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Last time we spoke about the Japanese offensive at Changsha. In late September 1941, fighting in China had become a brutal struggle of endurance. Japanese forces kept pushing forward, but China—though battered by heavy losses—refused to yield. Help from abroad was slowly beginning to matter. American aid reached China through groups like the Red Cross, and volunteers later associated with the Flying Tigers offered crucial support to Chinese operations. Against this backdrop, Changsha in Hunan became the center of a dangerous autumn campaign. Chiang Kai-shek and the Nationalist leadership treated the city as strategically vital, knowing that its fate could influence the wider course of the war. In the end, the resistance at Changsha showed China's key advantage: resilience. The city's defense helped slow the Japanese advance, break up momentum, and create uncertainty as the campaign continued.   #212 The Autumn Battle of Changsha, 1941 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 late September 1941, the war in China had already entered its fifth year. By then the conflict had lost whatever remained of novelty and had settled into something harsher and more exhausting: a long war of attrition fought across enormous distances, under conditions of chronic shortage, strategic uncertainty, and repeated local catastrophe. Japan still possessed formidable military strength. Its armies could strike hard, move fast, and exploit superior firepower, air support, and communications in individual campaigns. Yet the larger shape of the war had begun to change. China had not collapsed. The Nationalist government still stood. Chinese armies, however battered, still held the field. The line between survival and defeat remained dangerously thin, but it had not broken. This was the situation in which the autumn campaign in Hunan and Hubei unfolded.   The struggle around Changsha did not occur in isolation. It belonged to a wider military and political moment. In Europe, the war had already expanded into a continent-wide convulsion. Germany and the Soviet Union were locked in a massive struggle after the German invasion in June. Leningrad was under threat, Kiev had become the scene of disaster, and the approach of the battle for Moscow suggested that still greater bloodshed lay ahead. Stalin had pressed Churchill to open a second front in Europe and had been refused. The global balance of war was shifting, but not yet in any way that guaranteed relief to China.   In Asia, Japan continued to press forward. The pressure on China remained immense. Yet by mid-1941 China's position, though still precarious, no longer looked quite as desperate as it had in earlier years. International sympathy had grown. Material aid, however limited, was beginning to take more concrete form. In July, the American Red Cross sent China medical supplies worth millions of dollars. In August, more than a hundred retired American pilots and mechanics came together to aid China against Japan. The air unit they formed, later celebrated as the Flying Tigers, meant more than aircraft and personnel alone. It signaled that China's war was no longer quite so isolated. That change in atmosphere did not produce calm in Chongqing. It sharpened urgency.   For Chiang Kai-shek, the possibility that the international situation might slowly improve for China carried with it a hard implication: China had to endure long enough to benefit from it. That meant surviving not in abstract terms, but in particular places, against particular offensives, at moments when a local defeat might have consequences far beyond the immediate battlefield. In the autumn of 1941, one of those places was Changsha. Changsha had long occupied an outsized place in the military geography of the war. It stood as the capital of Hunan, a hinge between regions, and a vital position in the defense of central China. Its security affected the Xiang River basin, communications across the province, and the broader defensive posture shielding approaches toward the wartime capital. To lose it, even temporarily, would be more than a symbolic blow. It would threaten the larger balance of the front in south-central China and test whether Japanese offensives could still force dramatic strategic results.   At the same time, the battle for Changsha was not a simple contest between one Chinese army and one Japanese army facing each other across a fixed line. It was part of a larger operational struggle linking the Ninth War Zone with supporting actions from the Third, Fifth, and Sixth War Zones. It involved frontal resistance, hurried reinforcement, mobile defense, rear harassment, and the constant effort to turn Japanese momentum into Japanese overextension. Chinese commanders were trying not merely to survive a blow, but to absorb it, stretch it, and eventually strike back against an enemy whose speed could become a liability once supply lines lengthened and formations dispersed. This was the burden resting on the Military Commission in Chongqing.   