiming to hurt the morale of Nanjing's residents. As days melted into weeks and weeks stretched into months, the landscape of Nanjing transformed under the weight of war. Residents began constructing dugouts in courtyards, gardens, public squares, and even on streets. Foreigners painted their national flags on top of buildings and vehicles, attempting to avoid the risk of being machine-gunned by strafing aircraft. Each raid followed a predictable routine: sirens wailed loudly 20 to 30 minutes before the attack, signaling pedestrians to seek shelter and drivers to stop their engines. By the time a shorter warning sounded, the streets had to be cleared, leaving nothing to do but await the arrival of Japanese planes. Initially, the part-US-trained Chinese Air Force posed a considerable threat to Japanese bombers. The 4th and 5th Chinese Squadrons, stationed near Nanjing to defend the capital, achieved early success, reportedly downing six bombers during the first air raid on Nanjing. Much of the credit for these aerial victories belonged to Claire Chennault, a retired American Army Air Corps captain who had become an advisor to the Chinese Air Force, overseeing Nanjing's air defense. Chennault taught his pilots tactics he had developed in the US but had never fully implemented. His strategy was straightforward: three fighters would focus on one enemy bomber at a time. One would attack from above, another from below, while a third would hover in reserve to deliver the final blow if necessary. He instructed the Chinese pilots to target the engines rather than the fuselage, reasoning that any missed shots could hit the gas tanks located in the wing roots. This approach proved successful, leading to the loss of 54 Japanese planes within three days. For Chennault, it validated his belief that air superiority required a diverse range of aircraft, not just bombers. Nighttime raids, however, posed a greater challenge. Chennault, along with other commanders, sought solutions. Chinese General C.C. Wong, a German-trained artillery officer overseeing the country's anti-aircraft defenses, ensured that dozens of large Sperry searchlights were positioned throughout Nanjing in a grid pattern. This setup had a dual purpose: it would dazzle the Japanese bomber crews and highlight their planes in silhouette for Chinese fighters above to target. The bravery of the most skilled Chinese pilots occasionally gained media attention, making them local celebrities amidst an otherwise grim war environment. However, this bright moment faded quickly when the Japanese command decided to provide escorts for their bombers. Consequently, the elite of China's air force, its finest pilots and aircraft, were lost within weeks that fall. All air raids were brutal, but the worst assaults occurred at the end of September. As a radio broadcaster reported on September 25th “Gallons of civilian blood flowed today as Nanking endured three ferocious air raids”. In total, 96 Japanese sorties were launched on that day. Witnesses observed around a dozen Chinese aircraft retreating north across the Yangtze, initially believing they were fleeing, but some returned to confront the enemy. When Chinese fighters managed to down a Japanese bomber, the streets erupted in cheers as civilians momentarily forgot their fear. The primary aim of the September 25 attack appeared to be spreading terror among the civilian population. Chiang Kai-Shek wrote in his diary that day  “The repeated Japanese air raids over the past several days have had no impact on our military installations. Instead, civilian property has sustained significant damage.” Around 20 bombs struck the Central Hospital, one of Nanjing's largest medical facilities, causing extensive destruction and prompting the evacuation of its staff. Two 1,000-pound bombs exploded nearby, leaving large craters. Had these bombs landed slightly closer, they could have resulted in mass casualties among the hospital's 100 patients, including a Japanese pilot who had been shot down earlier that month. The air raids at the end of September prompted protests from the Americans, British, and French governments to Japan. In response, Tokyo issued a statement on September 30, asserting that while they were not intentionally targeting non-combatants, it was “unavoidable” for achieving military objectives that military airfields and installations in and around Nanjing be bombed.   The battle for Jiashan was among the fiercest in the southern Yangtze delta campaign in November 1937. Although Jiashan was a moderately sized town straddling a crucial railway connecting Shanghai to Hangzhou, the capital of Zhejiang province. For the Japanese, seizing Jiashan was imperative for their westward advance; without it, their military progress would be severely hampered. Jiashan had endured three days of relentless bombing by the Japanese Air Force, driving most residents to flee into the surrounding countryside. Only about 100 remained, those who were too old or too sick to escape, abandoned by family or friends who lacked the means to assist them. The Japanese troops brutally bayoneted nearly all of these individuals and buried them in a mass grave just outside the town's northern gate. Jiashan was captured by the 10th Army, a division fresh from victories and eager to engage in combat, unlike the weary forces of the Shanghai Expeditionary Force further north. With less than a week of combat experience, the 10th Army's soldiers were hungry for a fight. The martial spirit of the 10th Army was exemplified by its commander, Yanagawa Heisuke. Born near Nagasaki in 1879, he was among a group of retired officers called back to active service as the war in China escalated unexpectedly. Having served in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905 and taught at the Beijing Army College in 1918, Yanagawa had considerable experience in military affairs. However, his past exposure to China did not cultivate any empathy for the enemy. He was determined to push all the way to Nanjing, and once there, he intended to blanket the city in mustard gas and incendiaries until it capitulated. While Japanese commanders debated the value of capturing Nanjing, the Chinese were equally preoccupied with whether it was worth defending. Most military professionals viewed the situation as a lost cause from the start. After the fall of Shanghai, Chiang Kai-shek summoned one of his top commanders, Chen Cheng, to Nanjing for discussions. “How can Nanjing be held?” Chen Cheng shot back “Are you ordering me to hold Nanjing?” Chiang replied “I am not”. Chen Cheng stated frankly, “I believe Nanjing should not be held at all.” By mid-November, Bai Chongxi, one of China's most respected generals, advocated for declaring Nanjing an open city. He argued that defending it was not only unnecessary but also impossible. All available forces had been deployed to Shanghai and were now exhausted. Furthermore, no reinforcements would be forthcoming if they made a stand in Nanjing. Instead of stubbornly clinging to fixed positions, he preferred a more flexible defensive strategy. Zhang Qun, Chiang's secretary, supported Bai's stance, believing that while Nanjing should ultimately be abandoned, political considerations were paramount. If the Chinese simply withdrew and allowed the Japanese to occupy the city, it would undermine China's position in any future negotiations. The Japanese would not be able to present themselves as victors who had triumphed in battle. Similarly, Chiang's chief military advisor, General Alexander von Falkenhausen, was against attempting to hold Nanjing. He deemed it “useless from a military perspective, suggesting it would be madness.” He warned that if Chiang forced his army into a decisive battle with their backs to the Yangtze River, “a disaster would probably be unavoidable.” Chiang's head of the operations bureau Liu Fei argued Nanjing could not be abandoned without a fight as it would crush the NRA's morale. He believed that defending the city could be managed with as few as 12 regiments, although 18 would be feasible. Most at the meeting agreed and Chiang understood Nanjing's international recognition necessitated some form of defense, doomed or not. A second meeting was formed whereupon, Tang Shengzhi, a general staff officer whose loyalties were, lets be honest very flip floppy. During the warlord era, he routinely switched sides, especially against Chiang Kai-Shek. At the meeting Tang stated in regards to Nanjing's international prominence and being the final resting place of Dr Sun Yat-Sen “How can we face the spirit of the former president in heaven? We have no choice but to defend the capital to the death.” Chiang's commanders were all well aware of his intentions. The generalissimo was eager for a dramatic last stand in Nanjing to serve propaganda purposes, aiming to rally the nation and convey to the world that China was resolute in its fight against Japan. His commanders also recognized the rationale behind fighting for Nanjing; however, very few were inclined to embark on what seemed a likely suicide mission. The third meeting occurred the day after the second. Chiang opened by asking, as many anticipated, “Who is willing to shoulder the burden of defending Nanjing?” An awkward silence followed. Then Tang Shengzhi stepped forward. “Chairman, if no one else is willing, I will. I'm prepared to defend Nanjing and to hold it to the death.” Without hesitation, Chiang accepted his offer. “Good, the responsibility is yours.”A little refresher on Tang, he had played a role in Chiang Kai-shek's efforts to unify China by force in the 1920s, when the nation was a patchwork of fiefdoms. However, their relationship had soured on two occasions, forcing Tang into temporary exile, first to Japan and then to Hong Kong. The Japanese invasion of northeastern China in 1931 prompted a loose reconciliation, and since then, Tang had held several important positions, notably organizing war games simulating a Japanese assault on Nanjing. However Tang had often suffered from illness, and crucially, he had not led troops in the field against the Japanese since the onset of full-scale war that summer. Hailing from Hunan province, he was a typical provincial soldier and would likely face challenges commanding respect among elite divisions loyal solely to the central government in Nanjing. He was definitely not the first choice for such a significant task.  Amazingly, while tens of thousands of Chinese and Japanese were killing each other, while Japanese planes relentlessly bombarded Chinese cities including the capital, and while Japanese soldiers committed heinous atrocities against Chinese civilians, the two nations maintained diplomatic relations. China had a fully operational embassy in Tokyo, led by Xu Shiying, a 65-year-old diplomat. This surreal arrangement persisted because neither side was willing to officially declare war. In the fall of 1937, as Japanese armies were heavily engaged on two fronts within mainland China, Xu met with Japanese Foreign Minister Hirota Koki to propose a non-aggression treaty. The proposal was swiftly rejected in Nanjing. By November 1937, Xu was no longer at the forefront of events, and foreign observers shifted their focus from the capitals of the warring nations to Belgium. While large-scale battles raged along the lower Yangtze, representatives from 19 countries convened in Brussels to search for a way to end hostilities. Although China participated in the conference, Japan did not. Japan had received two invitations to join the talks, with its response to the second arriving in Brussels on November 12: a firm rejection. Japan asserted that it preferred direct bilateral negotiations with China, dismissing the Brussels conference held under the auspices of the Nine-Power Treaty, a pact signed in 1922 aimed at ensuring China's national sovereignty and territorial integrity. Japan argued that intervention by a collective body like the conference “would merely stir national sentiments in both countries and complicate efforts to reach a mutually satisfactory resolution.” The League of Nations had called for a Nine-Power conference a month earlier, which ultimately became a 19-power conference as other nations with interests in East Asia joined. From the outset, Japan opposed the assembly and was absent when the first plenary meeting commenced in Brussels on November 3. Japanese leaders feared that China might attempt to leverage the conference against Western powers, recalling how, in 1895, Japan had been denied its spoils following its first modern war with China due to the intervention of Russia, France, and Germany, who blocked Japan from claiming the strategic Liaodong Peninsula adjacent to Korea. China also exhibited a lukewarm attitude toward the conference. While Japan feared the potential outcomes, China was concerned about the lack of significant results. The proposal to transition discussions from the League of Nations, perceived as ineffective, to the even less authoritative Nine Powers, which lacked formal organization. Nonetheless, the Chinese chose to participate in Brussels, maintaining the pretense that something meaningful could be accomplished. Shortly after Japan's second rejection of the invitation, Wellington Koo made an impassioned plea in Brussels, stating, “Now that the door to conciliation and mediation has been slammed in your face by the latest reply of the Japanese Government, will you not decide to withhold supplies of war materials and credit to Japan and extend aid to China?” In reality, Koo understood that significant Western aid to China was highly unlikely, aside from token gestures. Previous international discussions had momentarily halted Japanese advances in the past; for instance, in 1932, Japanese troops had paused their movements in the Shanghai area just hours before the League of Nations General Assembly commenced. However, that was nearly six years earlier, and circumstances had changed dramatically since then. Rogue states had grown bolder, while democracies seemed increasingly timid. Thus, the Chinese agenda in Brussels was not primarily driven by hopes for substantial Western concessions. Instead, the delegates had been tasked by Nanjing to anticipate the post-conference landscape and to actively seek ways to encourage Europe and America to support Soviet military action against Japan.   China, long reliant on Germany as a diplomatic partner, increasingly felt betrayed, not just by Germany, but also by its fascist ally, Italy. Consequently, it began looking more favorably upon the Soviet Union, Japan's archrival in Northeast Asia, as its main source of international support. The Soviet Union exhibited a firmer stance than the Western democracies at the Brussels conference, joining China in advocating for collective security in Europe and Asia. On November 15th, a small group of officers from the 10th Army gathered for late-night discussions in an abandoned building north of Hangzhou Bay, where they would effectively decide the fate of China. Yanagawa Heisuke, the commander of the 10th Army, presided over the discussions. Fresh from the battlefield since the beginning of the month, he was eager to escalate the fight, a sentiment echoed among the others. It was an unusual meeting, where officers as low in rank as major were making decisions typically reserved for the highest echelons of political power. The agenda included a pivotal question: Should they adhere to Order No. 600 received from Tokyo a week prior, which instructed them to halt their advance along a line from Suzhou to Jiaxing? Or, should they disregard these explicit orders and push forward to seize Nanjing? While the Japanese Army had failed to completely annihilate the Chinese forces around Shanghai, there was a consensus that their adversary was now reeling from recent setbacks, presenting an opportune moment to strike decisively and secure a swift victory. The only remaining question was how aggressively to pursue this goal. Colonel Terada Masao, a senior staff officer within the 10th Army, spoke first. “The Chinese Army is currently retreating toward the capital. We should cross that line and pursue the enemy straight to Nanjing.” Major Iketani Hanjiro, a staff officer recently attached to the fast-moving 6th Division, then offered his input “From a tactical perspective, I completely agree with Terada that we should cross the line, but the decision to attack Nanjing should be considered not just tactically, but also politically. It's not that field commanders can't create a fait accompli to pressure our superiors in Tokyo. However, we must proceed with great caution”. A staff officer raised this question  “What if Tokyo orders us to pull back those smaller units?” Iketani responded “In that case, we will, of course, withdraw them to this side of the line”. Ultimately, Iketani's cautions were set aside, and Terada's aggressive approach prevailed. The majority agreed that the tactical circumstances presented a rare opportunity. Japanese troops in the Shanghai area were poised to advance west, not through small, individual skirmishes but with a substantial deployment of their forces. Officers estimated that if a decisive push was made immediately, Nanjing could fall into Japanese hands within 20 days. However Colonel Kawabe Torashiro, the newly appointed chief of the Army General Staff's Operations Section suddenly arrived at the theater. He was sent on a mission to assess whether the Central China Area Army should be granted greater operational freedom. It was well known in Tokyo that field officers were eager to capitalize on the momentum created by the collapse of Chinese defenses around Shanghai. Kawabe's task was to explore the possibility of allowing forces to cross the line from Suzhou to Jiaxing and move westward in pursuit of the retreating enemy. However, Kawabe was staunchly opposed to further military adventures in China. Kawabe was part of the dwindling faction of "China doves" within the Japanese military. As early as the summer of 1937, he had become alarmed by a letter from a civilian Japanese visitor to the Chinese mainland, warning that Japanese officers were attempting to engineer an “incident” with China to provoke open conflict. This would provide Japan with a pretext to expand its influence in northern China. Kawabe had attempted to alert his superiors, but his warnings fell on deaf ears. They had been lulled into a false sense of security by reports from China that dismissed all talk of war-mongering as baseless and alarmist. When he arrived to the front he stated “I am here to inspect conditions on the ground so that a final decision can be made on where to establish the operational restriction line”. Alongside him came General Akira Muto, recently appointed the commander of the Central China Area Army. He also happened to be one of the architects of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. Muto responded promptly: “The line currently stretches from Suzhou to Jiaxing, but we should consider crossing it. This will help us achieve our overall objectives in the theater.” Muto continued, arguing that the 10th Army should be permitted to advance to Huzhou, south of Lake Tai, effectively cutting off communications between Nanjing and the strategic city of Hangzhou. He further claimed that the Shanghai Expeditionary Force should be allowed to capture the vital city of Jiangyin, suggesting, perhaps overly optimistically, that its loss could lead to the fall of Chiang Kai-shek. Ultimately, Muto insisted, Nanjing should also be seized, which he asserted would bring an end to the war. Kawabe listened patiently, a practice he would repeat in the following days as other field officers echoed similar sentiments, eagerly expressing their desire to advance all the way to Nanjing. Yanagawa and his 10th Army exemplified this aggressive mindset. Nevertheless, just as the hawks within the Japanese military and the nation's political leadership appeared to be prevailing in the struggle over China policy, they faced unexpected challenges from a different direction. Germany, a power with ambiguous sympathies in East Asia, was quietly engaged in negotiations aimed at bringing peace. Oskar Trautmann, Germany's ambassador to China, had maintained an objective and neutral stance when he met with Chiang Kai-shek in early November to relay Japan's conditions for initiating peace talks. These conditions included extensive concessions in northern China, such as the withdrawal of all Chinese troops to a line south of Beijing and the establishment of a pro-Japanese regime in Inner Mongolia, bordering the Soviet-controlled Mongolian People's Republic. Chiang dismissed these demands outright, but Trautmann and his superiors in Beijing continued their top-secret efforts. Germany's motivation for seeking an end to the Sino-Japanese War was not rooted in a genuine love for peace, but rather in their embarrassment over witnessing their old Asian ally, China, fighting against their new partner, Japan. Herman Göring, president of the Reichstag and a leading figure in the Nazi party, told a Chinese visitor, “China and Japan are both friends of Germany. The Sino-Japanese War has put Germany between Scylla and Charybdis. That's why Germany is ready to seize the chance to become a mediator.” Germany also feared that a prolonged conflict in China could jeopardize its commercial interests in East Asia and weaken Japan's capacity to confront the Soviet Union, potentially freeing Moscow to allocate more resources to a fight in Europe. In essence, continued hostilities could significantly harm Germany. Japanese field commanders were frustrated by Germany's mediation efforts.  When news of Trautmann's mission leaked, the German diplomat faced severe criticism in the Chinese media, which deemed any negotiation with the "Japanese devils" unacceptable. Additionally, there was the matter of China's ties with the Soviet Union; employing a German mediator raised the possibility of cooperation among China, Japan, and Germany, potentially expanding the anti-Soviet bloc, which would, in turn, pressure Moscow to increase its support for China. By mid-November, however, the complexities of this diplomatic game started unraveling and then Japan took action. At 7:00 am on November 19, Yanagawa issued instructions to his troops in the field. “The enemy's command system is in disarray, and a mood of defeat has descended over their entire army. They have lost the will to fight. The main Chinese forces were retreating west of the line stretching from Suzhou to Jiaxing, and this withdrawal was soon likely to spiral into a full-scale retreat. We must not miss the opportunity to pursue the enemy to Nanjing.” I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Shanghai had fallen, and the Japanese forces pursued their fleeing enemy further west. However they had orders to halt, but would they? Officers from top down deliberating on the issue, with the vast majority pushing for a drive to Nanjing. They thought it represented the end objective of the conflict. They would all be very wrong. 

This episode was released on August 15th, 2025, exactly 80 years after the Empire of Japan unconditionally surrendered to the Allies following the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Today, we bring you a largely forgotten story. In 1944, Japan launched its biggest land campaign of the war. It was called “Operation Ichi-Go (Operation #1)” – a massive push through China with half a million troops. It shattered Chiang Kai-shek's armies, changed Allied strategy, and helped set the stage for the ROC's retreat to Taiwan.But the spark for this offensive began not on a battlefield in China, but in what's today Hsinchu, Taiwan. This “big picture” episode has surprise U.S. bombing raids, brutal battles, Roosevelt's strategy meetings in Hawaii, the collapse of China's wartime economy, and lots more twists and turns that would lead to Mao Zedong proclaiming the People's Republic of China in 1949 – and the Republic of China retreating to Taiwan.

Last time we spoke about the 800 heroes who defended the Sihang Warehouse. In the fall of Shanghai during October 1937, amidst overwhelming odds, a small battalion under Colonel Xie Jinyuan took a stand inside the Sihang Warehouse, transforming it into a fortress against the invading Japanese army. As word spread of their stand, local citizens rallied, providing vital supplies and cheers of encouragement from across the Suzhou Creek. The defenders, dubbed the "800 Heroes," symbolized hope and determination. Despite suffering heavy casualties, they held firm, embodying the spirit of resistance against aggression. As dawn broke on November 1, 1937, a strategic retreat was ordered, allowing Xie's remaining troops to escape safely into the International Settlement. Their legacy endured, highlighting the courage of those who fought against overwhelming odds. The saga of the "800 Heroes" became a beacon of hope for future generations, immortalizing their determination to protect their homeland during one of its darkest hours.   #162 The Battle of Shanghai #7: The Fall of Shanghai Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. The fall of the Sihang Warehouse and withdrawal from Zhabei and Jiangwan doomed the Chinese defense of Shanghai. The army shifted to a fortified defensive line along the southern bank of Suzhou Creek, extending north towards the city of Nanxiang. Suzhou Creek provided an advantageous defensive position, acting as a natural barrier measuring up to 150 feet wide, with steep banks rising seven feet on either side. However, once this line was abandoned, there would be no fallback position remaining. Losing control of Suzhou Creek would be the loss of Shanghai. As German advisor Borchardt noted, “the Chinese command was therefore putting all its efforts into holding the position for as long as possible, without risking the annihilation of units crucial for continuing the war.” The Japanese planned their main assault directly south across Suzhou Creek to encircle the troops stationed in Shanghai. However, they first needed to create sufficient space for maneuvering. To achieve this and to secure their right flank, they launched a significant attack on Nanxiang on October 28, advancing along the railway from Shanghai. With the benefit of extensive support from aircraft and artillery, the Japanese were able to breach the Chinese frontline with relative ease. Nevertheless, they failed to capture Nanxiang, and the outcome was less of a victory than it initially appeared, as the Chinese had established a robust defense, preparing a two-mile stretch of obstacles and barriers east of the city. In a subsequent advance that shifted to the south, the Japanese engaged in a brief battle before seizing the town of Zhenru, which was strategically important due to its radio station that facilitated much of Shanghai's telephone and telegraphic communications with the outside world. In preparation for crossing Suzhou Creek, the Japanese had spent several days assembling a small fleet of vessels commandeered from Shanghai's civilian population, which included motorboats, sampans, and basic bamboo barges. On October 31, the 3rd Japanese Infantry Division, positioned at the eastern end of the Suzhou Creek front, initiated several crossings. During one of these attacks in the late afternoon near the village of Zhoujiaqiao, Japanese soldiers managed to reach the southern bank but were immediately met with enfilading fire from Chinese machine guns, resulting in significant casualties. They also faced counterattacks from Chinese reserves, who had been quickly summoned to neutralize the threat. Despite these challenges, the Japanese were able to maintain a narrow foothold. A parallel attempt by the same division further downstream, closer to the International Settlement, ended in failure, despite the evident superiority of Japanese equipment. Engineers deployed a mile-long smokescreen across the creek, while a dozen three-engine bombers, protected by fighter planes, hovered over the battlefield, actively scouting for targets. Although a small landing party successfully crossed the creek, they were quickly met with a fierce artillery barrage, and a Chinese counterattack forced them back into the water. Foreign military observers speculated that this operation was more a reconnaissance mission than a serious attempt to cross in that sector, as engaging in battle so close to the International Settlement would have required operations in heavily built-up areas. On November 1, three battalions of the 9th Japanese Division attacked in small boats across Suzhou Creek at the point where the Chinese frontline bent northward, successfully establishing a bridgehead on the other side. Over the next two days, the division managed to deploy a substantial number of troops across, eventually controlling an area that stretched about half a mile along the south bank of the creek. The following day, the Chinese launched a determined effort to eliminate this growing threat. While they made significant gains, they ultimately failed to eradicate the Japanese landing party, partly due to their inability to fully utilize their considerable artillery resources. At the beginning of the day's battle, just 60 feet separated the trenches of the opposing forces, meaning any barrage aimed at the Japanese was equally likely to hit Chinese lines. At dawn on November 3rd, the exhausted Tax Police Division were taking horrible losses trying to hold the Japanese back. Men began to scream “poison gas” as white clouds drifted across the Suzhou creek towards their trenches. Despite this the Japanese had not managed to carve out a bridgehead, but did built a pontoon bridge and sent a small force over to occupy a two story building near the bank, designated as “the red house”. Huang Jie, commander of the Tax Police Division, was a nervous wreck, feeling overwhelmed by fatalism after Chiang Kai-shek threatened to court-martial any officer who permitted the Japanese to cross to the southern bank of the creek. The appearance of an ominous cloud was the final straw. Although the cloud was later confirmed to be just a smoke screen and not poisonous gas, Huang was already defeated. With another Japanese assault imminent, he felt incapable of leading the defense. “It's over. It's all over,” he said matter-of-factly, raising his sidearm to his temple. Nearby, senior officer Sun Liren intervened, urging him, “General, please go back. We'll take care of this.” The battle continued until 4:00 p.m., but the battalion that faced the brunt of the Japanese onslaught had disintegrated. Its commander was dead, along with all but one company commander and over half of the platoon leaders. Of the original 600 men, only 200 remained. This was not what the Tax Police Division had anticipated when they were pulled from the area south of Wusong Creek the previous month; they believed the strong defenses at Dachang could hold for at least a month or two, providing sufficient time for the exhausted troops in the rear to recover. On the evening of November 3, following the latest Japanese attempt to cross the creek, the Tax Police Division's commander ordered Sun Liren to rest. However, Sun felt the need to complete one last task: destroying the pontoon bridge the Japanese had constructed across Suzhou Creek, which remained largely intact despite repeated Chinese efforts to demolish it. Previous attempts, including frontal attacks and sending swimmers downstream with explosives, had failed. Finally, they prepared large rolls of cotton soaked in gasoline to roll downhill toward the bridge, but these efforts were halted by Japanese barbed wire. For his final attempt, Sun requisitioned sea mines to float them downstream and detonate them near the bridge. To ensure the success of this plan, he required the cooperation of engineers. Unfortunately, the engineers he ordered for the late-night mission had not been trained by him, and despite being of lower rank, they were disinclined to put in extra effort for an unfamiliar officer. They worked slowly, and by dawn, the mines had yet to be pushed into the water. In the early morning light, they became visible targets along the bank, attracting Japanese fire. Sun was hit, but he was among the fortunate; later, soldiers from the Tax Police Division found him beneath a pile of dead bodies, with doctors later discovering 13 bullet wounds in his body. His participation in the battle of Shanghai had come to an end. According to German advisors, the Chinese repeatedly made the same mistake in the struggle for Suzhou Creek: a lack of independent thinking among junior Chinese commanders prevented them from reacting aggressively to Japanese crossings. This delay allowed the Japanese to entrench themselves, and subsequent Chinese counterattacks often succeeded only after several costly failures. Moreover, Chinese artillery lacked the flexibility to adapt quickly and lacked training in selecting the appropriate ordnance for the situation. The Germans argued that this allowed the enemy “sufficient time to set up a good defense,” and even when later Chinese attacks achieved some significant successes, they failed to completely annihilate the enemy forces that had crossed the creek. Conversely, the Japanese were also frustrated, particularly their commander, Matsui Iwane. Although the 9th Division had made significant advances, the 3rd Division remained confined to a narrow strip of land south of the creek, thwarting hopes for a quick, decisive push southeast to trap the remaining troops in Shanghai and Pudong. On November 3, the birthday of Emperor Meiji, who was instrumental in modernizing Japan, Matsui reflected on his initial hopes of celebrating as the conqueror of Shanghai. Instead, he found himself disappointed, writing, “Now we've finally won a small piece of land south of Suzhou Creek, but the south of Shanghai and all of Pudong remains in enemy hands. That the festival is happening under conditions such as these is a source of boundless humiliation.” Japanese planners in Tokyo had been increasingly concerned that operations in the Shanghai area were not progressing as anticipated since the troop deployments began in August. Despite sending three additional divisions, the advances remained limited, prompting the Army General Staff to consider a more fundamental strategic shift in China. The core question revolved around whether to prioritize the northern campaign or the battles around Shanghai, as Japan lacked the resources to effectively pursue both. In early October, Japanese officers concluded that addressing the situation in Shanghai must take precedence. A large reason for this decision rested on fears of a potential soviet attack in the northeast before the New Year. With so many divisions stuck in Shanghai Manchukuo was quite vulnerable. On October 9, the Army General Staff established the 10th Army, specifically designed to shift the balance in Shanghai. This new force included the 6th Infantry Division, currently deployed in northern China, a brigade from the 5th Infantry Division known as the Kunizaki Detachment, and the 18th and 114th Infantry Divisions from the home islands. Command of the 10th Army was entrusted to General Yanagawa Heisuke, a 58-year-old veteran of the Russo-Japanese War who had recently retired but was recalled to service due to his suitability for the role; he had previously served as a military attaché in Beijing and as an instructor at the city's army college. The 10th Army was to be landed behind Chinese lines. There were two possible landing sites: the south bank of the Yangtze River, where earlier landings had occurred in late August, or the north bank of Hangzhou Bay. Hangzhou Bay provided the element of surprise thus it was selected. However when reconnaissance was performed, the area was found to be heavily fortified with many terrain issues that would complicate logistics. Matsui Iwane expressed his concerns in his diary, noting, “It would probably be much easier if they landed on the banks of the Huangpu and Yangtze Rivers. This plan gives me the impression of a bunch of young people at play”. The 10th Army was set to land before dawn on November 5. The Kunizaki Detachment would lead the assault, capturing a stretch of coastline east of Jinshanwei in the middle of the night. This would be followed by the 6th Division, with the 18th Division on its right flank and the 114th Division on its left. All units were to advance briskly north to the Huangpu River and cross it. A major objective north of the river was the city of Songjiang, a key transportation hub for both rail and road. Ultimately, the goal was to link up with Japanese units advancing south in the flat countryside west of Shanghai to encircle as many Chinese soldiers as possible. Secrecy was vital for the 10th Army in its preparations. The commanders recalled an old saying: “If you want to cheat the enemy, first you must fool your own men,” and decided to adhere to it. To mislead their forces before the embarkation of the 6th Division, they distributed maps of Qingdao, a northern Chinese port city, to create the illusion that it was the operation's target. This way, if any information leaked, it would mislead the recipient. On November 1, the convoy carrying the 6th Division departed the waters off the Korean Peninsula, heading south. The following day, it merged with another convoy transporting the 18th and 114th Divisions from Japan. Together, they formed a substantial fleet of nearly 200 vessels, necessitating heightened caution to avoid detection. Strict orders prohibited the use of lights, and radio silence was enforced at all times. As the ships neared Shanghai, they sailed in a wide arc offshore, only redirecting toward land when they were aligned with Hangzhou Bay. Upon learning their true objective, the soldiers felt a mix of excitement and apprehension as they crowded the dark decks, catching sight of the vague silhouette of the continent they were about to conquer. The advance unit, the Kunizaki Detachment, boarded its landing craft as planned at 3:00 am on November 5, heading towards its designated section of the coastline. Meanwhile, the rest of the 10th Army waited anxiously aboard ships anchored two miles offshore. The silence from the shore indicated that the detachment had encountered no resistance, although the ongoing radio silence left uncertainty. Eventually, the detachment signaled with light projectors that the landing had gone as planned. With this confirmation, the soldiers of the second wave began their approach. The 10th Army had intended for the invasion force to move swiftly from the landing zone to secure the area before the Chinese could mount a counterattack. Each soldier was equipped with a week's supply of rice and as much ammunition as he could carry to avoid being hindered by a lengthy supply train; mobility was essential. On the first day of the landing, the Chinese launched only two minor counterattacks. One occurred on the left flank but failed to hinder the advance north, while the other on the right flank also had limited success, forcing the Chinese to retreat ahead of the advancing Japanese troops. By mid-morning on November 5, over 3,000 Japanese soldiers had successfully landed, and this number continued to rise rapidly. The urgency of the situation was evident, and only swift and decisive actions could offer the Chinese generals a chance to avert catastrophe. However, instead of mounting an all-out effort to push the Japanese back into the sea, they chose to play a waiting game. The consensus among the command center of the 3rd War Zone in Suzhou during the early hours was that the landing forces were weak and intended to distract from more critical operations planned for the near future. Enemy resistance was weak and sporadic, allowing the Japanese divisions to make rapid progress despite encountering natural obstacles along their route. By the evening of November 5, less than 24 hours after the initial unit landed, they had advanced three miles inland. Before noon the following day, they reached a ferry port on the Huangpu River, where a group of over 100 soldiers managed to cross, clearing the way for the continued push toward Songjiang. Meanwhile, the left flank of the Japanese landing force engaged in more intense fighting for the first time but still managed to gain ground. The Japanese momentum appeared unstoppable.In desperation, the Chinese resorted to scorched earth tactics reminiscent of the Napoleonic Wars, similar to their earlier actions in Zhabei. They destroyed every building and field, burned crops, killed livestock, and poisoned wells, leaving nothing for the victors. It was the local population that ultimately paid the price, witnessing their ancestral homes reduced to ashes.  Once the Chinese command was convinced that the invasion at Hangzhou Bay was a genuine main effort rather than a deceptive act, it directed all available forces south to contain the escalating threat. However, the Chinese had very few troops to spare. The Chinese dispatched a total of seven divisions and one independent brigade to the landing area. While this force appeared to be roughly twice the size of the Japanese, in reality, it was much weaker. Many of these units had endured extended battles and were not at full combat strength. They were sent south without adequate preparation, and their morale suffered due to the continuous stream of negative news from the front. Additionally, the same poor road network that hindered the Japanese slowed the Chinese reinforcements, resulting in many arriving too late to influence the conflict significantly. Once the opportunity to push the Japanese back into the sea was lost, the next best option was to halt their advance at the Huangpu River. Although this was a significant natural barrier, there were no fortifications prepared along its banks. Compounding the issue, a large number of civilian vessels were left on the south bank, providing the Japanese with an easy means of crossing. Confronted with a steady stream of better-equipped and experienced Japanese soldiers, many Chinese defenders occasionally retreated without a fight. In response to the threat from the south, the Chinese commanders repeated a costly mistake from previous crises: they deployed newly arrived troops in Shanghai directly into battle. This disregard for the exhausted condition of those troops, who had just completed a long trek from Henan province, left them ill-prepared for effective engagement. The 107th and 108th Divisions, part of the 67th Army, had only recently arrived in the Shanghai area when they were ordered on November 8 to move south to defend the strategic city of Songjiang at least until November 11. Though the commanders may have had no other choice but to deploy the 67th, the outcome was predictable. Despite their efforts to hold Songjiang, the two divisions could not stand against the Japanese, and by November 9, they had begun withdrawing from the nearly surrounded city. During the retreat, army commander Wu Keren was assassinated by a group of plainclothes men. Whether these were Japanese soldiers or local traitors hired for the task was never determined, making him the only general to lose his life in the entire Shanghai campaign. This setback rendered the 67th Army ineffective as a fighting force, leading to a complete retreat from the battlefield. Like many other lower-quality units in the Chinese military, the rank-and-file soldiers had never been encouraged to take the initiative, and the corps ultimately disintegrated after losing their commander. Amid the chaos and confusion at the landing zone, many Chinese officers concluded that the battle for Shanghai was lost and focused on salvaging whatever equipment they could before it was too late. On the morning of November 5, three artillery batteries stationed along the north shore of Hangzhou Bay attempted to resist the Japanese forces. As the Chinese front along Hangzhou Bay collapsed, even a successful retreat could be seen as a modest victory. Chiang Kai-shek was on the brink of a nervous breakdown as the full scale of the Japanese landing at Hangzhou Bay became evident. On the evening of November 5, he had over 20 anxious telephone conversations with Gu Zhutong, asking repeatedly, “Is there a fight?” Gu confirmed, “The artillery is bombarding us heavily. There are airplanes, warships.” That night, Chiang met with Chen Cheng and appeared to accept that it was time to abandon positions south of Suzhou Creek. However, political considerations prevented him from immediately communicating this decision to his commanders. He wished to see the Brussels Conference get underway without having China appear defeated and seemed to hope to hold out until November 13, aiming for a minor propaganda victory by demonstrating that China had endured for three months. On the night of November 8, Chiang issued a fateful command to Shanghai police chief Cai Jianjun, instructing him to hold Nanshi while the rest of the army withdrew west, a directive that sounded like a suicide mission. When Cai refused, Chiang's response was swift: “Shoot him.” Luckily for Cai, he escaped being shot.  The Chinese retreat from Shanghai commenced in an orderly manner. At 10:00 am on November 9, the last soldiers organized their march southwest past St. Ignatius Cathedral, where thousands of refugees waited, leaving the city they had defended for nearly three months. As they departed, they burned significant properties, including factories and coal yards, to deny the Japanese valuable resources. Among the structures targeted was the Toyoda Cotton Mills, a prominent symbol of Japan's influence in the Yangtze Delta. Initially, the withdrawal seemed disciplined, reminiscent of earlier successful withdrawals that had surprised the Japanese. However, the situation quickly deteriorated as the Japanese pursued them relentlessly. By noon, they had secured Hongqiao Airfield, the site of earlier conflict, and aimed to inflict maximum damage on the retreating Chinese army. Japanese planes launched attacks from carriers offshore, machine-gunning the congested roads filled with retreating soldiers. Additionally, they bombed bridges and train stations, destroyed communication lines, and shelled already weakened transportation networks. With communications largely disrupted and scattered units receiving no coordination, chaos ensued. Soldiers became consumed by the instinct for personal survival, leading to a disorganized stampede as panic spread. Desperate to escape, many soldiers tried to access designated foreign zones. Some forced their way across checkpoints at gunpoint, while others disguised themselves as civilians to gain entry. A foreign correspondent observed a Chinese soldier throw away his rifle and jump into the polluted Siccawei Creek, wading across in just his underwear, to escape Japanese capture. Similarly, senior officers realized that rank would not protect them from Japanese retribution. General Ye Zhao, retreating with his staff, donned peasant clothes after encountering an abandoned farmhouse and was later captured by the advancing Japanese, who mistook him for a common laborer. As the Japanese approached Nanshi, the mostly Chinese area of Shanghai, the situation grew dire. A group of individuals accused of spying for the Japanese was executed by firing squad in public view, sparking terror among onlookers. As the government prepared to evacuate, officials urged the remaining residents to continue resisting, warning against traitors.  The swift retreat of the Chinese Army shocked many Shanghai residents, who had believed the city could withstand the siege indefinitely. As the city fell in just a few hectic days, thousands of desperate civilians, burdened with their belongings, flocked to the bridges leading to the French Concession, pleading to be let in. However, they were met with hostility from French police, reinforced with tanks, who ordered them to turn away. When they resisted, local Chinese employees were forced to help drive them back, resulting in horrific scenes of violence. The New York Times correspondent Hallet Abend reported how the crowd was ruthlessly beaten back, with some falling into Siccawei Creek, where several drowned amid the chaos. Chinese resistance in Nanshi persisted, as pockets of soldiers were determined to make the conquest challenging for the Japanese. After three days of fighting, between 5,000 and 6,000 Chinese soldiers remained in Nanshi when the Japanese launched their final assault on the morning of November 11. They began a relentless artillery bombardment of the densely populated area. Foreign correspondents, including American journalist Edgar Snow, observed the battle from the French Concession across Siccawei Creek. Japanese tanks advanced cautiously through narrow streets, pausing to fire before retreating, while infantry moved carefully to avoid Chinese snipers hiding among the buildings. While most residents had fled, some civilians continued their daily lives amidst gunfire and explosions. An incident was reported where a group of Chinese were eating rice in a sampan when a machine gun opened fire, causing them to seek cover under the mat. The Japanese forces encountered familiar challenges as they advanced through Nanshi, struggling to set up pontoon bridges across canals, which slowed their progress. In a last stand visible to onlookers in the French Concession, the Chinese soldiers faced an unequal confrontation. The Japanese tanks fired upon them from only 60 yards away, and the defenders were subjected to intense air raids before being driven back. At a desperate moment, one Chinese soldier carried a wounded comrade across Siccawei Creek, dodging bullets, and received assistance from French guards. This encouraged more Chinese soldiers to cross into the French sector, surrendering their weapons to avoid certain death. They became internees, protected from the Japanese, although they felt betrayed by the circumstances that forced such a decision. Not all soldiers managed to escape in this manner; some relocated to a new position closer to the southern edge of the French Concession, near a water tower. This location offered even less protection than their previous one and quickly turned into a deadly encounter. Realizing they were losing, the Chinese troops fled toward the French sector, abandoning their equipment and weapons as they scrambled over barbed wire. The French commander commended their bravery and assured them they would not be returned to the Japanese. As the battle across Siccawei Creek drew to a close, victorious Japanese troops swept through the remaining unoccupied streets of Chinese Shanghai, eliminating the last pockets of resistance. Similar to previous encounters in Zhabei, defenders attempted to set fire to buildings to leave little for the occupying army. Thick smoke billowed over the district, limiting visibility, so onlookers in the French Concession relied on sound to gauge the battle's progress. As gunfire waned, cheers of “Banzai!” filled the air. At 3:34 pm, the Rising Sun flag was raised over the last Chinese stronghold in Nanshi, officially marking the end of the battle of Shanghai. In a city ravaged by war, the district of Zhabei became the epicenter of destruction, resembling a bleak lunar landscape. The area around the North Train Station was devastated, with gutted buildings standing like rugged cliffs and the asphalt roads marred by deep fissures resembling earthquake damage. As Chinese officials prepared to leave Shanghai for Nanjing, they tried to present a positive narrative about the battle, emphasizing that the sacrifices made were not in vain. Mayor Yu proclaimed that the lessons learned in Shanghai during the past 90 days could benefit the entire nation in the war against Japanese aggression, instilling confidence in the people that victory would eventually come. He spoke as if the war was over in Shanghai, which was true in a sense, as the major conflict had concluded.  In late 1937, the Japanese believed they had achieved victory. On December 3, Matsui Iwane's army held a victory parade through the unoccupied International Settlement, a right they claimed as one of the governing powers. It was a serious miscalculation. Japanese civilians and ronin were recruited to act as rallying crowds, waving national flags, which triggered confrontations with foreign residents. The parade passed the Great World Amusement Center, where hundreds had died during "Black Saturday," prompting a Chinese man to leap from a building, declaring “Long Live China!” as he fell. As the parade continued down Nanjing Road, tensions grew among the accompanying police. Suddenly, a grenade was thrown from a window, injuring four Japanese soldiers and one British police officer. Matsui's veterans fanned out to apprehend the assailant, but it was a Chinese police officer who shot him dead. What was meant to be a triumph turned into a fiasco that confirmed the Japanese would struggle to secure even this small corner of China, let alone the vast territory of the country as a whole. The battle for Shanghai became the bloodiest international conflict in Asia since the Russo-Japanese War. By late October, the Japanese estimated that China had suffered 250,000 military losses in the fight for the city. In the months following the battle, Chinese sources reported casualties ranging from 187,200 to as high as 300,000. Regardless of the exact figure, the aftermath of the battle was catastrophic, severely impacting Chiang Kai-shek's best German-trained divisions. China faced a blow from which it would not recover until 1944, aided by significant American support. The high casualty rates stemmed from several factors. Many Chinese soldiers entered the battle expecting to sacrifice their lives, which led to a higher incidence of fatality due to their willingness to launch suicidal attacks against heavily fortified positions. Chinese tactics, which relied on numerical superiority to counter Japan's material advantages, essentially turned the conflict into a struggle of manpower against machinery. While this approach had a grim logic, it starkly contrasted with the reluctance of Chinese commanders to sacrifice valuable imported equipment. They were quick to expend their best divisions in intense fighting yet hesitated to utilize their key weaponry for fear of Japanese air raids. The elite 87th and 88th Divisions faced near depletion within days, while the Pudong artillery operated minimally over three months to avoid drawing enemy fire. One might question what Chiang Kai-shek achieved from such immense sacrifices. If his primary goal was to divert Japanese forces from the north, where they enjoyed easy victories, then the battle in Shanghai could be viewed as a success for China. As autumn 1937 progressed, Japanese commanders were increasingly forced to redirect their focus and resources to the more complex and tactically challenging terrain around Shanghai, where their technical superiority was less effective than on the northern plains. However, shifting the war to central China also posed risks, threatening the economic hub and political capital in Nanjing, ultimately resulting in a Japanese occupation that would last nearly eight years. If Chiang also wished to attract foreign attention, it is unclear how successful he was. The battle unfolded in front of thousands in the International Settlement and French Concession and garnered international media coverage, with many foreign correspondents arriving to report on the conflict. For three months, Shanghai dominated the front pages of major newspapers, and the Chinese effectively utilized propaganda to highlight events such as the desperate “Lost Battalions” fight in Zhabei. Yet, none of the major powers felt compelled to offer substantial support to China, and even the Brussels Conference failed to provide any useful assistance. Both Western powers and the Soviet Union were closely watching the conflict. Chiang hoped for Soviet support, and historical records suggest that Soviet diplomats encouraged him with vague assurances. China aimed to provoke Soviet entry into the war against Japan; however, the outcome may have been counterproductive. By engaging Japan, China effectively diminished the likelihood of a Japanese assault on the Soviet Union, as Japan needed to subdue China first. The Soviets eventually started providing material aid, including the arrival of nearly 300 Russian attack and bomber aircraft in mid-October, but this assistance was a poor substitute for a genuine ally. Additionally, while the Soviet Union emerged as a hesitant partner for China, China lost the substantial support it had previously received from Germany. The Germans played a crucial role in Shanghai during the 1937 conflict, with every major Chinese unit having at least one German advisor. Chiang Kai-shek's strategic decision to make a stand in Shanghai appears to have been significantly influenced by General Falkenhausen's opinions. Chiang had initially welcomed the German proposal to fight for Shanghai and was resolved to see it through, regardless of the cost to his troops. By 1938, German advisors began departing China, coinciding with the outbreak of war in Europe. Unfortunately, their experiences in China did not translate into lessons for their future military engagements, particularly regarding urban warfare, which might have been beneficial in battles such as Stalingrad during the winter of 1942–1943. Instead, they returned to more conventional military roles in Europe.  Despite enduring the most suffering in and around Shanghai during 1937, the battle proved to be far more costly for the Japanese than their commanders had anticipated. By November 8, Japanese military casualties totaled 9,115 dead and 31,257 injured. Although the Japanese forces enjoyed overwhelming advantages in artillery and air power, they could not compensate for their leaders' consistent underestimation of Chinese resilience and fighting spirit. The flow of reinforcements was disorganized, leading General Matsui and his commanders to feel they never had enough troops to achieve a swift and decisive victory. As the Shanghai battle neared its conclusion, Matsui became increasingly confident that he could inflict a blow on Chiang Kai-shek from which he would never recover. In an interview with a German reporter in late October, Matsui stated that after capturing Shanghai, the Japanese Army would march on to Nanjing if necessary. He had a keen political sense and believed it better to act independently than wait for orders from Tokyo, declaring, "Everything that is happening here is taking place under my entire responsibility." Without an aggressive general like Matsui, it's questionable whether the Japanese would have proceeded to Nanjing. Initially, they focused on pursuing retreating Chinese forces, a sound tactical decision that did not imply an expansive strategy to advance to Nanjing. However, after another surprise amphibious landing on November 13 on the south bank of the Yangtze River, the Japanese commanders felt positioned to push for Nanjing and bring the war to a conclusive end.  I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Thus with that the battle for Shanghai, known to some as China's Stalingrad had come to a brutal end. Chiang Kai-Shek gambled the cream of his army to gain international sympathy for his nation, but had it worked? Japan was taking the northeast, and now with Shanghai conquered, the path to Nanjing and unimaginable horror remained. 