There, while reports arrived in fragments and maps were revised hour by hour, Chiang Kai-shek spent long stretches in the operations room watching the situation in Hunan and Hubei develop. He had already ordered the various war zones to support the Ninth War Zone's operations, and now he followed the campaign with intense concentration. His attention moved repeatedly toward reports from the Sixth War Zone and Chen Cheng's counteroffensive toward Yichang, for Yichang was tied not only to local fighting in Hubei but also to the defense of the Yangtze approach and therefore to the security of Chongqing itself. In his mind, Hunan and Hubei had become the focal point of China's war effort in that season.   Meanwhile at the front, the situation was deteriorating fast. Japanese forces pressing into northern Hunan had already imposed severe strain on the Chinese defense. Blocking units had been battered back. Communications were uncertain. Some formations fought stubbornly but could not hold; others dissolved more quickly than hoped. The Japanese advance toward Changsha created exactly the kind of crisis Chinese commanders feared most: one in which the enemy moved with enough force and speed to threaten a major city before a coherent defensive response could be reassembled. Chinese units had to be thrown into action as they arrived, often after exhausting marches, often with incomplete knowledge of the situation, and often under immediate pressure from artillery, aircraft, and aggressive infantry assaults. Yet even at this dangerous stage, the campaign contained an opportunity as well as a threat.   The deeper Japanese units pushed into Hunan, the more exposed their rear became. Supply depots, transport lines, and communications stretched farther behind the spearhead. Chinese formations that had been driven aside were not always destroyed; some remained capable of reappearing to strike roads, depots, and isolated detachments. If Changsha represented the visible center of the struggle, the enemy rear represented its hidden vulnerability. The Chinese aim, therefore, was not simply to defend passively around the city. It was to combine stubborn resistance in front with harassment and disruption behind, so that Japanese advance would become increasingly difficult to sustain. The battle that followed unfolded under these pressures: a threatened city, a strained but unbroken defense, commanders forced to improvise under severe danger, and a wider international war that made every local decision feel heavier than the ground on which it was taken.   This subtle improvement in China's larger situation did not mean safety. China was still battered, under-resourced, and vulnerable. Japanese forces still possessed enormous advantages in mobility, firepower, and air power in many sectors. Large parts of the country remained occupied or threatened. Yet by mid-1941 something in the atmosphere had changed. In July, the American Red Cross sent China medical supplies worth millions of dollars. In August, more than a hundred retired American pilots and mechanics came together to aid China in its struggle against Japan. The air unit they formed would become famous under the name by which China knew them: the Flying Tigers. Their significance exceeded their immediate tactical value. They represented a visible sign that China was not entirely abandoned to isolation.   For Claire Chennault, romantic, aggressive, and optimistic by temperament, the new situation encouraged increasingly bold thoughts. For the first time he included in his planning the idea that Japanese home territory might one day be bombed from bases in China. Such schemes were ambitious and perhaps premature, but their very existence reveals an altered horizon of possibility. A country that imagines striking back is already psychologically in a different position from one concerned only with preventing collapse.     Yichang mattered directly to the fighting in Xiangbei, but it also mattered independently. It was tied to the security of the Yangtze approach and therefore to the defense of Chongqing. It belonged not only to the immediate problem of battlefield maneuver but to the larger question of whether China could do more than absorb Japanese offensives. Could Chinese forces exploit enemy overstretch? Could Japanese advances be turned into liabilities? Could local counterattacks and rear harassment generate effects greater than the raw size of the forces involved? By September 1941, these questions were no longer hypothetical. They were urgent. In Chiang's mind, Hunan and Hubei had become the focal point of China's war effort in that season.   The struggle around Changsha was central to that effort. From Chongqing, Chiang telegraphed Commander Xue Yue of the Ninth War Zone with instructions that made both the danger and the opportunity plain. The message emphasized that the enemy in northern Hunan, though still pressing hard, had already been bravely intercepted by Chinese units and was now exhausted, with lines of advance increasingly difficult to sustain. This, Chiang argued, created an excellent opportunity for Chinese forces to strike at the enemy's rear and seek annihilation rather than mere delay. He urged officers and soldiers alike to remain determined to destroy the enemy. Even if Japanese troops advanced to the vicinity of Changsha itself, Chinese forces were to renew their efforts, maintain their confidence in victory, and prevent the enemy from establishing a foothold.   