Once a powerful figure who reversed the disintegration of China and steered the country to Allied victory in World War II, Chiang Kai-shek fled into exile following his 1949 defeat in the Chinese civil war. As attention pivoted to Mao Zedong's communist experiment, Chiang was relegated to the dustbin of history. In Chiang Kai-shek's Politics of Shame, Grace Huang reconsiders Chiang's leadership and legacy by drawing on an extraordinary and uncensored collection of his diaries, telegrams, and speeches stitched together by his secretaries. She paints a new, intriguing portrait of this twentieth-century leader who advanced a Confucian politics of shame to confront Japanese incursion into China and urge unity among his people. In also comparing Chiang's response to imperialism to those of Mao, Yuan Shikai, and Mahatma Gandhi, Grace widens the implications of her findings to explore alternatives to Western expressions of nationalism and modernity and reveal how leaders of vulnerable states can use potent cultural tools to inspire their country and contribute to an enduring national identity. Grace Huang is professor of government at St. Lawrence University in Canton, NY. She likes to tackle a range of intellectual questions, including: what are the conditions in leadership that promote collective inspiration versus collective hysteria or violence? How do talented subordinates weigh their ability to modify a leader's deleterious actions against their moral culpability of participating in those policies? How does a particular democratic ideology and culture shape the choices of working mothers, and how do such mothers make decisions about care, family, and work? Her research interests include political leadership, the political uses of shame in Chinese leadership, and gender, labor, and the family. She can be reached at ghuang@stlawu.edu. Dong Wang is distinguished professor of history and director of the Wellington Koo Institute for Modern China in World History at Shanghai University (since 2016), a member of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, and an elected Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Once a powerful figure who reversed the disintegration of China and steered the country to Allied victory in World War II, Chiang Kai-shek fled into exile following his 1949 defeat in the Chinese civil war. As attention pivoted to Mao Zedong's communist experiment, Chiang was relegated to the dustbin of history. In Chiang Kai-shek's Politics of Shame, Grace Huang reconsiders Chiang's leadership and legacy by drawing on an extraordinary and uncensored collection of his diaries, telegrams, and speeches stitched together by his secretaries. She paints a new, intriguing portrait of this twentieth-century leader who advanced a Confucian politics of shame to confront Japanese incursion into China and urge unity among his people. In also comparing Chiang's response to imperialism to those of Mao, Yuan Shikai, and Mahatma Gandhi, Grace widens the implications of her findings to explore alternatives to Western expressions of nationalism and modernity and reveal how leaders of vulnerable states can use potent cultural tools to inspire their country and contribute to an enduring national identity. Grace Huang is professor of government at St. Lawrence University in Canton, NY. She likes to tackle a range of intellectual questions, including: what are the conditions in leadership that promote collective inspiration versus collective hysteria or violence? How do talented subordinates weigh their ability to modify a leader's deleterious actions against their moral culpability of participating in those policies? How does a particular democratic ideology and culture shape the choices of working mothers, and how do such mothers make decisions about care, family, and work? Her research interests include political leadership, the political uses of shame in Chinese leadership, and gender, labor, and the family. She can be reached at ghuang@stlawu.edu. Dong Wang is distinguished professor of history and director of the Wellington Koo Institute for Modern China in World History at Shanghai University (since 2016), a member of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, and an elected Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/east-asian-studies

Once a powerful figure who reversed the disintegration of China and steered the country to Allied victory in World War II, Chiang Kai-shek fled into exile following his 1949 defeat in the Chinese civil war. As attention pivoted to Mao Zedong's communist experiment, Chiang was relegated to the dustbin of history. In Chiang Kai-shek's Politics of Shame, Grace Huang reconsiders Chiang's leadership and legacy by drawing on an extraordinary and uncensored collection of his diaries, telegrams, and speeches stitched together by his secretaries. She paints a new, intriguing portrait of this twentieth-century leader who advanced a Confucian politics of shame to confront Japanese incursion into China and urge unity among his people. In also comparing Chiang's response to imperialism to those of Mao, Yuan Shikai, and Mahatma Gandhi, Grace widens the implications of her findings to explore alternatives to Western expressions of nationalism and modernity and reveal how leaders of vulnerable states can use potent cultural tools to inspire their country and contribute to an enduring national identity. Grace Huang is professor of government at St. Lawrence University in Canton, NY. She likes to tackle a range of intellectual questions, including: what are the conditions in leadership that promote collective inspiration versus collective hysteria or violence? How do talented subordinates weigh their ability to modify a leader's deleterious actions against their moral culpability of participating in those policies? How does a particular democratic ideology and culture shape the choices of working mothers, and how do such mothers make decisions about care, family, and work? Her research interests include political leadership, the political uses of shame in Chinese leadership, and gender, labor, and the family. She can be reached at ghuang@stlawu.edu. Dong Wang is distinguished professor of history and director of the Wellington Koo Institute for Modern China in World History at Shanghai University (since 2016), a member of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, and an elected Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/biography

Once a powerful figure who reversed the disintegration of China and steered the country to Allied victory in World War II, Chiang Kai-shek fled into exile following his 1949 defeat in the Chinese civil war. As attention pivoted to Mao Zedong's communist experiment, Chiang was relegated to the dustbin of history. In Chiang Kai-shek's Politics of Shame, Grace Huang reconsiders Chiang's leadership and legacy by drawing on an extraordinary and uncensored collection of his diaries, telegrams, and speeches stitched together by his secretaries. She paints a new, intriguing portrait of this twentieth-century leader who advanced a Confucian politics of shame to confront Japanese incursion into China and urge unity among his people. In also comparing Chiang's response to imperialism to those of Mao, Yuan Shikai, and Mahatma Gandhi, Grace widens the implications of her findings to explore alternatives to Western expressions of nationalism and modernity and reveal how leaders of vulnerable states can use potent cultural tools to inspire their country and contribute to an enduring national identity. Grace Huang is professor of government at St. Lawrence University in Canton, NY. She likes to tackle a range of intellectual questions, including: what are the conditions in leadership that promote collective inspiration versus collective hysteria or violence? How do talented subordinates weigh their ability to modify a leader's deleterious actions against their moral culpability of participating in those policies? How does a particular democratic ideology and culture shape the choices of working mothers, and how do such mothers make decisions about care, family, and work? Her research interests include political leadership, the political uses of shame in Chinese leadership, and gender, labor, and the family. She can be reached at ghuang@stlawu.edu. Dong Wang is distinguished professor of history and director of the Wellington Koo Institute for Modern China in World History at Shanghai University (since 2016), a member of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, and an elected Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Last time we spoke about the battle along the Wusong Creek. The situation was dire for the Chinese defenders, who faced overwhelming odds. Among them was Ogishima, a Japanese soldier who experienced the brutal reality of war firsthand. Amidst the chaos, battles erupted along the Wusong Creek, where both sides suffered heavy casualties. Chinese forces, despite being greatly outnumbered in terms of tactical superiority, demonstrated extraordinary resilience, fighting bravely even when retreat was necessary. As the battle raged on, tactics evolved; Chinese troops fortified defenses and implemented guerrilla warfare strategies. The soldiers transformed the landscape into a fortification, turning abandoned buildings into strongholds. October brought a fresh wave of violence. The Japanese pressed their attack, unleashing superior firepower that gradually saw them conquer Dachang.    #161 The Battle of Shanghai #6: the 800 heroes who defended the Sihang Warehouse Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. Before the fall of Dachang, despite the threat of court-martial for anyone abandoning their posts, a general withdrawal of all Chinese forces in the Jiangwan salient was already in progress. As early as the night between October 24 and 25, the divisions within the salient had been ordered to move their baggage trains and support services back southwest across Suzhou Creek, utilizing the Zhongshan Bridge and Jessfield Railway Bridge. As the fighting intensified north of Zhabei in the subsequent days, the flow of soldiers, vehicles, and pack animals continued. By the night between October 26 and 27, the Chinese completely vacated metropolitan Shanghai north of Suzhou Creek. A foreign journalist wrot “The enormous Chinese army simply melted away and at dawn the Japanese found themselves facing empty positions. The two armies were no longer in contact.” During their retreat from Zhabei, the Chinese systematically set fire to thousands of shops and homes, implementing a scorched earth policy. At 7:00 am on October 27, eight narrow columns of smoke cut across the horizon from one end of Zhabei to the other. Two hours later, these columns had transformed into “huge black pillars stretching towards the azure sky.” By afternoon, a massive wall of smoke stretched four miles long, rising thousands of feet into the air. In the words of a German advisor, it was a fire “of unimaginable extent” that raged out of control for several days, repeatedly threatening to spill into the International Settlement. Refugees who had left Zhabei weeks or months earlier, hoping to return now that the fighting seemed to be over, were devastated to see their homes consumed by an immense sea of flames. The Japanese Army, or more specifically the doctrine guiding it in the field, failed in two significant ways by allowing some of China's best divisions to escape the trap they had set for them. First, on the evening of October 26, after taking Dachang, the Japanese columns could have advanced across Zhabei right to the edge of the International Settlement. Instead, they followed orders and ceased their advance at the line they had reached at sunset. German advisor Borchardt wrote “The only explanation for this is the lack of independent thinking among junior Japanese commanders and their fear of deviating even slightly from a meticulously detailed attack plan.  Since the Japanese focused on rallying and reorganizing their forces after the fall of Dachang, they missed an opportunity for a victory so decisive that the Chinese would have been forced to give up their continued resistance in Shanghai.” If the Japanese made their first mistake by leaving a door open for the enemy to escape, they committed a second error by failing to notice that the enemy was using that door. Although Japanese reconnaissance planes monitored the two main bridges utilized by the Chinese to retreat and even deployed parachute flares to detect movements at night, they inexplicably failed to observe the Chinese withdrawal. The retreat was executed precisely as planned, with every piece of artillery withdrawn. This allowed the Chinese to occupy prepared positions south of Suzhou Creek and around Nanxiang, enabling them to continue the fight another day. Despite their missteps, the Japanese initially celebrated their conquest of Zhabei as a victory, placing thousands of small Rising Sun flags throughout the district's ruins. Amid this sea of white and red, the only relatively intact structure, the Four Banks' Warehouse, starkly reminded them that the Chinese still maintained a foothold north of Suzhou Creek. Rumors began to circulate that the soldiers inside had vowed to fight to the death. The Japanese came to realize that their triumph in Zhabei would be perceived as flawed and would even resemble a defeat as long as the warehouse remained in Chinese hands. It was back on October 26, Chiang Kai-shek ordered all forces in Shanghai to withdraw to the western rural region. To facilitate a safe retreat, a rearguard was necessary, as is standard in military withdrawals. Chiang issued orders to General Gu Zhutong, the acting commander of the 3rd Military Region, to leave the 88th Division behind, not only to buy time for the retreating forces but also to stage a final grand stand in front of the Shanghai International Settlement. This was a last-ditch effort to gain international support, as the nine Great Powers were set to convene on November 6. However, General Gu Zhutong was personally attached to the 88th Division, and thus reluctant to abandon them. It's worth noting that he was acting commander in this position because his next post was to lead the 88th Division. Therefore, he telegrammed the divisional commander at the time, General Sun Yuanliang, who also opposed the plan to leave the 88th Division behind. While neither Gu Zhutong nor Sun Yuanliang were willing to disobey orders from the Generalissimo, Sun proposed a solution: They could leave a portion of the troops behind, just not the entire 88th Division. In his words, “How many people we sacrifice would not make a difference; it would achieve the same purpose.” Sun suggested leaving behind a single regiment from the 88th Division to defend one or two heavily fortified positions. Gu Zhutong agreed to this plan, and at that time, the 88th Divisional Headquarters was located at the Sihang Warehouse. The Sihang Warehouse is a six-story concrete building situated in the Zhabei district, just north of Suzhou Creek, at the northwestern edge of the New Lese Bridge. The warehouse was constructed collaboratively by four banks, hence the name "Sihang," which translates to "four banks." Directly across Suzhou Creek lies the Shanghai International Settlement, a neutral territory where Western foreigners resided. The fighting would occur literally just across the creek, forcing Western observers to witness the heroic last stand that China would make in Shanghai up close. For those who might not be aware, there is an outstanding film titled “The Eight Hundred.” I even reviewed the movie on my channel, the Pacific War Channel, on YouTube. The film excellently captures the remarkable situation, depicting an extravagant city on one side of a river, filled with entertainment, casinos, bars, and restaurants. The international community enjoys their vibrant lives, full of colors and lights, while on the other side lies a literal warzone. The Sihang Warehouse stands there, bullet-ridden, as the Japanese continuously attempt to storm it against the Chinese defenders. It's a compelling film worth checking out, feel free to take a look at my review as well! Returning to the story, Sun Yuanliang reconsidered and believed that leaving an entire regiment was excessive. Instead, he opted to leave behind an over-strength battalion. The 1st Battalion of the 524th Regiment was chosen for this task. A young colonel, Xie Jinyuan, who was also new to the 88th Division, volunteered to lead the battalion. No one who had met Xie Jinyuan could doubt that he was the ideal choice to lead the battalion that would stay behind, holed up inside the Sihang Warehouse in a corner of Zhabei, demonstrating to both the domestic and international audience that China remained resolute in its resistance against Japanese aggression. The 32-year-old graduate of the elite Central Military Academy, who had been stationed in Shanghai with the 88th Division since hostilities began in August, was a soldier to the core. He stood as straight as a bayonet, and according to a foreign correspondent who met him, even while wearing a mask, he was unmistakably a military man. In the correspondent's words, he represented “modern China stripped for action.” Upon receiving his assignment on the night of October 26, Xie Jinyuan went directly to the warehouse and was pleased with what he found. It resembled a virtual fortress. Each of its walls was pockmarked with numerous rifle slots, ensuring that attacking infantry would face a barrage of fire from the building's well-defended positions. It was evident that once the Japanese arrived, they would surround the structure on three sides; however, a link remained to the International Settlement to the south across Lese Bridge. British forward positions were as close as 40 feet away, and with careful maneuvering and a bit of luck, it was likely that the injured could be evacuated under the cover of darkness. From a tactical standpoint, it was an ideal location.   Still, improvements were possible, and Xie ordered the soldiers already present to work through the night to enhance their defenses. They had an ample supply of large bags filled with wheat and corn at their disposal, which served as excellent substitutes for sandbags. Xie Jinyuan's first challenge was to rally the soldiers of the 524th Regiment's 1st Battalion to occupy the warehouse positions. This was a complex task, given the short notice, as the companies and platoons were scattered throughout Zhabei, and some had unknowingly begun moving west with the rest of the Chinese Army, unaware of the orders their battalion had received. Throughout the night, Xie and his second-in-command, Yang Ruifu, dispatched orderlies through the blazing streets in search of their men amidst the throng of retreating soldiers. Eventually, their efforts bore fruit. By 9:00 a.m. on October 27, the last remaining soldiers of the battalion arrived at the warehouse. By then, Xie Jinyuan's force consisted of just over 400 officers and soldiers. This was a minuscule number compared to the might of the Japanese military, and they were immediately put to the test. Xie was unfamiliar with the men under his command, effectively being thrown into the deep end, so to speak. The location chosen for their stand was, of course, the Sihang Warehouse. The 1st Battalion originally comprised eight hundred men, but casualties incurred during the Battle of Shanghai had reduced their numbers to just 452 soldiers before the defense of the Sihang Warehouse began. Each soldier was armed with either a Hanyang 88 or Chiang Kai-shek rifle, an 8mm Mauser, grenades, a German M1935 Stahlhelm, a gas mask, and they also had some Czech ZB vz.26 light machine guns, along with four Type 24 Maxim guns. They would face off against the forces of the 3rd IJA Division, commanded by General Iwane Matsui, as well as the 10th Battalion, 8th, and 9th Companies of the Shanghai Special Naval Landing Force under Captain Okochi Denshichi. The Japanese forces were further bolstered by approximately 260 sailors from the Yokosuka 2nd Independent SNLF Company and another 200 sailors from the Kure 1st SNLF 2nd Company. Additionally, the 8th and 9th Companies of the Shanghai SNLF, originally attached to the 4th Artillery Battalion, would provide support with howitzers and mountain guns. In total, around 980 infantrymen from the reinforced 10th Battalion of the Shanghai SNLF, along with another 200 artillerymen from the 8th and 9th Companies, were involved in the Japanese assault on the Sihang Warehouse. Xie Jinyuan consolidated his battalion's defenses inside the Sihang Warehouse, believing it would provide his men the highest chance of holding out for as long as possible. He correctly assessed that the Imperial Japanese Army would be unable to use their heaviest artillery, aerial bombardment, gas attacks, or naval guns for fear of accidentally striking the International Settlement. It's important to remember that this was 1937, and the Empire of Japan was not willing to risk open warfare with Western nations until 1941. What the Japanese did have access to were armored vehicles, such as the Type 94 tankettes. The Japanese infantry were equipped with various weapons, including the Arisaka Type 38 rifle, Type 11 and Type 96 light machine guns, the Nambu Type 14 pistol, Type 92 heavy machine gun, Type 97 grenade, Type 89 grenade discharger, and the Type 93 flamethrower. On October 27, various companies of the battalion reached the Sihang Warehouse after a fighting withdrawal. By this point, they numbered 414 men, who essentially volunteered for a suicide mission and were later acknowledged by Chiang Kai-shek for their “exemplary soldierly conduct.” The 1st Battalion was commanded by Army Major Yang Ruifu, and their forces included the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Companies, as well as a Machine Gun Company, totaling 452 men once the remaining soldiers arrived. Due to two months of intense fighting in Shanghai, many of the German-trained elite troops had been killed or wounded, leaving the majority of the reinforcements at the Sihang Warehouse to be garrison troops from the surrounding provinces. Many of these soldiers came from the 5th Regiment of the Hubei Province Garrison, which meant that many were also inexperienced recruits. On October 27, news began to circulate throughout Shanghai that Chinese forces were still resisting the Japanese in the Zhabei district at the Sihang Warehouse. At 4 a.m., a Girl Guide named Yang Huimin approached a British guard at a post at the Chinese end of the New Lese Bridge, where she noticed a British soldier tossing a pack of cigarettes into the warehouse. Yang asked the soldier what he was doing, and he informed her that there was a battalion of Chinese soldiers inside. She then wrote a message and requested that the soldier place it inside a cigarette box and toss it over. Soon, the Chinese tossed back the cigarette box with a message indicating they needed food, ammunition, and lubricant for their weapons. Yang then left the bridge and began pleading for help at the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce, but no one believed her story. Xie Jinyuan deployed the 1st Company, led by Captain Tao Xingchun, on the right side of the warehouse along Tibet Road. The 3rd Company, led by Shi Meihao, was stationed on the left across from the Bank of Communications building, while the 2nd Company, commanded by Deng Ying, held the other sides. Two heavy Type 24 Maxim machine guns were mounted on the roof of the Sihang Warehouse, with additional machine guns distributed among each company. A forward platoon from each company was sent out to provide early warning of any enemy attack. Furthermore, Xie ordered his combat engineers to place remote-detonated charges in front of the warehouse. His units were strategically dispersed with rifles and machine guns throughout the warehouse and on the rooftop. They reinforced the building with bags of sand, corn, and beans, and razed surrounding structures to create a deadly killing field. At 7:30 am an advance outpost reported seeing Japanese marines near the North Train Station, and 45 minutes later, it confirmed that the enemy's flag was flying over that building. The Chinese soldiers were ordered to engage the advancing IJA 3rd division, and over the next two hours, they executed a fighting retreat back toward the warehouse. A brief pause ensued, during which the Chinese defenders prepared themselves, with some taking up positions on the various floors of the warehouse and others crouching behind an outer wall surrounding the building. At 1:00 pm a Japanese column approached the warehouse, confidently marching down the middle of the road behind a large Rising Sun banner. It appeared more like a victory parade than a tactical maneuver. Once they were in range, the Chinese officers ordered their men to fire. Five Japanese soldiers fell, causing the rest of the column to scramble for cover. Within an hour, the Japanese had amassed enough troops to attempt a storming assault on the warehouse. A sizable force surrounded the building, unleashing so much firepower that the Chinese were forced to abandon the outer wall and retreat to the warehouse itself. Although the defenses remained solid, the crisis was far from over, and the attackers appeared to have gained dangerous momentum The first bloodshed occurred when ten IJA soldiers were killed while attempting to secure fortifications around the warehouse that had been rigged with explosives. At 2 p.m., a National Revolutionary Army  platoon led by Yin Qiucheng exchanged fire with approximately fifty IJA troops. By 3 pm, an IJA company consisting of around 194 men launched an attack on the warehouse from the west. During this engagement, the 3rd Company commander, Shi Meihao, was shot in the face but continued to lead the defense until he was shot again in the leg. Meanwhile, about seventy IJA soldiers took cover in a blind spot just southwest of the warehouse. In response, the NRA climbed to the rooftop and threw grenades at the IJA, killing seven and wounding twenty. The initial assault by the IJA was a failure, prompting them to set fire to the northwestern section of the warehouse, where fuel and lumber were stored. By 5 pm., firefighter efforts had extinguished the blaze, as the IJA were preoccupied with looting the Zhabei area. At this point, Yang Ruifu, the second-in-command, commanded a dozen soldiers to rush to the roof and lob hand grenades at the Japanese forces below. This counterattack halted the Japanese advance. As the Japanese withdrew, they left behind seven dead. Much of the fighting was closely watched by excited Chinese on the other side of the 60-yard Suzhou Creek. Each time news spread of another Japanese soldier being killed, a triumphant cheer erupted from the crowd. At 9 pm, battalion commander Yang Ruifu assessed that there would likely be no further IJA attacks that day and ordered the NRA to repair their fortifications and eat their meals. However, no one slept that night. The NRA suffered two deaths and four wounded, while the IJA reported seventeen dead and twenty wounded. Foreign correspondents witnessed the battle from the safety of Suzhou Creek, enjoying a front-row seat to the harsh reality of urban combat. One reporter observed a small group of Japanese soldiers cautiously approaching the warehouse, navigating through the broken masonry and twisted metal. Crawling from cover to cover, it took them 50 minutes to traverse just 50 yards. The Chinese defenders, watching from concealed vantage points, had been monitoring their movements all along. Once the Japanese party was close enough, the defenders unleashed a barrage of hand grenades. After the dust settled, they used their rifles to finish off anyone still able to move. Several Japanese attempting to rescue their wounded comrades were also killed. It was a war without mercy. Even after darkness fell over the warehouse, there was no time for sleep. The soldiers worked tirelessly to repair damages and reinforce their positions.  The next morning, Xie Jinyuan contacted the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce for assistance, having received their phone number from Yang Huimin. At 7 am on October 28, Japanese bombers began to circle the warehouse but refrained from dropping any bombs for fear of hitting the International Settlement. Surrounding the rooftops of nearby buildings was a sea of Rising Sun flags, serving to intimidate the NRA and signal that they were encircled. By 8 am, Xie delivered a pep talk to the defenders and noticed an IJA squad advancing along the Suzhou Creek. According to Yang Ruifu's memoirs, Xie picked up a rifle and shot one of the IJA soldiers from over a kilometer away, halting the squad's advance. At 3 pm, it began to rain as the IJA launched a major attack on the west side of the warehouse, taking control of the Bank of Communications building. From there, they deployed machine guns and cannons to bombard the north face of the warehouse. However, the cannons were unable to significantly damage the six-foot-thick walls, and the Japanese troops in the bank building were easily suppressed by the defenders on the warehouse roof, who enjoyed a superior vantage point. After two hours of fighting, the Japanese gave up on the attack but managed to cut electricity and water to the warehouse. Yang Ruifu ordered strict rationing, with each company placing its water reserves under guard and collecting urine in large barrels for firefighting purposes if necessary. Witnessing the fierce Chinese resistance, the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce was invigorated, and news of the stand quickly spread via radio. Crowds of 30,000 people gathered along the southern bank of the Suzhou Creek, cheering the defenders on. In response, ten truckloads of aid were donated by Shanghai citizens, making their way over the bridge to the warehouse throughout the night. The defenders received food, fruit, clothing, utensils, and letters of support from the citizens. A few journalists attempted to visit, but due to the commanding officers being busy, they only managed to meet with Lei Xiong, the Machine Gun Company commander. Xie Jinyuan also utilized the same trucks to transport ten wounded men into the International Settlement. During these truck transit actions, three NRA soldiers were killed by Japanese sharpshooters. Yang Huimin courageously ran to the warehouse to personally deliver the Republic of China flag to Xie Jinyuan. Upon receiving the flag, Xie was asked by a reporter about his plans, to which he simply replied, “Defend to the death.” Yang Huimin then requested a list of the soldiers' names to announce to the entire country. However, Xie was reluctant to provide this information, fearing it would reveal his actual numbers and prompt the Japanese to storm the warehouse. Instead, he wrote down 800 names from the original 524th Regiment's roster. Thus, the legend of the “800 Heroes” was born. The next morning, the Republic of China flag was hoisted on a thirteen-foot pole atop the Sihang Warehouse. Since Yang Huimin had only delivered the flag without a pole, the defenders constructed a makeshift pole using two bamboo culms tied together, holding a flag-raising ceremony. Crowds gathered in the International Settlement, reaching up to thirty thousand in number, shouting “Zhōnghuá Mínguó wànsu!” (Long live the Republic of China). Japanese aircraft attempted to destroy the flag with strafing fire but were unsuccessful and were forced to retreat due to anti-aircraft fire. At noon, the IJA launched their largest offensive to date, attacking the warehouse from all directions with Type 94 tankettes and cannons. The 3rd NRA Company was pushed out of their defensive lines to the base of the warehouse and then further into the warehouse itself. The IJA's cannon fire chipped away at the warehouse structure, creating new firing ports on the windowless west wall. The Japanese attempted to scale the walls to the second floor using ladders. Xie Jinyuan was positioned near a window when two IJA soldiers managed to climb into the second floor beside him. He choked the first soldier to death and shot the other while kicking over the ladder they had used. The situation became dire as a platoon of IJA soldiers began placing explosives to breach the west wall. As the battle raged on, the IJA platoon continued planting explosives at the base of the west wall in an effort to breach it. When the Chinese defenders noticed what they were doing, 21-year-old Private Chen Shusheng, armed with a grenade vest, jumped from a second-story window onto the IJA platoon that was planting the explosives. His suicide attack killed himself and twenty Japanese soldiers below. The fighting continued until darkness fell, with waves of IJA soldiers storming the warehouse using armored vehicles. Ultimately, the IJA had to abandon their assault and began digging a tunnel towards the warehouse with an excavator. In response, posters emerged in the International Settlement, showcasing the movement of the IJA to the NRA. At 7 am, on October 30, the IJA recommenced their attacks, this time employing heavy artillery, firing approximately one shell per second throughout the day. The NRA responded by reinforcing the warehouse with additional sandbags. As night approached, the IJA utilized floodlights to illuminate the warehouse, allowing their artillery fire to continue unabated. Despite the overwhelming firepower, the defenders still managed to destroy some of the IJA's armored vehicles. The International Settlement exerted pressure on the IJA to cease the artillery fire, as it was dangerously close to their area. They informed the IJA that they would attempt to persuade the NRA to end their defense. A petition was sent to Chiang Kai-shek to stop the fighting for humanitarian reasons. By this point, the defense of the Sihang Warehouse had accomplished all its objectives. The NRA forces in Shanghai had successfully redeployed to more favorable positions in the rural west. Moreover, the defense of the warehouse had garnered significant attention from the Western world. Consequently, Chiang Kai-shek authorized a retreat. Chiang Kai-shek ordered the battalion to retreat into the foreign concession and to rejoin the 88th Division, which was now fighting in western Shanghai. A meeting was arranged with British General Telfer-Smollet and Yan Hu of the Shanghai Auxiliary Police to facilitate the retreat. The 524th Regiment would retreat to the International Settlement by crossing the New Lese Bridge. The 3rd IJA Division commander, Matsui Iwane, was notified of this plan and agreed, promising to allow the defenders to retreat unharmed, although he would ultimately not fulfill this promise. At midnight on November 1, Xie Jinyuan led the retreat of 376 men out of the warehouse and across the New Lese Bridge into the International Settlement. Ten NRA soldiers had been killed, and twenty-seven were too wounded to move; those soldiers volunteered to stay behind and man the machine guns on the rooftop to provide cover for the retreat. During the crossing, ten additional NRA soldiers were wounded by IJA sharpshooter fire. By 2 a.m. on November 1, the retreat was complete, marking the end of the defense of the Sihang Warehouse. After the battle, Xie Jinyuan reported that more than 100 Japanese troops had been killed by the defenders. General Sun Yuanliang stated, “Enemy corpses in the vicinity of Sihang Warehouse totaled approximately two hundred.” Xie Jimin claimed, “More than 200 enemy troops were killed and countless others were wounded. Two enemy tanks were also destroyed, and two more were damaged. The number of enemies was based on the daily counts obtained by observation posts.” The NRA suffered ten deaths and thirty-seven wounded, while the IJA incurred an estimated two hundred killed, along with several others wounded. However, a Japanese report indicated that after the SNLF 10th Battalion stormed the Sihang Warehouse, they found only 80 Chinese corpses. As of 2022, historians now estimate that 377 Chinese soldiers managed to retreat, suggesting that the actual death toll for the Chinese was likely around 33. The Battle of Shanghai was arguably unwinnable for the Chinese from the outset. It was only a matter of time before the Japanese would gain the upper hand due to their material and technological advantages. As the fighting dragged on, with the Japanese capturing stronghold after stronghold in the countryside surrounding the city, the immense toll exacted on the defenders led a growing number of Chinese generals to question the wisdom of clinging to a city that was ultimately destined to fall. They pushed for a more comprehensive withdrawal rather than the tactical retreat from Zhabei and Jiangwan that had already taken place. Otherwise, thousands more soldiers would die in vain. Moreover, there were serious concerns about morale taking a devastating hit, which could compromise China's ability to continue the fight. This was becoming a pressing issue. Chinese troops, who had initially entered the battle with an upbeat and patriotic spirit, gradually lost their fervor as casualties mounted in a seemingly hopeless battle. Once a division was reduced to one-third of its original strength, it was sent to the rear for reorganization and replenishment before being returned to the frontline. Most soldiers perceived the odds of survival as heavily stacked against them. Despite regular visits to the front, Chiang Kai-shek remained largely unaware of these grim realities. Officers who understood the true conditions in the trenches were also familiar with the supreme commander's stubborn nature and his determination to defend Shanghai to the bitter end. Given the circumstances, they felt it unwise to reveal the full truth to him. This charade could not continue indefinitely. In some units, the situation was deteriorating so rapidly that it became increasingly likely soldiers would simply abandon their positions. With mutiny looming as a possibility, senior commanders sought to persuade Chiang Kai-shek that a complete withdrawal of all Chinese troops from the Shanghai area to a fortified line stretching from Suzhou to Jiaxing, a city about 35 miles to the south, was the only viable option. In early November, General Bai Chongxi informed Chiang that the officers at the front could no longer control their men and that a pullback would serve as a face-saving measure, forestalling potential rebellion within the ranks. However, nothing they said seemed to impress Chiang Kai-shek. General Li Zongren, another officer who had previously attempted to advocate for a retreat, realized that arguing with the man at the top was futile. “War plans were decided by him personally, and no one else was allowed to say anything,” Li noted in his memoirs. Despite this, there were moments when Chiang appeared tantalizingly close to being swayed by the views of his lieutenants. As early as the first days of October, he seemed to favor a withdrawal from the front, only to reverse his decision later. A similar situation arose late in the month when Chiang called a meeting with his frontline commanders in a train carriage at Songjiang Railway Station, southwest of Shanghai. Before his arrival, the generals discussed the battle and concluded they could do little against the enemy's superior firepower. Upon Chiang's arrival, Zhang Fakui, the commander of the troops in Pudong, suggested moving ten divisions to prepared positions further in the rear, where defense would be easier than in Shanghai. The majority agreed with this proposal. At this point, Madame Chiang Kai-shek made her entrance, dressed in an expensive fur coat and fresh from a visit to the Shanghai front. “If we can hold Shanghai for ten more days,” she declared, “China will win international sympathy.” She was vague about the specifics but seemed to be referring to the upcoming Brussels conference. This declaration galvanized Chiang. “Shanghai must be held at all costs,” he asserted with firm conviction, as if that had been his sentiment all along. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. As Chinese troops retreated across Suzhou Creek, a small battalion under Colonel Xie Jinyuan held their ground, transforming the warehouse into a fortress. Despite fierce attacks, including artillery and tank assaults, they showcased unparalleled bravery. Reinforced by messages of support from locals, spirits soared. Amidst mounting casualties, they persisted until a strategic retreat was ordered. As dawn broke on November 1, Xie led the remaining troops to safety, leaving behind a legacy of valor that inspired future generations. Thus, the "800 Heroes" legend was born.