The telegram also pointed to the broader operational picture. Japanese troops drawn from the sectors of the Fifth and Sixth War Zones had been committed to the invasion of northern Hunan, leaving their rear areas dangerously exposed. The Third, Fifth, and Sixth War Zones had launched supporting offensives on the twenty-third. Therefore, the Ninth War Zone had to strike resolutely and fiercely, preventing the Japanese from coordinating their forces and frustrating any attempt to occupy Changsha. The message was at once exhortation and operational logic. It reflected the core Chinese problem in the campaign: the Japanese thrust was dangerous and had to be blocked, but the very speed and depth of that thrust could also expose the attacker. Yet by the time Chiang sent his instructions, the danger around Changsha was already severe. After the 74th Army had been beaten back, there was no major Chinese force north of the city that could confidently block the Japanese advance in a straightforward, stable line. The Japanese 4th Division, together with the Hayabuchi Detachment, had defeated the 95th Division of the Chinese 37th Army and pushed toward Changsha. The prospect that the city might fall, at least temporarily, was no longer remote.   In response, Xia Chuzhong's 79th Army from the Sixth War Zone was ordered to move toward the city. Its vanguard was Wang Jiaben's 98th Division. That movement was a forced march in the literal sense. It was not a flourish of language but an admission of emergency. Troops were pushed beyond ordinary endurance because there was no time to gather strength under favorable conditions. Changsha could not wait for convenience, rest, or ideal concentration. Either reinforcements arrived in time to fight immediately, or they arrived too late to matter. Wang Jiaben was no stranger to battle. A veteran officer from the Yunnan Army, he had fought the Japanese repeatedly—more than twenty times since the outbreak of the War of Resistance. He belonged to that generation of commanders who had been shaped by the fragmented military politics of Republican China but whose careers were now being rewritten by the national emergency of the anti-Japanese war.   During the First Battle of Changsha, he had already distinguished himself. He led troops in a counterattack along the Tongcheng line in southern Hubei and intercepted retreating Japanese forces at Longmenchang and Changshoujie, killing more than a thousand enemy soldiers. He had experience, reputation, and a sense of what it meant to fight in the Changsha theater. This time he marched from Changde, driving his division forward with all possible speed. By noon on September 26 the 98th Division reached a position about two kilometers northeast of Changsha. There was scarcely time to settle the men. No careful preparation was possible. They had arrived because the city was in danger, and battle began almost at once. At dusk the division engaged the Hayabuchi Detachment.   The fighting continued until late in the night without decisive result. That in itself was costly enough. Troops who have just completed a punishing march are already close to the limits of their endurance. To be thrown immediately into combat magnifies every weakness: thirst, fatigue, confusion, and the difficulty of building fieldworks under pressure. What the soldiers of the 98th Division could do that night, they did with their hands and whatever tools they had. They scraped positions out of the earth. They assembled makeshift cover. Officers moved along the line trying to impose order on terrain that had become a battlefield almost as soon as it was occupied. At dawn on September 27 the Japanese intensified the pressure from the air.   More than twenty aircraft bombed the 98th Division's positions, tearing apart the earthworks that officers and soldiers had spent the night constructing. Bombing had a double effect. Physically, it damaged positions, wounded men, and disrupted preparations. Psychologically, it reminded defenders that they were being observed from above and struck by an enemy against whom they could often do little in the sky. Immediately after the bombing came a fierce infantry assault. Wang Jiaben and several other commanders went down to their respective regiments to supervise the fighting personally. This was dangerous, but under such circumstances commanders often believed that presence itself mattered. When fieldworks are collapsing, shell bursts are continuous, and communications are unreliable, authority must sometimes be carried by a body rather than a wire. The defenders held.   Again and again the Japanese attacked. Again and again they were repulsed only to reorganize and come on once more. Every minute the Chinese line remained in place was bought with blood. Fallen and wounded men were carried rearward in what seemed an endless stream. The cost of resistance accumulated visibly before the eyes of those still fighting. By noon even water could no longer be delivered to the front. That detail reveals the intensity of the battle more clearly than many grander statements could. A line that cannot be supplied even with water has reached a condition of severe strain. During brief pauses in the fighting, officers and soldiers pulled out dry rations and chewed them slowly, swallowing with difficulty while they waited for the next attack. Such moments are among the most characteristic in battle: not the long, smooth continuity imagined in peacetime rhetoric, but brief interludes of miserable necessity between explosions. At two in the afternoon the crisis deepened sharply.   A unit of the Japanese 4th Division worked its way behind the 98th Division's position and attacked from the rear. This was the kind of tactical development every defending commander dreads. A force can endure heavy frontal pressure if its line remains coherent and its rear reasonably secure. But when enemy troops appear behind a position, the entire structure of defense begins to dissolve. There, behind the line, were more than a hundred Chinese wounded awaiting evacuation. Japanese soldiers attacked them with bayonets. One of the wounded Chinese soldiers, already beyond ordinary capacity for resistance, rushed forward and detonated a grenade against a Japanese attacker. It was an act of desperation, but also of defiance. The episode captures something essential about the tone of the battle around Changsha. This was not a neat engagement between organized lines alone. It was a desperate collision in which even the badly wounded were drawn into last resistance. For Wang Jiaben, however, the tactical reality was impossible to deny. If he stayed where he was, the division might be annihilated. Personal courage could not alter encirclement. Resentfully, bitterly, and under the kind of pressure that leaves permanent scars on a commander's memory, he ordered retreat. When he led the survivors off the battlefield, fewer than half his men remained.   Reinforcements from another direction now entered the struggle. The Provisional 2nd Army of the Seventh War Zone dispatched the Provisional 8th Division under Zhang Junsong. At seven in the evening on September 27, Zhang's force arrived at Zuojiatang on the eastern outskirts of Changsha. Personnel of the Ninth War Zone waiting there reported grim news: a Japanese detachment had already entered the city that afternoon, and another detachment was only three kilometers away. The situation invited rashness. A commander arriving near a threatened city at dusk, with reports that the enemy is already inside, may feel compelled to hurl troops forward immediately in a gesture of resolution. Yet night fighting in an urban approach without adequate reconnaissance can turn courage into waste. Zhang Junsong considered the matter carefully. He concluded that to rush blindly into the city at night would likely produce confusion and heavy losses. Instead he first sought to strike the enemy outside the city. His troops deployed quietly and crept forward through the darkness, launching a probing attack. But they soon discovered that the Japanese were fully prepared and not vulnerable to easy surprise. The line could not be broken. With no prospect of success, the force withdrew.   The moment is revealing because it shows how narrow the margin had become. Chinese commanders were trying to recover initiative while still groping through uncertainty. Reports were incomplete, Japanese dispositions difficult to fix, and every hour dangerous. On the evening of September 28, the 79th Army's 6th Provisional Division occupied Yuelu Mountain west of Changsha. From that height officers and soldiers looked across the Xiang River toward the city. Changsha, for the first time, was in Japanese hands. The emotional force of that sight can only be imagined. Changsha had lived for years under threat. It had been defended, contested, prepared, and feared. The possibility of its loss had hovered over military planning and public consciousness alike. Now the danger had become fact. A city that had stood as an object of effort and anxiety was visibly occupied by the enemy. No single feeling could have governed the men who saw it. There must have been anger, shame, weariness, and dread—but also stubbornness. For in war a city seen in enemy hands is not always simply lost. Sometimes it is a summons.   Late that night Zhao Jiping, commander of the 6th Provisional Division, received a telegram from Xue Yue. He read it and then stood before the map for a long time. Days of anxiety began to lift. He was not alone in that reaction. Many Chinese generals involved in the campaign had felt that they were fighting a confused and chaotic battle. Japanese movements had been broad, rapid, and difficult to pin down. The Ninth War Zone had thrown numerous units into blocking actions, yet both well-regarded formations and weaker, improvised units had repeatedly failed to hold. After ten days of combat, Chinese losses were heavy. But Japanese forces too had been worn, stretched, and damaged. Only now, as the Japanese reached the apparent culmination of their advance, did the Ninth War Zone begin to recover rhythm. Chaos did not disappear, but it became more legible. The possibility of a more ordered counteroffensive emerged.   In the early hours of September 29, Zhao Jiping issued the order to force a crossing of the Xiang River and attack the enemy in Changsha. The preparations consumed the entire day. River crossings under combat conditions are among the most delicate operations in war. Boats must be assembled or found. Units must be organized into waves. Timing matters. Surprise matters. The location of landing points matters. The men themselves matter most of all, because they must sit exposed in fragile craft knowing that the real test will begin not in the middle of the river but at the far bank. Late that night the division crossed secretly by boat in six groups. The crossing itself went well enough. The river did not betray them. The groups made progress in darkness. Yet everyone involved understood that smooth movement on the water did not guarantee success. The crucial question was what waited at the landing points. It was expected that the troops going ashore at Daximen would be first to meet the Japanese. Once battle began there, the rest of the crossing accelerated.   