Last time we spoke about the battle of Luodian. Following a significant counter-offensive, the initial optimism waned as casualties escalated and morale plummeted. The strategically vital town of Luodian became a pivotal battleground, with the Chinese determined to defend it at all costs. Despite heroic efforts, including a daring nighttime assault, the overwhelming Japanese forces employed superior tactics and artillery, steadily gaining ground.  As September progressed, Japanese reinforcements flooded the frontline, exacerbating the already dire situation for the Chinese defenders. By late September, the fierce struggle to control Luodian culminated in a forced retreat by the Chinese forces, marking a significant turning point in the fight for Shanghai. Though they withdrew, the Chinese army earned newfound respect, having showcased their tenacity against a formidable adversary. The battle became a testament to their resilience amid overwhelming odds, setting the stage for the tumultuous conflict that lay ahead in their fight for sovereignty.   #160 The Battle of Shanghai Part 5: Fighting along the Wusong Creek Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. The tides of warfare had shifted in Shanghai. In late September, the Japanese high command dispatched three divisions to the Shanghai area, starting with the 101st Division landing on September 22. This was followed by the 9th and 13th Divisions, bolstering Japan's military presence to five divisions in the city, despite the Chinese forces numbering over 25 divisions. However, the true dynamics of the confrontation revealed a complex picture: while the Chinese boasted numerical superiority, the Japanese divisions, each comprising around 15,000 soldiers, were supported by nearly 90,000 troops when including marines and infantry. China's units, often as small as 5,000 men, made their effective deployment difficult. The Japanese forces also leveraged their advantages in materials, aircraft, and naval artillery, which could effectively target critical positions along the Chinese front. With these reinforcements in place, Japanese commanders, including Matsui, devised a bold strategy: to execute a powerful thrust across Wusong Creek and advance toward Suzhou Creek. The goal was to encircle and annihilate the main Chinese force in a maneuver they had envisioned since their arrival in China.  Ogishima Shizuo, a reservist of the 101st division had just been through his first night at the front. Within his trench, soldiers leapt up from their slumber to a hail of bullets. Ogishima looked over the edge of the trench. It was still dark, making it hard to discern what was happening, but he thought he saw a flash of a helmet in a foxhole near the creek's edge. It wasn't a Japanese helmet. Suddenly, it hit him that the gunfire wasn't a mistake. “It's the enemy! The enemy!” he yelled. Others began to shout as well. “The enemy! They're behind us! Turn around!” Under the cloak of darkness, a Chinese unit had managed to bypass the Japanese lines and launch an attack from the rear. The sound of aggressive gunfire erupted, and a Japanese heavy machine gun joined in the fray. However, most of the bullets were fired haphazardly into the night. A force of 50 Chinese were firing on them. Japanese officers ordered the men to storm their positions, seeing infantrymen leap over their trench into the barrage. The Japanese and Chinese fired at each other and tossed grenades when close enough. The Japanese jumped into the Chinese foxholes and stabbed at them with bayonets. Ogishima thrust his bayonet into the belly of a Chinese soldiers, marking his first kill. He felt no emotion. Within minutes the little battle was over, every Chinese soldier lay dead, it was a suicide mission. Ogishima saw countless comrades dead around him, it was a scene of carnage. It was the morning of October 7, the 101st Division had crossed Wusong Creek from the north in the early hours of October 6, specifically, only half of the division had made it across. The other half remained on the far side, unable to get their boats past the 300 feet of water protected by unseen Chinese machine guns and mortar crews that would open fire at the slightest hint of movement on the northern bank. Dozens of corpses floated in the murky water, serving as grim evidence of the carnage from the previous 24 hours. Ogishima, alongside tens of thousands of Japanese soldiers were entering the most brutal part of the Shanghai campaign. Matsui's vision of a quick and decisive end to the Shanghai campaign, would not come to be. Matsui detailed his plans in an order issued on September 29. The attack was to be conducted from west to east by the 9th, 3rd, and 101st Infantry Divisions. The 11th Infantry Division was assigned to follow the 9th Division, securing the right flank against potential Chinese counterattacks from the west. The 13th Infantry Division would serve as the reserve. The objective was to capture Dachang, an ancient town encircled by a medieval-style wall, and then advance as quickly as possible to breach the Chinese lines north of Suzhou Creek. Matsui had arranged an unusually high concentration of troops; the three divisions were aligned along a front that spanned only three miles. This meant that each division had less than half the front length that the Japanese field manual typically recommended. The decision to compress the divisions into such a narrow front was partly to compensate for the artillery shortcomings that were still hindering the Japanese offensive. The Japanese attackers confronted a formidable and well-prepared enemy. After extensive discussions, the Chinese commanders ultimately recognized that they had no choice but to shorten their front line. Defending Liuhang, a town situated along the route from Luodian to Dachang, had proven too costly, offering no prospect of victory. Chen Cheng, the commander of the Chinese left wing, had often visited Liuhang and understood how dire the situation was. He repeatedly urged that the unwinnable battle be abandoned and that valuable troops be withdrawn to stronger positions. However, his pleas initially went unheeded. Chiang Kai-shek was primarily driven by the belief that war was about securing territory, and he insisted on maintaining control over Liuhang at all costs. Meanwhile the Chinese positions north of Wusong Creek had been breached in numerous places during late September and this caused Chiang Kai-Shek to finally relent. A fighting retreat began on the night of October 1st and would be completed by dawn of the 3rd. The new defensive line extended just over a mile west of the road from Luodian to Dachang, providing the Chinese defenders with excellent opportunities to harass the advancing Japanese Army with flanking fire for several miles as they moved south. At Wusong Creek, the Chinese line curved eastward and followed the southern bank for several miles. The creek provided a significant advantage to the Chinese defenders; despite its name, it would be more accurate to describe it as a river. It reached widths of up to 300 feet in some areas, and in several spots, the southern bank formed a steep six-foot wall. Anyone attempting to scale this barrier under intense mortar fire would be met at the top by rows of barbed wire and heavy machine gun fire. For a full mile south of the creek, the Chinese had spent weeks constructing a dense network of defenses, transforming farm buildings into formidable fortifications linked by deep trenches. They had learned valuable lessons from their German mentors, many veterans of the battles of Somme and Verdun, and they applied these lessons effectively. The Japanese took Liuhang on the 3rd and were met with counterattacks, but these were easily repelled. More confident, Matsui issued new orders on the 4th for the 3rd, 9th and 101 divisions to cross the Wusong Creek and advance a mile south. Beginning on the 5th, the 3 divisions crossed and carved out a narrow bridgehead under heavy resistance. The Chinese were frantic now, as after the Wusong Creek, the last remaining natural obstacle was the Suzhou Creek. Two miles west of the key road from Luodian to Dachang,  battalion commander Yan Yinggao of the 78th Division's 467th Regiment awaited the anticipated Japanese assault. The regiment had fortified three villages near a creek, reinforced with sandbags, barbed wire, and cleared fields of fire, along with deep trenches for troop movement. The 1st Battalion occupied the westernmost village, the 3rd Battalion held the other two, while the 2nd Battalion remained in reserve. The initial Japanese attack began with a heavy artillery bombardment. Despite facing significant casualties, their infantry was forced to withdraw from all three villages. They returned later in the afternoon with an even fiercer artillery assault. The 1st Battalion suffered devastating losses, including its commander, leading to the loss of the village to the Japanese. Yan Yinggao, observing from the rear, dispatched a reinforcement company, but it was quickly annihilated within ten minutes. Simultaneously the Chinese 3rd battalion at Tangbeizhai were nearly encircled. Yan received orders for his regiment to advance over to relieve them, but as they did a Japanese column of 60 soldiers approached from the opposite direction. A battle ensued over the smoking rubbled of the bombed out village. The few survivors of the 3rd battalion made a last stand, allowing the 2nd battle to fight their way in to take up their position. It was a small and temporary victory. Units arriving to the Shanghai theater were being tossed right into the front lines, such as the Tax Police Division. Despite its name they were a fully equipped military formation and quite well training consisting of 6 regiments, roughly 25,000 armed men. Their officers had previously served under the young marshal, Zhang Xueliang. They were rushed to Tangqiaozhan, lying on the road from Luodian to Dachang, bridged by the Wusong Creek. The bridge was crucial to the entire operation, as holding it would enhance the Chinese's chances of delaying the Japanese advance. The Tax Police, stationed at the northern end of the bridge, became surrounded on three sides. Intense fighting ensued, occasionally escalating to hand-to-hand combat. By the second day after their arrival, casualties had escalated significantly, forcing the Tax Police units to retreat south across the bridge, which ultimately fell to the advancing Japanese forces. A crisis atmosphere surrounded the meeting of the 3rd War Zone staff, chaired by Chiang Kai-shek, in Suzhou on October 11. Everyone agreed the previous efforts to halt the Japanese advance south across Wusong Creek had utterly failed. Each engagement resulted in Chinese troops being repelled without regaining significant territory. Chen Cheng proposed an attack in his sector, specifically targeting the area around Luodian. However, most felt that such an operation would not effectively influence the Japanese advance at Wusong Creek and ultimately dismissed the suggestion. Bai Chongxi, whom at this point held an informal advisory role, called for simultaneous attacks along both banks of Wusong Creek, thrusting into the right flank of the advancing Japanese. This would require an enormous amount of troops if there was to be any chance of success. Bai Chongxi was pushing to take 4 divisions from Guangxi, already in transit to Shanghai for the task. Chiang Kai-Shek liked the idea of a single decisive blow and agreed to Bai's idea. The German advisors were not so keen on this one. In fact the Germans were getting depressed over a concerning issue. It seemed the Chinese staff simply talked too much, taking far too long to produce very few decisions. There were a lot of reasons for this, a lot of these figures held to many positions. For example Gu Zhuong, Chiang Kai-Sheks deputy in Suzhou, was a chief of staff and also held two advisory roles. Then there were these informal generals, such as Bai Chongxi. A man such as Bai had no formal command here, yet he was providing views on operational issues. To the Germans who held clear military hierarchies as the bible, it looked obviously chaotic. There was notable hope though. The Germans acknowledged the Chinese were improving their artillery situation. For the first time since the battle for Shanghai began, 6 artillery battalions were moved into positions in the vicinity of Nanxiang, under the unified command of the headmaster of the Tangshan artillery school near Nanjing. From there they could coordinate barrages in the area south of the Wusong Creek.  Sun Liren got off at Nanxiang railway station on October 7th. At 36 he was leading one of China's best units, the 4th regiment of the Tax Police. Within confusion he was assigned to the 88th division, who were fighting the heaviest battles in the campaign. By noon of the next day, nearly all of Sun Liren's regiment were cannibalized, sent as reinforcements to the 88ths front lines. Afterwards all the was left was Sun and a group of 20 orderlies and clerks. At 2pm he got a call from th division, they needed more reinforcements at the front or else a small bridge north of Zhabei would be taken, collapsing their lines. Sun replied he had no troops left only to be told “its an order. If you disobey, you'll be courtmartialed”.  Without any choice, Sun hastily organized dozens of soldiers and marched them to the bridge. As they arrived, his men saw Chinese troops withdrawing away from the bridge. He asked one man what was going on “the officers have all left, we also don't want to die”. To this Sun said he was an officer and would stay and fight with them. The Japanese in pursuit were shocked to see the Chinese turn around attack them. In general the Japanese were surprised by the sudden resilience of the Chinese around the Wusong Creek. Many assaults were being beaten back. In the Zhabei district, much more urbanized, foreigners were watching in awe. A war correspondent wrote “Every street was a defense line and every house a pocket fort. Thousands of holes had been knocked through walls, linking the labyrinth of lanes into a vast system of defense in depth. Every intersection had been made into a miniature fortress of steel and concrete. Even the stubs of bomb-battered walls had been slotted at ground level for machine guns and rifles. No wonder the Japanese Army was months behind its boasts”.  East of the Huangpu River at Pudong, Sun Shengzhi commanded an artillery regiment whom began launching a barrage across the river upon the Gongda airfield, that had been allowing the Japanese air forces to support their infantry. Meanwhile Chinese soldiers rolled a battery of 8 bofor guns 300 yards from the riverbank and at dawn began firing upon aircraft taking off. They reported 4 downed Japanese aircraft and 7 damaged. By mid-October the 88th division took advantage of a lull in the fighting and prepared a ambitious attack aimed at cutting off the Sichuan North road, which the Japanese were using to as a supply line from the docks to units north of the city. The German advisors developed this attack using Stosstruppen tactics taken from WW1. For stosstruppen, the main means of weakening the enemy line was via infiltration, rather than a massive frontal attack. The attack was unleashed on the 18th after a bombardment by artillery and mortars as lightly armed Chinese stormed down the streets near the North railway station and took the Japanese there by complete surprise. They quickly occupied a segment of the Sichuan North Road cutting the Japanese supply chain for many days. Back on the 13th, Kuse Hisao led a company of the Japanese 9th division to perform an attack on Chenjiahang, located due north of Wusong Creek. It was a strategic and heavily fortified stronghold that obstructed the southward advance. As Kuse's men reached its vicinity they stopped to rest with orders to begin the assault at 1pm. The Japanese artillery kicked off the fight and was soon met with much larger Chinese artillery. This was an unpleasant surprise for the Japanese, whom to this point had always had superiority in artillery. Regardless the assault went ahead seeing wave upon wave of attackers fighting through cotton fields and bullets. Kuse's men were forced to crawl through the field. Kuse crawled his way to a small creek to discover with horror it was full of Japanese and Chinese corpses at various stages of decomposition.  The assault on Chenjiahang bogged down quickly. Kuse and his men spent a night amongst the rotting dead. The following day orders arrived for two neighbouring units to renew the assault as Kuse's fell back into the reserve. That day's attempt fared no better, simply piling more bodies upon the field and waterways. The next day Kuse watched Japanese flamethrower units enter the fray as they led an attack over a creek. Men jumped into waist deep water, waded across to fight up slopes through mazes of Chinese trenches. Then to all of their surprise they stormed and unoccupied Chenjiahang without firing a shot. Kuse and his men suddenly saw a grenade come flying at them. Kuse was injured and taken out by comrades to the rear. Chenjiahang and been bitterly fought over for weeks. Alongside Yanghang it was considered two key points necessary for the Japanese to be able to advance against Dachang further south.  Meanwhile Sichuanese troops were being pulled back for the fresh 4 Guangxi divisions to come in. They wore lighter brown uniforms with British styled tin hat helmets. One of their divisions, the 173rd was sent straight to Chenjiahang, arriving before dawn of the 16th. While the handover of positions was taking place, the Japanese launched an intense aerial and artillery bombardment causing significant casualties before the 173rd could even deploy. Later that day, one of their regiments engaged the Japanese and were slaughtered on the spot. Two-thirds of their men became casualties. The battle raged for four days as the 3 other Guangxi divisions moved to the front. There was no break on either side, as one Guanxi officer recalled, “I had heard the expression ‘storm o f steel' before, but never really understood what it meant. Now I do.” By mid October, Matsui's optimism about his southern push was waning. Heavy rain over the past week had slowed his men down considerably. Supplies were taking much longer to reach the front. Intelligence indicated the senior Chinese commanders had moved from Suzhou to Nanxiang, with some in Shanghai proper. To Matsui this meant they were nowhere near close to abandoning Shanghai. Matsui wrote in his diary “It's obvious that earlier views that the Chinese front was shaken had been premature. Now is definitely not the time to rashly push the offensive.” During this rainy time, both sides received some rest as a no-mans land formed. Winter uniforms were arriving for the Japanese 3rd and 11th divisions, causing some encouragement. The 3rd division had already taken 6000 casualties, but received 6500 reinforcements. Matsui estimated their combat strength to only by one-sixth of its original level.  On the 19th Matsui received reports that soldiers from Guangxi were arriving in Shanghai and deploying around Wusong Creek. To relieve some pressure the IJN sent a mock invasion force up the Yangtze to perform a 3 day diversion mission. 8 destroyers and 20 transport vessels anchored 10 miles upriver from Chuanshakou. They bombarded the area to make it seem like a amphibious invasion was imminent. Meanwhile both nations were fighting a propaganda war. On October 14th, China filed a complaint at the League of Nations accusing Japan of using poison gas in Shanghai. To this the Japanese accused them of using gas, specifically mentioning at the battle for Chenjiahang. Early in the campaign they accused the Chinese of using sneezing gas, a chemical adopted during WW1. To this accusation, Shanghai's mayor Yu Hongjun stated to reporters ‘The Japanese sneeze because they've got cold feet.” Back to our friend Ogishima with the 101st. His unit crossed the Wusong Creek early on. Afterwards the fighting became confused as the Chinese and Japanese started across 150 yards of no man's land. Every now and then the Japanese would leap out of trenches and charge into Chinese lines, but the attacks all ended the same. Rows of the dead cut down by machine guns. It was just like the western front of WW1. The incessant rain kept the trenches drenched like knee-deep bogs. Officers who had read about the western front routinely had their men line up for health checks. Anyone trying to fake a disease risked being branded a deserter, and deserters were shot. As Ogishima recalled “The soldiers in the frondine only have one thought on their minds. They want to escape to the rear. Everyone envies those who, with light injuries, are evacuated. The ones who unexpectedly get a ticket back in this way find it hard to conceal their joy. As for those left in the frontline, they have no idea if their death warrant has already been signed, and how much longer they have to live.” Nohara Teishin with the 9th division experienced pure hell fighting entrenched Chinese firing through holes in walls of abandoned farm buildings. Japanese officers urged their men to charge over open fields. Out of 200 men he fought with, 10 were able to fight after the battle. As Nohara recalled “All my friends died there. You can't begin to describe the wretchedness and misery of war.” Watanabe Wushichi, an officer in the 9th division was given orders to secure water supplies for the front line troops. A task that seemed simple enough given the sheer amount of creeks and ponds in the area. However they were all filled with corpses now. For many troops dying of thirst, it became so unbearable when anyone came across an unpolluted well, they would crown around it like zombies turning into a mud pool. Officers were forced to post guards at all discovered water sources. Watanabe was shocked by the Chinese fierceness in battle. At one point he was attacked pillboxes and upon inspecting the captured ones he was horrified to see how many Chinese bodies lay inside still clutching their rifles.  International outcry mounted over the invasion. On October 5th, president Franklin Roosevelt made a speech in Chicago calling for concrete steps to be taken against Japan. “It would seem to be unfortunately true that the epidemic of world lawlessness is spreading. When an epidemic of physical disease starts to spread the community approves and joins in a quarantine of the patients in order to protect the community against the spread of the disease.” Meanwhile Chiang Kai-Shek pushed the international community to sanction Japan and deprive her of oil, iron, steal, all materials needed for waging her illegal war. The League of Nations proved completely inept. On October 21st, Japanese foreign minister Hirota Koki approached the German ambassador in Tokyo, Herbert von Dirksen, asking if China was willing to negotiate. Germany declared she was willing to act as mediator, and to this Japan sent demands. Japan sought for Chinese concessions in north China and a demilitarized zone around Shanghai. Germany's ambassador to Nanjing, Oskar Trautmann conveyed this to Chiang Kai-Shek. Instead of replying Chiang asked the German what he thought. Trautmann said he considered the demands a basis for further talks and gave the example of what happened to his nation at the negotiating table during WW1. To this Chiang scoffed and made it clear he intended to restore the situation to its pre-hostile state before any talks.  Back at the front, Bai Chongxi planned his counterattack into the right flank of the Japanese. The attack was set for the 21st. The Guangxi troops at Chenjiahang were extricated and sent to assembly points. Matsui wrote in his diary on the 23rd “The enemy will launch a counterattack along the entire front tonight. It seems the planned attack is mainly targeted at the area south of Wusong Creek. It will give us an opportunity to catch the enemy outside of his prepared defenses, and kill him there. At 7pm the Chinese artillery began, an hour later troops were advancing east. The left wing of the Chinese attack, led by the 176th Guangxi Division north of Wusong Creek, initially advanced swiftly. However, it soon encountered significant obstacles, including numerous creeks and canals that disrupted progress. Concerned about supply trains lagging behind, the vanguard decided to relinquish much of the ground it had gained as dawn approached, hoping to reclaim it later that night. Meanwhile, the 174th Guangxi Division's assault south of Wusong Creek also struggled. It met unexpectedly strong resistance and had difficulty crossing the canals due to insufficient bridge-building materials. Fearing artillery and air attacks before dawn, this division retreated to its starting line, abandoning the hard-won territory from the previous night. Both divisions then dug in, preparing to withstand a counterattack during the daylight hours, when the Japanese forces could fully leverage their air superiority. As anticipated, the counterattack occurred after sunrise on October 22. In the 176th Division's sector, Japanese forces surrounded an entire battalion by noon, resulting in its complete destruction, including the battalion commander. The main success for the day came from a Guangxi unit that, despite facing an attack from Japanese infantry supported by five tanks, managed to hold its ground. Initially on the verge of collapse, they organized a rapid defense that repelled the Japanese assault. One tank was destroyed, two became stuck in a canal, and two others retreated, highlighting the challenges of tank warfare in the riverine terrain around Shanghai. An after-action report from the Guangxi troops read  “The Japanese enemy's army and air force employed every kind of weapon, from artillery to tanks and poison gas,” it said. “It hit the Chinese front like a hurricane, and resulted in the most horrific losses yet for the army group since it entered the battle.” As the sun rose on the 23rd, Japanese airplanes took to the skies. At 9:00 a.m., they targeted the already battered 174th Guangxi Division south of Wusong Creek. A Guangxi general who survived the assault recounted the devastation: “The troops were either blown to pieces or buried in their dugouts. The 174th disintegrated into a state of chaos.” Other units suffered similarly catastrophic losses. By the end of October 23, the Chinese operation had incurred heavy casualties, including two brigade commanders, six regimental commanders, and around 2,000 soldiers, with three out of every five troops in the first wave either killed or injured. Consequently, the assault had to be called off. Bai Chongxi's counterattack was a complete disaster. Many Guangxi veterans would hold grudges for years for what was seen as a senseless and hopeless battle.  Meanwhile in Zhabei Zhang Boting, the 27th year old chief of staff of the 88th division came to the headquarters of General Gu Zhutong, urging him to move to a safer location, only to be told “Chiang Kai-shek wants your division to stay in Zhabei and fight. Every company, every platoon, every squad is to defend key buildings in the city area, and villages in the suburbs. You must fight for every inch of land and make the enemy pay a high price. You should launch guerrilla warfare, to win time and gain sympathy among our friends abroad.” The command had more to do with diplomacy than any battlefield strategy. The Nine-Powers Conference was set for Brussels the following week and it was important China kept a spectacle going on in Shanghai for the foreigners. If the war advanced into lesser known hamlets in the countryside there would be no talk amongst the great powers. To this explanation Zhang Boting replied “Outside o f the streets of Zhabei, the suburbs consist o f flat land with little opportunity for cover. It's not suitable for guerrilla warfare. The idea o f defending small key points is also difficult. The 88th Division has so far had reinforcements and replacements six times, and the original core of officers and soldiers now make up only 20 to 30 percent. It's like a cup o f tea. If you keep adding water, it becomes thinner and thinner. Some of the new soldiers we receive have never been in a battle, or never even fired a shot. At the moment we rely on the backbone o f old soldiers to train them while fighting. As long as the command system is in place and we can use the old hands to provide leadership, we'll be able to maintain the division as a fighting force. But if we divide up the unit, the coherence will be lost. Letting every unit fight its own fight will just add to the trouble.” Zhang Boting then rushed east to the 88th divisional HQ inside the Sihang Warehouse laying just across from the International settlement. Here a final stand would be made and whose participants would be known as the 800 heroes, but that's a story for a later podcast.  Zhang Boting had returned to his HQ on October 26th, by then the Shanghai situation had deteriorated dramatically. The stalemate around Wusong Creek had suddenly collapsed. The IJA 9th division broke the Guangxi forces and now Matsui planned for a major drive south against Dachang. Before he even had time to meet with his colleagues the 3rd and 9th divisions reached Zoumatang Creek, which ran west to east two miles south of Wusong Creek. In preparation for the continued advance, the Japanese began dropping leaflets over the Chinese positions. Each one offered the soldiers who laid down their arms 5 Chinese yuan each, roughly half a US dollar each at the time. This did not meet much results, as the Chinese knew the Japanese rarely took prisoners. Instead the Guangxi troops continued to retreat after a brutal week of combat. Most of them were moving to prepared positions north and south of the Suzhou Creek, the last remaining natural obstacle to stop the Japanese conquest of Shanghai. In the early hours of the 25th the Japanese gradually realized the Chinese were withdrawing. The Japanese unleashed hundreds of aircraft and employed creeping barrages with their artillery. This may have been the first instance they employed such WW1 tactics during the campaign. The barrage was kept 700 yards in front of the advancing Japanese forces, giving the Chinese ample time to emerge from cover and re-man positions they had abandoned under artillery fire. Despite a general withdrawal, the Chinese also mounted a strong defense around Dachang.  Two strategic bridges across Zoumatang Creek, located west of Dachang, were defended by one division each. The 33rd Division, a recent arrival in Shanghai, was tasked with securing the westernmost bridge, Old Man Bridge, while the 18th Division, also newly arrived, was stationed near Little Stone Bridge, closer to Dachang. However, neither division was capable of stopping the advancing Japanese forces. On October 25, a Japanese column, led by more than 20 tanks, overwhelmed the 33rd Division's defenses and captured Old Man Bridge. As the Chinese division attempted a fighting retreat toward Dachang, it suffered severe casualties due to superior Japanese firepower. By mid-afternoon, only one in ten of its officers and soldiers remained fit for combat, and even the division commander had been wounded. The Japanese force then advanced to Little Stone Bridge, and after intense fighting with the 18th Division that lasted until sunset, they captured the bridge as well. Meanwhile, the 18th Division fell back into Dachang, where their commander, Zhu Yaohua, received a blunt order from Gu Zhutong to hold Dachang at all costs, warning that disobedience would lead to court-martial. Concerned that losing Little Stone Bridge might already jeopardize his position, Zhu Yaohua quickly organized a nighttime counterattack to reclaim it. However, the Japanese had anticipated this move and fortified their defenses near the bridge, leading to a disastrous failure for the Chinese. On October 26, the Japanese unleashed all available resources in an all-out assault on Dachang. The town had been nearly reduced to rubble, with only the ancient wall remaining as evidence of its former population. Up to 400 airplanes, including heavy bombers, targeted Chinese troops in and around Dachang, causing significant casualties among both soldiers and pack animals. A Western correspondent watching from afar described it as the “fiercest battle ever waged in Asia up to that time. A tempest of steel unleashed by Japanese planes, which flew leisurely overhead while observation balloons guided them to their targets. The curtain of fire never lifted for a moment from the Chinese trenches”. Following the aerial assault, more than 40 Japanese tanks emerged west of Dachang. The Chinese forces found themselves defenseless against this formidable armored column, as they had already relocated their artillery to safer positions behind the front lines. Left to fend for themselves, the Chinese infantry was quickly overwhelmed by the advancing wall of enemy tanks. The defending divisions, including Zhu Yaohua's 18th Division, stood no chance against such material superiority and were swiftly crushed. After a brief skirmish, the victorious Japanese forces marched in to claim Dachang, which had become a sea of flames. Matsui observed the scene with deep satisfaction as the Rising Sun banner flew over the smoldering ruins of the town. “After a month of bitter fighting, today we have finally seen the pay-off,”. In stark contrast, Zhu Yaohua faced immediate criticism from his superiors and peers, many of whom believed he could have done more to resist the Japanese onslaught. The weight of this humiliation became unbearable for him. Just two days after his defeat at Dachang, he shot himself in the chest ending his life. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In late September, the Battle of Shanghai intensified as Japanese forces surged with reinforcements, pressing against Chinese defenses in Luodian. Amidst chaos, Japanese soldiers like Ogishima fought bravely in the trenches, witnessing unimaginable carnage. As October began, the battle's brutality escalated, with waves of attacks resulting in devastating casualties on both sides. However, the Chinese forces showcased remarkable resilience, adapting their strategies and fortifying defenses, marking a significant chapter in their struggle for sovereignty against overwhelming odds.  

Last time we spoke about a major Chinese counter offensive at Shanghai. "Black Saturday," saw over a thousand civilians killed. In response, Chinese leader Chiang Kai-shek launched Operation Iron Fist on August 17, aiming to exploit weaknesses in Japanese defenses but failing due to disarray and entrenched opposition. Amid mounting pressure, Chinese commanders redirected their strategy toward Yangshupu, seeking to breach Japanese lines along the Huangpu River. The 36th Infantry Division, newly trained by German advisers, launched a surprise assault on August 19, but inexperienced troops faced relentless Japanese fire, struggling to hold their positions. As casualties mounted, the Japanese executed strategic landings at Chuanshakou and Wusong, capturing key points with minimal resistance. The battle at Baoshan became emblematic of their resistance, where a handful of defenders vowed to fight to the last man, encapsulating the desperation and bravery of those battling under the shadow of impending defeat.    #159 The Battle of Shanghai Part 4: The Battle for Luodian Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. In the early days of September, a profound sense of resignation descended upon the senior Chinese commanders as the Japanese troops captured stronghold after stronghold along the riverbank, first Shizilin, then Wusong, and finally Baoshan. Despite the resignation among their leaders, the rank and file remained resolute in their determination to defend every inch of Chinese soil. The fighting along Wusong Creek, extending west from Wusong, became particularly brutal. “There were huge numbers of deaths on both sides, and the water of the creek turned red,” wrote Chinese official Wang Jieshi in his diary. “The saying about ‘rivers of blood' became a grim reality.” Meanwhile the Japanese were landing more reinforcements, such as the Tida detachment on September 6. The next day Tokyo HQ authorized the dispatch of the 9th, 13th and 101st divisions and the Shigeto Detachment to Shanghai. That same day over 10 Japanese infantry battalions were ordered to advance from Northeast China to Shanghai. The situation was dire for the Chinese. Not only were their frontline units struggling in battle, but they were also sustaining exceptionally high casualties. By early September, Yao Ziqing's 98th Infantry Division had suffered 4,960 casualties, including a regimental commander killed and another wounded. Throughout the battle for Shanghai, various units within the division received reinforcements up to four times. Upon arrival, these reinforcements were quickly armed and sent directly to the front lines. As recalled by Fang Jing “Some were injured almost immediately after arriving. When they reached the hospital, they had no idea which unit they belonged to.” The string of defeats and setbacks significantly affected morale within the Chinese Army, particularly among senior officers. While the lower ranks generally showed a willingness to continue the fight, high-ranking officials exhibited waning resolve. “All my soldiers have been sacrificed. There's nobody left,” Xia Chuzhong, commander of the 79th Division, lamented in a phone call to Luo Zhuoying, head of the 18th Army, part of the 15th Army Group. In response, Luo Zhuoying urged, “Aren't you still standing? Hold your ground and fight.” Having lost Baoshan the next defensive position was the small town of Luodian, the transportation center connecting Baoshan, downtown Shanghai, Jiading, Songjiang and several other towns via highways. The successful defense of Luodian was crucial for the security of Suzhou and Shanghai. On August 29, German adviser Alexander von Falkenhausen warned Chiang Kai-shek that the town needed to be held at all costs, describing it as "the most crucial strategic point.”. Chiang Kai-shek was determined to hold on to Luodian. He personally summoned senior commanders to the 3rd War Zone headquarters in Suzhou, emphasizing that the town must be retaken at all costs. In response, the commanders deployed entire divisions to the battle for Luodian. During one of several Chinese assaults, Qiu Weida, a regimental commander in the 51st Infantry Division, led a night attack on the southern part of Luodian. Moving quietly through the darkness, the Chinese force, about two companies strong, approached a Japanese camp, most of whose soldiers were asleep. The Chinese launched a swift attack, giving the Japanese no chance to react. They shot and bayoneted soldiers while they were still lying down, successfully taking over the camp and preparing for a counterattack. When the Japanese responded, the Chinese staged a fighting retreat, deliberately luring the enemy into an open area where well-armed soldiers lay in ambush. As the Japanese advanced, Qiu Weida signaled with a flare, a pre-arranged signal to open fire. Infantry weapons of various calibers joined in the assault. As dawn broke, Qiu raised his binoculars to survey the scene, which was a disturbing sight, covered with a tangled mass of dead and dying bodies. The Japanese commanders launched what they hoped would be the decisive blow to break out from the Baoshan perimeter. Elements of the 3rd Division were tasked with moving down the road toward Liuhang and occupying Yanghang. Meanwhile, the 11th Division's Amaya Detachment, which had arrived in Wusong on September 2, was to seize Yuepu, a village on the other strategic road leading west from Baoshan that blocked access to Luodian and the opportunity to link up with other units of the 11th Division fighting in the area. This operation aimed to create the necessary space for a full assault on Shanghai, and the Japanese dedicated every available resource to the effort. The artillery barrage began before dawn on September 1, with Japanese guns of all calibers participating. For more than two weeks, the Japanese had been able to disembark supplies at landing sites along the Yangtze and Huangpu Rivers. After daybreak, air raids intensified unusually, with the Japanese seemingly deploying all available aircraft in this narrow part of the front. Eventually, the Japanese infantry prepared to launch their attack. While this was simply the latest in a series of Japanese assaults, the sheer tenacity displayed indicated to the Chinese that this time was different. However, after an entire day of fighting, little territorial gain was made. The defenders fought with a determination bordering on fanaticism, despite a total lack of air and artillery support, effectively utilizing the obstacles created by canals that cut through the heavily cultivated area. By sunset, the Japanese had advanced no further than the eastern edge of Yuepu, although the village had been completely destroyed by artillery fire. Yanghang remained firmly in Chinese hands. In the countryside between the two western roads leading from Baoshan, Japanese units had only managed to occupy territory where their artillery and aircraft had utterly obliterated the defenders. To an outsider, it might seem that the Chinese could breathe a sigh of relief. However, from the perspective of Chinese commanders, the situation was vastly different. Their primary concern was the Japanese superiority in artillery. The contested area north of Shanghai consisted mainly of low-lying rice and cotton fields with relatively few trees, offering insufficient camouflage for all but the smallest units. This allowed Japanese naval gunners on the elevated waters of the Yangtze and Huangpu to sometimes directly observe Chinese troops. Even when there was no direct line of sight from the ships in the rivers, they were aided by the directions of observers patrolling in aircraft or hovering in balloons over the horizon. The Chinese had long realized that exposing their units to continuous attack from naval guns played directly into the Japanese hands. They understood that they needed to move away from the riverbank and the lethal fire of the IJN Although the decision to withdraw would have been made sooner or later, it was hastened by the relentless Japanese pressure on the two roads from Baoshan, as their loss would create a breach between Zhang Zhizhong's 9th Army Group in the Shanghai area and Chen Cheng's 15th Army Group to the left. General Gu Zhutong, a member of Chiang Kai-shek's inner circle who had recently been appointed deputy commander of the 3rd War Zone, witnessed how some of the best divisions were being decimated in the defense of Yuepu and Yanghang. Meanwhile, Zhang Zhizhong was pushing for the withdrawal of troops in Yangshupu, which risked becoming a dangerously exposed salient if a breach occurred. The order for the two Chinese army groups to withdraw came late on September 11. Under the cover of darkness, the bulk of the divisions pulled back to positions reinforced by reserves in the preceding days. As thousands of soldiers moved several miles to the rear, the Japanese remained unaware that anything unusual was occurring, and the entire movement took place without enemy harassment. Only skeleton crews remained in the original Chinese positions. By the morning of September 12, the new frontline stretched from the North Railway Station to the eastern edge of Jiangwan, bent west of Yanghang and Luodian, and extended north to the banks of the Yangtze. Unbeknownst to them, the Japanese had become masters of heavily contested areas from Yangshupu in the south to Yuepu in the north. The Chinese military leadership attempted to explain to the public that it had no choice but to withdraw and had never seriously expected to be able to push the Japanese back into the Yangtze, given the hundreds of naval guns at their disposal. A military spokesman said “The objective of the Chinese command was to delay and harass the landing. It was never hoped that we would permanently repel the landing.” The Chinese expressed confidence in their new positions, even comparing them to the Maginot Line along the French border with Germany, which of course would become rather ironic. The Japanese now controlled the entire left bank of the Huangpu River from Yangshupu to the mouth of the Yangtze. They had access to several good roads, some interconnected, which could serve as supply lines for future attacks. Additionally, they could exploit a large number of modern Chinese wharfs and docks, setting the stage for a steady flow of reinforcements.  On the 12th, Matsui received word from the Amaya Detachment that it had finally captured Yuepu. After driving the Chinese out of the village, the detachment established a defensive perimeter in a semicircle 500 yards around the western edge. Nearly simultaneously, the Ueno Detachment, a unit attached to the 3rd Division, reported that it had occupied Yanghang and pursued the enemy to a position about two miles west of the village. In both cases, it appeared that the enemy had abandoned their positions under the cover of night. Yet despite the victories Matsui desperately needed more men. In the three weeks leading up to September 11, the Japanese had managed to land 40,000 soldiers and establish a bridgehead measuring roughly 25 miles in length and over five miles in depth. Together with the troops already present in Shanghai, Japan had about 50,000 soldiers in the area. While this was a significant force, it was still insufficient to ensure the conquest of Shanghai, especially given the rapid attrition faced. As of September 9, the 3rd Division had reported losses of 589 killed and 1,539 injured, while the 11th Division recorded 616 dead and 1,336 wounded. But Tokyo was very reluctant to dispatch troops to Shanghai. From the viewpoint of the IJA leadership, Shanghai and Central China were a sideshow to the north china theater, which they alongside the Kwantung Army argued was more essential, given the proximity of the USSR. This belief was strongly reinforced when the Sino-Soviet agreement was signed in late August. Shanghai also heavily favored the Chinese terrain wise, it was basically like the battle of Thermopylae, instead of a mountain pass it was an extremely concentrated urban area. Then there was one of the main advocates opposing the China War altogether, Kanji Ishiwara. The entire time he was screaming and lecturing non-expansion and advised diplomacy and to even form an alliance with China against the USSR. Concentrating on China and ignoring the Soviet menace was, in his eyes, like “chasing the dogs away from the front door while forgetting the wolves approaching the back door.” However, Ishiwara's reluctance to send more troops to Shanghai was overruled. On September 4, a meeting of officers in Tokyo concluded that the battle in the Shanghai area should be completed by late October or early November, and to that end, sufficient troops should be deployed. Three days later, Emperor Hirohito approved reinforcements for the Shanghai front, including the dispatch of three additional infantry divisions from the home islands, along with units from the garrison forces in Taiwan. Ishiwara was so upset by this decision that he submitted his resignation, although he was later appointed to a position in the army in northeastern China. There was little doubt among Japanese leaders that the deployment of these reinforcements marked a significant escalation in the war. The situation was unlike anything Japan had ever experienced before. Army Minister Sugiyama Hajime remarked in a statement to his commanders, “This war has become total war.” A junior Japanese officer inspecting the Shanghai front reported upon his return to Tokyo “The enemy resistance is undeniably strong. Whether they are bombed out or surrounded, they do not retreat.” Luodian had remained under Japanese control since late August, but the surrounding countryside largely remained Chinese territory. Despite increasing pressure after the Chinese withdrawal to the south on September 12, the Japanese advanced only slowly and hesitantly. Taken aback by the sudden gains at Yuepu and Yanghang, and revealing their typical tardiness in responding to unforeseen events, it took them several days to even dispatch patrols for probing attacks against the new Chinese defenses. This delay provided Chinese commanders with extra time to reinforce their positions near Luodian, particularly on both sides of the road from Yuepu, which they correctly assumed would be the primary route for the Japanese attackers. Chinese preparations were just one reason Japan's mid-September assault was only moderately successful. Like the Chinese, the Japanese had yet to develop much skill in coordinating infantry and armor operations. The road connecting Yuepu and Luodian was of relatively good quality, enabling the Japanese to deploy about 25 tanks as the spearhead of their thrust. These armored vehicles quickly eliminated the Chinese positions closest to the road and advanced rapidly toward Luodian. However, the accompanying infantry from the Amaya Detachment was unable to keep pace. The Japanese only held a few yards of terrain on either side of the road. Beyond that narrow strip, the area was swarming with Chinese soldiers, making the advancing Japanese infantry easy targets. The Japanese infantry became bogged down, and it was only after dark, when the Chinese defenders north of the road chose to withdraw westward, that the Japanese had a chance to reach Luodian. The debacle on the road to Luodian was not solely a result of flawed training within the Japanese ranks. The area around Shanghai, a patchwork of small farm plots divided by creeks and canals, was ill-suited for tank warfare. This terrain had previously been a key argument against large-scale deployments by the Japanese Army. Nevertheless, once the decision was made in Tokyo to send enough troops to win the battle for the city, the generals had to strategize ways to overcome these terrain challenges. One proposed solution was to deploy amphibious tanks. However, the tactics employed called for using the tanks in a supportive role rather than leading the attacks across waterways. If a creek needed to be crossed, Japanese commanders would first order a small infantry unit to wade or swim to the opposite bank and prepare it for the tanks to land under the cover of darkness. While it was still dark, the tanks would cross and provide support to the infantry by daybreak. This cumbersome procedure often felt like putting the cart before the horse, but the Japanese executed it precisely as prescribed, time and again. This predictability allowed their Chinese opponents to acclimate to Japanese tactics to such an extent that they could usually anticipate what the Japanese would do next. While flawed tactics prevented either side from breaking the stalemate at the Luodian front, both continued to pour in reinforcements. The Shigeto Detachment arrived from Taiwan and was attached to the 11th Division on September 14, the same day the Amaya Detachment made its way up the road from Yuepu to return to the division's direct command. By mid-September, the division had grown into a sizeable fighting force. However, the enemy it faced around Luodian was also growing stronger by the day, posing a significant threat to the division's right flank if it were to rush south toward Dachang to link up with the 3rd Division. Therefore, on September 18, the Shanghai commanders ordered the division to focus initially on eliminating the Chinese troops amassed around Luodian. By this time, heavy rain had already fallen in the Shanghai region for three days, gradually slowing the fighting. The Japanese disliked the rain, as it turned the roads into muddy rivers, making transportation difficult, if not impossible, while also grounding most of their aircraft. In contrast, the Chinese welcomed the lull, as it provided them with an opportunity to improve their positions. The challenge of breaking through the Chinese defenses was only becoming more difficult as time passed. The Chinese Army's performance during the initial stage of the fighting in Shanghai altered the world's perception of the nation's military capabilities. China, which had lost every war over the past century, invariably to nations much smaller than itself, had suddenly taken a stand. At Shanghai, the Chinese Army experienced more intense fighting than anyone could have anticipated, suffering losses that had taken years to build up. However, it had gained prestige and respect, even among its Japanese adversaries. Even the withdrawal on September 12 was met with sympathy and admiration in capitals around the world. Every journalist in Shanghai during the fall of 1937 had a story to tell about the remarkable Chinese soldier. American journalist Carroll Alcott spent many hours in dugouts in Zhabei. “While Japanese shells pelted down over their heads, the Chinese soldiers sat unfazed in their self-made caves, cooking rice, vegetables, and occasionally a small bit of pork over a charcoal brazier. They dispelled the inevitable boredom with games of checkers and mahjong and wrote letters home to their families. In the Chinese trenches, there was a sense of safety and a primitive kind of comfort”. Chiang Kai-shek had decided as early as September 15 that changes were needed at the top of the command in the 3rd War Zone. What this meant became clear six days later when Chiang sent two separate cables to the zone's senior officers. In the first cable, he announced that he would take over command of the 3rd War Zone from Feng Yuxiang, and dispatched him to the 6th War Zone further north. This was a sideways move rather than a direct demotion, but it undeniably removed Feng Yuxiang from the most crucial theater at the time. Despite this, the decision seemed logical to most senior officers in Suzhou. Feng Yuxiang had never effectively managed the 3rd War Zone during his time in command. None of his direct subordinates truly considered him to be in charge; instead, they continued to view Chiang as their actual commander. In the second cable of the day, Chiang Kai-shek went a step further by relieving Zhang Zhizhong of his duties as commander of the 9th Army Group. He replaced him with General Zhu Shaoliang, a staunch ally and, if possible, an even more vehement opponent of communism than himself. For Zhang Zhizhong, the decision was no major surprise, as he had faced Chiang Kai-shek's constant reproaches since the early days of the battle. Although Chiang initially selected Zhang due to his close connections with the divisional commanders he led, he grew increasingly disenchanted with Zhang's style of command characterized by “much talk and little action” and expressed his irritation both publicly and privately. There may have been an additional reason for this. Disagreements among the top echelons of the 3rd War Zone threatened to bring about paralysis. Zhang Zhizhong had not gotten along well with Chen Cheng, the commander of the neighboring 11th Army Group. Zhang had told anyone who would listen, “Chen Cheng isn't capable enough,”to which Chen retorted, “Zhang Zhizhong loves to show off.”  The strain that Shanghai was under also had an economic aspect. Although it had been a bumper year for both rice and cotton,  the two most popular crops in the area and many farmers were unable to harvest due to the continued heavy fighting around the city. Labor disputes simmered and occasionally erupted into open conflict. On September 14, a group of workers hired on short-term contracts by the Fou Foong Flour Mill in the western part of the International Settlement locked themselves inside and refused to leave until their demand for ten months' salary was met. Police and members of the Reserve Unit, a special anti-riot outfit, attacked the premises with tear gas and managed to disperse the protesters. Subsequently, ambulances transported 25 injured individuals to various hospitals from the mill. As if the city was not already suffering enough hardship, a cholera epidemic broke out, taking a particularly heavy toll on the poorest inhabitants. As of September 13, the outbreak had lasted for a month, with 119 confirmed cases and nine deaths. Less than a fortnight later, it had infected 646 people and resulted in 97 deaths. By early October, when the outbreak peaked, it had claimed a total of 355 lives. These statistics marked only the tip of the iceberg, as they accounted only for patients at hospitals in the International Settlement, excluding the likely much larger numbers in the Chinese part of the city. In a way, these individuals were collateral damage. A doctor who worked with the patients stated with a high degree of certainty that the disease had likely been brought to Shanghai by troops from the south. There existed a large villa overlooking Luodian they Japanese termed “the white house”. The Chinese forces had held the white house for four weeks, demonstrating fierce resistance. Encamped outside, the Japanese Army's 44th Regiment, known as the Kochi Regiment, was gradually being worn down, as their repeated attempts to storm the stronghold had failed. During their time at Luodian, the regiment had made numerous unsuccessful attempts to seize the villa. Limited artillery support hampered their efforts; logistical challenges meant each artillery piece received only one-fifth of its normal daily ammunition supply. On September 19, engineers began digging a tunnel from the trenches toward the White House. Four days later, they had excavated exactly 35 yards, effectively halving the distance the infantry would need to cross exposed ground before reaching the villa's defenses. A new attack was launched on the 23rd, beginning with an artillery bombardment, followed by air raids. Next, tanks advanced toward the walls, with small clusters of soldiers trailing behind. This attack included a surprise element for the Chinese defenders: as the offensive unfolded, a tunnel's entrance erupted open, allowing soldiers to emerge in single file close to the wall too quickly for the Chinese machine gunners to adjust their aim. The soldiers rushed forward, bearing heavy satchels of explosives. Pressing against the wall, they ignited the fuses and sought cover as loud explosions rang out. When the dust settled, the Japanese surged through the new openings in the walls, spreading out within the compound. After a fierce battle lasting two and a half hours, the building was captured by the Japanese troops. Despite losing the "White House," Lin Yindong, the commander of the 1st Battalion, was awarded an A-2 grade for the "Medal of the Armed Forces." He was also promoted to lieutenant colonel and appointed as the regimental attaché of the 66th Regiment for successfully defending the "White House" against a numerically superior enemy for nearly a month. The capture of the White House was part of a significant offensive launched by the 11th Division in the Luodian area. Initially scheduled for September 20, the operation faced delays of several days due to prolonged preparations, a common issue in the challenging countryside surrounding Shanghai. The division chose to attack south of the town with a narrow front to concentrate enough forces to deliver a powerful, unified strike against Chinese positions. The Japanese employed massed armor in their assault, deploying aircraft to neutralize any anti-tank weapons that emerged. These tactics proved effective, as the Chinese were pushed back in multiple sections of the front. To marshal sufficient troops for the attack, the division assigned the Shigeto Detachment to cover its right flank north and west of Luodian. However, the newly arrived detachment, full of morale, exceeded its mandate by launching a vigorous counterattack against the Chinese in its sector. Unfortunately, their efforts yielded little significant progress, and they suffered heavy casualties. As Matsui would report "The detachment has already had 200 casualties. They can't keep attacking blindly like this."  Further south, the 3rd Japanese Division also mounted attacks against Chinese forces, primarily around Liuhang. The fighting revealed Japan's material superiority, which was so pronounced that the Chinese refrained from deploying heavy artillery, even when available. Anti-aircraft guns were strategically positioned near artillery batteries, but the Chinese were reluctant to use them for fear of revealing their locations. Consequently, the Chinese Army found itself with virtually no air defense. Overall, local Chinese reserves struggled to repel the Japanese advances, leading to a shift from the see-saw battles that had characterized the front since early September. The Japanese gradually maintained their positions even after nightfall.  Despite their numerical superiority, defending Luodian proved nearly impossible for the Chinese forces. The Japanese's overwhelming firepower forced the Chinese into a defensive posture, preventing them from launching counterattacks until the enemy was almost upon them. Consequently, the decision was made to hold the entire town at all costs, a tactic that significantly increased the attrition rate within Chinese ranks. General Chen Cheng's army group experienced a casualty rate exceeding fifty percent, resulting in more than 15,000 losses. Additionally, units from Xue Yue's 19th Army Group participated in the combat southwest of Luodian and suffered severe casualties. The 59th and 90th divisions of the 4th Corps endured seventy to eighty percent losses within just five days. The training brigade of the 66th Corps reported 3,003 casualties after several days of fighting. Faced with these circumstances, Chinese commanders decided to execute another major retreat along the entire front north of Shanghai. They took advantage of a lull in Japanese assaults on September 25 to withdraw approximately one mile to a new defensive line. As before, this retreat was conducted with great discipline, and it took the Japanese two more days to fully comprehend that the Chinese forces had disappeared from their positions.  In the wake of these Japanese successes, significant changes began to unfold. The three divisions that the Japanese high command had dispatched to the Shanghai area in early September gradually arrived. First to land was the 101st Division, which started disembarking on September 22 and was ordered to position itself on the left flank of the 3rd Division. The 9th Division arrived in the same area on September 27, followed by the 13th Division on October 1. With these reinforcements, Japan now had five divisions stationed in Shanghai, compared to more than 25 divisions fielded by the Chinese. While China's numerical superiority was undeniable, the disparity was not as stark as it appeared. A typical Japanese division consisted of 15,000 men. Combined with the marines and infantry defending Hongkou, Japan had approximately 90,000 soldiers at its disposal in and around the city. In contrast, Chinese divisions often had as few as 5,000 men, making it unlikely that China deployed more than 200,000 soldiers in Shanghai at that time. Furthermore, the Japanese compensated for their numerical disadvantage with significant superiority in materials, aircraft, and naval artillery, which could still reach key areas within the Chinese front. Overall, the addition of the three new divisions significantly bolstered the Japanese forces, prompting Matsui and his staff to begin preparations for what they hoped would be the decisive strike against the Chinese defenders. Their plan was straightforward: they intended to execute a powerful thrust across Wusong Creek and advance toward Suzhou Creek. The goal was to encircle and annihilate the main Chinese force in a maneuver they had envisioned since their arrival in China. After all, encirclement was the cornerstone of Japanese military doctrine. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In August 1937, the Battle of Luodian raged as Chinese forces faced relentless Japanese attacks. After initial successes, the Chinese struggled under heavy casualties and dwindling morale. They fought fiercely to retain the critical town of Luodian, a vital transportation hub. Despite courageous defensive efforts, including a surprise night assault, the Japanese overwhelmed the Chinese with superior numbers and artillery. Encounters turned devastating, with both sides suffering severe losses. By late September, as the Japanese received reinforcements, the situation forced the Chinese to retreat, marking the beginning of a dire struggle for Shanghai's control.