Chinese soldiers landed, attacked fiercely, and drove the enemy back from the riverbank. The momentum of the assault mattered. In such moments hesitation on shore can doom an entire crossing, but aggression can seize a foothold before the defender fully stabilizes. By the time Chinese forces entered the city, dawn was breaking. Then came street fighting. Changsha had ceased to be an objective on a map. It became again what cities become in war: a place of corners, walls, alleys, debris, smoke, and sudden death. Fighting in a city strips away much of the abstraction through which campaigns are often remembered. Streets channel movement. Buildings become cover, obstacles, or traps. Distances shrink but danger multiplies. A few men behind masonry can delay many more. Noise magnifies confusion. The city itself seems to fragment into a hundred separate battlefields. For Changsha, the long season of anxious anticipation ended in direct flame.   Yet to understand the campaign only through the struggle at Changsha would be incomplete. While the city drew attention as the central prize, another set of operations was unfolding across Hunan and Hubei—less dramatic in appearance perhaps, but strategically significant. These were the actions of the 27th Army Group under Yang Sen. If the fighting around Changsha demonstrated the pressure of frontal battle, Yang Sen's operations illustrated another principle entirely: the stubborn, opportunistic use of weaker forces to harass, sting, and trouble a stronger enemy from behind. The 27th Army Group was composed largely of Sichuan troops. Their presence speaks to one of the larger political transformations of the war. Republican China had long been fractured by regional militarism. Armies had often owed stronger loyalty to commanders, provinces, or local power structures than to any unified national command. Yet the anti-Japanese war compelled a partial reordering of those loyalties. Many warlord forces, however imperfectly integrated, now turned their weapons outward under Nationalist command.   There were exceptions. Some men, like Han Fuqu, had preserved their own strength at the cost of military responsibility and lost both opportunity and honor in doing so. But in the main, especially among middle and lower-ranking officers and ordinary soldiers, the imperative of national survival overrode provincial identity. Men from distant regions marched and fought in terrains not their own because the war no longer permitted a narrow conception of interest. Yang Sen himself was an old warlord soldier, one of those figures formed in the fractured military world of earlier decades. By 1941 he was deputy commander of the Ninth War Zone and commander-in-chief of the 27th Army Group. Along the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border he had long been cautious in his operations.   At the beginning of the northern Hunan battle, his troops proved unable to withstand the force of the Japanese offensive and retreated in disorder into mountains and forests. That fact should not be softened. They were pushed back. But retreat did not mean disappearance. This is where Yang Sen's role became important. Once the main Japanese force had advanced far ahead, the troops that had scattered began to reemerge. They knew the terrain. They knew the roads, villages, passes, and wooded approaches. If they could not defeat the Japanese in a grand collision, they could search for openings behind the advancing columns.   On September 20, as the Japanese main force drove into the heart of northern Hunan, Yang Sen led elements of the 4th, 58th, and 20th Armies in pursuit for an entire day. The main body of the 4th Army had already been badly beaten at the Xinqiang River line, and only the 60th Division, recently transferred from the 37th Army, remained relatively intact. That single fact sharply defined the weakness of his means. He was not pursuing with fresh and powerful forces prepared for a decisive encounter. He was pursuing with fragments, survivors, and such units as still retained some offensive potential. But the Japanese, intent on rapid advance southward, paid too little attention to what followed behind them. That was the opening Yang Sen needed.   On the morning of September 21, the 60th Division acted on information supplied by an old beggar. Such details often sound almost literary, but they remind us that war in China was never fought by armies alone. Villagers, refugees, peddlers, guides, boatmen, and the destitute all participated in the circulation of military knowledge. A beggar could see what a reconnaissance officer had missed. On the basis of that tip, the 60th Division launched a surprise attack on the supply depot of the Japanese 40th Division at Zhangjiayuan. Division Commander Dong Yu led the action.   