Last time we spoke about Black Saterday and Operation Iron Fist. Conflict erupted in Shanghai on August 13, when Japanese marines disguised as civilians provoked Chinese guards, resulting in fierce gunfire and urban warfare. Both sides engaged in skirmishes around vital locations, with the Eight Character Bridge becoming a focal point. On August 14, air raids misfired catastrophically, killing over a thousand civilians in what became known as "Black Saturday." In an attempt to regain control, Chiang Kai-shek authorized Operation Iron Fist, a bold offensive targeting Japanese strongholds. The attack commenced early on August 17, involving coordinated assaults aimed at exploiting weak points in the enemy defenses. However, poor coordination, entrenched opposition, and the complexity of urban combat resulted in further devastating losses for the Chinese troops. By August 18, Operation Iron Fist had failed, with the Japanese reinforcing their positions and announcing a strategic shift towards expanded military engagement.   #158 The Battle of Shanghai Part 3: The Chinese Counteroffensive “Drive them into the Sea!” Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. On August 18, the Japanese military reinforced their presence in Shanghai, shipping an additional 1,400 marines from Manchuria to bolster the ranks of the Japanese Shanghai Special Naval Landing Force or “SNLF”. Yes, all of you who don't listen to my Pacific War week by week podcast are going to get a lot of acronym lessons soon. And yes, they are not quote en quote real marines, but like most telling these stories its easier to refer to them this way. This influx of troops was a significant escalation in the ongoing conflict, heightening tensions as the battle for control intensified. As the battle in Shanghai raged on, a growing sentiment emerged among Chinese leaders that crucial chances had been squandered. On August 18, Chiang Kai-shek sent his trusted aide, Deputy War Minister Chen Cheng, to confer with General Zhang Zhizhong at the front lines. They assessed the situation and agreed that instead of attacking the heavily fortified Hongkou area, they should redirect their focus to the Yangshupu district. The aim was to breach the defenses and split the Japanese forces along the Huangpu River. This strategic shift was precisely what the German military advisers and frontline commanders had anticipated, signaling a decisive move away from their earlier hesitance to engage within settlement boundaries. As attrition took its toll on the Chinese troops already committed in Shanghai, the responsibility for the offensive was placed on the newly arrived 36th Infantry Division, a unit highly trained by German forces. They were positioned to advance from the eastern edge of Hongkou, with two regiments tasked to march south toward the Huangpu. In the early hours of the 19th, two regiments of the 36th launched their long-planned attack, moving swiftly towards the front lines. The night was illuminated by the flames of sabotage and incendiary bombs, aiding visibility amid the chaos. However, the assault quickly faced significant challenges. Many of the Chinese soldiers were inexperienced, becoming easy targets for Japanese infantry positioned in rooftops and upper-story windows. In the absence of cover, some troops were forced to take shelter behind the fallen bodies of their comrades. For a moment, the Chinese troops felt a surge of hope, believing they could push the Japanese into the Huangpu River. General Zhang Fakui, observing from the opposite bank, envisioned a breakthrough. However, upon reaching Broadway, parallel to the river, they confronted a formidable barrier. High walls guarded the wharves, and even the largest artillery pieces struggled to breach the defenses. Attempts to scale the steel gate resulted in devastating fire from entrenched Japanese machine gunners, while fortified factories like the Gong Da Cotton Mill proved equally impenetrable. As the Chinese forces suffered under relentless bombardment, their momentum diminished. The 88th Infantry Division, previously effective, showed signs of disarray and hesitated to engage. Compounding their woes, Japanese reinforcements arrived, swelling their ranks to 6,300 well equipped marines. Despite these challenges, the Chinese committed to deploying their newly acquired British built Vickers tanks, a symbol of their efforts to modernize their military over the years. But with each hour, the balance of power tilted further in favor of the Japanese forces. Meanwhile the 87th Infantry Division was assigned two armored companies, yet it suffered catastrophic losses. The tanks, recently shipped from Nanjing, had crews untrained in coordinated assaults, and many were left without infantry support. The Chinese forces struggled to secure adjacent streets, allowing Japanese armor to outflank and destroy their tanks. The Japanese, too, faced coordination challenges between their armor and infantry, resulting in some of their tanks being annihilated by Chinese anti-tank weapons. On the 20th, General Zhang Zhizhong inspected the Yangshupu front and encountered a former student leading a tank company ready to attack the wharves. The tanks, hastily repaired and ill equipped for battle, faced fierce enemy fire, and the young officer expressed concern about the infantry's ability to keep pace. Despite Zhang's insistence that the assault must proceed, the attack ended in disaster as the tank company was decimated by shells from anchored vessels. The battle blended modern warfare with tactics reminiscent of earlier centuries. An officer named Wu Yujun managed a position during a Japanese cavalry attack on the 18th. After two unsuccessful assaults, Wu set an ambush that resulted in the annihilation of the Japanese riders. This incident illustrated the stark contrast on the battlefield where Chinese soldiers often confronted a technologically superior enemy while grappling with their own inexperience.  Many of the Chinese units arriving in Shanghai were very green, countless having never faced battle before, and their lack of experience proved costly in the initial days of fighting. Brigade Commander Fang Jing of the 98th Division observed that his soldiers constructed inadequate fortifications that crumbled under the Japanese 150mm howitzers. He lamented, “Often, the positions they built were too weak and couldn't withstand the enemy's artillery,”. On the 20th, 5 Chinese aircraft returned after yet another unsuccessful attack on the Japanese battleship Izumo, which remained anchored in the Huangpu. During their flight over western Zhabei, they encountered two Japanese seaplanes. One Chinese pilot broke formation, diving steeply to fire a brief machine-gun salvo, but his plane was quickly shot down, bursting into flames before crashing. The Chinese attacks had posed a significant threat to Japanese bombers, particularly the vulnerable Mitsubishi G3M medium aircraft targeting Shanghai and central China. Japan's First Combined Air Group suffered heavy losses, with half of its medium attack planes damaged or destroyed within the first three days of fighting. However, the Chinese pilots, largely inexperienced and inadequately trained, began to falter against the superior Japanese fighters, eventually withdrawing from the skies over Shanghai. Ground troops expressed frustration over the lack of effective air support, as they rarely saw their planes after the 20th, instead carrying out major troop movements only under the cover of darkness. The Japanese air superiority drastically affected operations on the ground, dictating when Chinese soldiers could eat and transport supplies. Without effective fighter protection and limited anti-aircraft capabilities, the Chinese troops were left exposed. Most of their anti-aircraft weaponry consisted of 20mm Solothurn guns that were ineffective against aircraft and were more often used against infantry. Officers hesitated to use these guns for fear of revealing their positions to the enemy.  By the morning of the 21st, the 36th Division had been relentlessly attacking the wharf area for over 48 hours, yet victory remained elusive. Although some tanks had infiltrated the wharf, they were met with dishearteningly strong Japanese defenses and a well-manned enemy presence. The commanders recognized that they had advanced too quickly without securing their flanks, and their reserves, which could have provided crucial support, remained in the rear. Reluctantly, they concluded that a withdrawal was necessary. The retreat was a painful acknowledgment that pushing the Japanese into the Huangpu River would not be as straightforward as hoped. Part of the Chinese failure stemmed from an inability to execute joint operations across different military branches. German advisors noted that artillery support for the forces in Yangshupu from the Pudong side was limited. In contrast, Japanese naval guns were actively providing support, significantly relieving the pressure on their marines. This imbalance resulted in heavy losses for the Chinese, with the 36th Division suffering over 2,000 casualties by the late 22nd. Meanwhile, Japanese naval aircraft attempted to impede the movement of additional Chinese troops to Shanghai by bombing the railway from Suzhou. Although several bridges were destroyed and railway stations sustained damage, the delays were minimal, offering some reassurance to Chinese commanders who understood that reinforcements were essential for a successful continuation of the battle. The light cruiser Jintsu, carrying the 3rd Division, set to land six miles north of Shanghai, while the 11th Division would disembark a dozen miles further up the Yangtze River. By the evening of the 21st, the task force arrived at the Yangtze River and the Saddle Islands off the river estuary. The soldiers had to transfer to smaller vessels capable of navigating the shallow waters of the Huangpu River.  On the 23rd, Matsui Iwane got aboard the light cruiser Yura and was greeted by Rear Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, then the commander of the 8th cruiser division. Yes, the same man who would be blamed for losing at Midway in 1942. The Japanese fleet had made a strategic sweep as far south as Hangzhou Bay the previous day to disrupt Chinese troop movements and force them to spread thin along the coast. However, with the landings imminent, it was clear the assault would happen at Wusong and Chuanshakou. Initially, Matsui preferred landing both divisions at Chuanshakou for a sweeping advance into the lightly defended countryside west of Shanghai, which would encircle tens of thousands of Chinese soldiers. The 3rd Fleet, however, proposed a bolder strategy: the 11th Infantry Division would proceed with the landing at Chuanshakou, while the 3rd Infantry Division would land at Wusong, directly confronting the heavily concentrated Chinese forces around Shanghai. This plan aimed to exert pressure from both the front and the rear, a tactic that could yield success but risked high casualties if faced with stiff Chinese resistance. Aware of the operation's risks, the naval officers sought to ease potential tensions with their army counterparts by offering over 500 elite marines to support the assault, preparing for what could be a pivotal moment in the campaign. Shortly after midnight on the 23rd, the marines designated as the primary assault wave at Wusong arrived in a convoy of steamers from Shanghai. Their arrival was eagerly anticipated, as they would spare the 3rd Division from being the first to land. As the naval artillery barrage reached a deafening climax, the boats glided across the smooth water towards the shore. Any time a Chinese machine gun opened fire, it drew immediate response from the Japanese gunners, swiftly silencing the threat. Meanwhile, trench mortars onshore targeted the advancing vessels, but their rounds fell harmlessly into the water without causing any damage. At 3:00 am, the first landing craft reached the bank, dropped anchor, and lowered its ramp. The marines waded ashore, climbing the 15 foot high dike to survey the terrain. Suddenly, machine gun fire erupted from a Chinese position just 50 yards away, cutting down several marines. Undeterred, the marines charged with fixed bayonets across the open field. An explosion marked the spot where a soldier had triggered a landmine, followed by more detonations, but there was no retreat; they pressed on, swarming over the Chinese trench and engaging in a brief yet fierce hand-to-hand struggle. Within moments, they had taken the position. The marines quickly cleared the area, paving a path to their immediate objective, a military road running parallel to the Huangpu River. While setting up defensive positions, the 3rd Division began to disembark at the water's edge. By 8:00 a.m, the divisional command stepped ashore as the last unit to arrive. Meanwhile, naval pilots were busy bombing and strafing roads further inland to impede any enemy reinforcements. The landing had unfolded with remarkable success, marking a significant moment in the operation and setting the stage for greater advances by Japanese forces. Meanwhile the 11th division began setting foot on the beach north of Chuanshakou at 3:50 am. As the soldiers advanced towards the town's outskirts, they encountered only minimal resistance as Chuanshakou was defended by a single Chinese company.  Matsui was pleased with the outcome; everything had unfolded according to plan and, in fact, better than he had dared to hope. Casualties in both divisions were surprisingly low, amounting to little more than 40 soldiers. At 5:30 am, Zhang Zhizhong received an urgent phone call at his new headquarters in a small village near Nanxiang. On the line was Liu Heding, commander of the 56th Infantry Division, reporting that an enemy force of unknown size had landed near Chuanshakou. With heavy bombardment disrupting communications, details were scarce, but Zhang immediately recognized the gravity of the situation: a new front was opening, complicating his command significantly. Realizing he could not effectively manage the situation from Nanxiang with communications down, Zhang decided to head to the command post of the 87th Infantry Division in Jiangwan, a town closer to the landing area. By the time he arrived at the 87th Division's base, it was nearly 9:00 am. He was informed that the Japanese had not only landed at Chuanshakou but also at Wusong. Recognizing the urgency, he quickly dispatched half of the 87th Infantry Division and a regiment from the recently arrived Training Brigade, an elite unit fresh from Nanjing, to respond to the threat. Given that the 56th Infantry Division alone could not secure the area around Chuanshakou, Zhang assigned the 98th Infantry Division to defend most of the Yangtze riverbank under threat. He also dispatched the 11th Division, which had just arrived in the Shanghai area with Deputy War Minister Chen Cheng to move toward Luodian, a town just a few miles from the landing zone at Chuanshakou.  Meanwhile, the Japanese forces were advancing swiftly. While the main landing contingent engaged in fierce fighting for control of Chuanshakou, a small unit of a few hundred soldiers was dispatched down the road to Luodian. Marching under the scorching August sun, the reservists, weary from the trek, found little resistance upon reaching Luodian. They hastily set up camp without adequately preparing defenses, making them vulnerable targets. Later that afternoon, advance units of the 11th Infantry Division reached Luodian, shaken but determined to attack even after facing air raids on their journey. The ensuing skirmish was swift; within an hour, the Japanese were repelled. Back over at Wusong Hu Guobing received orders to push back the Japanese on August 21st. He led his regiment towards the Japanese lines, as his platoons dispersed further, dividing into smaller squads. Soon, the sharp crack and rattle of small arms fire resonated along the regiment's front. Battalion Commander Qin Shiquan, a graduate of the Central Military Academy, led two companies toward the enemy positions, taking care to remain unnoticed. When they drew close enough, he ordered his bugler to sound the charge. Then, raising his Mauser pistol, he turned to face his men and shouted, “Attack! Attack!” This sudden noise revealed his position, making it vulnerable. Japanese observers hidden nearby quickly relayed his coordinates to warships offshore. Within minutes, shells began to rain down on the unit with alarming accuracy. Amidst the storm of fire unleashed by the Japanese, all semblance of order disintegrated, and chaos ensued as each unit fought to survive. Hu Guobing spent most of the day dodging Japanese aircraft that circled overhead, waiting for targets to emerge. As Hu Guobing recalled “It felt as though the enemy could see everything. It was crucial not to act rashly. Our only real options were to take cover in a hole or hide behind a ridge”. The gunfire continued throughout the afternoon and did not relent until darkness began to fall. Only then could the soldiers breathe a little easier, grab a few bites of their field rations, and quench their parched throats with sips from their water canteens. Seizing the relative safety of night, they hurried to improve their positions, knowing that once dawn arrived, it would be too late; a shallow trench or inadequate camouflage could spell doom. Although it had been Chiang Kai-Shek's decision to place Zhang Zhizhong and Feng Yuxiang in charge of Shanghai, now designated the 3rd War Zone, he was having regrets. In a telephone conversation with Feng Yuxiang shortly after the Japanese landings, Chiang emphasized the importance of monitoring the younger front-line commanders. He urged “Don't hesitate to give them advice,”. Feng assured him that he would not hold back. He then recounted an anecdote about General Nogi Maresuke, who, during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905, allegedly delegated all major decisions to his chief of staff. Feng told him “The frontline commanders possess courage and a fighting spirit. Their role is to take orders and engage in battle. Mine is to stay back, like Nogi, write a few poems, and wait for the inevitable,”. Chiang persistently insisted, “Regardless of the situation, don't be shy. Share your insights with them.” “Of course,” Feng responded. “If I notice something amiss, I'll address it without hesitation. You can count on me.” However, this assurance did little to calm Chiang's concerns. A great concern was Zhang Zhizhong. Much of his rhetoric about fighting the Japanese seemed to lack substance. Zhang had not demonstrated the necessary resolve to launch attacks against the small Japanese forces in the city when decisive action could have turned the tide of the battle. With Japanese reinforcements firmly entrenched in two locations within the greater Shanghai area, it was now too late to pursue a quick victory over the enemy. Compounding the issue, Zhang appeared to spend an excessive amount of time making grandiose statements to the newspapers rather than focusing on the ground situation. Chiang's frustration was palpable, and it was shared by his German advisors, who concurred that Zhang lacked the requisite “toughness” to confront Japanese resistance effectively. The decision to send Deputy War Minister Chen Cheng to the front was an early indication that Chiang was considering replacing Zhang. In a particularly humiliating twist, Zhang was not even informed of Chen Cheng's appointment and learned about it indirectly through other field commanders. Fearing that he was being sidelined, Zhang Zhizhong hurried to the 3rd War Zone headquarters in Suzhou to assess the situation. While in Suzhou, called Chiang, whom began harshly criticizing him for being so far behind the front lines. “What are you doing in Suzhou? What are you doing in Suzhou?”. Zhang Zhizhong replied “Mr. Chairman, I'm back in Suzhou to discuss important strategic matters. Otherwise, I'm constantly at the front What's the matter with you?” Chiang was incensed by this perceived disrespect. “What's the matter with me? You ask me what's the matter with me!” His voice rising to a hoarse shriek, Chiang Kai-shek abruptly hung up. At this point, Zhang must have had little doubt that his days as the chief field commander were numbered. The Japanese landings had accomplished their immediate objective of relieving pressure on the small marine forces holed up in Shanghai. As a result, the Chinese were forced to halt their attacks on Hongkou and Yangshupu and had to reconsider how to allocate their resources across various fronts. If the Japanese landing party grew large enough, the Chinese forces could risk becoming the target of a Japanese pincer movement. In essence, within a few days, they had shifted from an offensive posture to a defensive one. Against this backdrop, Chen Cheng,  leading the 15th Army Group, arrived in Suzhou on August 24th. His presence aimed to bolster resistance, and he was also there to familiarize himself with local conditions, as he was expected to take on a greater role at the front shortly. Chen's confident demeanor and readiness to overrule local commanders indicated that real authority already resided with him. While he agreed with Zhang Zhizhong's plans from the previous day to counter the landings, he deemed them insufficient given the threat posed by the fresh Japanese troops. Consequently, he ordered that more soldiers be redeployed from Shanghai proper to the landing zones. To counter the dire situation, Falkenhausen devised a plan aimed at reigniting enthusiasm for the offensive among the Chinese forces. During a meeting on the 25th, he proposed rallying all troops in the Luodian area to mount a coordinated attack from all sides against the Japanese landing force. Emphasizing the German preference for a decisive strike, he aimed to push the invaders back into the Yangtze. The assembled officers expressed their agreement with the plan. However, as dawn broke, the optimism from the night's discussions began to wane. It had been 48 hours since the landings, and the Japanese army had solidified its foothold at Chuanshakou, rapidly approaching a point of strength that would make it nearly impossible to dislodge them. Tanks and artillery were assembled along the riverbank, while engineers constructed a pier to facilitate the faster unloading of troops and supplies. They had already established a bridgehead that extended 10 miles in length and reached a depth of five miles, initiating the construction of a road heading inland, an evident preparation for a major offensive. In a secret report to Chiang Kai-shek, Falkenhausen outlined the challenging situation as the Japanese consolidated their material advantages. “It should be noted that the enemy's army and navy operate in close coordination. Although their land-based artillery is still relatively weak, this is offset by their robust naval artillery and ship-based aircraft,”. He further noted that the airfields on Chongming Island contributed to Japan's now “complete air superiority, as a result, the main operations on our side should be executed after dark.”  From late August onward, most Chinese movements occurred after sunset. Only then could Chinese and Japanese infantry engage on more equal footing, without the overwhelming advantage provided by air support. Night became the great equalizer in the uneven battle for Shanghai. During the day, the relentlessly active Japanese forces seemed to be everywhere. They deployed rubber boats up small rivers to scout and disrupt. Their observation balloons hovered on the horizon, keeping a vigilant watch on the Chinese and swiftly scrambling aircraft upon detecting any movement. They combined technological superiority with a bravery that bordered on the suicidal; when faced with the prospect of capture, many Japanese soldiers preferred death. Following a fierce battle in the vicinity of Luodian, the Chinese retrieved the body of a sergeant major who had committed hara-kiri, while a gravely injured private was found attempting to slit his own throat with his bayonet. Luodian remained the immediate target for nearly all the Japanese forces in the area, facing the same Chinese units that had driven them out on August 23rd. The Chinese were well entrenched in and around the town, but they lacked the numbers to consider launching offensive operations against the Japanese at Chuanshakou. Instead, their priority was to strengthen their defenses. While waiting for the Japanese to resume the assault, they endured massive and sustained bombardment. Among the Chinese officers, there was a growing sense of crisis and a palpable fear that their defensive line could collapse at any moment. From their perspective, the Japanese appeared to be gaining momentum. However, the situation looked quite different from the Japanese invaders' point of view. Japanese casualties began to rise as the Chinese reinforcements sent to the Luodian area started to make an impact. Two days after the landings, the number of dead and injured from the 11th Division had exceeded 400, and the toll continued to climb. Among the casualties was a senior staff officer who was killed moments after stepping off his landing craft at Chuanshakou, struck down by a Chinese aircraft that had evaded Japanese fighter cover. The death toll escalated so quickly that not all bodies could be cremated, as was customary for the Japanese; privates and junior officers were hastily buried instead. For an army that prided itself on honoring its fallen soldiers more than those left alive, this was a significant blow to morale. The 3rd Division faced different challenges in its sector. It was subjected to relentless attacks on the first day of the landing and had to repel two further major enemy assaults on the second day. Additionally, it experienced occasional shelling from Chinese artillery located on the Pudong side. The greatest threat, however, came from the division's right flank. North of the landing zone lay Wusong Fortress, which had been guarding the approach to Shanghai since the wars against British and French forces in the mid-19th century. From their fortifications, Chinese infantry and artillery continuously targeted the Japanese as they disembarked from their boats and advanced inland. They also fired upon small vessels navigating up the Huangpu River, delivering supplies to the division. As the 3rd Division expanded its bridgehead in the days following the landing, Wusong Fortress remained a persistent threat, impeding the buildup of Japanese forces on shore. Compounding the Japanese sense of being encircled, the village of Yinhang to the south was also under Chinese control. This, combined with the steadily increasing number of Chinese defenders in front of the landing zone, created a challenging tactical situation for the Japanese. Although initial casualties had been lighter than the planners had feared, the number of Japanese losses began to rise. By the 25th, the 3rd Division, often referred to as the “Lucky” Division, reported over 300 accumulated casualties. Two days later, that number had escalated to 500, the majority of whom were killed in action. On the 28th, the 3rd Division was finally able to capture the village of Yinhang, freeing itself somewhat from the tactical constraints it had faced up to that point. On the same day, following an intense naval bombardment, the 11th Division launched an assault on Luodian. Leading the charge was Wachi Takaji, a 44-year-old regimental commander who surged forward with his sword drawn, personally dispatching several enemies along the way. The Chinese defenders were driven out of the town and fled down the roads leading inland. By noon, Luodian was firmly under Japanese control.  However August 29th marked a significant triumph for Chinese diplomacy, as Chiang Kai-shek's signed a non-aggression treaty with the Soviet Union. The pact between Nanjing and Moscow laid the political and diplomatic groundwork for Soviet military aid to China while ensuring that the Soviet Union would not reach an agreement with Japan as long as hostilities continued. Initially, Chiang Kai-shek had been wary of Soviet intentions, expressing concerns in his diary on August 1st, when the diplomats were preparing the treaty, that he feared the Kremlin might use the agreement to pressure Japan into signing a similar pact with Moscow. However, following the signing, skepticism gave way to optimism. Three days after announcing the treaty, Chiang confidently predicted in a speech that the Soviet Union would eventually enter the war against Japan. Chiang would not be wrong about that, but it would only come in 1945, officially. Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin had a clear reason to encourage China to engage in a full-scale war with Japan: it would secure Russia's western flank while he focused on the strategic challenges posed by a Europe dominated by Hitler. A conflict with China could drain Japanese resources, thereby reducing the threat from Asia in the long term. Exasperated British diplomats attempted to warn Chiang Kai-shek about what they perceived as a Soviet ruse, advising that the Russians “only have their own interests in mind.” Nevertheless, this did little to undermine the Chinese leader's belief in the Soviet Union's willingness to help. At a deeper cognitive level, there was a reason why Chiang Kai-shek and his associates clung to the belief that not only Soviet aid but also direct Soviet participation in the hostilities was imminent. This aligned with their expectations of how a war with Japan would unfold. The Chinese General Staff's War Plan A, drafted in 1937, was based on the premise that a conflict with Japan would soon trigger a larger conflict involving either the Soviet Union or the United States. Thus, the key objective for China was to withstand the superior Japanese forces until relief could arrive from a more powerful ally, whether that be Russian or American. This strategy was not as naive as it might seem; it was based on the understanding that neither Moscow nor Washington would want to see Japanese power grow too strong on the Asian mainland. Despite the capture of Luodian and Yinhang, the Japanese continued to face significant challenges. Their grip on the Shanghai region remained highly precarious, relying on control of two isolated pockets north of Shanghai and a beleaguered garrison within the city. Due to their numerical inferiority, they were under intense pressure from Chinese forces. The landings at Wusong and Chuanshakou had initially bolstered the manpower in the Shanghai area by fewer than 8,000 troops, and although reinforcements were gradually arriving, the pace was slow. Matsui Iwane recognized the need for a more radical increase in troop levels to achieve a decisive outcome. By the end of August, he cabled Tokyo, arguing that to complete the operation successfully, he required a total of five divisions or at a minimum the release of the 11th Division's Amaya Detachment, currently stationed in northeast China, to reunite with the division at Chuanshakou. The Japanese imperial staff and navy command responded mostly favorably, agreeing to redirect the detachment to Shanghai alongside several units of the elite marines. One week after the landings, Wusong Fort continued to pose a significant problem for the 3rd Division and the navy, which was responsible for supplying the division. Chinese artillery fire made anchoring near the landing zone a perilous endeavor, resulting in several naval officers being killed when caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. At times, the shelling was so severe that vessels had to interrupt their operations and retreat to a berth in the middle of the Huangpu River, unloading only part of their supplies. Matsui now planned for the 3rd Division to launch a frontal assault on Wusong, while the 11th Division would maintain a support role, dispatching only one regiment to assist. The attack commenced at 10:00 am on August 31rd. Following an intensive naval and aerial bombardment involving 30 planes, a regiment from the 3rd Division boarded landing craft, sailed down the Huangpu River, and landed on the riverbank north of Wusong. Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, the soldiers engaged in fierce skirmishes with scattered Chinese units in front of Wusong in preparation for a final entry into the city. Meanwhile, the Asama Detachment from the 11th Division initiated its part of the offensive by marching along the bank of the Yangtze toward Shizilin. On the morning of September 1st, the Japanese tightened their grip on Wusong. The regiment from the 3rd Division seized a hamlet west of Wusong and readied for an assault on the town itself. The defending Chinese forces put up strong resistance, and it was not until late afternoon that the Japanese made any significant progress, aided by artillery fire from their ships. The Asama Detachment experienced somewhat greater success that day, successfully capturing the fort at Shizilin in the afternoon. The Japanese launched their final offensive against Wusong at dawn on the 2nd. To their surprise, the fort fell with relative ease. By 10:00 am, Matsui saw the Rising Sun flag hoisted over Wusong. “I felt boundless gratification,” he noted in his diary.  With the fall of Wusong, the town of Baoshan became the last major obstacle to uninterrupted Japanese control of the riverbank, stretching from Chuanshakou to the outskirts of Shanghai. The fort at Baoshan also posed a significant threat to Japanese naval operations due to its strategic location at the confluence of the Yangtze and Huangpu rivers. Chiang Kai-shek fully recognized the importance of Baoshan and ordered a battalion of the 98th Infantry Division to hold the town at all costs. Baoshan had one notable advantage: like many ancient Chinese towns, it was encircled by a thick city wall that had historically helped fend off invaders and still served its defensive purpose well. The Japanese were acutely aware that Baoshan favored defense, and even a small contingent of Chinese forces could potentially hold out for an extended period.  On the 4th, the 3rd Division sluggishly advanced toward Baoshan. Around mid-afternoon, an artillery unit arrived to assist by bombarding the city wall. Despite this support, the Japanese soldiers, sent in waves to scale the wall, suffered significant casualties and failed to penetrate the defenses by nightfall. At noon on September 5, Japanese bombers launched an air raid on Baoshan, while naval artillery rained shells indiscriminately over the town's gray roofs. The land attack began an hour later when Japanese tanks advanced toward the town gates. The Japanese pressed the Chinese defenders into a shrinking perimeter. By sunset, the defenders were left with only 100 soldiers. The night passed without incident, as the Japanese refrained from attacking without air support, but everyone knew that dawn would herald the end. Just as the sun rose above the horizon, the assault resumed. As the city neared its fall, the defending commander Yao Ziqing ordered a soldier to escape and report the situation to his superiors. Unnoticed by the Japanese, the soldier scaled a wall and fled into the surrounding countryside, becoming the sole survivor of the battle. He carried with him a message from the battalion: “We are determined to stay at our posts and to continue fighting the enemy until each and every one of us is killed.” I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Despite initial Chinese hopes for a counteroffensive by the newly arrived 36th Infantry Division, their inexperience and poor coordination led to heavy losses. As the Japanese gained reinforcements, they executed strategic landings at Chuanshakou and Wusong, overwhelming Chinese defenses. Amidst escalating casualties, Chinese troops struggled to maintain morale. However, their resolve to fight persisted, even as defeat loomed over the besieged city and its defenders.

Last time we spoke about the Oyama Incident and decision to fight at Shanghai. In July 1937, escalating tensions between Japan and China erupted into war after the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. As conflict spread, Chinese leader Chiang Kai-shek, believing in his nation's resilience, called for unity to resist Japanese aggression. A pivotal moment occurred on August 9 at Hongqiao Airport, where a violent confrontation left several Japanese soldiers dead. The circumstances remained murky, with both sides blaming each other, further inflaming hostilities. Despite attempts at negotiation, the military standoff intensified, leading to a consensus that war was imminent. Chiang mobilized troops to Shanghai, a crucial city for both strategic and symbolic reasons, determined to demonstrate that China could defend its sovereignty. The Chinese forces, under Generals Zhang Fukai and Zhang Zhizhong, faced logistical challenges but aimed to strike first against the increasingly aggressive Japanese military. On August 12, both nations prepared for conflict, leading to a drastic escalation.  #157 The Battle of Shanghai Part 2: Black Saturday and Operation Iron Fist Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. On Friday, August 13 of 1937, the residents of Shanghai began enduring the sounds of rifle fire and machine gun salvos, punctuated by the distant booms of artillery.  Members of the Japanese marines, disguised in civilian clothes and posing as rowdy thugs, boisterous ronin, arrived at barricades manned by the Peace Preservation Corps at the northern edge of Yangshupu around 9:15 a.m. They began to provoke the Chinese guards with loud taunts and jeers. When the Chinese fired a warning shot into the air, the Japanese retaliated with deadly intent. The Chinese responded in kind, resulting in a lethal exchange. From that moment on, the situation was beyond control. As the day progressed, nervous skirmishes continued throughout the northern part of Shanghai. Chinese commanders dispatched patrols to conduct probing attacks, hoping to identify weak points in the Japanese defenses and push them back wherever possible. Meanwhile, their Japanese counterparts rushed to occupy key positions outside their main line of defense, aiming to gain an advantageous position should their adversaries launch a larger offensive. Small bands of soldiers from both sides maneuvered along narrow alleys to minimize the risk of detection; however, whenever they encountered each other, the results were deadly. In the western sector of the front line, where the Chinese Army's newly arrived 88th Infantry Division was preparing its positions, the center of activity was the headquarters of the Japanese marines near Hongkou Park. This location resembled a fortress, featuring a massive four-story structure shielded from air and artillery bombardment by a double roof of reinforced concrete. The building, which encompassed a large inner courtyard, occupied two city blocks and could accommodate thousands of troops at once. Highly visible, it represented both a significant military threat and a symbol of Japan's presence in Shanghai. The Chinese were acutely aware of their objective: they had to eradicate it. The Sichuan North road lies south between the marine headquarters and the Japanese section of the International Settlement. This road became the scene of frantic activity from the first day of battle. Japanese armored cars and motorcycle patrols, with machine guns mounted on sidecars, sped up and down the otherwise deserted street, while trench mortars positioned along the pavement lobbed grenades into Zhabei to the west. As columns of smoke rose into the sky from buildings in the Chinese district, Japanese officers squeezed into a narrow conning tower atop the marine headquarters, watching the bombardment's results through field glasses. Reports of Chinese snipers stationed in the upper floors of buildings along the road prompted Japanese squads, led by sword-wielding officers, to carry out door-to-door searches. Suspects were unceremoniously dragged away to an uncertain fate. Not a single civilian was visible in the area; everyone stayed indoors, behind closed windows and drawn curtains. On the afternoon of August 13, the Eight Character Bridge, located west of the marine headquarters, became the site of one of the battle's first major engagements. The bridge, measuring just 60 feet in length and spanning a minor creek, was deemed by both sides to have significant tactical importance. The Chinese commanders viewed it as a crucial route for advancing into the Hongkou area, believing that if the bridge fell into Japanese hands, it would be like a "piece of bone stuck in the throat." At around noon, Major Yi Jin, a battalion commander of the 88th Infantry Division, led a couple of hundred men from around the North Railway Station toward Eight Character Bridge. When the soldiers reached their objective at about 3:00 p.m., they spotted a small Japanese unit that had just arrived across the creek and was setting up defensive positions. The Chinese opened fire and managed to secure the bridge, prompting the Japanese to launch a brief artillery bombardment that resulted in several Chinese casualties. Gunfire near the bridge continued intermittently until 9:00 p.m., when a fragile silence fell over the area. Further to the east, in the 87th Infantry Division's sector, the day was also characterized by frantic maneuvering, punctuated by lengthy bursts of violence. Chinese reconnaissance parties infiltrated enemy-held areas, making their way to the Japanese Golf Club near the Huangpu River, where they began shooting at workers busy preparing the makeshift airfield. As the first volleys from the Chinese snipers rang out, clouds of dust filled the air, causing the workers to hastily seek cover. Japanese soldiers stationed in the clubhouse immediately returned fire, throwing off the snipers' aim. After about an hour, two Japanese vessels moored in the Huangpu River, the destroyer Run and the gunboat Seta were called in to assist the Japanese marines facing the 87th Infantry Division on land. Four- and six-inch shells screamed across the sky, exploding in the Chinese districts to the north. Shanghai University was also shelled, as the Japanese troops on land believed it had been occupied by Chinese soldiers. Ultimately, the last remaining staff members, two Americans, were forced to flee the campus. The naval artillery had come to the aid of the beleaguered infantry onshore, a scene that would be repeated continually in the days and weeks to come. Late that evening, Chiang Kai-shek finally ordered his military commanders to “divert the enemy at sea, block off the coast, and resist landings at Shanghai” Even before the mobilization of troops began, panic swept through Shanghai. Meanwhile, the city's waterfront took on an increasingly ominous tone. The China Daily News wrote “Arms, ammunition, and supplies streamed from several Japanese cruisers and destroyers onto the O.S.K. wharf in what appeared to be an unending flow. Additionally, a large detachment of soldiers in full marching gear disembarked, while a cruiser, the Idzumo, two destroyers, and nine gunboats arrived shortly before.” Zhang Zhizhong, the commander of the left wing, finally received the orders he wished to hear. Zhang intended to deploy all available troops in a bold effort to eliminate the Japanese presence once and for all, following the strategy recommended by the Germans. However, the plan had a significant weakness. The assault was to focus on the marine headquarters and the rest of the Hongkou salient while deliberately avoiding combat within the formal borders of the International Settlement. This decision was made as a concession to international public opinion and was politically sound. However, from a military perspective, it was nearly suicidal and greatly increased the risks associated with the entire operation. The Hongkou area represented the most heavily fortified position along the entire front. The marine headquarters was at the center of a dense network of heavy machine gun positions, protected by barbed wire, concrete emplacements, and walls of sandbags. On Saturday, August 14th, the Nationalist military command decided to target one of the most significant Japanese naval assets in Shanghai: the Izumo, anchored with support ships on the Huangpu River in the city center. Shortly before 11:00 a.m., five Chinese planes appeared over the rooftops, flying toward the river and the Japanese vessels. The aircraft released their bombs, but all missed their target, with several detonating on the wharves, demolishing buildings and sending shrapnel flying through the air. In response, the Japanese battleships unleashed a massive barrage, further endangering those unfortunate enough to live or work in the area as shell fragments rained down with deadly force. At 11:20 a.m., another Chinese air raid occurred, this time involving three planes, once again targeting the Izumo. However, for two of the pilots, something went horribly wrong. “From one of the four monoplanes, four aerial torpedoes were seen to drop as they passed over the Bund, far from their intended target... Two others fell on Nanking Road.” Either the pilot misjudged the target, or there was a malfunction with the release mechanism. Regardless of the cause, the bombs landed in one of the city's busiest civilian areas, where thousands were walking, shopping, and enjoying a hot August Saturday. At 4:46 p.m., the public health department's work diary noted, “Palace Hotel hit! Many injured and dead in street! Nanking Road opposite Cathay Hotel.” A reporter vividly captured the horror of the scene: “A bomb arced through the air, struck the Palace Hotel with a glancing blow, and unleashed indescribable carnage. As the high explosive fumes slowly lifted, a scene of dreadful death emerged. Flames from a blazing car danced over distorted bodies. Bodies wrapped in coolie cloth lay in shapeless heaps at the entrances to the main doorways and arcades of the Palace and Cathay hotels, their heads, legs, and arms separated from smashed masses of flesh. The corpse of a Chinese policeman lay dead in his tracks, shrapnel lodged in his head, and a disemboweled child was nearby.” To make matters worse, another pilot mistakenly released his bomb over Avenue Edward VII, another major shopping street. When the numbers were finally tallied, over 1,000 people, both Chinese and foreign had been killed. The bombs struck the International Settlement, a zone that was politically neutral and presumed safe. Hundreds of civilians were killed culminating in what would soon be referred to as “Black Saturday” or “Bloody Saturday.” By the time these tragedies unfolded, the Battle of Shanghai had already entered its second day.  Zhang Zhizhong's men prepared their positions for most of the day, then launched their attack late in the afternoon. Intense fighting erupted in the few hours before sunset, and it quickly became clear that the 88th Infantry Division was encountering resistance that was tougher than expected. In addition to the direct fire from entrenched Japanese positions, the attackers were bombarded by the Third Fleet's powerful artillery, which was awe-inspiring even when it employed only a fraction of its total strength of 700 pieces. However, the Chinese infantry lacked proper training in the use of heavy weaponry against fortified enemy positions. Their heavier guns, which could have made a significant difference, were held too far in the rear and missed their targets too easily, as inexperienced crews used flawed coordinates from observers who were not close enough to the action. Additionally, some of the Japanese positions had such thick defensive walls that it was questionable whether even the most powerful weaponry in the Chinese arsenal, the 150 mm howitzers, could do more than merely dent them. These tactics resulted in extraordinarily heavy losses for the Chinese, including among senior ranks. Around 5:00 p.m., Major General Huang Meixing, the 41-year-old commander of the 88th Infantry Division's 264th Brigade, was leading an attack near the marine headquarters. His divisional commander, Sun Yuanliang, attempted to reach him via field phone, but he was forced to wait. When he finally managed to get through to Huang, he cracked a rare joke: “It took so long, I thought you were dead.” Just minutes later, as if fate wanted to punish Sun Yuanliang for his black humor, Huang Meixing's command post was struck by an artillery shell, killing him instantly. Shock spread through the ranks as the news circulated, recalled Wu Ganliao, a machine gunner in the 88th Division. “Brigade Commander Huang was a fair-minded person, and he showed real affection for his troops. It was sad new”. Huang was by no means an exceptional case; Chinese officers died in large numbers from the very first day. One regiment lost seven company commanders in a single short attack. Several factors contributed to the high incidence of death among senior ranks. One reason was the ethos among some officers to lead from the front in an effort to instill courage in their men. However, leading from the rear could also be highly risky in urban combat, where opposing forces were often just yards apart, and the maze-like environment created by multi-story buildings and narrow alleys led to a fluid situation where the enemy could be just as likely behind as in front. Moreover, soldiers on both sides deliberately targeted enemy officers, perhaps more so than in other conflicts, because rigid leadership hierarchies placed a premium on decapitating the opposing unit's command. However, the massive fatality rates among officers, and even more so among the rank and file, were primarily the result of Chinese forces employing frontal assaults against a well-armed, entrenched enemy.The men who were dying by the hundreds were China's elite soldiers, the product of years of effort to build a modern military. They represented the nation's best hope for resisting Japan in a protracted war. Nevertheless, on the very first day of battle, they were being squandered at an alarming and unsustainable rate. After just a few hours of offensive operations with minimal gains, Chiang Kai-shek decided to cut his losses. In a telegram, he commanded Zhang Zhizhong: “Do not carry out attacks this evening. Await further orders.”In the weeks leading up to the outbreak of the battle of Shanghai, Chiang Kai-shek received a parade of leaders from various provinces eager to participate in the upcoming fight. After years of the Warlord nonsense , a new sense of unity began to emerge among them for the first time. All of these factions proclaimed they would lend their troops to his leadership if he pledged them against Japan. As a sign of his sincerity, Chiang decided to appoint the position of overall commander in Shanghai to one of his longest-standing rivals, our old friend, the finger nails inspector, Feng Yuxiang. This was a political savvy move directed at the Communists, trying to earn their favor.  Feng Yuxiang did not hesitate when offered the command. “As long as it serves the purpose of fighting Japan, I'll say yes, no matter what it is.” His appointment was announced just as the first shots were fired in Shanghai. Feng was about a decade older than his direct subordinates, which Chiang considered an advantage. He desired someone who was both composed and prudent to counterbalance the fiery tempers of the frontline commanders, as Chiang put it“ The frontline commanders are too young. They've got a lot of courage, but they lack experience.” Feng moved his command post to a temple outside Suzhou in mid August. Almost immediately afterward, he visited Zhang Zhizhong, who had established his command near the Suzhou city wall. At that time, Zhang was just beginning to realize how formidable the Japanese resistance in Shanghai truly was. His staff started to notice troubling signs of his deteriorating health, sensing that sickness and exhaustion were taking a toll on his ability to stay upright and effectively lead the battle. Perhaps this feeling of being overwhelmed was why he failed to undertake basic tasks, such as providing adequate protection from air attacks. Meanwhile, Shanghai society responded to the sudden outbreak of war. In July, the city's residents worked, ate, drank, and played as they had for decades. Beginning in August, however, they had to entirely remake their lives. Local institutions began to relocate; by late September, it was announced that four local universities would open joint colleges with institutions in China's interior. In the country's premier commercial city, business was being devastated. “Like a nightmare octopus flinging cruel tentacles around its helpless victims,” the North-China Daily News reported, “the local hostilities are slowly strangling Shanghai's trade.” A shopkeeper lamented, “We obtain a lot of business, of course, from tourists who visit Shanghai. What tourists are there these days?” For the foreigners in Shanghai, the war was seen as a violent diversion, but nothing truly dangerous, at least, that's what they thought. For the Chinese, however, life was unraveling. As the fighting intensified around the Japanese district, thousands of refugees poured into the streets, heading for Suzhou Creek and the Garden Bridge, the only link to the International Settlement that remained open. It was a chaotic and merciless stampede, where the weak were at a severe disadvantage. “My feet were slipping… in blood and flesh,” recalled Rhodes Farmer, a journalist for the North China Daily News, as he found himself in a sea of people struggling to escape Hongkou. “Half a dozen times, I knew I was walking on the bodies of children or old people sucked under by the torrent, trampled flat by countless feet.” Near the creek, the mass of sweating and panting humanity was nearly uncontrollable as it funneled toward the bridge, which was a mere 55 feet wide. Two Japanese sentries were almost overwhelmed by the crowd and reacted as they had been trained, with immediate, reflexive brutality. One of them bayoneted an old man and threw the lifeless body into the filthy creek below. This act of violence did not deter the other refugees, who continued to push toward the bridge, believing they were heading toward the safety of the International Settlement. Little did they know, they were moving in the wrong direction, towards the horrific slaughter of innocent civilians that would mark the entire Shanghai campaign. The American advisor Claire Chennault had been in the air since the early hours of August 14. After only a few hours of sleep at his base in Nanjing, he jumped into a lone, unarmed fighter to observe the Chinese air raid as a neutral party. The night before, he had been at the Nanjing Military Academy, in the company of Chiang Kai-shek and his wife Soong Mei-ling. That night, as war loomed, Soong Mei-ling in tears said “They are killing our people!” Chennault asked “what will you do now?”. She replied “We will fight,”. Chennault was the one who suggested bombing the ships on the Huangpu River because of the artillery support they provided to the Japanese infantry. Since there was no Chinese officer with the expertise to prepare such an operation, Soong Mei-ling had asked Chennault to take over. Although he was completely unprepared for this new role, he felt a growing affinity for China, fueled by excitement at the prospect of contributing to their fight. Eleanor B. Roosevelt, the wife of US President Franklin D. Roosevelt, was in Shanghai at the time of the bombing and was horrified by the loss of innocent life. She sent a letter to Japan's premier, Prince Konoye, urging him to seek ways to minimize the risk of Chinese air raids, which she argued were caused by the presence of Japan's military in the Shanghai area. The Japanese did not respond. However, the day after her letter, the Izumo was moved from its anchorage near the Japanese Consulate to the middle of the Huangpu River. The cruiser remained close enough to contribute its artillery to the fighting inland, but far enough away to significantly reduce the danger to civilians in the city. The 15th was surreal, even after thousands had been killed in battle, the fighting in China remained an undeclared war as far as the Japanese government was concerned, and it committed forces only in a piecemeal fashion. The Japanese Cabinet continued to refer to events in Shanghai and further north near Beijing as “the China Incident.” However, euphemisms were not enough to disguise the reality that Shanghai was becoming a significant problem. In the early hours of the 15th, a Japanese Cabinet meeting decided to send army reinforcements to the hard-pressed marines in Shanghai, leading to the deployment of the 3rd and 11th Divisions. The two divisions were to form the Shanghai Expeditionary Force, a unit resurrected from the hostilities of 1932. Many of the soldiers sent to war were reservists in their late twenties and early thirties who had long since returned to civilian life and were poorly disciplined. In their habitual disdain for the Chinese, Japanese leaders figured that this would be more than enough to deal with them. Underestimating the foe would soon prove to be a mistake they would repeat again and again in the coming weeks and months. To lead the force, the Japanese leaders brought out of retirement 59-year-old General Matsui Iwane, a veteran of the 1904-1905 Russo-Japanese War. Matsui was a slight man, weighing no more than 100 pounds, with a large 19th century mustache and a palsy affecting his right side. He was not an accidental choice; he knew China well and had been an acquaintance of Sun Yat-sen.  Hongkou or “Little Tokyo” had become an area under siege. Surrounded by hostile Chinese troops on three sides, its only link to the outside world was the dock district along the Huangpu River. From the first day of the battle, the area was bombarded with Chinese mortar shells, prompting an exodus among Japanese residents, some of whom had lived in Shanghai for years. An increasingly common sight was kimono-clad women carrying heavy loads as they made their way to the wharfs to board ferries taking them back to Japan. Hongkou, said visiting Japanese correspondent Hayashi Fusao, “was a dark town. It was an exhausted town.” Those who remained in “Little Tokyo,” mostly men forced to stay behind to look after their businesses, tried to continue their lives with as little disruption to their normal routines as possible. However, this was difficult, given the constant reminders of war surrounding them: rows of barbed wire and piles of sandbags, soldiers marching from one engagement to another, and the sounds of battle often occurring just a few blocks away. “Every building was bullet-marked, and the haze of gunpowder hung over the town,” wrote Hayashi. “It was a town at war. It was the August sun and an eerie silence, burning asphalt, and most of all, the swarm of blue flies hovering around the feet.” It seemed Vice Admiral Hasegawa Kiyoshi, the commander of the Japanese 3rd Fleet, had bitten off more than he could chew in aggressively expanding operations in the Shanghai area. August 16th saw repeated Chinese attacks, placing the Japanese defenders under severe pressure, stretching their resources to the limit. Rear Admiral Okawachi Denshichi, who headed the Shanghai marines, had to hastily commit reserves, including irreplaceable tanks, to prevent a Chinese breakthrough. That day Hasegawa sent three telegrams to his superiors, each sounding more desperate than the last. After his second telegram, sent around 7:00 pm,  warning that his troops could probably hold out for only 6 more days, the Naval Command ordered the marine barracks at Sasebo Naval Base in southern Japan to dispatch two units of 500 marines each to Shanghai. Following Hasegawa's 3rd telegram later that night, the navy decided to send even more reinforcements. Two additional marine units, consisting of a total of 1,400 soldiers waiting in Manchuria for deployment at Qingdao, were ordered to embark for Shanghai immediately. The Chinese, however, did not feel that things were going their way. The battle continued to be much bloodier than anyone had anticipated. Throwing infantry en masse against fortified positions was the only feasible tactic available to an army rich in manpower confronting an adversary with a clear technological advantage. Yet, this approach turned the battle into a contest of flesh against steel, resulting in tremendous loss of life. Chiang Kai-shek was losing patience. After several days of fighting, his troops had still not succeeded in dislodging the Japanese from the streets of Shanghai. The Japanese marines entrenched in the Hongkou and Yangshupu areas proved to be a harder nut to crack than he or his generals had expected. At a meeting with his divisional commanders, Chiang ordered a massive attack to be launched in the early morning of August 17. The troops were to utilize more firepower and be better prepared than they had been for the assault three days earlier. Codenamed Operation Iron Fist, it was the most ambitious Chinese offensive in the first critical week of the Shanghai campaign. Colonel Hans Vetter, the advisor assigned to the 88th Division, played a key role in planning the offensive. He aimed to employ “Stosstrupp” or “stormtrooper” shock troop tactics that the Germans had effectively used during the Great War. After an intense artillery bombardment, a small, elite group of determined, well-armed men was to punch through the Japanese lines and fight their way deep into the enemy camp before the defenders had a chance to recover from the initial surprise. This procedure was to be followed by both the 88th Division moving in from the west, targeting the area south of Hongkou Park, and the 87th Division conducting a parallel operation from the east. Zhang Zhizhong recognized a window of opportunity while he still enjoyed a significant, but likely temporary, advantage against the Japanese. This opportunity had to be seized before reinforcements arrived. However, the odds were not favorable. Urban combat with modern weaponry of unprecedented lethality was a costly affair, especially when the enemy had the upper hand in the sky. Japanese airplanes constantly threatened the Chinese positions, carrying out relentless sorties throughout the day. The Chinese Air Force remained a factor, but it was uncertain how much longer it would hold out against the more experienced Japanese pilots and their superior, more maneuverable aircraft. The growing Japanese presence overhead, supported by both shipborne planes and aircraft based on airstrips on Chongming Island in the Yangtze Delta, greatly complicated any major movements on the ground. Despite these challenges, the Chinese Army continued its troop build-up in the Shanghai area. The 98th Infantry Division arrived on August 15 and placed one brigade, half its strength, at the disposal of the 87th Infantry Division, ensuring that the division's rear area was covered during Operation Iron Fist. Operation Iron Fist kicked off as planned at 5:00 am on the 17th. Utilizing all available firepower, the 87th and 88th Infantry Divisions launched simultaneous assaults against stunned and bewildered Japanese defenders. In line with the Stosstrupp approach of rapid penetration, Zhang Zhizhong introduced a new tactical principle, prompted by the severe losses during the first few days of fighting. Forces under his command were to identify gaps in the Japanese defenses and exploit them, rather than launch massive, costly, and most likely futile attacks on heavily fortified positions. Once an enemy stronghold was spotted, the main forces would circumvent it and leave just enough troops to keep it pinned down. Chen Yiding, a regimental commander of the 87th Infantry Division, played a pivotal role in the assault. His soldiers, each equipped with provisions for two days, made good progress during the first hours of Iron Fist, leveraging their local knowledge and moving with the slippery dexterity of alley cats. They would enter a building on one street, knock down the wall inside, and exit onto the next street, or they would throw down beams from rooftop to rooftop, sneaking as quietly as possible from one block to another without being noticed by those on the ground. They proved elusive targets for the Japanese, who expected them to come from one direction, only to be attacked from another. Nevertheless, changing the tactical situation from the previous days was not enough. The attackers encountered well-prepared defenses that sometimes could not be circumvented, resulting in significant losses from the outset of the assault. An entire battalion of the 88th Division was wiped out while trying to take a single building. Despite their sacrifices, there was no major breakthrough anywhere along the Japanese defense lines. This was partly due to strong support from Japanese naval artillery stationed along the Huangpu River and partly a reflection of poor coordination between Chinese infantry and artillery.Equally detrimental to the Chinese cause was their careful avoidance, during the first days of combat in Shanghai, of fighting inside the International Settlement or even in the predominantly Japanese part of the settlement, in order to avoid angering the outside world and swaying international opinion against them. This approach frustrated their German advisors. “It was obvious that the attacking troops had been told to engage only enemies standing on Chinese territory, not the ones inside the international areas,” the Germans wrote, with an almost audible sigh of regret in their after-action report. This frustration was shared by several Chinese officers at the frontline. “We are much handicapped by the demarcation of the foreign areas,” the adjutant to a divisional commander told a Western reporter. “We could have wiped out the enemy if it had not been for orders from the Central Government and our commander to avoid causing damage to foreign lives and to give them adequate protection.” The presence of the large foreign community primarily played into Japanese hands. Many of Chiang Kai-shek's officers believed that if the Chinese had been able to move through the French Concession and the International Settlement to attack the Japanese from the rear, they could have won easily. Zhang Fakui would later say “Without the protection provided by the foreign concessions, they would have been wiped out,”. At the end of the day, the Japanese emerged victorious. Their defense proved stronger, as it had for four long years on the Western Front during the Great War. The challenge facing the Japanese was tough, but at least it was straightforward and uncomplicated: they had to hold on to Hongkou and Yangshupu while waiting for reinforcements to arrive. They proved adept at this task. In many cases, Chinese soldiers found themselves fighting for the same objectives they had targeted when the battle for Shanghai began several days earlier. By August 18, the Chinese attack had been called off. Operation Iron Fist had proven to be a costly endeavor for the Chinese, who endured heavy casualties in the vicious urban fighting. The Japanese, on the other hand, suffered approximately 600 casualties, of which 134 were fatalities, according to the Official Gazette. The Japanese marine units dispatched from Manchuria on August 16, the day of crisis for their compatriots in Shanghai, arrived in the city during the morning of August 18 and were immediately thrown into battle. A few hours later, the Japanese Cabinet announced the formal end of its policy of non-expansion in China, which, by that time, had already been a hollow shell for several weeks. “The empire, having reached the limit of its patience, has been forced to take resolute measures,” it stated. “Henceforth, it will punish the outrages of the Chinese Army, thereby spurring the Chinese government to self-reflect.” I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. On August 13, Japanese marines, disguised as civilians, provoked Chinese guards, leading to mutual gunfire. The fierce urban fighting escalated, especially at the strategically vital Eight Character Bridge. Despite determined Chinese assaults, heavy losses ensued as they struggled against well-fortified Japanese positions. As artillery and air strikes rained down, civilian casualties soared, culminating in the infamous "Black Saturday," followed by the failed Operation Iron Fist.    

The final Soviet offensive, and some details on Chiang Ching-kuo's activities as a student in Moscow.Further reading:Bruce A. Elleman and Stephen Kotkin, eds., Manchurian Railways and the Opening of ChinaMichael M. Walker, The 1929 Sino-Soviet WarJay Taylor, The Generalissimo's Son: Chiang Ching-Kuo and the Revolutions in China and TaiwanSome names from this episode:Zhang Xueliang, Manchurian warlordFeng Yuxiang, northwestern warlord who turned on Chiang Kai-shek during Sino-Soviet warJoseph Stilwell, United States military attaché in ChinaMikhail Borodin, Comintern agent and political head of Soviet mission to aid the Guomindang during the first Communist-Guomindang united frontChiang Ching-kuo, son of Chiang Kai-shek Zhou Enlai, leading CommunistVasily Blyukher, commander of the Special Far Eastern ArmyAleksandr Cherepanov, commander of the 39th Rifle Division in the Soviet Far EastEpisode artwork: Picture of a young Chiang Ching-kuoSupport the show

Last time we spoke about Operation Chahar. In July 1937, the tensions between Japan and China erupted into a full-scale conflict, ignited by the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. Following a series of aggressive Japanese military maneuvers, Chiang Kai-shek, then enjoying a brief respite at Kuling, learned of the escalating clashes and prepared for battle. Confident that China was primed for resistance, he rallied his nation, demanding that Japan accept responsibility and respect China's sovereignty. The Japanese launched their offensive, rapidly capturing key positions in Northern China. Notably, fierce battle ensued in Jinghai, where Chinese soldiers, led by Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan, valiantly defended against overwhelming forces using guerrilla tactics and direct assaults. Their spirit was symbolized by a courageous “death squad” that charged the enemy, inflicting serious casualties despite facing dire odds. As weeks passed, the conflict intensified with brutal assaults on Nankou. Chinese defenses, though valiant, were ultimately overwhelmed, leading to heavy casualties on both sides. Despite losing Nankou, the indomitable Chinese spirit inspired continued resistance against the Japanese invaders, foreshadowing a long, brutal war that would reshape East Asia.   #156 The Battle of Shanghai Part 1: The Beginning of the Battle of Shanghai Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. On August 9, a bullet riddled sedan screeched to an abrupt halt at the entrance to the Hongqiao airport along Monument Road. The gruesome scene on the dashboard revealed that one of the victims had died in the car. He had been dragged out and subjected to brutal slashing, kicking, and beating until his body was a mangled mess. Half of his face was missing, and his stomach had been cut open, exposing the sickly pallor of his intestines, faintly glimmering in the night. The other man had managed to escape the vehicle but only got a few paces away before he was gunned down. A short distance away lay a third body, dressed in a Chinese uniform. Investigators swiftly identified the badly mangled body as belonging to 27-year-old Sub-Lieutenant Oyama Isao, while the other deceased Japanese man was his driver, First Class Seaman Saito Yozo. The identity of the Chinese victim remained a mystery. At first glance, the scene appeared to be the aftermath of a straightforward shootout. However, numerous questions lingered: What were the Japanese doing at a military airfield miles from their barracks? Who had fired the first shot, and what had prompted that decision? The Chinese investigators and their Japanese counterparts were at odds over the answers to these questions. As they walked the crime scene, searching for evidence, loud arguments erupted repeatedly. By the time the sun began to rise, they concluded their investigation without reaching any consensus on what had transpired. They climbed into their cars and made their way back to the city. The investigators were acutely aware of the repercussions if they failed to handle their delicate task with the necessary finesse. Despite their hopes for peace, it was evident that Shanghai was a city bracing for war. As they drove through the dimly lit suburbs on their way from Hongqiao back to their downtown offices, their headlights illuminated whitewashed trees, interspersed with sandbag defenses and the silhouettes of solitary Chinese sentries. Officially, these sentries were part of the Peace Preservation Corps,  a paramilitary unit that, due to an international agreement reached a few years earlier, was the only Chinese force allowed to remain in the Shanghai area. In the hours that followed, both sides presented their versions of the incident. According to the Chinese account, the Japanese vehicle attempted to force its way through the airport gate. When members of the Peace Preservation Corps stationed at the entrance signaled for Saito, the driver, to stop, he abruptly turned the car around. Sub-Lieutenant Oyama then fired at the Chinese guards with an automatic pistol. Only then did the Chinese return fire, killing Oyama in a hail of bullets. Saito managed to jump out before he, too, was gunned down. The commander of the Chinese guards told a Western reporter that this wasn't the first time someone Japanese had attempted to enter the airport. Such incidents had occurred repeatedly in the past two months, leading them to believe that the Japanese were “obviously undertaking espionage.” The Japanese account, predictably, placed the blame for the entire incident squarely on China. It asserted that Oyama had been driving along a road bordering the airfield with no intention of entering. Suddenly, the vehicle was stopped and surrounded by Peace Preservation Corps troops, who opened fire with rifles and machine guns without warning. Oyama had no opportunity to return fire. The Japanese statement argued that the two men had every right to use the road, which was part of the International Settlement, and labeled the incident a clear violation of the 1932 peace agreement. “We demand that the Chinese bear responsibility for this illegal act,”. Regardless of either side, it seemed likely to everyone in the region, war would soon engulf Shanghai.  Meanwhile, as the Marco Polo Bridge Incident escalated into a full blown in the far north, General Zhang Fakui was attending a routine training mission at Mount Lu in southeastern Jiangxi. A short and small man, not considered too handsome either, Zhang had earned his place in China's leadership through physical courage, once taking a stand on a bridge and single handedly facing down an enemy army. He was 41 years old in 1937, having spent half his life fighting Warlords, Communists and sometimes even Nationalists. In the recent years he had tossed his lot in with a rebel campaign against Chiang Kai-Shek, who surprisingly went on the forgive him and placed him in charge of anti communist operations in the area due south of Shanghai. However now the enemy seemed to have changed.  As the war spread to Beijing, on July 16th, Zhang was sent to Chiang Kai-Shek's summer residence at Mount Lu alongside 150 members of China's political and military elites. They were all there to brainstorm how to fight the Japanese. Years prior the Generalissimo had made it doctrine to appease the Japanese but now he made grandiose statements such as “this time we must fight to the end”. Afterwards Chiang dealt missions to all his commanders and Zhang Fakui was told to prepare for operations in the Shanghai area.  It had been apparent for weeks that both China and Japan were preparing for war in central China. The Japanese had been diverting naval troops from the north to strengthen their forces in Shanghai, and by early August, they had assembled over 8,000 troops. A few days later, approximately thirty-two naval vessels arrived. On July 31, Chiang declared that “all hope for peace has been lost.” Chiang had been reluctant to commit his best forces to defend northern China, an area he had never truly controlled. In contrast, Shanghai was central to his strategy for the war against Japan. Chiang decided to deploy his finest troops, the 87th and 88th Divisions, which were trained by generals under the guidance of the German advisor von Falkenhausen, who had high hopes for their performance against the Japanese. In doing so, Chiang aimed to demonstrate to both his own people and the wider world that the Chinese could and would resist the invader. Meanwhile, Chiang's spy chief, Dai Li, was busy gathering intelligence on Japanese intentions regarding Shanghai, a challenging task given his focus in recent years. Dai, one of the most sinister figures in modern Chinese history, had devoted far more energy and resources to suppressing the Communists than to countering the Japanese. As a result, by the critical summer of 1937, he had built only a sparse network of agents in “Little Tokyo,” the Hongkou area of Shanghai dominated by Japanese businesses. One agent was a pawnshop owner, while the rest were double agents employed as local staff within the Japanese security apparatus. Unfortunately, they could provide little more than snippets, rumors, and hearsay. While some of this information sounded alarmingly dire, there was almost no actionable intelligence. Chiang did not take the decision to open a new front in Shanghai lightly. Built on both banks of the Huangpu River, the city served as the junction between the Pacific Ocean to the east and the great Yangtze River, which wound thousands of kilometers inland to the west. Shanghai embodied everything that represented modern China, from its industry and labor relations to its connections with the outside world. While foreign diplomatic presence was concentrated in nearby Nanjing, the capital, it was in Shanghai that the foreign community gauged the country's mood. Foreigners in the city's two “concession” areas nthe French Concession and the British-affiliated International Settlement often dismissed towns beyond Shanghai as mere “outstations.” Chiang Kai-shek would throw 650,000 troops into the battle for the city and its environs as well as his modest air force of 200 aircraft. Chiang, whose forces were being advised by German officers led by General Alexander von Falkenhausen, was finally confident that his forces could take on the Japanese. A German officer told a British diplomat, “If the Chinese Army follows the advice of the German advisers, it is capable of driving the Japanese over the Great Wall.”   While Chiang was groping in the dark, deprived of the eyes and ears of an efficient intelligence service, he did have at his disposal an army that was better prepared for battle than it had been in 1932. Stung by the experience of previous conflicts with the Japanese, Chiang had initiated a modernization program aimed at equipping the armed forces not only to suppress Communist rebels but also to confront a modern fighting force equipped with tanks, artillery, and aircraft. He had made progress, but it was insufficient. Serious weaknesses persisted, and now there was no time for any remedial action. While China appeared to be a formidable power in sheer numbers, the figures were misleading. On the eve of war, the Chinese military was comprised of a total of 176 divisions, which were theoretically organized into two brigades of two regiments each. However, only about 20 divisions maintained full peacetime strength of 10,000 soldiers and officers; the rest typically held around 5,000 men. Moreover, Chiang controlled only 31 divisions personally, and he could not count on the loyalty of the others. To successfully resist Japan, Chiang would need to rely not only on his military command skills but also on his ability to forge fragile coalitions among Warlord generals with strong local loyalties. Equipment posed another significant challenge. The modernization drive was not set to complete until late 1938, and the impact of this delay was evident. In every category of weaponry, from rifles to field artillery, the Chinese were outmatched by their Japanese adversaries, both quantitatively and qualitatively. Domestically manufactured artillery pieces had shorter ranges, and substandard steel-making technology caused gun barrels to overheat, increasing the risk of explosions. Some arms even dated back to imperial times. A large proportion of the Chinese infantry had received no proper training in basic tactics, let alone in coordinated operations involving armor and artillery. The chief of the German advisory corps was General Alexander von Falkenhausen, a figure hard to rival in terms of qualifications for the role. Although the 58-year-old's narrow shoulders, curved back, and bald, vulture-like head gave him an unmilitary, almost avian appearance, his exterior belied a tough character. In 1918, he had earned his nation's highest military honor, the Pour le Mérite, while assisting Germany's Ottoman allies against the British in Palestine. Few, if any, German officers knew Asia as well as he did. His experience in the region dated back to the turn of the century. As a young lieutenant in the Third East Asian Infantry Regiment, he participated in the international coalition of colonial powers that quelled the Boxer Rebellion in 1900. A decade later, he traveled through Korea, Manchuria, and northern China with his wife, keenly observing and learning as a curious tourist. From 1912 to 1914, he served as the German Kaiser's military attaché in Tokyo. He was poised to put his extensive knowledge to good use in the months ahead. Chiang believed that Shanghai should be the location of the first battle. This decision was heavily influenced by Falkenhausen and was strategically sound. Chiang Kai-shek could not hope to win a war against Japan unless he could unify the nation behind him, particularly the many fractious warlords who had battled his forces repeatedly over the past decade. Everyone understood that the territory Japan was demanding in the far north did not need to be held for any genuine military necessity; it was land that could be negotiated. The warlords occupying that territory were unpredictable and all too willing to engage in bargaining. In contrast, China's economic heartland held different significance. By choosing to fight for the center of the country and deploying his strongest military units, Chiang Kai-shek signaled to both China's warlords and potential foreign allies that he had a vested interest in the outcome.  There were also several operational reasons for preferring a conflict in the Yangtze River basin over a campaign in northern China. The rivers, lakes, and rice paddies of the Yangtze delta were much better suited for defensive warfare against Japan's mechanized forces than the flat plains of North China. By forcing the Japanese to commit troops to central China, the Nationalists bought themselves the time needed to rally and reinforce their faltering defenses in the north. By initiating hostilities in the Shanghai area, Japan would be forced to divert its attention from the northern front, thereby stalling a potential Japanese advance toward the crucial city of Wuhan. It would also help safeguard potential supply routes from the Soviet Union, the most likely source of material assistance due to Moscow's own animosity toward Japan. It was a clever plan, and surprisingly, the Japanese did not anticipate it. Intelligence officers in Tokyo were convinced that Chiang would send his troops northward instead. Again in late July, Chiang convened his commanders, and here he gave Zhang Fukai more detailed instructions for his operation. Fukai was placed in charge of the right wing of the army which was currently preparing for action in the metropolitan area. Fukai would oversee the forces east of the Huangpu River in the area known as Pudong. Pudong was full of warehouses, factories and rice fields, quite precarious to fight in. Meanwhile General Zhang Zhizhong, a quiet and sickly looking man who had previously led the Central Military Academy was to command the left wing of the Huangpu. All of the officers agreed the plan to force the battle to the Shanghai area was logical as the northern region near Beijing was far too open, giving the advantage to tank warfare, which they could not hope to contest Japan upon. The Shanghai area, full of rivers, creaks and urban environments favored them much more. Zhang Zhizhong seemed an ideal pick to lead troops in downtown Shanghai where most of the fighting would take place. His position of commandant of the military academy allowed him to establish connections with junior officers earmarked for rapid promotion. This meant that he personally knew the generals of both the 87th and 88th Divisions, which were to form the core of Zhang Zhizhong's newly established 9th Army Group and become his primary assets in the early phases of the Shanghai campaign. Moreover, Zhang Zhizhong had the right aggressive instincts. He believed that China's confrontation with Japan had evolved through three stages: in the first stage, the Japanese invaded the northeast in 1931, and China remained passive; in the second stage, during the first battle of Shanghai in 1932, Japan struck, but China fought back. Zhang argued that this would be the third stage, where Japan was preparing to attack, but China would strike first.   It seems that Zhang Zhizhong did not expect to survive this final showdown with his Japanese adversary. He took the fight very personally, even ordering his daughter to interrupt her education in England and return home to serve her country in the war. However, he was not the strong commander he appeared to be, as he was seriously ill. Although he never disclosed the true extent of his condition, it seemed he was on the verge of a physical and mental breakdown after years in high-stress positions. In fact, he had recently taken a leave of absence from his role at the military academy in the spring of 1937. When the war broke out, he was at a hospital in the northern port city of Qingdao, preparing to go abroad for convalescence. He canceled those plans to contribute to the struggle against Japan. When his daughter returned from England and saw him on the eve of battle, she was alarmed by how emaciated he had become. From the outset, doubts about his physical fitness to command loomed large. At 8:30 a.m. on Tuesday, August 10, a group of officers emerged from the Japanese Consulate along the banks of the Huangpu River. This team was a hastily assembled Sino-Japanese joint investigation unit tasked with quickly resolving the shooting incident at the Hongqiao Aerodrome of the previous night. They understood the urgency of reaching an agreement swiftly to prevent any escalation. As they drove to the airport, they passed armed guards of the Chinese Peace Preservation Corps stationed behind sandbag barricades that had been erected only hours earlier. Upon arriving at Hongqiao, the officers walked up and down the scene of the incident under the scorching sun, attempting to piece together a shared understanding of what had transpired. However, this proved to be nearly impossible, as the evidence failed to align into a coherent account acceptable to both parties. The Japanese were unconvinced that any shootout had occurred at all. Oyama, the officer who had been in the car, had left his pistol at the marine headquarters in Hongkou and had been unarmed the night before. They insisted that whoever shot and killed the man in the Chinese uniform could not have been him. By 6:00 pm the investigators returned to the city. Foreign correspondents, eager for information, knew exactly whom to approach. The newly appointed Shanghai Mayor, Yu Hongjun, with a quick wit and proficiency in English, Yu represented the city's cosmopolitan image. However, that evening, he had little to offer the reporters, except for a plea directed at both the Japanese and Chinese factions “Both sides should maintain a calm demeanor to prevent the situation from escalating.” Mayor Yu however was, in fact, at the center of a complex act of deception that nearly succeeded. Nearly eight decades later, Zhang Fakui attributed the incident to members of the 88th Division, led by General Sun Yuanliang. “A small group of Sun Yuanliang's men disguised themselves as members of the Peace Preservation Corps,” Zhang Fakui recounted years later in his old age. “On August 9, 1937, they encountered two Japanese servicemen on the road near the Hongqiao military aerodrome and accused them of forcing their way into the area. A clash ensued, resulting in the deaths of the Japanese soldiers.” This created a delicate dilemma for their superiors. The two dead Japanese soldiers were difficult to explain away. Mayor Yu, likely informed of the predicament by military officials, conferred with Tong Yuanliang, chief of staff of the Songhu Garrison Command, a unit established after the fighting in 1932. Together, they devised a quick and cynical plan to portray the situation as one of self-defense by the Chinese guards. Under their orders, soldiers marched a Chinese death row inmate to the airport gate, dressed him in a paramilitary guard's uniform, and executed him. While this desperate ruse might have worked initially, it quickly unraveled due to the discrepancies raised by the condition of the Chinese body. The Japanese did not believe the story, and the entire plan began to fall apart. Any remaining mutual trust swiftly evaporated. Instead of preventing a confrontation, the cover-up was accelerating the slide into war.  Late on August 10, Mayor Yu sent a secret cable to Nanjing, warning that the Japanese had ominously declared they would not allow the two deaths at the airport to go unpunished. The following day, the Japanese Consul General Okamoto Suemasa paid a visit to the mayor, demanding the complete withdrawal of the Peace Preservation Corps from the Shanghai area and the dismantling of all fortifications established by the corps. For the Chinese, acquiescing to these demands was nearly impossible. From their perspective, it appeared that the Japanese aimed to leave Shanghai defenseless while simultaneously bolstering their own military presence in the city. Twenty vessels, including cruisers and destroyers, sailed up the Huangpu River and docked at wharves near "Little Tokyo." Japanese marines in olive-green uniforms marched ashore down the gangplanks, while women from the local Japanese community, dressed in kimonos, greeted the troops with delighted smiles and bows to the flags of the Rising Sun that proudly adorned the sterns of the battleships. In fact, Japan had planned to deploy additional troops to Shanghai even before the shooting at Hongqiao Aerodrome. This decision was deemed necessary to reinforce the small contingent of 2,500 marines permanently stationed in the city. More troops were required to assist in protecting Japanese nationals who were being hastily evacuated from the larger cities along the Yangtze River. These actions were primarily defensive maneuvers, as the Japanese military seemed hesitant to open a second front in Shanghai, for the same reasons that the Chinese preferred an extension of hostilities to that area. Diverting Japanese troops from the strategically critical north and the Soviet threat across China's border would weaken their position, especially given that urban warfare would diminish the advantages of their technological superiority in tanks and aircraft. While officers in the Japanese Navy believed it was becoming increasingly difficult to prevent the war from spreading to Shanghai, they were willing to give diplomacy one last chance. Conversely, the Japanese Army was eager to wage war in northern China but displayed little inclination to engage in hostilities in Shanghai. Should the situation worsen, the Army preferred to withdraw all Japanese nationals from the city. Ultimately, when it agreed to formulate plans for dispatching an expeditionary force to Shanghai, it did so reluctantly, primarily to avoid accusations of neglecting its responsibilities. Amongst many commanders longing for a swift confrontation with Japan was Zhang Zhizhong. By the end of July, he was growing increasingly impatient, waiting with his troops in the Suzhou area west of Shanghai and questioning whether a unique opportunity was being squandered. On July 30, he sent a telegram to Nanjing requesting permission to strike first. He argued that if Japan were allowed to launch an attack on Shanghai, he would waste valuable time moving his troops from their position more than 50 miles away. Nanjing responded with a promise that his wishes would be fulfilled but urged him to exercise patience: “We should indeed seize the initiative over the enemy, but we must wait until the right opportunity arises. Await further orders.” That opportunity arose on August 11, with the Japanese display of force on the Huangpu River and their public demand for the withdrawal of China's paramilitary police. Japan had sufficiently revealed itself as the aggressor in the eyes of both domestic and international audiences, making it safe for China to take action. At 9:00 p.m. that evening, Zhang Zhizhong received orders from Nanjing to move his troops toward Shanghai. He acted with remarkable speed, capitalizing on the extensive transportation network in the region. The soldiers of the 87th Division quickly boarded 300 trucks that had been prepared in advance. Meanwhile, civilian passengers on trains were unceremoniously ordered off to make room for the 88th Division, which boarded the carriages heading for Shanghai. In total, over 20,000 motivated and well-equipped troops were on their way to battle.  On August 12, representatives from the United Kingdom, France, the United States, Italy, Japan, and China gathered for a joint conference in Shanghai to discuss ceasefire terms. Japan demanded the withdrawal of Chinese troops from Shanghai, while the Chinese representative, Yu Hung-chun, dismissed the Japanese demand, stating that the terms of the ceasefire had already been violated by Japan. The major powers were keen to avoid a repeat of the January 28 Incident, which had significantly disrupted foreign economic activities in Shanghai. Meanwhile, Chinese citizens fervently welcomed the presence of Chinese troops in the city. In Nanjing, Chinese and Japanese representatives convened for the last time in a final effort to negotiate. The Japanese insisted that all Peace Preservation Corps and regular troops be withdrawn from the vicinity of Shanghai. The Chinese, however, deemed the demand for a unilateral withdrawal unacceptable, given that the two nations were already engaged in conflict in North China. Ultimately, Mayor Yu made it clear that the most the Chinese government would concede was that Chinese troops would not fire unless fired upon. Conversely, Japan placed all responsibility on China, citing the deployment of Chinese troops around Shanghai as the cause of the escalating tensions. Negotiations proved impossible, leaving no alternative but for the war to spread into Central China. On that same morning of Thursday, August 12, residents near Shanghai's North Train Station, also known as Zhabei Station, just a few blocks from "Little Tokyo," awoke to an unusual sight: thousands of soldiers dressed in the khaki uniforms of the Chinese Nationalists, wearing German-style helmets and carrying stick grenades slung across their chests. “Where do you come from?” the Shanghai citizens asked. “How did you get here so fast?” Zhang Zhizhong issued detailed orders to each unit under his command, instructing the 88th Division specifically to travel by train and deploy in a line from the town of Zhenru to Dachang village, both located a few miles west of Shanghai. Only later was the division supposed to advance toward a position stretching from the Zhabei district to the town of Jiangwan, placing it closer to the city boundaries. Zhang Zhizhong was the embodiment of belligerence, but he faced even more aggressive officers among his ranks. On the morning of August 12, he was approached by Liu Jingchi, the chief of operations at the Songhu Garrison Command. Liu argued that the battle of 1932 had gone poorly for the Chinese because they had hesitated and failed to strike first. This time, he insisted, should be different, and Zhang should order an all-out assault on the Japanese positions that very evening. Zhang countered that he had clear and unmistakable orders from Chiang Kai-shek to let the Japanese fire first, emphasizing the importance of maintaining China's image on the world stage. “That's easy,” Liu retorted. “Once all the units are deployed and ready to attack, we can just change some people into mufti and send them in to fire a few shots. We attack, and simultaneously, we report that the enemy's offensive has begun.” Zhang Zhizhong did not like this idea. “We can't go behind our leader's back like that,” he replied. Zhang Zhizhong's position was far from enviable. Forced to rein in eager and capable officers, he found himself acting against his own personal desires. Ultimately, he decided to seek the freedom to act as he saw fit. In a secret cable to Nanjing, he requested permission to launch an all-out attack on the Japanese positions in Shanghai the following day, Friday, August 13. He argued that this was a unique opportunity to capitalize on the momentum created by the movement of troops; any further delay would only lead to stagnation. He proposed a coordinated assault that would also involve the Chinese Air Force. However, the reply from Chiang Kai-shek was brief and unwavering: “Await further orders.” Even as Chiang's troops poured into Shanghai, Chinese and Japanese officials continued their discussions. Ostensibly, this was in hopes of reaching a last-minute solution, but in reality, it was a performance. Both sides wanted to claim the moral high ground in a battle that now seemed inevitable. They understood that whoever openly declared an end to negotiations would automatically be perceived as the aggressor. During talks at the Shanghai Municipal Council, Japanese Consul General Okamoto argued that if China truly wanted peace, it would have withdrawn its troops to a position that would prevent clashes. Mayor Yu responded by highlighting the increasing presence of Japanese forces in the city. “Under such circumstances, China must adopt such measures as necessary for self-defense,” he stated. Late on August 13, 1937, Chiang Kai-shek instructed his forces to defend Shanghai, commanding them to "divert the enemy at sea, secure the coast, and resist landings."  I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In July 1937, tensions between Japan and China escalated into war following the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. Confident in his country's resolve, Chiang Kai-shek rallied the Chinese against Japanese aggression. On August 9, a deadly confrontation at Hongqiao Airport resulted in the deaths of Japanese soldiers, igniting further hostilities. As both sides blamed each other, the atmosphere became tense. Ultimately, negotiations failed, and the stage was set for a brutal conflict in Shanghai, marking the beginning of a long and devastating war.

Last time we spoke about the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. On July 7, 1937, tensions escalated between Japan and China as the Japanese military conducted a training exercise near the Marco Polo Bridge. During the exercise, gunfire erupted, sowing confusion and leading to the unexplained disappearance of one soldier. This incident prompted Japan to demand permission to search the nearby city of Wanping, which was denied by Chinese forces, escalating tensions further. By the next day, Japanese troops attacked, resulting in fierce fighting at the bridge. Under heavy assault, Chinese defenders fought valiantly but faced overwhelming force. As the conflict intensified, both sides struggled with heavy casualties, leading to the full-scale Sino-Japanese War. The Japanese military's aggressive maneuvers and the determined Chinese resistance marked the beginning of a brutal conflict, forever altering the landscape of East Asia. The profound toll on both nations foreshadowed the horrors of war that were to come, as China prepared to defend its sovereignty against a relentless enemy.   #155 Operation Chahar 1937 Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. By the end of July of 1937 the Japanese had overwhelmed the Beiping-Tianjin region. It's pretty understandable as to how this came so fast. As we have discussed thoroughly in this series, the Japanese had gradually seized control over Northern China going back to Operation Nekka in 1933. Little by little they had carved it out. Typically when you pull out a map of a war between two nations, one nation pierces into the other and gradually seizes control of key locations until it archives victory. However with the case of the outset of the Second Sino-Japanese War its more like the Japanese are starting at multiple key locations where they have concessions, treaties or where there are autonomous regions. Thus its honestly a huge headache to follow. When the Marco Polo Bridge Incident broke out, Chiang Kai-Shek had been in Kuling, a mountain top resort where he spent his summer vacations. He received the news with composure, but his message to the nation conveyed a sense of optimism and anticipation. The embarrassment of the Sian mutiny was a thing of the past. Although he wasn't overly confident, he believed that this was the pivotal moment China had been preparing for, more so than at any time in recent years. For nearly three weeks, efforts were made to resolve the situation through diplomatic means. For the first time, Chiang was in a position to make demands. He understood they would likely be rejected, but that wasn't the main point. He asked Japan to acknowledge its responsibility for the recent turmoil, to issue an apology, and to provide compensation. After making that request, he addressed his nation with a formal commitment: China would not accept any settlement that compromised its sovereign rights or territorial integrity. No changes would be permitted regarding the status of the Hubei-Chahar Council, and local officials would not be reassigned at the request of any foreign government. Any restrictions on the Twenty-ninth Army's positions would be unacceptable. He declared that the era of Japanese expansion in North China had come to a definitive end. The Japanese army achieved significant victories on the battlefield in China, leading to the inevitable expansion of the conflict. The first major campaign following the Nanyuan victory unfolded along the mountainous border marked by the inner Great Wall, separating northern Hubei from Chahar. On the Jinpu Railway, just south of Tianjin, lies a small station known as Jinghai. Adjacent to this station is the Jian River, which had swollen to a width of 20 meters due to intermittent heavy rains in northern China after the Japanese army's occupation of Tianjin. The embankments on either side of the river were overgrown with dense reeds and grass, and a wooden arch bridge spanned the river. After landing at Dagukou in Tianjin, the 10th Division, commanded by Lieutenant General Rensuke Isogai, advanced south along the Jinpu Railway. However, as the vanguard, the 10th Regiment of the 33rd Brigade made its way through the muddy terrain towards the Jian River's wooden bridge, they were suddenly taken aback. A group of Chinese soldiers appeared, their faces vividly painted red and armed with long-handled broadswords, a sight reminiscent of the legendary Chinese figure Guan Yu, as depicted in many traditional portraits. These soldiers belonged to the 26th Independent Brigade of the 38th Division of the 29th Army, who were in retreat from Tianjin. Following the city's fall, they had retreated southward to Jinghai Station, where they prepared to make a stand. Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan recognized their inferior numbers and weaponry compared to the Japanese forces. Drawing from painful lessons learned during the positional battles in Tianjin, he decided to divide his troops strategically: one battalion would defend the station, another would protect the county town, and a third would engage in guerrilla tactics along the Jinpu Road. If faced with a small number of Japanese soldiers, they would fight fiercely; if overwhelmed, they would attempt to encircle the attackers to prevent a direct assault on their main position. Despite the Japanese army's attempts to advance, including efforts to send an armored train into Jinghai Station, the Chinese soldiers cleverly laid straw on the tracks and buried mines, thwarting the train's progress. Once Japanese troops disembarked to mount an offensive, they were ambushed by the battalion executing guerrilla tactics, resulting in a chaotic retreat that left behind several dozen casualties. Over the course of weeks, the divisional headquarters ordered a battalion of Japanese troops to move south along the Jinpu Road, requiring them to cross the Jian River at the wooden bridge. The 26th Independent Brigade was assigned to halt this advance, and they managed to hold their ground for over 20 days. Recognizing the gravity of their situation, Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan gathered his group and battalion commanders to emphasize the necessity of pushing back the Japanese forces. He passionately rallied them, declaring, “We must defend this river to the death. Each regiment will select a death squad. Each member will carry a long-handled broadsword and four grenades, paint their faces red and rush across the bridge to engage in melee combat!” When Li asked for volunteers to lead the death squad, the regiment commander, Zhu, eagerly stepped forward, quickly gathering a group that followed him, uniting passionately in their cause. The death squad charged across the bridge, catching the Japanese off guard with their war paint and weapons. The sudden attack left the Japanese soldiers dazed, leading to a chaotic retreat as they struggled through the muddy terrain. In the tumult, more than 200 long-handled swords struck down a significant number of Japanese troops. Those advancing from behind panicked at the sight of their retreating comrades. An officer, dismounted during the chaos, was left behind, and the Chinese soldiers, filled with zeal, pressed forward, ignoring the orders from Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan to fall back for their own safety. Despite moments of heroism, many fell that day by the Jian River, as the officers and soldiers burned their boats and set fire to the wooden bridge, rendering retreat impossible. As the Japanese military consolidated its power in the Pingjin region, many leaders underestimated the tenacity of Chinese resistance. Plans were made to defeat the Chinese army and air force swiftly, aiming to resolve the issue in North China decisively, with no diplomatic negotiations or external interventions allowed during military operations. Now, in late July to early August, Chiang Kai-shek issued orders to improve defenses at Nankou. He mobilized Tang Enbo's 13th Army in Suidong for battle readiness, tasked Liu Ruming to sabotage railways, and directed Fu Zuoyi and Yan Xishan in Suiyuan to prepare for conflict. Troops were reorganized rapidly, with divisions merging to strengthen the 17th Army under Liu Ruming's command. Chiang insisted that Nankou's defenses be deep and wide to thwart enemy cavalry and tank assaults, rendering Japanese mechanized advantages ineffective. He called for close cooperation among commanders and a resolute defense. Tang Enbo's 13th Army, consisted of the 4th and 89th Divisions, whom established defensive positions along the Peiping-Suiyuan Railway at Nankou, with additional units positioned further back at Juyongguan. The 13th Army, was 20,000 men strong, all motivated soldiers committed to fighting the Japanese, but their equipment was woefully inadequate. The 89th Division had a few outdated artillery pieces, whilst other units were in even worse condition, hampering their effectiveness against the well-armed Japanese forces. Liu's 17th Army stationed its 84th Division at Chihcheng, Yanqing, and Longguan, effectively securing the flank of the 13th Army against potential Japanese advances from Chahar. The 21st Division was deployed in Huailai, situated along the railway to the rear of Tang's forces. Additionally, Zhao Chengshou's 1st Cavalry Army, Liu 's 143rd Division, and two Peace Preservation Brigades commenced an offensive against Mongol forces in northern Chahar. As the Japanese launched initial assaults on Nankou on August 4, fierce fighting erupted. The Chinese defenders fought valiantly, but heavy bombardments by artillery and air raids took a toll. The Japanese began using tanks to support their infantry, yet the 530th Regiment successfully repelled an attack at Deshengkou. Meanwhile, the Japanese intensified their efforts, culminating in poison gas assaults that overwhelmed Chinese positions on Longhutai, leading to significant losses. Despite the escalating pressure and casualties, the determination to hold Nankou was unwavering. On August 5, the Kwantung Army requested permission for the advance guard to move to Changpei, arguing that the Central Army's invasion of Chahar had jeopardized the security of Manchukuo. This request was denied, yet the advance guard proceeded to Changpei on August 8. This unauthorized movement by the Kwantung Army was a serious act of defiance, as Tolun lay outside Manchukuo's borders, and troop deployments required imperial authorization. Although imperial sanction had been obtained for the move to Tolun on July 28, permission for the advance guard to proceed was only granted retroactively, with the stipulation that they would not advance further into Inner Mongolia. Nevertheless, this unauthorized action ultimately compelled the high command to approve the advance to Changpei. On August 7, the Japanese army launched a large assault on Nankou with its three main divisions, aiming to breach the Great Wall and advance westward along the Pingsui Railway to flank the strategic city of Shanxi. By August 8, the Japanese forces that had captured Beiping and Tianjin deployed the entire 20th Division, commanded by Lieutenant General Kawagishi Fumisaburo, and supplemented their efforts with the 5th and 10th Divisions, along with the Sakai Brigade, to attack Nankou along the Pingsui Railway. On August 8, the Japanese 11th Independent Mixed Brigade, led by General Shigiyasu Suzuki, initiated an attack on the left flank of the 13th Corps' position at Nankou. However, their efforts were halted after three days due to challenging terrain and the determined resistance from Chinese forces.  On the same day, Chiang Kai-shek ordered the activation of the 14th Group Army, comprising the 10th, 83rd, and 85th Divisions, under General Wei Lihuang. Elements of the 14th Group Army traveled by rail from Yingchia-chuang to Yi County and then embarked on a ten-day march through the plains west of Beiping to flank and support Tang Enbo's forces. Meanwhile, the Chinese 1st Army Region launched attacks against the Japanese in Liangxiang and Chaili to divert their attention and dispatched a detachment to Heilung Pass to cover the advance of the 14th Group Army. On August 9, the central high command ordered the China Garrison Army to eliminate resistance in the area and instructed Kwantung Army Commander Ueda Kenkichi to send reinforcements from Jehol and Inner Mongolia to support the operation. The China Garrison Army deployed its 11th Independent Mixed Brigade and the 5th Division, recently arrived from Hiroshima under Lieutenant-General Itagaki Seishirö, to launch an attack on the mountainous regions around Nankou and Pataling within the Great Wall. Following intense fighting, they succeeded in crossing into Chahar.    The Kwantung Army aimed to conquer Chahar and, upon receiving approval from the Japanese General Staff, established an expeditionary headquarters on August 14, led by its chief of staff, Lieutenant General Tojo Hideki. Yes that Tojo. Tokyo's objective was to secure the strategic flank of Manchukuo, while the Kwantung Army sought to create puppet regimes in northern China and integrate the occupied territories into a Japanese sphere of influence. The Chahar Expeditionary Force comprised three mixed brigades, including Japan's only fully mechanized unit, which was equipped with medium tanks, heavy and light armored vehicles, and light tanks. The Japanese troops shifted their main attack toward Zhangjiakou via the Pingsui Railway due to pressures from the Kwantung Army eager to occupy Inner Mongolia, Suiyuan, and Chahar. They sought to eliminate threats from the rear before launching further operations along the Pinghan Line and Jinpu Line. The 11th Independent Mixed Brigade of the 20th Division of the Chinese Garrison Army was ordered to assault Chinese defenders in the Nankou area, with the goal of capturing key locations on the Great Wall, like Badaling, to facilitate the Fifth Division's advance. The Chinese assessed the Japanese strategy, believing they would first secure critical points along the Pingsui route to facilitate further incursions into Shanxi and Zhengding. They understood that holding the Nankou line was vital for both logistical support and tactical maneuvering. Nankou, a key town on the Pingsui Railway connecting Beijing to Zhangjiakou and Baotou, was surrounded by mountains and the Great Wall, marking it a significant natural defense line. As the Japanese army aimed to capture Zhangjiakou and divide their forces into Shanxi and Suiyuan, the Chinese army's control over Nankou became crucial. A renewed assault on August 11, bolstered by tanks and aircraft, successfully captured Nankou Station, allowing General Suzuki's brigade to advance toward Juyong Pass. On August 12, Tang Enbo's army launched a counterattack, encircling the Japanese forces and severing their supply and communication lines. That day, Tang Enbo sent a telegram to Luo Fanggui: “Brother Fanggui, Commander Luo of the 529th Regiment, I have received your telegram. Your regiment has recently defeated formidable enemies, laying the groundwork for our army's future victories. Your efforts bring me great relief! The Nankou position is critical to our nation's war of resistance. Despite the enemy's numerical superiority and fierce artillery fire, we cannot surrender this area. It is our fighting spirit, not our numbers or advanced weaponry, that will help us withstand these powerful foes. We vow never to abandon our positions. Life is transient, and we must embrace our fate. A hero perishing on the battlefield is the glorious destiny of a soldier.” On the same day, he also sent a telegram to Wang Zhonglian: “Brother Jieren Wang, commander of the 89th Division, I have read your telegram. Brigade Li has triumphed against formidable foes, establishing a precedent for our army's victory. Your successes bring me much comfort! The Nankou position is our glorious objective. If I perish, the country lives on. If I survive, the country perishes. We would rather die defending this position than live in disgrace. Please convey to all the officers and soldiers of your division, who share in this struggle, the importance of striving for victory!” On August 13, Tang Enbo ordered the defensive positions at Nankou to be abandoned as the remaining troops pulled back to stronger positions at Badaling and Juyongguan. Renowned journalist Fan Changjiang noted Tang Enbo's physical and emotional toll, describing him as a mere shadow of his former self after enduring relentless battles without rest. His subsequent thoughts and fears reflected the despair of facing insurmountable odds, with the Japanese army overwhelming the Nankou defenses. Casualty reports from the Battle of Nankou reveal stark discrepancies; average estimates suggest Chinese losses neared 26,000, while Japanese casualties were around 2,600,an alarming ratio of 10 to 1. Despite the devastating defeat, Tang Enbo's leadership gained national recognition for his efforts, though he viewed the loss of Nankou as a blemish on an otherwise honorable defense. The indomitable spirit displayed during the relentless struggle at Nankou, despite the defeat and challenges faced, inspired a sense of resilience among the Chinese people, reminding them that even in dire circumstances, they would not yield to oppression. Meanwhile in response to having their supply and communication lines severed, on August 14, Seishirō Itagaki dispatched the 5th Division to relieve the 11th Independent Mixed Brigade at Juyonggua. Fu Zuoyi's troops attacked Chahar from Suidong. Dong Qiwu 's troops attacked Shangdu and recaptured it on the 14th, while Shi Yushan 's troops attacked Dehua and recaptured it on the 16th. By the 16, Itagaki had arrived at Nankou and initiated an enveloping assault targeting the right flank of the 13th Army, executing a five-pronged attack at Huanglaoyuan. In anticipation, the 7th Brigade of the 4th Division, commanded by Shi Jue, was positioned to counter this maneuver. Reinforcements, including Li Xianzhou's 21st Division and Zhu Huaibing's 94th Division, were brought in, resulting in several days of intense fighting. On August 17, General Yan Xishan, Director of the Taiyuan Pacification Headquarters, ordered the 7th Group Army, commanded by Fu Zuoyi, to move the 72nd Division and three additional brigades by rail from Datong to Huailai to support Tang Enbo's forces. Chiang Kai-shek urged steadfastness in the face of adversity, emphasizing that retreat was not an option. But with communication breakdowns and logistical challenges, Tang Enbo faced dilemmas that would lead him to issue the order for his troops to break out on August 26. As the Japanese army occupied Huailai and Yanqing, Tang Enbo's forces executed a withdrawal, retreating via various routes before suffering further losses.  Meanwhile Liu Ruming's troops of the 143rd Division of the 29th Army took Zhangbei from Zhangjiakou . Proceed to Wanquan Dam , the junction of Wanquan and Zhangbei. The members of the pseudo-Mongolian military government fled to Duolun under the leadership of King De . In order to relieve the danger in Zhangjiakou, Liu Ruming's troops began to attack the enemy in Zhangbei. On August 20, they captured key points such as Bolicai Village outside Zhangbei City. At this time, the mechanized troops of the Japanese Kwantung Army led by Hideki Tojo rushed from Rehe to support Zhangbei. When passing through Guyuan, they were divided into two groups: one group of Japanese troops, the Suzuki Brigade and Homma Brigade went south to attack Zhangjiakou. On the night of August 21, the Chinese army retreated to Shenweitai, 25 kilometers south of Zhangbei County. On August 22, the Japanese army began its attack. Shenwei Tower fell at midnight on the 23rd. At the same time, another part of the Japanese army launched a roundabout attack on Wanquan County. On the morning of August 24, they captured Wanquan County, and then headed straight for Zhangjiakou along the highway with an infantry regiment and an artillery battalion. From August 25 to 27, the Japanese army attacked Bajiaotai, the highest point of Cir Mountain west of Zhangjiakou. At noon on the 27th, Zhangjiakou fell. Gao Guizi's 17th Army marched to Dushikou to resist the enemy from Duolun Akagi and Longguan and intercepted the Pingsui Railway. Gao Guizi's troops failed to withstand the Japanese attack, and the 301st Regiment of the 29th Army stationed in Xuanhua also retreated southward. On August 28, Xuanhua fell into the hands of the enemy. Meanwhile, in northern Chahar, the Chinese 1st Cavalry Army successfully captured Shangdu, Nanhaochan, Shangyi, and Huade from the puppet Mongolian Army led by Demchugdongrub. Elements of the 143rd Division secured Zhongli, while the main force advanced to Zhangbei. During this Chinese offensive, the Japanese Chahar Expeditionary Force, consisting of the mechanized 1st Independent Mixed Brigade along with the 2nd and 15th Mixed Brigades, prepared for a counteroffensive from Zhangbei to Kalgan. Tojo personally commanded the units of the 1st Independent Mixed Brigade during Operation Chahar, which would serve as his only real combat service for his career. From August 18 to 19, the Chahar Expeditionary Force launched a counterattack from Zhangbei, capturing Shenweitaiko on the Great Wall and the Hanno Dam. The scattered and ill-equipped Chinese forces were unable to halt the Japanese advance, which now threatened the Peking–Suiyuan Railway at Kalgan. On August 20, General Fu Zuoyi's 7th Group Army diverted its 200th and 211th Brigades, which had been moving south by rail to join General Tang Enbo's forces, back to defend Kalgan. Fu's remaining 72nd Division arrived to reinforce Chenpien, while his 7th Separate Brigade was dispatched to protect the railhead at Huailai.On August 21, the Japanese forces breached the defenses at the villages of Henglingcheng and Chenbiancheng. General Tang Enbo's forces, awaiting reinforcements but having suffered over 50% casualties, continued to defend Huailai, Juyong Pass, and Yanqing. Liu Ruming's 143rd Division retreated to safeguard Kalgan from the advancing Japanese troops. On August 23, as Seishirō Itagaki's 5th Division advanced toward Huailai from Chenpien against Ma Yenshou's 7th Separate Brigade, advance elements of the 14th Army Group arrived on the Japanese flank at Chingpaikou. They successfully drove off the Japanese outpost and made contact with Japanese forces advancing toward Chenpien. However, delays in crossing the Yongding River postponed their attack until it was too late to halt the Japanese advance. Due to poor communications, they also failed to coordinate with General Tang Enbo's forces during the battle. After eight days and nights of fierce fighting, on August 24, Itagaki linked up with the Kwantung Army's 2nd Independent Mixed Brigade at Xiahuayuan. By August 24, the Japanese army breached the defensive line of the Chinese defenders' Wang Wanling Division along the western Hengling, crossed the Great Wall, and advanced into the Huailai area. At this time, the Japanese forces attacking Zhangjiakou from Chabei also secured control of the railway line west of Zhangjiakou, posing a significant threat to the Chinese defenders at Nankou. On August 25, the Chinese defenders were compelled to withdraw from Nankou and retreat to Juyongguan. By August 27, they received orders to break out and relocate southward, completely evacuating the Nankou battlefield. Since Wei Lihuang's troops lost their intended target for reinforcement and Baoding along the Pinghan Line was in a state of emergency, they engaged the enemy in the Wanping area for over a month before retreating south. Following the abandonment of both Nankou and Juyongguan, the Japanese army invaded Huailai City on the night of August 27. The Chinese army suffered over 16,000 casualties, while the Japanese army reported more than 15,000 casualties. On August 26, General Tang Enbo's forces were ordered to break out toward the Sangchien River, while Liu Ruming's troops were directed to withdraw to the opposite side of the Hsiang-yang River. On August 29, a Japanese unit known as the Oui Column by the Chinese and the Ohizumi Detachment by the Japanese launched an attack. According to Hsu Long-hsuen, this unit moved south from Tushihkou, and on August 30, it attacked Yenching via Chihcheng but was repelled by the Chinese 17th Army. The unit had moved to Guyuan by August 25 and reached Xuanhua by September 7, effectively cutting the railway behind Tang's forces and east of the Chinese defenders along the Great Wall. Following the repulsion of the Oui Column's attack, the Chinese 17th Army withdrew to join the rest of Tang Enbo's forces on the far side of the Sangchien River. Kalgan fell to the Japanese on August 27. After General Fu Zuoyi's 200th and 211th Brigades failed in their counterattack to recapture Kalgan, Fu's forces retreated to the west to defend the railway to Suiyuan at Chaikoupao.  On August 30, the army high command ordered the task force and the China Garrison Army to occupy Chahar Province. The North China Area Army deployed Lieutenant General Itagaki Seishiro's Fifth Division, the theater's strategic reserve, for this operation. The Japanese forces relied on armored units to breach Chinese defenses and utilized rail lines to transport troops and supplies effectively to critical locations throughout Chahar. Although the First Independent Mixed Brigade's tanks and armored cars demonstrated proficiency, the Kwantung Army's assessment of the operation criticized the armored units for their lack of shock effect and frequent mechanical breakdowns. Additionally, these vehicles required significant supplies and maintenance, leading the army to deem them ineffective in combat situations. The Second Air Group provided crucial support for the ground offensive in Chahar. From mid-August, this air group, stationed in Chengde and Jingzhou, conducted bombing raids on enemy positions and transport routes, performed reconnaissance missions, and even airdropped supplies to encircled Japanese forces. To match the rapid advance of the mechanized ground forces, air units were repositioned to advanced airfields. After bombing Taiyuan in late August, some units returned to their home bases, leaving behind two fighter squadrons and two heavy bomber squadrons, which formed a provisional air regiment. By mid-September, the Fifth Division and the Chahar Expeditionary Force were advancing southwest through the rugged mountains of Shanxi Province and captured Datong on September 13. Five days later, anticipating a decisive battle, Lieutenant General Katsuki ordered the Fifth Division to pivot southeast toward Baoding to encircle the retreating Chinese forces. Shortly after repositioning, Itagaki learned from aerial reconnaissance that Chinese units were assembling near Pingxingguan (Dayingzhen) Pass. Concerned that these forces might advance eastward through the pass and threaten his rear, Itagaki dispatched a regimental-sized task force under the command of Major General Miura Keiji, leader of the Twenty-first Brigade, to disperse the enemy troops and control the road on both sides of the pass. Miura's task force departed by truck in the mid-afternoon of the following day, but the overland movement proved much slower and more challenging than anticipated. Travelling along a single rutted dirt track through steep mountains, the forty-nine trucks carrying his infantry and heavy weapons, including crew-served machine guns and battalion artillery, could only manage a speed of seven miles per hour. By late afternoon, the lead elements were still about five miles east of the pass when they encountered a few hundred Chinese troops who had retreated after a brief firefight. As night fell, the Japanese moved cautiously forward and reached a village approximately a mile from the pass, where they encountered stiff resistance, including mortar and automatic weapons fire. After successfully repelling a counterattack by the Chinese Seventy-third Division, Miura launched a night assault. Supported by pack artillery and heavy machine guns, two Japanese companies pushed through the pass and seized the high ground on its west side by early morning. However, Chinese reinforcements soon arrived and attempted to reclaim the lost territory, resulting in ongoing fighting for the heights on September 24. Meanwhile, the Chinese Communist 115th Division, comprising the 685th, 686th, and 687th regiments of the Eighth Route Army, consisting of around 6,000 effective troops under the command of twenty-nine-year-old Lin Biao, maneuvered south around the Japanese rear. By September 24, they had interposed themselves on the road east of the pass, effectively cutting off Miura's task force from its supply base. That same day, the Central Army's Seventy-first Division launched several sharp counterattacks against Miura's outnumbered forces west of the pass, threatening to overrun the Japanese positions. Central Army and Communist forces had planned to attack both flanks of the Japanese at dawn on September 25, but torrential rains delayed the advance of the Central Army reserves. The downpour also muffled the sounds of an approaching Japanese night assault. Utilizing the poor night security of the Chinese, Japanese assault parties surprised the Seventy-first and Eighty-fourth divisions, pushing them from their positions west of the pass. Miura mistakenly believed he controlled both sides of the pass and assumed the Chinese forces were in full retreat. Unbeknownst to him, Lin Biao's troops had blocked the eastern entrance to the pass, prompting him to order a resupply column with rations and ammunition forward from about fifteen miles east of the pass to replenish his depleted task force. The supply train, consisting of seventy horse-drawn wagons and eighty trucks, struggled to make progress along the single dirt track, where sections had become muddy bogs due to the heavy rains. Most of the hundred-plus soldiers handling the horses and wagons were untrained and unarmed. The few regular service corps soldiers carried only ten cavalry carbines, while a single infantry platoon of thirty men provided security. The eighty trucks transported another 176 men, most of whom were not infantry. Therefore, the resupply column was ill-prepared for any trouble. Following a sunken road worn down by centuries of caravans, the column approached the pass through a narrow man-made defile, with its sides rising as high as thirty-five feet above the track. Around mid-morning, about four miles east of the pass, the Chinese Communist 115th Division launched an ambush. Communist troops rained grenades and small-arms fire from the high ground overlooking the road onto the trapped convoy. Although the Japanese fought back desperately, the combination of surprise, advantageous terrain, and overwhelming numbers turned the road into a killing ground. The ambush decimated almost all of the teamsters and the infantrymen who protected the wagons. At his field headquarters, Miura heard the heavy gunfire and explosions and quickly ordered a battalion-sized rescue force to assist the convoy. However, the Chinese 685th Regiment, blocking the only road to the trapped supply train, halted the Japanese battalion. Elements of the 685th and 686th regiments then finished off the motorized convoy, with only five trucks at the rear escaping. After looting weapons, equipment, and clothing, the Communists burned the remaining vehicles and withdrew southwest into the rugged mountains. Although the Communists claimed to have killed 3,000 Japanese troops, the more realistic number is around 200. Nonetheless, Lin Biao's guerrillas had achieved a significant tactical success. While the 115th Division destroyed the Japanese resupply column east of the pass, the Central Army's Sixth and Seventh Army Groups, including the Seventy-first Division, launched a series of day and night assaults against Miura's dispersed units west of the pass. Both sides incurred heavy losses, and the Japanese struggled to maintain control of the high ground as the Chinese fanned out through the valleys and attacked from all sides. Isolated and under heavy attack, the Japanese were low on ammunition, food, and water, lacked proper cold-weather clothing in the frigid mountains, and were greatly outnumbered. They resorted to scavenging ammunition and weapons from fallen Chinese soldiers. Itagaki promptly ordered his 41st and 21st infantry regiments, supported by an infantry regiment from the Kwantung Army located about fifty miles northeast of the pass, to rescue the beleaguered task force. These regiments moved along a narrow mountain road amidst heavy rain, which slowed their progress. The relief force split up about forty miles north of Pingxingguan, with the Twenty-first Regiment swinging westward to outflank the Chinese, while the other two regiments continued toward the pass. To the northwest, the Fifteenth Brigade of the Chahar Expeditionary Force advanced southeastward from Datong to encircle the Chinese. Central Army forces defending along the inner Great Wall, about fifty miles northwest of Pingxingguan, inflicted substantial casualties on the Japanese. The Japanese Forty-first Regiment finally reached Miura on September 28, and on the same day, the Twenty-first Regiment dislodged the stubborn defenders along the Inner Great Wall, roughly forty miles northwest of the pass, disrupting the entire Chinese defense and threatening to surround the besieging forces. Nonetheless, fighting continued through September 29, when the Second Brigade broke through the Chinese Central Army's defenses and advanced westward. Facing potential encirclement and certain destruction, the Japanese Sixth Army Group withdrew southwest the following day. Japanese accounts do not specify overall losses, but Chinese reports claim nearly 3,000 Japanese casualties while acknowledging they suffered ten times that number. After five days of intense fighting in rugged terrain, Miura's forces managed to hold their ground, but their heavy losses and those sustained by relief columns rendered it a Pyrrhic victory. Both Communist and Nationalist Chinese forces retreated southwest, surviving to fight another day. The determination of the Chinese Central Army in both offensive and defensive maneuvers, combined with the skillful hit-and-run tactics of the 115th Division, inflicted significant damage on the Japanese and became a cornerstone of Chinese propaganda. On October 1, the Japanese General Staff ordered the North China Area Army to destroy the Chinese forces in Shanxi Province, which were estimated to number over twenty divisions from either the Shanxi Army or the Central Army, and were fortifying positions in Taiyuan, Yangquan, and Yuanpingzhen. The Japanese Fifth and Twentieth Divisions advanced toward Taiyuan, while the Fifteenth Division, reinforced by a mixed brigade, launched an assault south from Yuanpingzhen on October 13. The Fifteenth Division quickly encountered strong Chinese resistance from well-prepared defenses, which halted its advance. From October 19 to 26, the Twentieth Division faced thirteen Chinese divisions entrenched near Jiuguan. Although they successfully repelled numerous fierce counterattacks, the division was unable to breach the Chinese lines. A maneuver by one of its regiments to the rear of the Chinese defenses forced a withdrawal of Chinese troops. The reconstituted Fifth Division joined the pursuit of the retreating Chinese forces on November 3, reaching Taiyuan five days later. Meanwhile, the Twentieth Division, moving westward, inflicted heavy losses on the Chinese units that were withdrawing from Taiyuan. Overall, given that the offensive aimed to secure territory, it can be considered a tactical and operational success. Shortly thereafter, all Japanese forces, except for the Twentieth Division, withdrew from Shanxi Province. The Chahar campaign concluded with the Kwantung Army in control of Chahar, Suiyuan, and the northern half of Shanxi Province. The Japanese quickly established puppet regimes in the captured territories. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In July 1937, tensions between Japan and China erupted following the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, leading to fierce fighting as Japanese troops attacked. Chinese defenders, under command of Chiang Kai-shek, bravely resisted despite overwhelming odds, determined to protect their sovereignty. The Battle of Nankou saw relentless assaults, tank warfare, and desperate defense tactics, revealing the depth of Chinese resolve. 

Við byrjum nýja seríu af Þú veist betur á umræðuefni sem er erfitt að tækla í 1-2 þáttum, enda urðu þeir á endanum 5. Þetta er veisla fyrir öll okkar sem hafa áhuga á seinni heimstyrjöldinni, en líka bara þau sem vilja skilja betur heiminn sem við búum í, nútíminn er skiljanlegri ef við vitum hvaðan við komum. Seinni heimsstyrjöldin byrjar ekki bara með innrás í Pólland. Hún á sér aðdraganda sem nær yfir efnahagskreppur, hugmyndafræði, nýlendustefnu og mannleg mistök. Við rennum yfir hvernig Hitler náði völdum í Þýskalandi, hvernig lýðræði breyttist í einræði á örfáum árum og hvernig þjóðarleiðtogar eins og Neville Chamberlain reyndu að halda frið með samningum sem stóðust ekki raunveruleikann. Við skoðum líka hvað var að gerast annars staðar, sérstaklega í Asíu, þar sem Japan og Kína börðust og Chiang Kai-shek var maður ársins hjá Time áður en stríðið í Evrópu var jafnvel byrjað. Umsjónamaður: Atli Már Steinarsson Viðmælandi: Gísli Jökull Gíslason

Spies, Lies and Allies is a thrilling tale about two forgotten revolutionaries who led lives that defy belief. It takes the reader on a wild ride through Kolkata, Hyderabad, London, Paris, Berlin, Stockholm, Mexico City and Moscow. One was Virendranath Chattopadhyaya, the brother of Sarojini Naidu. The other was M.N. Roy, the founder of Indian communism. Chatto and Roy met spies, dictators, femme fatales, assassins, revolutionaries and bomb-makers. They encountered Lala Lajpat Rai, Veer Savarkar, Vladimir Lenin, Sun Yat-Sen, Chiang Kai-shek, Joseph Stalin, Mohandas Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru. They travelled in disguise and survived assassination attempts by the British secret service. They had tumultuous love affairs with suspected Communist spies. They flirted with anarchism, then became communists, and Roy would eventually end up founding his own philosophy: humanism. Chatto's sister Sarojini would distance herself from his journey, and his friend Nehru would eventually follow the Gandhian path. Roy would be ignored in newly independent India. But if Chatto and Roy were failures, they were magnificent ones. They battled for their ideas, and their ideas lived on, even if the pair died mostly forgotten. Author Kavitha Rao will be in conversation with Historian Vanya Vaidehi Bhargav. A Q&A with the audience will follow. in collaboration with: Westland Non-Fiction In this episode of BIC Talks, Kavitha Rao will be in conversation with Vanya Vaidehi Bhargav. This is an excerpt from a conversation that took place in the BIC premises in April 2025. Subscribe to the BIC Talks Podcast on your favorite podcast app! BIC Talks is available everywhere, including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Castbox, Overcast, Audible, and Amazon Music.

In this episode of Battleground 45, Saul is joined by, Professor Alexander V. Pantsov, a renowned historian and author specialising in 20th-century Chinese history. Together, they delve into the complex and often controversial figure of Chiang Kai-shek, the leader of the Nationalist Party of China and a pivotal player in the tumultuous events of World War II and the Chinese Civil War. If you have any thoughts or questions, you can send them to - podbattleground@gmail.com Producer: James Hodgson X (Twitter): @PodBattleground Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Last time we spoke about Japan's preparations for War. In late 1936, tensions soared in China as Nationalist General Chiang Kai-shek was detained by dissenting commanders who were frustrated with his focus on communism instead of the growing Japanese threat. Faced with escalating Japanese aggression, these leaders forced Chiang into a reluctant alliance with the Chinese Communist Party, marking a pivotal shift in China's strategy. Despite this union, China remained unprepared, lacking sufficient military supplies and modern equipment. Conversely, Japan, wary of Chinese modernization efforts, pushed for a preemptive strike to dismantle Chiang's regime before it could pose a serious threat. As aggressive military exercises intensified, Japan underestimated Chinese resilience. By spring 1937, both nations found themselves on the brink of war, with Japan's divided military leadership struggling to formulate a coherent strategy. Ultimately, these miscalculations would lead to the full-scale Sino-Japanese War, altering the course of history in East Asia.   #154 The Marco Polo Bridge Incident  Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. Here we are at last, the beginning of the absolute cataclysm between China and Japan. Now as many of you know I run the Pacific War week by week podcast, which technically covers the second sino-japanese war, nearly to a T. So for this podcast I want to try and portray the event from the Chinese and Japanese point of view, but not in the rather dry manner of the other podcast. In the other podcast I am hampered by the week by week format and can never dig deep into the nitty gritty as they say. On the same hand I don't want to simply regurgitate every single battle of this conflict, it would be absolutely nuts. So bear with me friends as we fall down in the rabbit hole of madness together, who knows how long it will take to get out. On the night of July 7, 1937, at approximately 19:30, the 8th Squadron of the 3rd Battalion of the 1st Regiment of the Hebian Brigade of the Japanese Army, stationed in Fengtai and led by Squadron Leader Shimizu Seiro, conducted a military exercise, heading toward Lungwangmiao, approximately just under a mile northwest of the Marco Polo Bridge The exercise simulated an operation to capture the bridge. As you may have guessed it was named after the Italian explorer Marco Polo, who described it in his travels, the bridge is renowned for its intricate carvings of lions and other sculptures. However after 1937, the Marco Polo Bridge would be far less known for its history dealing with the venetian explorer and more so with an event that many would contend to be the start of WW2. At that time, troops from Japan, Britain, France, and Italy were stationed near Peiping in accordance with the Boxer Protocol of 1901. The Japanese China Garrison Army, comprising around 4,000 soldiers and commanded by Lieutenant-General Tashiro Kan'ichirō, was based in Tientsin. Its mission was to "maintain communication lines between Peiping and the seaports in the Gulf of Chihli and to protect Japanese citizens living in key areas of North China." The protocol also permitted the garrison forces of the signatory nations to conduct field drills and rifle practice without notifying the Chinese authorities, with the exception of cases involving live fire. During this period, Japanese troops were conducting nightly exercises in anticipation of a scheduled review on July 9. The night maneuver was within the army's rights under the Boxer Protocol and was not an illegal act, as later claimed by the Chinese. However, the Japanese army had courteously informed the Chinese authorities about its training plans in advance. Despite this, the atmosphere was charged with tension, and the Japanese decision to use blank ammunition during their night exercise further escalated the already volatile situation. Earlier that evening, Captain Shimizu Setsurö, a company commander, arrived at the banks of the Yungting River, where the maneuver was to take place. He noticed that the site looked different since the last exercise had occurred; Chinese troops had recently constructed new trenches and parapets from the embankment to the Lungwangmiao shelter. While eating his dinner and surveying the area, Shimizu felt a sense of unease, harboring a premonition that “something might happen that night.” After completing the first stage of the maneuver around 10:30 PM, several live rounds were fired into the assembled company from the direction of the riverbank. Shimizu immediately conducted a roll call and found one soldier missing. He promptly sent a messenger to inform the battalion commander. The exercise was then called off, and the company moved eastward to await further orders at Hsiwulitien. Battalion Commander Itsuki Kiyonaho, upon receiving the report, deemed the situation serious. Aside from the gunfire heard in the darkness from an unknown source, he expressed concern over the soldier's disappearance and sought permission from Regiment Commander Mutaguchi Renya, an absolute moron, if you listen to the pacific war podcast, well you know. Anyways to relocate the battalion to the area where the shots had been fired and to establish surveillance. As dawn approached, the troops heard several more gunshots. Within twenty minutes of the soldier's disappearance, he returned to his ranks, but Shimizu did not report this update until four hours later. Meanwhile, midnight negotiations included a Japanese request for permission to search the city of Wanping, leading both sides to believe the incident was significant. Around 11:00 PM, the Japanese forces falsely reported that one of their soldiers had gone missing during the drill and demanded permission to enter the city for a search. This request was firmly denied by Ji Xingwen, the commander of the 219th Regiment of the 37th Division of the Chinese Army. In response, Japanese troops swiftly surrounded Wanping County. To prevent further escalation, at 2:00 AM the following morning, Qin Dechun, deputy commander of the 29th Army and mayor of Beiping, agreed with the Japanese to allow both sides to send personnel for an investigation. While Matsui, the head of the Japanese secret service in Peiping, was negotiating with North Chinese authorities based on unverified reports from Japanese troops in Fengtai, Ikki Kiyonao, the battalion commander of the Japanese garrison in Fengtai, had already reported to his regiment commander, Mutaguchi Lianya. The latter approved orders for the Japanese troops in Fengtai to “immediately move out” to the Marco Polo Bridge.  On July 8, a large contingent of Japanese troops appeared at Lugou Bridge. Shen Zhongming, the platoon leader of the 10th Company of the Reserve Force of the 3rd Battalion of the 219th Regiment of the 37th Division of the 29th Army, was assisting in guarding the bridgehead. He jumped out of the trench, stood in front of the bunker, and raised his right hand to halt the advancing Japanese troops. However, the Japanese military threatened to search for their missing soldiers, pushed forward, and opened fire. Shen Zhongming was shot and died on the spot. At 4:50 AM, the Japanese army launched a fierce assault on Wanping County, capturing Shagang in the northeast of Wanping and firing the first shot of the siege. Unable to withstand the aggression, the Chinese defenders mounted a counterattack. That day, the Japanese army assaulted Wanping City three times, targeting the Pinghan Railway Bridge and the Chinese defenders at the Huilong Temple position on the left. He Jifeng, the commander of the 110th Brigade of the Chinese defenders, issued a resolute order to “live and die with the bridge” and personally commanded the front-line battle. The Chinese defenders engaged in fierce combat, fighting valiantly despite exhausting their ammunition and resorting to hand-to-hand combat with swords against the Japanese soldiers. Tragically, over 80 Chinese defenders from two platoons were killed at the bridgehead. On the same day, the Beijing authorities instructed the garrison to hold firm at the Marco Polo Bridge. Song Queyuan sent a telegram to Chiang Kai-shek to report the true events of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. The National Government's Ministry of Foreign Affairs lodged a verbal protest with the Japanese ambassador regarding the incident. Additionally, the CPC Central Committee issued a telegram urging all Chinese soldiers and civilians to unite and resist Japanese aggression. The Japanese cabinet, in a bid to mislead global public opinion, proposed a so-called policy of “resolving the incident locally without escalating it,” aiming to paralyze the KMT authorities and buy time to mobilize additional forces. In the wake of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, generals of the 29th Army, including Qin Dechun, Feng Zhian, and Zhang Zizhong, convened an emergency meeting. Following their discussions, they issued a statement demanding that their troops withdraw from the Marco Polo Bridge to de-escalate tensions. However, they expressed deep concerns about national sovereignty, stating, “We cannot simply back down. If they continue to oppress us, we will do our utmost to defend ourselves.” Concurrently, the 29th Army commanded the troops defending the Marco Polo Bridge: “The Marco Polo Bridge is your grave. You must live and die with the bridge and must not retreat.” Brigade Commander He Jifeng reinforced three directives for the defenders:  1. Do not allow the Japanese army to enter the city;  2. Firmly counterattack if the Japanese invade;  3. You are responsible for defending the territory and will never yield. If you abandon your position, you will face military law. On July 9, the 29th Army successfully eliminated a Japanese squadron and reclaimed control of the railway bridge and Longwang Temple. A temporary lull settled over the Marco Polo Bridge battlefield, during which the Japanese military made false claims that "missing Japanese soldiers had returned to their units" and described the situation as a misunderstanding that could be resolved peacefully. Subsequently, Chinese and Japanese representatives in Beijing and Tianjin engaged in negotiations. The Beijing authorities reached an agreement with the Japanese forces, which included:  (1) an immediate cessation of hostilities by both parties;  (2) the Japanese army withdrawing to the left bank of the Yongding River while the Chinese army retreated to the right bank; and  (3) the defense of Lugou Bridge being assigned to Shi Yousan's unit of the Hebei Security Team. However, the following day, while the Chinese army withdrew as agreed, the Japanese army not only failed to uphold its commitments but also dispatched a significant number of troops to launch an offensive against the Chinese forces. Reports on July 10 indicated that the Japanese army had arrived from Tianjin, Gubeikou, Yuguan, and other locations, advancing toward the Lugou Bridge with artillery and tanks, and had occupied Dajing Village and Wulidian, signaling that another outbreak of conflict was imminent. On July 11, the Japanese Cabinet decided to deploy seven divisions from the Kwantung Army, the Korean Army, and Japan to North China. On the same day, the Beiping-Tianjin authorities reached a localized agreement with the Japanese army, which entailed:  (1) a formal apology from a representative of the 29th Army to the Japanese forces, along with assurances that those responsible for the initial conflict would be held accountable;  (2) a ban on anti-Japanese activities conducted by the Communist Party, the Blue Shirts Society, and other resistance groups; and  (3) an agreement ensuring that no Chinese troops would be stationed east of the Yongding River. Concurrently, the Japanese army positioned their forces at strategic points in Wuqing, Fengtai, Wanping, and Changping, effectively encircling the city of Beijing and continuing to advance troops into its surrounding suburbs. Starting on July 11, the Japanese army began bombarding Wanping City and its surrounding areas with artillery, resulting in numerous casualties among the local population. Following the injury of regiment commander Ji Xingwen, residents were evacuated to safer locations outside the city. The conflict then spread to Babaoshan, Changxindian, Langfang, Yangcun, and other areas, with the 29th Army being deployed to various locations to confront the enemy. The Japanese military also dispatched aircraft for reconnaissance and strafing missions, leading to intermittent fighting. On July 13, Mao Zedong urged "every Communist Party member and anti-Japanese revolutionary to be prepared to mobilize to the frontline of the anti-Japanese war at any time" from Yan'an. By July 15, a CPC representative presented the "Communist Party Declaration on Cooperation between the Kuomintang and the Communist Party" to Chiang Kai-shek, proposing that this declaration serve as the political foundation for cooperation between the two parties and be publicly issued by the Kuomintang. Zhou Enlai, Qin Bangxian, and Lin Boqu continued negotiations with Chiang Kai-shek, Shao Lizi, and Zhang Chong in Lushan. Although Chiang Kai-shek recognized the Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia Border Region, disagreements remained regarding the reorganization of the Red Army. On July 16, the Five Ministers Conference in Tokyo resolved to mobilize 400,000 Japanese troops to invade China and to enforce a policy aimed at rapidly destroying the entire country. The following day, more than 100 Japanese soldiers arrived in Shunyi and Changping, where they reinforced fortifications on the city wall of Changping. On July 18, the Japanese army invaded Changping, Tongzhou, and other counties in the pseudo-border areas by maneuvering through various passes of the Great Wall. Japanese plainclothes teams were reported to be active in the Xiaotangshan area of Changping, raising alert levels within the Chinese army. On July 20, the Kuomintang Military and Political Department became aware that the Japanese army intended to first occupy strategic locations such as the Indigo Factory, Wanshou Mountain, and Balizhuang in the Pingxi area, before cutting off the Pingsui Road and controlling the route from Beiping to Changping. On July 21, the Japanese army violated the agreement by bombarding Wanping County and the garrison at Changxindian.  On the night of July 25, a confrontation took place at the railway station in Langfang, located between Peiping and Tientsin. The clash involved Chinese troops and a Japanese company dispatched to repair telegraph lines. General Kazuki promptly sought Tokyo's permission to respond with military force, believing that the situation required immediate action. Without waiting for authorization, he ordered a regiment from Tientsin to engage the Chinese forces and issued an ultimatum to Sung Che-yuan, stating that if the 37th Division did not completely withdraw from Peiping by noon on July 28, the Garrison Army would take unilateral action. The 77th Infantry Regiment of the 20th Division was dispatched with the Gonoi Squadron to escort a repair team to Langfang Station. Stationed near Langfang were the headquarters of the 113th Brigade of the 38th Division, along with the main force of the 226th Regiment, led by Brigade Commander Liu Zhensan and Regiment Commander Cui Zhenlun. Although the leadership of the 29th Army adopted a passive stance in the war of resistance, the forces in Langfang prepared for conflict in an organized manner. They not only evacuated the families of servicemen and relocated the regiment headquarters, but also built fortifications and deployed plainclothes teams at Wanzhuang Station, Luofa Station, and Langfang Station to swiftly destroy the railway if necessary. Despite their preparations, the commanders of the 38th Division adhered to Song Queyuan's directives. When the 5th Company, stationed at Yangcun, observed Japanese supply units continually moving toward Lugou Bridge, they sought permission to engage the enemy. However, the 38th Division later reassigned this company. The Bac Ninh Line, established after the Boxer Protocol, had granted the Japanese the right to station troops, placing the 38th Division in a vulnerable position and preventing them from stopping the Japanese before they reached Langfang. Upon the arrival of Japanese forces at Langfang Station, Chinese guards initiated negotiations, requesting the Japanese to withdraw quickly after completing their mission. The Japanese, however, insisted on establishing camps outside the station, leading to repeated arguments. As tensions mounted, the Japanese began constructing positions near the station, ultimately forcing Chinese troops to retreat and escalating the conflict. The situation reached a boiling point around 11:10 pm, when fierce gunfire and explosions erupted near Langfang Station. The Japanese army claimed they were defending the station from an attack by Chinese forces armed with rifles, machine guns, and mortars throughout the night. According to Cui Zhenlun, the head of the 226th Regiment, it was the 9th and 10th companies that could no longer tolerate the Japanese provocation and fired first, catching the enemy off guard. As the battle intensified, reinforcements from the main force of the 77th Infantry Regiment “Li Deng Unit” arrived at the scene after receiving reports of the skirmish and gradually joined the fight after 6:30 am on July 26. When dawn broke, Japanese troops stationed at Langfang began to rush out to counterattack, seeing their reinforcements arrive. Recognizing they could not eliminate the Japanese presence at the station quickly, the 226th Regiment faced heavy bombardment from the Japanese Air Force later that morning. Consequently, the headquarters of the 113th Brigade and the primary forces of the 226th Regiment hastily retreated to Tongbai Town, suffering significant losses in equipment during their withdrawal. That night, Kazuki made the unilateral decision to abandon the policy of restraint and decided to use force on July 28 "to punish the Chinese troops in the Peiping-Tientsin area." On the morning of July 27, the army high command endorsed his decision and submitted a plan to the cabinet for mobilizing divisions in Japan. The cabinet agreed, and imperial approval was sought. At that time, the Chinese army was gathering in significant numbers in Baoding and Shijiazhuang in southern Hebei, as well as in Datong, Shanxi. They had effectively surrounded the Japanese army on all sides in the Fengtai District. Meanwhile, newly mobilized units of the Kwantung Army and the Japanese Korean Army were en route to the Tianjin and Beiping areas. The 2nd Battalion of the 2nd China Garrison Infantry Regiment, commanded by Major Hirobe, was dispatched with 26 trucks to the Japanese barracks within the walls of Beiping to ensure the protection of Japanese residents. Prior discussions had taken place between Takuro Matsui, head of the Special Service Agency, and officials from the Hebei–Chahar Political Council regarding the passage of troops through the Guang'anmen gate just outside Beiping. The mayor, Qin Dechun, had granted approval for this movement. However, when Major Tokutaro Sakurai, a military and political advisor to the Council, arrived at Guang'anmen, a famous gate to Beiping, around 6:00 pm to establish contact, he found that the Chinese troops on guard had closed the gate. After further negotiations, the gates were opened at approximately 7:30 pm, allowing the Japanese units to begin passing through. Unfortunately, as the first three trucks crossed, the Chinese opened fire on them. Two-thirds of the units managed to get through before the gate was abruptly shut, leaving a portion of Hirobe's troops trapped both inside and outside. As they faced unexpectedly heavy fire from machine guns and grenades, efforts by Japanese and Chinese advisors to pacify the Chinese troops proved futile. By 8:00 pm, the Japanese launched a counterattack from both sides of the gate. The Chinese received reinforcements and encircled the Japanese forces. Despite a relief column being dispatched by Brigadier Masakazu Kawabe, commander of the brigade in the Fengtai District, by 9:30 pm, negotiations with the Chinese yielded a proposal for de-escalation: the Chinese army would maintain a distance while the Japanese inside the gate would relocate to the grounds of their legation, and those outside would return to Fengtai. Fighting ceased shortly after 10:00 pm, and at approximately 2:00 am the following day, Hirobe's unit successfully entered the barracks in the legation. The total casualties reported for the Japanese army during these confrontations were 2 dead and 17 wounded. Both fatalities were superior privates. The wounded included one major, one captain, one sergeant, two superior privates, one private first class, seven privates second class, two attached civilians, and one news reporter. Additionally, the interpreter accompanying Tokutaro Sakurai was also killed in action. On July 27, the Japanese army launched attacks on the 29th Army garrisons in Tongxian, Tuanhe, Xiaotangshan, and other locations, forcing the defenders to retreat to Nanyuan and Beiyuan. At 8:00 am on July 28, under the command of Army Commander Kiyoshi Kozuki, the Japanese army initiated a general assault on the 29th Army in the Beiping area. The primary attacking force, the 20th Division, supported by aircraft and artillery, targeted the 29th Army Special Brigade, the 114th Brigade of the 38th Division, and the 9th Cavalry Division stationed in Nanyuan. Overwhelmed by the Japanese assault, Nanyuan's defenders struggled to maintain command, leading to chaotic individual combat. Meanwhile, the main Japanese garrison brigade in Fengtai advanced to Dahongmen, effectively cutting off the Nanyuan troops' route to the city and blocking their retreat. The battle for Nanyuan concluded at 1:00 pm, resulting in the deaths of Tong Lingge, deputy commander of the 29th Army, and Zhao Dengyu, commander of the 132nd Division. As this unfolded, elements of the 37th Division of the 29th Army launched an attack on the Japanese forces in Fengtai but were repulsed by Japanese reinforcements. On that day, the Japanese Army's 1st Independent Mixed Brigade captured Qinghe Town, prompting the 2nd Brigade of the Hebei-Northern Security Force, stationed there, to retreat to Huangsi. The Japanese also occupied Shahe. In the afternoon of July 28, Song Qeyuan appointed Zhang Zizhong as the acting chairman of the Hebei-Chahar Political Affairs Committee and director of the Hebei-Chahar Pacification Office, as well as the mayor of Beiping, before leaving the city for Baoding that evening. The 37th Division was ordered to retreat to Baoding. On July 29th, a significant mutiny broke out at Tongzhou. If you remember our episode covering the Tanggu truce, Tongzhou had become the capital of the East Hubei Anti-Communist Autonomous Government headed by Yin Jukeng. In response Chiang Kai-Shek had established the East Hebei Administrative Affairs Committee, chaired by Song Queyuan. In Tongzhou, Japanese troops were stationed under the pretext of protecting Japanese residents, as stipulated by the Boxer Protocol. Initially, a unit was intended to be stationed in Tongzhou; however, Vice Minister of the Army Umezu Yoshijiro strongly opposed this plan, arguing that placing forces in Tongzhou, far from the Beiping-Tianjin Line was inconsistent with the spirit of the Boxer Protocol. Consequently, this unit was stationed in Fengtai, located southwest of Beiping. At the time of the Tongzhou Incident, the main force of the Japanese Second Regiment, which was responsible for defending Tongzhou, had been deployed to Nanyuan, south of Beijing. Consequently, only non-combat personnel remained in Tongzhou. Japan regarded the Jidong Anti-Communist Autonomous Government Security Force as a friendly ally. Back on July 27, the primary forces of the Japanese Army stationed in Tongzhou, comprising the Kayashima Unit and the Koyama Artillery Unit, received orders to advance toward Nanyuan, Beiping, leaving Tongzhou significantly under-defended. The following day, the Japanese launched a substantial attack on Nanyuan, employing aircraft to bomb Beiping. Sensing a critical opportunity, Zhang Qingyu conferred with Zhang Yantian and Shen Weigan to initiate an uprising that very night. The insurgent force included elements from the first and second corps and the teaching corps, totaling approximately 4,000 personnel. Zhang Qingyu orchestrated the uprising with a focused strategy: the first corps was divided into three groups targeting Japanese forces in Xicang, the puppet government, and various establishments such as opium dens, casinos, and brothels operated by Japanese ronin. Meanwhile, the second corps secured key intersections and facilities in Chengguan, and the teaching corps managed defenses against potential reinforcements at vital stations. At dawn on July 29, the gunfire signaling the uprising erupted. The second unit of the first corps launched an assault on the Xicang Barracks, which housed 120 troops and non-combat personnel, including the Tongzhou Guard, Yamada Motor Vehicle Unit, a Military Police Detachment, and a host of military and police units, totaling about 500 individuals. At around 3 a.m. on July 29, the sound of gunfire filled the air as the insurgents engaged the Japanese forces. Although equipped with only four field guns, several mortars, and a few heavy machine guns, the uprising's numerical superiority enabled simultaneous attacks from the east, south, and northwest. Despite their well-fortified positions and rigorous defense, the Japanese troops struggled against the relentless onslaught. For over six hours, fierce fighting ensued. The uprising troops escalated their firepower but failed to breach the Xicang Barracks initially. More than 200 members of the Japanese security forces lost their lives in the conflict. Concerned that reinforcements might arrive and flank the uprising, Zhang Qingyu ordered artillery assaults around 11 a.m., prompting a shift in the battle's dynamics. The artillery targeted a Japanese motor vehicle convoy transporting supplies and munitions, leading to the destruction of all 17 vehicles, triggering explosions that scattered bullets and shrapnel across the area. Subsequently, nearby fuel depots ignited, engulfing the surroundings in flames and creating chaos among Japanese ranks. The insurgent infantry capitalized on this confusion, wiping out most of the remaining Japanese forces, with only a handful managing to escape. As the uprising signal rang out, another faction of insurgents swiftly blocked access to Tongzhou, disrupting traffic and occupying the telecommunications bureau and radio station. They encircled the offices of the Jidong puppet government, capturing traitor Yin Rugeng, who was taken to the Beiguan Lu Zu Temple. Despite being urged to resist the Japanese, Yin hesitated and was subsequently imprisoned. The third group then targeted the Japanese secret service agency in Nishicang. Hosoki Shigeru, residing a mere lane away from the pseudo-office, responded to the gunfire by mobilizing a contingent of secret agents to confront the uprising. However, the insurgents swiftly overtook the secret service agency, resulting in Shigeru's death and the annihilation of all secret personnel. At 4:00 p.m. on July 29, the Japanese command dispatched reinforcements, compelling the insurgents to retreat from Tongzhou. The Japanese Chinese Garrison ordered air attacks on the uprising forces, with over ten bombers targeting Tongzhou. Concurrently, the Japanese Fengtai Infantry Brigade and the Second Regiment were mobilized for a rescue operation, arriving on the morning of July 30. The Japanese headquarters issued a night defense order requiring all units to be on high alert. By 5:30 p.m., commanding officers assembled to devise a strategy. With the uprising forces still positioned around the eastern, southern, and northern walls of the barracks, Tsujimura's troops implemented strict measures: all units were instructed to fortify defenses throughout the night, with the Tongzhou Guard directly protecting the barracks and the Yamada unit securing the warehouse and supply areas. They enforced silence, prohibiting any lights at night, coordinating operations under the code name "plum cherry." As the Japanese planes repeatedly bombed the area, the insurgents, lacking anti-aircraft defenses, could only mount futile counterattacks with machine guns, leading to disorder among their ranks. Many insurgents abandoned their uniforms and weapons and fled, prompting Zhang Qingyu to make the difficult decision to evacuate Tongzhou before Japanese reinforcements arrived, regrouping in Beiping with the remnants of the 29th Army. In the late hours of July 29, the security team retreated to Beiping in two groups. Upon arrival, they discovered the 29th Army had already evacuated, forcing them to retreat to Changxindian and Baoding. En route, they encountered part of the Suzuki Brigade of the Japanese Kwantung Army near Beiyuan and Xizhimen, where they faced concentrated attacks. Officers Shen Weigan and Zhang Hanming were both killed in the subsequent battles as they led their teams in desperate fights for survival. Amid the confusion, Yin Rugeng managed to escape when the convoy escorting him was broken up by Japanese forces. In a last-ditch effort, Zhang Qingyu ordered the army to split into small groups of 50 to 60, navigating through Mentougou to regroup with the 29th Army. By the time they reached Baoding, only about 4,000 personnel remained. On the morning of July 30, over a thousand troops from the Sakai Army entered Tongzhou City. They rounded up all men they encountered, searching residences for insurgents, and exhibited intentions of massacring the local population. By 4 p.m., the Kayashima Army arrived and sealed all city gates, deploying surveillance units to oversee the city and "restore public order." The Tsujimura Army removed perimeter defenses and concentrated their forces in barracks and storage facilities. Japanese troops combed through residences based on household registries, detaining those they deemed suspicious, with many later executed. As reported by the puppet county magistrate Wang Jizhang, roughly 700 to 800 individuals were executed within a few days. This brutal retaliation instilled terror throughout Tongzhou City, leading many to flee and seek refuge, often in American churches. The pervasive atmosphere of fear lasted for two to three months. The Japanese authorities framed their violent suppression as "restoring stability to East Asia" and derided the legitimate resistance of Chinese citizens as "communist harassment" and "treason." In response to the uprising, the Japanese embassy, concerned that it could trigger a repeat of the Temple Street Incident and instigate political upheaval at home, acted without government instructions. They appointed Morishima Morito to oversee negotiations with Chi Zongmo, who had replaced Yin Rugeng as the head of the "Hebei Anti-Communist Autonomous Government." On December 24, 1937, Chi submitted a formal apology to the Japanese embassy, committing to pay a total of 1.2 million yuan in reparations, with an immediate payment of 400,000 yuan, while the remaining 800,000 yuan would be disbursed by the "Provisional Government of the Republic of China." Furthermore, the Japanese demanded that the "Hebei Anti-Communist Autonomous Government" relinquish the territories where Japanese nationals had been killed and take responsibility for constructing "comfort towers." They compelled Chinese laborers to build these structures at the former site of the Governor's Office of Canal Transport in Shuiyueyuan Hutong, Nanmenli, and the northeastern corner of Xicang Square to commemorate Japanese casualties from the uprising. Additionally, they forcibly uprooted ancient trees from the Temple of Heaven, transplanting them around the "comfort towers." The Japanese military also demolished white marble guardrails at the Confucian Temple to erect a monument honoring their soldiers, resulting in the destruction of centuries-old cultural artifacts. On the morning of July 29, the Japanese Army's 11th Independent Mixed Brigade attacked Beiyuan and Huangsi. The Hebei-Northern Security Force, stationed in Huangsi, engaged the Japanese forces until 6:00 PM before retreating. Meanwhile, the 39th Independent Brigade, garrisoned in Beiyuan, fought the Japanese before withdrawing to Gucheng, eventually returning to Beiyuan. On July 31, this brigade was disarmed by the Japanese army, while the Independent 27th Brigade in the city was reorganized into a security team to maintain public order, later breaking through to Chahar Province a few days later and being assigned to the 143rd Division. Meanwhile, the 38th Division of the 29th Army, stationed in Tianjin, proactively attacked Japanese troops in Tianjin early on July 29, capturing the Japanese garrison at Tianjin General Station and launching an assault on the Japanese headquarters at Haiguang Temple and the Dongjuzi Airport. Initially, the battle progressed favorably; however, due to counterattacks from Japanese aircraft and artillery, the Chinese forces began to retreat around 3:00 PM, leading to the fall of Tianjin. Later that afternoon, the rebel forces evacuated Tong County and advanced toward Beiping. En route, they were attacked by the Japanese army north of the city and subsequently retreated to Baoding. As the 37th Division of the 29th Army received orders to retreat southward, the 110th Brigade covered the army headquarters and the Beiping troops from Wanping to Babaoshan, eventually retreating southward through Mentougou. After completing their task, they withdrew to Baoding on July 30. By the end of the 30th, the Japanese army had occupied both Beiping and Tianjin. The Japanese Independent Mixed Brigade No. 1 and the garrison brigade occupied high ground west of Changxindian and the area near Dahuichang on the evenings of the 30th and 31st, respectively. With this, the battles in Beiping and Tianjin effectively came to a close. China and Japan were at war. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. It has finally happened, China and Japan are officially at war. From 1931 until now, it had been an unofficial war between the two, yet another incident had finally broke the camel's back. There was no turning back as Japan would unleash horror upon the Chinese people. The fight for China's survival had begun. China was completely alone against a fierce enemy, how would she manage? 

  Last time we spoke about China's preparations for War. In December 1936, the tension in China reached a boiling point as Nationalist General Chiang Kai-shek was captured by his own commanders, Zhang Xueliang and Yang Hucheng. Disillusioned by Chiang's focus on fighting communists instead of the encroaching Japanese forces, the generals sought a unified response to Japanese aggression. After being held in Xi'an, Chiang reluctantly agreed to collaborate with the Chinese Communist Party, marking a significant shift in strategy against Japan. Amidst the rising chaos, Chiang's government reviewed historical military strategies and prepared for a prolonged conflict. However, they faced challenges, including inadequate supplies and a lack of modern equipment compared to the Japanese. By 1937, China was ill-prepared for war, with Chiang later expressing regret about their military readiness. Despite these setbacks, the alliance formed with the communists laid a foundation for a united Chinese front against the brutalities of the Sino-Japanese War that would follow.   #153 Japan Prepares for War Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. So in the last episode we talked about how China was preparing itself for war, now its time for Japan. Since Japan's invasion of North China, Japanese field armies had promoted a series of autonomous zones in northern China. Officers from the Kwantung Army, skeptical of China's capacity to modernize, believed that the vast region would inevitably fragment into regional factions. This policy effectively maintained a weak and divided China, which served Japan's to defend Manchukuo. However many Japanese military leaders frequently pointed to the threat posed by the KMT's five-year plan, initiated in 1933 with assistance from German military advisors, aimed at modernizing and expanding the national army. To counter what they perceived as a Chinese threat, the field armies advocated for a preemptive war to dismantle Chiang Kai-shek's regime. Any attempt by Tokyo to alter the military's China policy faced vigorous opposition from the Kwantung Army, which, in February 1937, pushed for intensified covert actions to expel the KMT from northern China and supported a preemptive war to secure strategic areas for future operations against the Soviet Union. At a March meeting in Tokyo, staff officers from the China Garrison and Kwantung armies insisted that any concessions to China would be a grave mistake and would likely yield only temporary outcomes. In early spring 1937, Prince Konoe Fumimaro inherited a China policy fraught with competing views, however, there was consensus that China must not distract the empire from its preparations against the USSR. The end goal was clear, but the means to achieve it remained uncertain. The cabinet's approval of the "Fundamentals of National Policy" in August 1936 indicated a need for stability as the army and navy reconfigured Japan's war machine. The challenge lay in aligning long-term strategic goals with practical short-term interests in northern China without upsetting the existing balance of power. Expanding demands propelled the army's contingency planning, which had traditionally focused on safeguarding Japanese interests and the approximately 13,000 Japanese citizens residing in the region. Tokyo typically responded to serious incidents by deploying troops from homeland garrisons to address localized emergencies and then withdrawing them. However, by the mid-1930s, the growing Soviet threat to Manchukuo rendered this doctrine obsolete. Incidents in northern China gained strategic importance as they diverted resources from the Kwantung Army's preparations against the Soviet Union. Disruptions in northern China hindered access to essential raw materials necessary for army modernization and rearmament, while hostile Chinese forces threatened the Kwantung Army's strategic left flank in the event of war with the Soviets. With these considerations in mind, the army revised its operational war plans, assuming that northern China would serve as Japan's strategic rear area for operations against the USSR. In 1911 Japan's plan for general war mandated thirteen divisions to occupy southern Manchuria, capture Beijing, and subsequently occupy Zhejiang and Fujian. Limited contingency operations in northern China required two divisions to secure rail communications from Beijing to the coast. In the weeks following the 1931 Manchurian Incident, the General Staff in Tokyo drafted plans to counter a Sino-Soviet alliance, anticipating a 2 month campaign involving 15-16 divisions, with the majority engaged against the Soviet Red Army. 2 divisions were designated to secure northern China, while smaller units would monitor the Inner Mongolian front to protect Japan's western flank in Manchuria. After further refinement, the General Staff identified three contingencies for China in early 1932: maintaining the traditional mission of safeguarding Japanese interests and citizens with a standard two-division force; ensuring a secure line of communication between the Chinese capital and the sea with the China Garrison Army, which consisted of approximately 1,700 officers and men, reinforced by one division; and, in a worst-case scenario of all-out war, deploying three divisions to reinforce the Kwantung Army, along with 7 additional divisions and 3 cavalry brigades to suppress resistance in northern China and the Shandong Peninsula, while two additional divisions secured key areas in central China. Between 1932-1936, China received less attention as the General Staff focused on the Soviet military buildup in the Far East. Anxiety, stemming from the Soviet buildup in the Far East, was a pervasive concern reflected in the draft rearmament plan submitted to the throne on May 21, 1936, as part of the national budget formulation process. The army proposed countering the Soviet threat by enhancing Japanese strategic mobility in Manchukuo through the renovation and expansion of airfields, ports, roads, and rail infrastructure, and by constructing army air force arsenals, storage depots, and medical facilities. The positioning of Japanese divisions in eastern Manchuria suggested their wartime objectives, with the Kwantung Army relying on a mobile independent mixed brigade composed of armored car and mounted cavalry units stationed in Gongzhuling, central Manchuria, as its immediate response force for contingencies in northern China. Major units were not concentrated in western Manchuria, where they would be expected to deploy before any planned invasion of northern China. Nevertheless, General Staff planners remained vigilant regarding developments in China, where the resurgence of nationalism, Communist movements advancing north of the Yellow River in February 1936, and the spread of anti-Japanese sentiments across northern China raised the specter of limited military operations escalating into full-scale warfare. China's improving military capabilities would likely hinder Japanese forces from accomplishing their objectives. For example, around Shanghai, Chinese defenses were bolstered by extensive, in-depth, and permanent fortifications. In mid-September 1936, the General Staff in Tokyo issued orders to preempt significant outbreaks in northern China by repositioning a division in Manchukuo closer to the boundary. If hostilities broke out, the China Garrison Army, supported by Kwantung Army units, would launch punitive operations against Chinese forces as necessary. Higher headquarters expected local commanders to act swiftly and decisively, employing rapid maneuvers and shock tactics to address outbreaks with minimal force. Given that no alternative responses were considered, Japanese operational planning for northern China relied on an all-or-nothing approach to force deployment, even for minor incidents. Yet, the senior leadership of the army remained deeply divided over its China policy. Influenced by Ishiwara, the General Staff wanted to avoid military actions that could lead to a full-scale war with China, focusing instead on advancing the army's extensive rearmament and modernization program. In contrast, a majority of high-ranking officers in the Army Ministry and General Staff, particularly within the 2nd Operations Section and the Kwantung Army, favored forceful action against China, believing it necessary to quell rising anti-Japanese sentiments. Drawing from past experiences, these officers anticipated that the Chinese would quickly capitulate once hostilities commenced. This lack of a unified military strategy reflected broader disagreements among the army's leadership regarding operations in China. While operational planning called for the permanent occupation of large regions in northern and central China, the General Staff aimed to contain outbreaks to maintain focus on Soviet threats. There was a clear absence of long-term operational planning; instead, the army concentrated on initial battles while relegating planning for prolonged combat operations to contingent circumstances. In summary, the Japanese army preferred to avoid military force to address Chinese issues whenever feasible but was equally unwilling to concede to Chinese demands. Since 1914, Tosui Koryo or “Principles of Command” had served as the foundational doctrine for senior Japanese army commanders and staff officers engaged in combined arms warfare at the corps and army levels. The advent of new weapons, tactics, and organizational changes during World War I compelled all major military forces to reassess their existing military doctrines across strategic, operational, and tactical dimensions. In response, Japan modified the Principles of Command to blend its traditional post-Russo-Japanese War focus on the intangible factors in battle with the newest concepts of modern total war. A revision in 1918 recognized the significance of “recent great advances in materiel” for total warfare, yet it maintained that ultimate victory in battle relied on dedication, patriotism, and selfless service. In the 1920s, the General Staff's Operations Section, led by Major General Araki Sadao, who would become the leader of the Kodoha faction, had produced the most significant and impactful revision of the Principles. A staunch anti-communist and ideologue who valued the intangible elements of combat, Araki appointed Lieutenant Colonel Obata Toshishiro and Captain Suzuki Yorimichi as the principal authors of the manual's rewrite. Obata, a Soviet expert, was strongly influenced by German General Count Alfred von Schlieffen's classic theories of a “war of annihilation,” while Suzuki, the top graduate of the thirtieth Staff College class, shared Araki's focus on “spiritual” or intangible advantages in warfare. Both men were brilliant yet arrogant, working in secrecy to create a doctrine based on what Leonard Humphreys describes as “intense spiritual training” and bayonet-led assaults to counter the opponent's material superiority.  The latest version of the Principles of Command preserved the operational concept of rapid Japanese mobile offensive operations, aiming to induce a decisive battle or “kaisen” early in the campaign. It reaffirmed the sokusen sokketsu or “rapid victory' principle of rapid warfare. Attaining these goals relied exclusively on offensive action, with the army expecting commanders at all levels to press forward, defeat enemy units, and capture key territories. The troops were indoctrinated with a spirit of aggression and trained to anticipate certain victory. The emphasis on offensive action was so pronounced that Araki eliminated terms like surrender, retreat, and defense from the manual, believing they negatively affected troop morale. This aggressive mindset also infused the Sento Koryo or “Principles of Operations”, first published in 1929 as a handbook for combined arms warfare tailored for division and regimental commanders. The manual emphasized hand-to-hand combat as the culminating stage of battle, a principle regarded as unchanging in Japanese military doctrine since 1910. Senior commanders were expected to demonstrate initiative in skillfully maneuvering their units to encircle the enemy, setting the stage for climactic assaults with cold steel. Infantry was deemed the primary maneuver force, supported by artillery. To complement rapid infantry advances, the army developed light and mobile artillery. Operationally, encirclement and night attacks were vital components of victory, and even outnumbered units were expected to aggressively envelop enemy flanks. In assaults against fortified positions, units would advance under the cover of darkness, avoiding enemy artillery fire and positioning themselves for dawn attacks that combined firepower with shock action to overwhelm enemy defenses. In encounters with opposing forces, commanders would maneuver to flank the enemy, surround their units, and destroy them. If forced onto the defensive, commanders were expected to seize opportunities for decisive counterattacks to regain the initiative. These high-level operational doctrines were distilled into tactical guidelines in the January 1928 edition of the Infantry Manual or “Hohei Soten”, which saw a provisional revision in May 1937 . Both editions opened with identical introductions emphasizing the necessity for a rapid victory through the overpowering and destruction of enemy forces. Infantry was identified as the primary arm in combined arms warfare, and soldiers were taught to rely on cold steel as fundamental to their attacking spirit. The 1928 Infantry Manual underscored the commander's role in instilling a faith in certain victory or “hissho shinnen”, drawing from the glorious traditions of Japanese military history. The 1928 infantry tactics employed an extended skirmish line with four paces between soldiers. Individual initiative in combat was generally discouraged, except under exceptional circumstances, as success relied on concentrating firepower and manpower on narrow frontages to overwhelm defenders. An infantry company would create a skirmish line featuring two light machine gun squads and four rifle squads, preparing for a bayonet-driven breakthrough of enemy defenses. For the final assault, the infantry company would line up along a 150-yard front, likely facing casualties of up to 50% while breaching the enemy's main defensive line. Historical analysis reveals the shortcomings of these tactics. During World War I, armies constructed extensive, multi-layered defenses, trenches, pillboxes, and strong points, each independent yet all covered by artillery. If assaulting infantry suffered heavy losses breaching the first line, how could they successfully prosecute their assault against multiple defense lines? The 1937 revision elaborated on new tactics to overcome entrenched Soviet defenses, drafted in anticipation of arms and equipment that were either in development or production but not yet available for deployment. This became official doctrine in 1940, but as early as summer 1937, units from the China Garrison Army were field-testing these new tactics. The provisional manual adopted combat team tactics, forming an umbrella-like skirmish formation. This involved a light machine gun team at the forefront with two ammunition bearers flanking it to the rear. Behind the machine gun team were riflemen arranged in a column formation, maintaining six paces between each. The light machine gun provided cover fire as the formation closed in on the enemy for hand-to-hand combat. Increased firepower expanded the assault front to 200 yards. The combination of wider dispersion and night movement aimed to reduce losses from enemy artillery fire while the infantry advanced through successive lines of resistance. Commanders at the platoon level were responsible for leading the final assault into enemy lines, with increased tactical responsibility shifting from platoon to squad leaders, allowing for greater initiative from junior officers and non-commissioned officers. This emphasis on broader dispersal and fluidity on the battlefield required frontline infantry to exhibit aggressiveness and initiative. Contrary to popular belief, the Japanese military did not solely rely on the bayonet or an offensive spirit during engagements with Chinese forces. They effectively employed superior firepower and modern equipment within their combined arms framework, using heavy weapons and artillery to soften enemy positions before launching infantry attacks. Without such firepower, unsupported infantry attacks would have struggled to achieve their objectives. In January 1937, the Imperial Japanese Army consisted of approximately 247,000 officers and men, organized in a structure comprising seventeen standing infantry divisions, four tank regiments, and fifty-four air squadrons equipped with a total of 549 aircraft. The China Garrison Army and the Taiwan Garrison Army each included two infantry regiments, while a separate independent mixed brigade was stationed in Manchuria. Two divisions were permanently based in Korea, with four more assigned on a rotating basis to the Kwantung Army in Manchukuo. The remainder of the forces were stationed in the Japanese home islands. A substantial pool of reservists and partially trained replacements was available to mobilize, enabling the expansion of peacetime units to their wartime strength as needed. Conscription provided the primary source of enlisted manpower for the army, though a handful of young men volunteered for active duty. For conscription purposes, Japan was divided into divisional areas, which were further subdivided into regimental districts responsible for conscription, mobilization, individual activations, and veteran affairs within their jurisdictions. Typically, conscripts served with the regiment associated with their region or prefecture. However, the Imperial Guards regiments in Tokyo selected conscripts from across the nation, as did the Seventh Infantry Division, which recruited from the sparsely populated Hokkaido area and from regular army units stationed in Korea, China, and Taiwan. Draftees from Okinawa Prefecture usually served with Kyushu-based regiments. All males reaching the age of 20 underwent an army-administered pre-induction physical examination conducted between December 1 and January 30 of the following year. This evaluation classified potential conscripts into three categories: A “suitable for active duty”, B1, and B2, while others were deemed unfit for the demands of military life. In 1935, 29.7% of those examined received A classifications, while 41.2% were graded as B1 or B2. Among the 742,422 individuals eligible for conscription in 1937, approximately 170,000 were drafted, amounting to 22.9% of the cohort; this figure had remained relatively consistent since the post-Russo-Japanese War years. Within the conscripted group, 153,000 men were classified as A and an additional 17,000 as B. Conscripts served for two years of active duty, with variations based on their military specialty and any prior civilian military training. After their discharge, they were subject to a lengthy reserve obligation. In total, 470,635 individuals fell into the B category, being otherwise fit for service but excess to the army's active personnel needs. These men were assigned to the First Replacement Pool, where they underwent around 120 days of basic military training, primarily focused on small arms usage and fundamental tactics. Regular officers and NCOs led the training in their respective regimental districts. Following their initial training, the army called these replacements and reservists to active duty annually for several days of refresher training. Army leaders regarded discipline as the cornerstone of military effectiveness. Basic training emphasized the necessity of unquestioning obedience to orders at all levels. Subsequent training focused on fieldcraft, such as utilizing terrain strategically to surprise or encircle the enemy. However, training exercises often lacked diversity due to the limited maneuver areas available in Japan, leading to predictable solutions to field problems. The training regimen was rigorous, merging strict formal discipline and regulated corporal punishment with harsh informal sanctions and unregulated violence from leaders to instill unwavering compliance to orders. As an undergrad taking a course specifically on the Pacific War, it was this variable my professor argued contributed the most to the atrocities performed by the Japanese during WW2. He often described it as a giant pecking order of abuse. The most senior commanders abused, often physically their subordinates, who abused theirs, going through the ranks to the common grunts who had no one else but civilians and the enemy to peck at so to speak. Of course there were a large number of other variables at play, but to understand that you outta join my Patreon Account over at the www.patreon.com/pacificwarchannel , where I made a fan favorite episode on “why the Japanese army performed so many atrocities”. In there I basically hit a big 10 reason list, well in depth, I highly recommend it! As the concept of the “Imperial Army” and the cult of the emperor gained prominence, appeals to imperial symbols and authority bolstered this unquestioning obedience to superiors, who were seen as the conduits of the emperor's will. It was during this period that the term kogun or “imperial army” gained favor over kokugun or “national army”, reflecting a deliberate effort by military authorities to forge a direct connection between the military and the imperial throne. The 1937 Japanese infantry division was structured as a square formation, with a peacetime strength established at approximately 12,000 officers and men organized into two brigades, each comprising about 4,000 personnel, formed from two infantry regiments, about 2,000 men each. The division included a field artillery regiment, an engineer regiment, and a transport battalion as organic units. Each infantry regiment was composed of three battalions, approximately 600 men each, which contained three rifle companies, 160 men each and a weapons platoon. A rifle company consisted of three rifle platoons and one light machine gun platoon. Regiments also included infantry assault gun platoons, and battalions contained a heavy machine gun company. Upon mobilization, a fourth infantry company augmented each battalion, along with reserve fillers, nearly 5,000 personnel assigned as transport and service troops, raising the authorized wartime strength of an infantry division to over 25,000 officers and men.  Reforms implemented in 1922 reduced personnel numbers in favor of new and improved weapons and equipment. Among these advancements, the 75 mm Type 90 field artillery piece, which boasted increased range and accuracy, was integrated into the forces in 1930, along with the 105 mm Type 10 howitzer and 75 mm pack mountain artillery which could be disassembled for transport using pack animals. These became standard artillery components for divisions. The emphasis on light, mobile, and smaller-caliber field artillery enabled swift deployment during fast-moving engagements. By minimizing the size of the baggage train, infantry and artillery units could quickly set up off the march formation and maneuver around enemy flanks. Army leaders further streamlined road march formations by eliminating the fourth artillery battery from each regiment, thus sacrificing some firepower for enhanced speed and mobility. Heavier artillery pieces were still used in set-piece battles where mobility was less critical. In a typical 1936 division, the field artillery regiment, equipped with Type 90 field artillery or lighter Type 94 mountain artillery, had thirty-six guns. Training focused on quality rather than quantity, reflecting the conservative doctrine of “one-round-one-hit”. Live-fire training was infrequent due to the scarcity of artillery firing ranges in Japan. Ammunition stockpiles were inadequate for anticipated operational needs; government arsenals produced over 111,000 artillery shells in 1936, which was fewer than one-tenth of the quantities specified in wartime consumption tables. Similar industrial shortcomings also hampered advancements in motorization and armor. Motorization proved costly and relied on foreign supply, presenting challenges given the inferior road networks in Manchuria, northern China, and the Soviet Far East. Military estimates suggested a need for 250,000 trucks to fully motorize the army, a goal beyond the capabilities of the nascent Japanese automotive industry, which produced fewer than 1,000 cars annually until 1933. Japanese tanks, described as “handcrafted, beautifully polished, and hoarded” by Alvin Coox, suffered from shortages similar to heavy artillery and ammunition. The army prioritized light weighing ten tons or less and medium tanks sixteen tons or less due to the necessity of deploying armor overseas, size and weight were crucial for loading and unloading from transport ships. Smaller tanks were also more suitable for the terrains of northern China and Manchuria, as they could traverse unbridged rivers using pontoons or ferries. The Japanese industrial base, however, struggled to mass-produce tanks; by 1939, factories were producing an average of only twenty-eight tanks of all models per month. Consequently, in 1937, foot soldiers remained as reliant on animal transport for mobility as their ancestors had been during the Russo-Japanese War. Despite enjoying technological and material superiority over disorganized Chinese forces, these deficiencies in heavy artillery, armor, and vehicles would prove catastrophic against more formidable opponents. Another significant factor constraining Japanese industry's capacity to produce tanks, trucks, and artillery was the 1936 decision to expand the army's air wing and homeland air defense network. This policy diverted resources, capital, and technology away from the army's ground forces. The nascent Japanese Army Air Force or “JAAF” aimed to support ground operations through reconnaissance, bombing enemy bases, and achieving air superiority. However, direct support for ground operations was limited, and Japanese military planners did not anticipate that aerial bombardment could supplement or replace artillery bombardments. The expanded air arm's strategic mission centered on executing preemptive air strikes against Soviet air bases in the Far East to thwart potential air attacks on Japan. By the mid-1930s, the army had approximately 650 aircraft, roughly 450 of which were operational. The JAAF emphasized rigorous training that prioritized quality over quantity, producing only about 750 pilots annually up until December 1941. Basic flight skills were developed through this training, while specialized tactical instruction was deferred to newly established pilot units. According to logistics doctrine, Japanese maneuver units typically operated within a 120 to 180-mile radius of a railhead to facilitate resupply and reinforcement. A field train transport unit was responsible for moving supplies daily from the railhead to a division control point for distribution. The division established a field depot to manage the transfer of supplies from field transport to company and lower-echelon units. At the depot, transport troops would hand over supplies to a combat train that ferried ammunition, rations, and equipment directly to frontline units. Horse-drawn wagons and pack animals were the primary means of transportation. Each wartime division included a transport battalion, which varied in size from approximately 2,200 to 3,700 personnel, depending on the type of division supported. The division typically carried enough supplies for one day. Upon mobilization, the logistical framework was reinforced with the addition of an ordnance unit, a field hospital, a sanitation unit, and additional field and combat trains. The size of the transport regiment grew from around 1,500 officers and men with over 300 horses to nearly 3,500 troops and more than 2,600 animals. In the battalion, one company generally transported small-arms ammunition while two companies handled artillery shells and two others carried rations; this arrangement was flexible based on operational needs. Pack horses and dray horses were assigned to each company to carry or tow infantry assault artillery, mortars, artillery ammunition, and rations. Infantry soldiers carried minimal rations, approximately two and a half pounds, primarily rice, along with tinned condiments and salt. Consequently, the field train included a field kitchen stocked with fresh vegetables, rice or bread, soy sauce, and pickles. Each evening, a forward echelon train distributed supplies received from the field transport unit to the combat unit's bivouac area. When combat seemed imminent, a section of the transport battalion would move forward to deliver essential combat supplies, ordnance, equipment, medical supplies, directly to frontline units. These units would also handle resupply, medical evacuation, and repair of ordnance and equipment once fighting commenced.  On the evening of September 18, 1936, the fifth anniversary of the Manchurian Incident, Chinese troops from the Twenty-Ninth Army clashed with Japanese soldiers from the Seventh Company's rear-guard medical unit at Fengtai. When a Japanese officer arrived on horseback, a Chinese soldier struck his horse, prompting the Chinese troops to retreat to their barracks. Major Ichiki Kiyonao, the battalion commander, ordered an emergency assembly, surrounded the Chinese encampment, and demanded that Chinese authorities surrender the aggressors immediately. To defuse the situation, Major General Kawabe Masakazu, the brigade commander and Ichiki's superior, instructed Regimental Commander Mutaguchi to resolve the incident swiftly. Mutaguchi negotiated an agreement that required the Chinese to apologize, punish those responsible, withdraw from the vicinity of the Japanese barracks, and maintain a distance of two miles. Although Mutaguchi and Ichiki wanted to disarm the Chinese forces, they ultimately complied with Kawabe's wishes and allowed the Chinese to retain their weapons “in the spirit of Bushido.” Later, the Chinese claimed the Japanese had refrained from disarming them due to their fear of the strength and influence of the 29th Army. This insult infuriated Mutaguchi, who vowed not to make any further concessions and promised to eliminate the anti-Japanese provocateurs decisively if another incident occurred. He warned his officers against allowing an “overly tolerant attitude toward the Chinese” to undermine the prestige of the imperial army and emphasized the need for swift, decisive action to prevent such incidents in the future. Tensions were further exacerbated by large-scale Japanese field exercises conducted from late October to early November. These maneuvers, the largest ever executed by Japanese forces in China, mobilized about 6,700 active-duty and reserve troops for a series of complex battle drills, night maneuvers, and tactical field problems. During these exercises, Japanese troops were quartered in Chinese homes. Although local residents were compensated for any damage caused, the exercises nonetheless heightened tensions between the two sides. The fallout from the Suiyuan Fiasco in December 1936, coupled with a tumultuous summer and fall, led to rising anti-Japanese sentiment and prompted Tokyo to caution the Kawabe brigade against actions that might escalate the already precarious situation. In March 1937, during the annual personnel assignments, Ishiwara was promoted to major general and appointed chief of the 1st Department Operations of the General Staff. However, Army Vice Minister Umezu, a hardliner regarding China and a rival of Ishiwara, successfully maneuvered the Hayashi cabinet into approving the command choices for army and navy ministers, overriding Ishiwara's proposals. General Sugiyama Hajime, another hawk on China, replaced the terminally ill General Nakamura Kotaro as army minister shortly after Nakamura's appointment and remained in that position until June 1938. Lieutenant General Imai Kiyoshi, army vice chief of staff and an Ishiwara supporter, was also battling a terminal illness that rendered him largely ineffective during his short five-month tenure from March to August 1937. Imai was expected to play a crucial role in high command because the army chief of staff, Prince Kan'in, had been appointed in 1931 as a figurehead due to internal factions preventing agreement on a candidate. Ishiwara further complicated his conciliatory approach by selecting Colonel Muto Akira, a known hardliner who believed force was the only means to resolve the Japan-China conflict, for the vital position of chief of Operations Section within the General Staff. From Kwantung Army headquarters, Commanding General Ueda Kenkichi and his chief of staff, Lieutenant General Tojo Hideki, advocated for a preemptive war against China to serve the Kwantung Army's interests. In contrast, the China Garrison Army, under Lieutenant General Tashiro and his chief of staff, adopted a more moderate stance, aligning with central headquarters' policy of restraint. The China Garrison Army estimated the 29th Army to consist of 15,000–16,000 troops, with its main strength centered around Peking and an additional 10,000 troops in the surrounding area. Starting in spring 1937, Japanese units began observing tactical indicators suggesting that the Chinese were preparing for war. These indicators included increased guard presence at Peking's gates in June, bolstering units near the Marco Polo Bridge to over two battalions, preparing new fighting positions, digging trenches and constructing concrete pillboxes near the Marco Polo Bridge, infiltrating agents into Japanese maneuver areas for intelligence on night tactical exercises, and heightened strictness among Chinese railroad guards evident since late June. Nevertheless, the Japanese commanders did not view China as a formidable opponent. They believed that Chinese armies would quickly disintegrate due to what they perceived as a lack of fighting spirit and ineffective leadership. By 1937, Japan's national policy was shifting away from the persistent and aggressive efforts of field armies to undermine Chinese political authority in northern China toward a more conciliatory stance. This shift resulted in increased tensions between field armies and the General Staff in Tokyo, leading to substantial fractures among senior officers regarding the “solution” to their so-called China problem. Those tensions broke the camels back that year.  I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. The Japanese grossly underestimated their enemy and their own logistical capabilities. There was to say “too many cooks in the kitchen” of the Japanese military and competing visions ultimately were leading Japan and China into an official full blown war. Japan assumed they could bully China until it was so fragmented it would be a simple matter of grabbing the pieces it liked, that was not to be the case at all.   

  Last time we spoke about the Xi'an Incident. In December 1936, tensions in China erupted as Nationalist General Chiang Kai-shek faced a revolt led by his commanders, Zhang Xueliang and Yang Hucheng. Disillusioned by Chiang's focus on battling communists instead of the Japanese invaders, the generals swiftly captured him in a coup. Confined in Xi'an, Chiang initially resisted their demands for a united front against Japan but eventually engaged in negotiation with Zhang and the Chinese Communist Party. As public sentiment shifted against him, Chiang's predicament led to urgent discussions, culminating in an unexpected alliance with the communists. This pact aimed to consolidate Chinese resistance against Japanese aggression, marking a critical turning point in the Second Sino-Japanese War. By December 26, Chiang was released, and this uneasy collaboration set the stage for a more unified front against a common enemy, though underlying tensions remained between the factions.   #152 China Prepares for War Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. Before we jump into the Second Sino-Japanese War of 1937-1945, which I honestly have no idea how long will take us, I thought it would be a good idea to dedicate two episodes to how both China and Japan prepared themselves for war.  Going all the way back to the 1910s, Chinese intellectuals began to view an outright conflict between Japan and China was inevitable. In the discussions about China's strategic options, Jiang Fangzhen pioneered a strategy of protracted warfare, a concept that would later shape China's approach during the Sino-Japanese War. Having studied in Japan during his youth, Jiang developed a keen understanding of the Japanese government and military. As early as 1917, he predicted that China and Japan would become embroiled in a long-term conflict, with the battleground likely to be west of the Peiping–Wuhan and Guangzhou–Wuhan railways. In his work titled "Guofang Lun" or “On National Defense”, Jiang reiterated the importance of protracted warfare as a means to thwart Japan's aspirations for a swift victory. He argued that China should leverage its vast population and extensive territory to extend the conflict, gradually wearing down Japanese strength and turning the situation to its advantage. Jiang recommended that China not focus on defending its coastal regions but instead confront the enemy west of the Peking–Wuhan Railway.   Chiang Kai-shek would eventually come to share Jiang's belief that “the longer the war drags on, the more advantageous it will be for China.” Despite significant public criticism, both the Nationalist government and General Zhang Xueliang, decided against military resistance when Japan invaded Manchuria in September 1931 and attacked Shanghai in 1932. Chiang was particularly hesitant to engage Japan directly, as he was also dealing with a Communist insurgency in central China. He feared that Chinese forces would suffer quick defeat, predicting that Japan would capture key coastal areas and critical infrastructure within just three days, crippling China by dismantling its military and economic lifelines. Following the invasion of North China Chiang was forced to adopt a firmer stance. The Nationalist government proposed a dual strategy of pursuing peace and security while simultaneously preparing for war. If peace proved impossible, China would mobilize its resources for ultimate victory through prolonged conflict. This approach was formalized in the National Defense Plan, which China adopted by prioritizing protracted warfare as its core strategy. After the Sino-Japanese clash in Shanghai on January 28, 1932, the Military Affairs Commission devised a plan that divided China into four defense areas along with a preparation area. While some troops were assigned local security, commanders were directed to concentrate their remaining forces for potential confrontations with Japan. That year, the Military Affairs Commission issued General Defense Guidelines that outlined two strategic responses to a potential Japanese invasion. The first, conservative approach focused on maintaining key positions and utilizing protracted warfare to impede the enemy. The second strategy advocated for decisive battles in key regions to thwart Japan's ambitions and protect China's territorial integrity, prioritizing disengagement from Japanese forces along the Yangtze River and coastline. In August 1935, German military adviser General Alexander von Falkenhausen provided recommendations to Chiang Kai-shek based on his predictions of Japanese advance routes into China. He identified three main routes: one from northern Hebei to Zhengzhou, the second from Shandong toward Xuzhou, and the third crossing the Yangtze River to Nanjing and onwards to Wuhan. He suggested treating the Yangtze River as the primary combat zone and highlighted Sichuan as a possible retreat area. Taking all of this into consideration. in 1936, a draft of a new National Defense Plan divided the country into four zones: a war zone, a defense zone, an internal security zone, and a preparation area. The war zone encompassed ten provinces and established strategies for retreating to predetermined defensive positions when necessary, with Sichuan designated as the main base for the war. In January 1937, the Chinese General Staff Department introduced its annual War Plan, outlining three possible military conflict regions between China and Japan. It proposed two main strategies: Proposal A emphasized sustained combat and retreat to fortified positions if the situation became unfavorable, aiming to eventually go on the offensive against Japan. Proposal B focused on repelling Japanese invasions along the coast and from the north, prioritizing counter offensives against Japanese units stationed near key locations. To prepare, the NRA completed several critical projects outlined in its plans, establishing military supply depots in Nanjing, Bengbu, Xinyang, Huayin, Nanchang, and Wuchang to manage logistics for supplies across various strategic railways. These depots were equipped to sustain the military, with ample ammunition and provisions, including 60 million rounds of small-arms ammunition and food for hundreds of thousands. Despite these preparations, not all projects were completed by the time war broke out in July 1937. In contrast to the Japanese military's tactics, Chinese forces prioritized defensive strategies. For example, at the Mount Lushan Military Officer Training Camp in July 1934, Chiang Kai-shek outlined four possible approaches against Japan, favoring a defense-as-offense strategy. Other options included building fortifications, tenaciously defending key positions, and employing guerrilla warfare through irregular forces to constrain enemy advances. Chiang stressed the importance of national mobilization for the war effort.  There was a significant disparity in equipment between the Japanese and Chinese armies. To give you an idea, each Japanese division included a mechanized group featuring thirty-nine light military vehicles and 21 light armored cars, supplemented by 6,000–7,000 horses, 200–300 automobiles, and specialized troops such as poison gas teams. In contrast, Nationalist divisions lacked any of these capabilities, a typical nationalist division theoretically had an armored regiment, but this unit was equipped with fewer than 72 armored vehicles. Another major weakness of the Nationalist forces was their insufficient artillery. In 1936, a division was officially assigned one artillery battalion, which was divided into three batteries totaling twelve guns. It also included a mechanized cannon company with four direct-fire weapons. By comparison, a Japanese division boasted four infantry regiments and one mountain artillery or field artillery regiment, with each artillery regiment comprising three field artillery battalions and one howitzer battalion. The infantry regiment itself included a mountain artillery section with four mountain guns, while the infantry battalion had one Type 70 mountain gun section with two guns. In total, a Japanese division possessed sixty-four artillery pieces of various calibers, four times the number of a Chinese division and of significantly higher quality. In reality, in 1936, twelve of the twenty elite Chinese “reformed divisions” still lacked artillery battalions. The ordnance available in the “reformed divisions” mostly consisted of the outdated Type 60 mountain gun. Nationwide, very few of the 200 divisions were equipped with any artillery, and those that did often used obsolete field artillery pieces or mountain artillery provided to local forces. Some units even relied on trench mortars as a makeshift solution. The artillery weapons came from various countries, but they frequently lacked necessary observation and signal components, and were often low on ammunition. The majority of mountain guns and field artillery were of the Type 75, which, while capable of providing fire support, had limited range and inflicted minimal damage. To give you an idea of the striking inadequacy of the Chinese artillery, during the Shanghai fighting in 1937, the mountain artillery of the Guangxi 21st Army Group could only reach targets within 1,200 yards, while Japanese field artillery had an effective range of 8,000 yards. Chinese-made mountain artillery suffered due to inferior steel-making technology; the gun shields were constructed from low-quality steel, and the barrels often overheated after firing just a few rounds, increasing the risk of explosions. Additionally, the equipment of local forces varied greatly in quality. In fact, some local units had superior equipment compared to Nationalist units. For example, before the Sino-Japanese War, troops from Yunnan were equipped with French antitank guns and heavy machine guns, which were better than the German water-cooled machine guns used by the Nationalist forces. However, the majority of local troops relied on inferior equipment; the 122nd Division under Wang Mingzhang from Sichuan, noted for its brave defense of Tengxian County during the Xuzhou Battle, was armed with locally produced light and heavy machine guns that frequently malfunctioned, and their Type 79 rifles, also made in Sichuan, were often outdated, with some dating back to the Qing Dynasty. These weapons had limited range and sometimes malfunctioned after fewer than one hundred rounds. Now before the war, both Nationalist and local forces acquired weaponry from diverse foreign and domestic sources. Even domestically produced weapons lacked standardization, with those made in Hanyang and Manchuria differing in design and specifications. Arms manufactured in Germany, France, Russia, Japan, and Italy were similarly inconsistent. Consequently, even within a single unit, the lack of uniformity created significant logistical challenges, undermining combat effectiveness, particularly in the early stages of the war. Despite Nationalist ordnance factories producing over three million rounds of small-arms ammunition daily, the incompatibility of ammunition and weapons diminished the usable quantity of ammunition. Chinese communications infrastructure was inadequate. In the Nationalist army, signal units were integrated into engineering units, leading to low-quality radio communications. In emergencies, telegrams could remain undelivered for days, and orders often had to be dispatched via postal services. By 1937, the entire country boasted only 3,000 military vehicles, necessitating heavy reliance on horses and mules for transport. To effectively equip twenty Nationalist divisions, 10,647 horses and 20,688 mules were needed, but by the end of 1935, only 6,206 horses and 4,351 mules were available. A statistic from 1936 indicated a 5 percent mortality rate among military horses, with some units experiencing a rate as high as 10 percent. The distribution of weaponry led to disputes during army reorganization efforts following the Northern Expedition. Although Chiang Kai-shek's forces were part of the regular army, the quality of their equipment varied significantly. Domestic production of weapons was limited, and imports could not close the gap. Priority was given to small arms; through army reorganization, Chiang aimed to diminish the influence of forces less loyal to him. Nationalist army staff officers observed that troops loyal to Chiang received the best weapons. Northwest and Northeast forces, having cultivated good relations with the KMT, were similarly better equipped, while Shanxi troops received inferior supplies. Troops associated with the Guangxi Clique were given even poorer quality weapons due to their leaders' stronger political ambitions. Troops regarded as “bandit forces,” such as those led by Shi Yousan, Li Hongchang, and Sun Dianying, were naturally assigned the least effective weaponry. This unequal distribution of arms increased some local forces' inclination to align with the KMT while alienating others, which inadvertently led to additional turmoil in the aftermath of the Northern Expedition. Logistical accounting within the Nationalist military was severely lacking. Military expenditures accounted for a significant portion of government spending, roughly 65.48 % in 1937, with personnel costs being the largest component. However, military units prioritized boosting their own resources over accurate accounting. Surpluses were not returned but rather utilized to reward military officers and soldiers for merits in battle, care for the wounded, or to create a reserve. Conversely, if deficits arose, troops would resort to “living off vacancies,” a practice in which they would fail to report desertions promptly and would falsely claim new soldiers had arrived. Military leaders typically appointed their most trusted subordinates to serve as accountants and logistic officers. As the war commenced, these issues became readily apparent. During the Battle of Shanghai in 1937, frontline soldiers sometimes went days without food and went months without pay. Wounded soldiers and civilians had to search tirelessly for medical treatment, and when main forces relocated, they often abandoned grain, ammunition, weapons, and petroleum along the way. General Chen Cheng, the commander in chief during the Battle of Shanghai, noted, “This phenomenon clearly revealed our inability to supply frontline troops, indicating that China remains a backward country with poor management.” Many logistical shortcomings severely impacted troop morale and combat effectiveness. In a 1933 speech, Chiang Kai-shek acknowledged that poor food, inadequate clothing, and ineffective logistics contributed to widespread desertion. Soldiers were further demoralized by reduced or embezzled salaries. A lack of professional medical staff and equipment hampered healthcare efforts, leading to high disease and mortality rates. According to official statistics from 1936, approximately 10 percent of soldiers fell ill annually, with a mortality rate as high as 5 percent. Japanese military authorities reported that one in three wounded Japanese soldiers died, while a Dutch military officer present during the early stages of the Sino-Japanese War observed that one in every two wounded Nationalist soldiers perished. Due to inadequate equipment and limited transport options, Nationalist forces were compelled to recruit farmers and rent vehicles, as they lacked essential facilities such as tents. This reliance on local resources inevitably led to frequent conflicts between military personnel and civilians. China is clearly a vast nation with an extensive coastline, requiring the construction of several significant fortresses during the modern era. These included Wusong, Jiangyin, Zhenjiang, Jiangning, and Wuhan along the Yangtze River, as well as Zhenhai, Humen, and Changzhou along the seacoast. Except for the Wuhan fortress, built in 1929-1930, all other fortifications were established during the late Qing Dynasty and featured uncovered cannon batteries. These fortresses suffered from inadequate maintenance, and many of their components had become outdated and irreplaceable, rendering them militarily negligible. Following the January 1932 Shanghai Incident, the Japanese military destroyed the Wusong forts, leaving the entrance to the Yangtze River completely unfortified. Consequently, there were no defenses along the coastline from Jiangsu to Shandong, allowing the Japanese to land freely. In December 1932, the Military Affairs Commission established a fortress group tasked with constructing fortresses and defensive installations, seeking assistance from German military advisers. After the North China Incident in 1935, the Nationalist government accelerated the construction of defensive structures in line with national war planning, focusing particularly on Nanjing. The Nationalists prioritized building fortifications along the seacoast and the Yellow River, followed by key regions north of the Yellow River. The government also ordered a significant quantity of heavy artillery from Germany. This included several dozen pieces of flat-fire antiaircraft and dual-purpose heavy artillery, which were installed at fortifications in Jiangyin, Zhenjiang, Nanjing, and Wuhan. By the summer of 1937, the construction of nine fortified positions was complete: Nanjing, Zhenjiang, Jiangyin, Ningbo, Humen, Mawei, Xiamen , Nantong, and Lianyungang. In total, China had established 41 forts and equipped them with 273 fortress cannons. Some defensive installations were poorly managed, with many units assigned to their perimeters lacking training and access to proper maps. The barbette positions in the fortresses were not well concealed and could hardly store sufficient ammunition. Troops stationed at these fortresses received little training. Despite these shortcomings, the fortresses and fortifications were not entirely ineffective. They bolstered Chinese positions along the defense line stretching from Cangxian County to Baoding and from Dexian County to Shijiazhuang, as well as in southern Shandong.  Before the war, China's political and economic center was situated along the seacoast and the Yangtze River. As Japanese influence expanded, the Nationalist government was compelled to establish bases in China's inner regions, very similar to how the USSR pulled back its industry further west after Operation barbarossa.The Japanese attack on Shanghai in 1932 prompted the Nationalists to relocate their capital to Luoyang. On March 5, during the Second Plenary Session of the KMT's Fourth Congress, the Western Capital Preparation Committee was formed to plan for the potential relocation of all governmental bodies to Xi'an in the event of full-scale war. In February 1933, the Central Political Conference approved the Northwest Development Bill, and in February 1934, the National Economic Commission set up a northwestern branch to oversee development projects in the region. On October 18, 1934, Chiang Kai-shek traveled to Lanzhou, recording in his diary that “Northwest China has abundant resources. Japan and Russia are poised to bully us. Yet, if we strengthen ourselves and develop northwest China to the fullest extent, we can turn it into a base for China's revival.” Interestingly, it was Sichuan, rather than the northwest, that became China's rear base during the 2nd Sino-Japanese War. In October 1934, the Communist army evacuated its Soviet base in southern China, initiating the Long March that would ultimately end in the northwest. By this time, Chiang Kai-shek had decided to designate Sichuan as the last stronghold for China. In January 1935, the Nanchang Field Headquarters of the Military Affairs Commission, responsible for combatting the Communists and serving as the supreme military and political authority over most provinces along the Yangtze River and central China, dispatched a special advisory group to Chongqing. Following this, the Nationalist army advanced into Sichuan. On February 10, the Nationalists appointed a new provincial government in Sichuan, effectively ending the province's long-standing regionalism. On March 2, Chiang traveled to Chongqing, where he delivered a speech underscoring that “Sichuan should serve as the base for China's revival.” He stated that he was in Sichuan to oversee efforts against the Communist army and to unify the provincial administration.  After the Xinhai revolution, the Republic of China was still suing the Qing Dynasty's conscription system. However, once in power, the Nationalist government sought to establish a national military service program. In 1933, it enacted a military service law, which began implementation in 1936. This law categorized military service into two branches: service in the Nationalist army and in territorial citizen army units. Men aged eighteen to forty-five were expected to serve in the territorial units if they did not enlist in the Nationalist army. The territorial service was structured into three phases: active service lasting two to three years, first reserves for six years, and second reserves until the age of forty-five. The Ministry of Military Affairs divided China into sixty divisional conscription headquarters, initially establishing these headquarters in the six provinces of Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Anhui, Jiangxi, Henan, and Hubei. By December 1936, approximately 50,000 new soldiers had been drafted. The military service law disproportionately favored the middle and upper classes. Government personnel were exempt from enlistment, allowing privileged families to register their children with government agencies. Similarly, students in middle and higher education were excused from service, while youth from poorer backgrounds often felt compelled to enlist due to financial constraints that limited their educational opportunities. Village and town leaders were responsible for executing the recruitment process and frequently conspired with army recruiters. Recruitment principles often favored wealthier families, with guidelines stating that one son should be drafted for every three sons, two for five sons, but no drafts if there was only one son. Wealthy families could secure exemptions for all their male children, while poor families might see their only son conscripted if they were unable to provide the requisite bribe. Town and village heads wielded significant power in recruitment. This new recruitment system also created numerous money-making opportunities. Military personnel assigned to escort draftees to their units would often allow draftees to escape for a fee. Additionally, draftees could monetize their service by agreeing to serve as substitutes for others. For some, being drafted became an occupation. For example, in 1936, 600 individuals were drafted in the Wuhu area of Anhui province, and accounts from regional administrators indicated that every draftee had either been traded, replaced, or seized. Beginning in 1929, the Nationalist government also instituted military training for high school students and older individuals. Students were required to participate in one theoretical class and one practical class each week, totaling three hours. Starting in 1934, students had to complete a three-month military training program before graduating. Graduates of military academies were employed as military instructors. By the end of 1936, over 237,000 high school students had undergone military training. This student military training was overseen by the Society for the Implementation of the Three People's Principles of Sun Yat-sen, which also provided political education and sometimes gathered information on students' political beliefs.  Although the Nationalists made significant efforts to improve the military training of both officers and troops, they inherited deep-seated challenges that they were unable to completely overcome. A lack of facilities, outdated training manuals, low regard for military instructors, and the ongoing influence of regionalism and warlordism hindered progress. The Japanese would also later exploit these shortcomings of the Nationalist army. The Central Military Academy, which evolved from the Whampoa Military Academy established in 1923 in Guangzhou to train officers for the Northern Expedition, became the primary training institution for junior military officers. The academy offered a basic course, lasting eighteen months, which included general education, specialized training in various subjects, and field practice. This was followed by a two-year cadet training program focused on developing the skills necessary for junior military officers. Seventeen classes were admitted before the outbreak of war. Admission to the academy was highly competitive, with military officers receiving attractive salaries. For instance, in 1935, the academy received 10,000 applications for the twelfth class, but only 7% were accepted. Upon graduation, cadets were typically assigned to divisions within the Nationalist army loyal to Chiang Kai-shek. Their training, influenced by German advisors, resulted in a high-quality cadre. In modern China, most sergeants were veterans. While some units provided training for sergeants, a lack of formal education led to their diminished status. Truly qualified sergeants were rare. During his tenure as Minister of Military Training, General Bai Chongxi proposed establishing a sergeant school and creating a professional noncommissioned officer system; however, the Ministry of Military Affairs opposed this on financial grounds. While commanding officers enjoyed rapid promotions, military instructors did not. Furthermore, there was no system for transferring instructors to field commands or assigning commanders to military academies for extended periods. Despite minor updates to cover modern warfare concepts such as tank warfare and machine guns, Qing Dynasty military manuals were still in use at the Central Military Academy at the start of the war. Yeah, 1937 they were still rocking the old Qing books. Following the establishment of the Ministry of Military Training, a bureau for military translation was set up to evaluate existing course materials and translate military manuals, but its contributions were limited. Another significant shortcoming of military instruction focused on theory at the expense of practical application.  To enhance the quality of military officers, the Nationalist army instituted specialized schools for artillery, infantry, transport, engineering, and signals starting in 1931. These institutions were considered to have high-quality administrators and facilities. The Nationalists adopted German military training models, replacing the previously used Japanese models. They appointed German advisors to oversee instructor training at military academies and established three instructional divisions. By the onset of the Sino-Japanese War, 15,000 students had graduated from programs with a German military influence, resulting in the creation of about fifty combat divisions from these instructional units. However, the progress of other Nationalist army units was limited because their training was not aligned with contemporary battlefield realities. Before World War I, troops operated in close formations due to limited firepower. The widespread introduction of machine guns after World War I necessitated a shift to dispersed formations. Although a new drill manual issued by the Ministry of Military Training in 1935 introduced small-group tactics, few units adopted these methods. General Chen Cheng highlighted another underlying issue in 1938, commenting on the outmoded focus on parade ground drills and formal military manners. He noted, “We have paid too much attention to stereotypical formality and procedures of no practical use. Sometimes, even though soldiers could not get a haircut or take a bath for several months, their camps had to be in order. They underwent intensive training in close-order drill but learned little about gun handling, marksmanship, or maneuvering. This was inappropriate in peacetime, yet we continued this practice even after the Sino-Japanese War started, even using it on highly educated youth.” In contrast, the Communist army simplified training, emphasizing two essential skills: live-fire exercises and physical endurance, which significantly enhanced troop effectiveness in the challenging terrain characteristic of the Sino-Japanese War. Ultimately, the Nationalist army's training did not reach all soldiers. Only about half of all combat soldiers received adequate training, while the rest were neglected. According to statistics from the time, there were approximately five million military personnel during the Sino-Japanese War, with three million serving in logistics. Most of these logistics personnel had received little training, leading to disastrous consequences for overall combat effectiveness. As warfare has become more complex, the role of highly trained staff officers has become increasingly important. Napoleon developed operational plans close to the front and communicated orders via courier. During World War I, military commanders collected information at their headquarters and utilized telephones and automobiles to relay orders to the front lines. In World War II, with the battlefield expanding to include land, sea, and air, senior commanders often made decisions from headquarters far from the action, relying on a significant number of staff officers with specialized skills to keep them informed. In China, however, the staff officer system was underdeveloped. By 1937, only about 2,000 commanders and staff officers had received training. Prior to the Sino-Japanese War, most commanders managed staff work themselves, with staff officers serving primarily as military secretaries who drafted orders, reports, and maps. Many staff officers had no formal military training, and as a whole, the branch lacked respect, causing the most talented officers to avoid serving in it. The situation was even more dire for staff officer departments within local forces. For example, in March 1937, Liu Ziqing, a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy, was appointed as the director of political instruction in the Forty-fourth Army, a unit under Sichuan warlord Liu Xiang. Liu Ziqing's account illustrates the dysfunction within the ranks: “The commander in chief was not supposed to manage the army and even did not know its whereabouts... But he could appoint relatives and former subordinates—who were officials and businessmen as well—to the army. Each month they would receive a small stipend. At headquarters, there was a long table and two rows of chairs. Around ten o'clock in the morning, senior officers signed in to indicate their presence. Those with other business would leave, while the remaining officers sat down to leisurely discuss star actresses, fortune-telling, business projects, mah-jongg, and opium. Occasionally they would touch on national affairs, chat about news articles, or share local gossip. In the afternoons, they primarily played mah-jongg, held banquets, and visited madams. Most mornings, the commander usually presided over these activities, and at first, I reported for duty as well. But I soon realized it was a waste of time and came very rarely. At headquarters, most staff members wore long gowns or Western-style suits, while military uniforms were a rare sight.” Most senior military personnel were trained at the Baoding Military Academy during the early republic. 2/3rds of commanders in chief, 37 %of army commanders, and 20 % of division commanders were Baoding graduates. Higher-ranking officers were more likely to have launched their careers there. In contrast, only 10 % of division commanders and a few army commanders were graduates of the Whampoa Military Academy. Additionally, commanders trained in local military schools and those with combat experience accounted for 1/3rd of all commanders. While the prevalence of civil war provided opportunities for rapid promotion, it also hindered officers' ability to update their training or gain experience in different military branches. German advisors expressed their concerns to Chiang Kai-shek, emphasizing that officers should first serve in junior roles before taking command. During one battle in 1938, Chiang noted, “Our commanders in chief are equivalent only to our enemy's regiment commanders, and our army and division commanders are only as competent as our enemy's battalion and company commanders.” Despite not viewing high-ranking Japanese officers as great strategists, Nationalist officers respected them as highly competent, diligent, and professional commanders who rarely made critical errors. The infantry was the primary component of the Nationalist army, with middle and junior infantry officers constituting over 80 %of all army officers. A 1936 registry of military officers listed 1,105 colonels and 2,159 lieutenant colonels within the infantry, demonstrating a significant outnumbering of Baoding graduates at ranks below lieutenant colonel. However, the quality of middle and junior infantry officers declined during the Sino-Japanese War; by 1944, only 27.3 % of these officers were from formal military academies, while those promoted from the ranks increased to 28.1 %. In 1937, 80 % of officers in an ordinary infantry battalion were military academy graduates, but this percentage dropped to 20 % during the war. Its hard to tell how educated soldiers were before the war, but it is generally believed that most were illiterate. In 1929, sociologist Tao Menghe surveyed 946 soldiers from a Shanxi garrison brigade and found that only 13 percent could compose a letter independently, while the rest had either never learned to read or were unable to write. In contrast, in August 1938, General Feng Yuxiang found that 80 percent of a regiment in Hunan were literate. Regardless, during the Sino-Japanese War, the quality of recruits steadily declined. More than 90 percent of soldiers were illiterate, and few possessed any basic scientific knowledge, which hindered their ability to master their weapons. On the battlefield, they heavily relied on middle and junior officers for guidance.  In autumn 1933, General Hans von Seeckt, the architect of the post World War I German army, visited China at the personal invitation of Chiang Kai-shek. In his recommendations for military reform, he identified China's greatest problem as its excessively large forces drawn from diverse backgrounds. He stated, “At present, the most pressing goal is to... establish a small, well-equipped army with high morale and combat effectiveness to replace the numerous poorly armed and trained forces.” He suggested forming an army of sixty divisions and recommended the establishment of a training regiment for military officers to equip them with the skills needed for modern warfare. Chiang Kai-shek accepted von Seeckt's proposals, and on January 26, 1935, he convened a National Military Reorganization Conference in Nanjing. On March 1, the Army Reorganization Bureau was established in Wuchang, under the leadership of General Chen Cheng. In the same month, General Alexander von Falkenhausen took charge of the German Military Advisors Group. Before war broke out, around nineteen divisions, roughly 300,000 troops received training from German advisors and were equipped with German-style weapons. At the onset of the Sino-Japanese War, the forces stemming from the First Army of the National Revolutionary Army and the Whampoa cadets, who had fought in the Northern Expedition, held the highest reputation and were referred to as the “core central forces” by the Japanese. Other notable forces included the Guangxi Army, Northwestern Army, Northeastern Army, some Uyghur units, the Guangdong Army, and the Shanxi Army. In contrast, provincial forces such as the Yunnan Army and Sichuan Army were viewed less favorably. Nationalist forces were generally far inferior to those of the Japanese enemy. In 1937, General He Yingqin noted that Nationalist forces had failed to prevail in 1932 and 1933, even when outnumbering the Japanese by 4-1.  In November 1937, during a national defense conference, Chiang Kai-shek stated, "In recent years we have worked hard, prepared actively, and achieved national unification. By the time of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, we were in a better domestic situation and had improved military preparedness compared to before. Since 1935, our strength has doubled. It increased by more than two to three times since January 1932 or September 1931 [when Japan attacked Shanghai and Mukden]. If peace had been achievable, we should have delayed the war for two or three years. Given an additional three years, our defensive capabilities would have been drastically different... Now, if we merely compare the military strength of China and Japan, we are certainly inferior." However, such assessments were overly optimistic, as Chiang failed to recognize that Japan's military capabilities would not have stagnated. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek certainly was dealt a difficult hand of cards for the upcoming poker match he was to play. Yet the Chinese were resilient and they had to be for the absolute horror that would be inflicted upon them from 1937-1945. Until this point, their enemies had been far more lenient, the Empire of Japan would show no mercy.

Taiwans Zukunft ist mehr als ungewiss. China hat gedroht, die Insel an sein Reich anzuschliessen, wenn nötig militärisch. Käme es zu einem Anschluss oder gar zu einem Krieg, hätte dies fatale Folgen für uns alle. Einst kämpften auf dem chinesischen Festland der kommunistische Mao Zedong und der damalige Präsident Chiang Kai-shek in einem Bürgerkrieg gegeneinander. Der unterlegene Chiang Kai-shek floh im Jahr 1949 mit rund zwei Millionen Menschen auf die Insel Taiwan. Seither gibt es zwei Länder, die sich als das wahre China betrachten: Taiwan, das sich offiziell als «Republik China» bezeichnet, und die Volksrepublik China. Zuerst war Taiwan das international anerkannte China, dann wurde die Volksrepublik immer mächtiger und verdrängte Taiwan im Jahr 1971 aus den Vereinten Nationen. Für Peking gilt das Ein-China-Prinzip: Jedes Land, das mit China diplomatische Beziehungen führen und Geschäfte machen will, darf Taiwan nicht offiziell als eigenständigen Staat anerkennen. Dies führte dazu, dass Taiwan heute nur noch von dreizehn Ländern offiziell anerkannt wird. Und dies, obwohl es sich seit den Achtzigerjahren zu einem der demokratischsten und liberalsten Länder Asiens entwickelt hat. Spätestens seit dem Ukrainekrieg ist die bedrohliche Lage der Insel in den internationalen Fokus gerückt. Die Angst geht um, der chinesische Präsident Xi Jinping könnte es Putin gleichtun und den Inselstaat angreifen. In mehreren Reden hat er angekündigt, die Vereinigung mit Taiwan auf jeden Fall herbeizuführen, wenn nötig mit militärischen Mitteln. Westliche Politiker verschiedenster Länder bekunden ihre Solidarität und reisen symbolträchtig nach Taiwan. Allen voran sind es die USA, die seit Jahrzehnten als Verbündete Taiwans gelten. Jede Reise wird von immer heftigerem militärischem Säbelrasseln der Chinesen begleitet. In der Pandemie standen in vielen westlichen Ländern, vor allem in der Automobilindustrie, die Fliessbänder still. Der Grund: Chipmangel. Der Welt wurde schlagartig bewusst, wie abhängig sie von internationalen Lieferketten und vor allem von der Chipproduktion in Taiwan ist. Das Land produziert rund 60 Prozent aller weltweiten Halbleiter. Bei den hochklassigen Halbleitern sind es sogar über 90 Prozent. Halbleiter werden auch als das Öl des 21. Jahrhunderts bezeichnet. Würde die Chipproduktion Taiwans gestört, könnte die gesamte digitalisierte Welt um Jahrzehnte zurückgeworfen werden. Mit prägnanten Bildern und im Gespräch mit internationalen Experten vermittelt der Film ein Bild des Landes und der aktuellen Lage. Anhand der politischen Beziehungen der Schweiz zu Taiwan erzählt der Film, wie heikel es für die meisten Länder der Welt ist, mit Taiwan umzugehen, ohne das grosse China zu erzürnen. Der Film zeigt auch, wie gefährlich es für die Welt und deren Wirtschaft wäre, wenn China tatsächlich angreifen würde. Hätte Taiwan eine Chance, sich zu verteidigen? Würden die USA, Japan, Australien und Korea eingreifen und stünde somit der Beginn eines grossen Krieges bevor? Wie wahrscheinlich ist es, dass China tatsächlich ernst macht? Erstausstrahlung 3sat: Mittwoch, 6. Dezember 2023, 20.15 Uhr