The Chinese quickly overwhelmed the more than three hundred Japanese troops guarding the depot. Once they broke in, they discovered an astonishing quantity of matériel: shell boxes, ammunition, food, medicine, gasoline, explosives, protective clothing, telephone wire, body bags, stretchers, and more, all stacked beneath heavy canvas. For men accustomed to scarcity, it must have seemed almost unreal. Dong Yu, delighted, is remembered as exclaiming to his deputy commander, "It's practically a department store!" The line has a momentary comic brightness in the middle of war, and that is part of why it survives. But its deeper significance lies in what it reveals. A modern army advancing deep into hostile territory is sustained by accumulation—ammunition, fuel, wire, medicines, rations, transport materials. To seize such a depot is not merely to take objects. It is to grasp the hidden skeleton of movement. Dong Yu then issued a one-word order: "Move."   At once the whole division became a swarm of carriers. Officers and soldiers grabbed whatever they could and began hauling the captured supplies away. The scene must have been one of extraordinary improvised energy—riflemen transformed into laborers, war reduced for a moment to the brute physical act of lifting, dragging, and carrying. They moved like ants dismantling a storehouse. But there was too much to remove and too little time. Before even two regiments had completed the work, the Japanese returned in force. Enraged, they sent more than a dozen aircraft to bomb the troops carrying off the captured crates, while over a thousand infantrymen rushed in on the ground. Dong Yu immediately ordered the men to abandon what remained and destroy it. Amid deafening explosions, the 60th Division withdrew from Zhangjiayuan. The Japanese pursued hard, driving them back into the mountains before finally stopping. Measured purely in terms of territorial occupation, the action changed little. The Chinese did not hold the depot. They were forced back again. But judged in operational terms, the raid mattered. Supplies had been captured, destroyed, or disrupted. Japanese rear security had been embarrassed. Time and energy had been consumed in response. In a campaign where the Japanese were racing south and depending increasingly on stretched lines, such harassment was not trivial.   After September 23, Yang Sen expanded these efforts. He sent whole divisions to harass the Japanese rear while also dispatching battalions and companies to ambush supply columns and disrupt transport lines. This was not the kind of warfare that produces neat dramatic maps in conventional military histories. The actions were scattered, local, opportunistic, and often inconclusive. Yet precisely for that reason they can be misunderstood. Not every useful military action ends in the destruction of an enemy division. Sometimes its value lies in forcing a stronger opponent to spend attention where he had hoped to spend only momentum. These operations were costly and uncertain. Small Chinese units striking roads and depots risked encirclement or aerial punishment. Yet they possessed one advantage: they did not need to win a grand battle to matter. They needed only to make movement harder, supply more precarious, and the rear less secure.   On September 25, even after the 26th and 37th Armies had suffered defeat elsewhere, Yang Sen gathered the troops that still retained some offensive capacity and launched another attack. In these actions, the 90th Division captured Wukou; the 59th Division reached the north bank of the Miluo River; the 60th Division advanced to Donggang; and elements of the 58th Army controlled the Yuanba–Zheyangqiao highway line by the twenty-sixth. These gains were not the dramatic centerpiece of the campaign. But they formed part of the cumulative pressure on Japanese operations. Every road contested from the rear, every convoy threatened, every depot exposed, and every forced diversion of troops weakened the enemy's ability to convert tactical advance into stable success.   The battlefield was fluid enough that Yang Sen's headquarters itself had to keep moving—from the Miluo River northward to Pingjiang. Mobile headquarters in such conditions lived under constant uncertainty. Reports arrived late or contradictory. Rumors outran facts. The front could bend in unpredictable ways. A command post that seemed safely behind the line in the morning might by afternoon lie only a few kilometers from enemy forces. Years later Mao Jiuyin, who had then served as an operations staff officer under Yang Sen, recalled the old commander's outward behavior in those dangerous days. Yang Sen, Mao remembered, was always joking with the people around him and could still laugh and talk during battle. On one occasion he even joked with his bodyguard about putting chili oil in his tea. To younger staff officers, such behavior appeared almost absurd.   Yet they knew how dangerous their situation often was. Sometimes they were only a few kilometers from the main Japanese forces. There is more than anecdote in this memory. Old commanders often cultivated a style of ease under danger not because they felt no fear, but because they believed visible calm itself was part of command. Men take emotional bearings from those above them. A commander who panics spreads panic faster than any enemy breakthrough. Yang Sen was sixty years old during the Second Battle of Changsha, and he liked to remark that he was five years older than Chiang Kai-shek. Age had not removed him from the front. His function in the campaign was not to shatter the enemy in one decisive frontal blow. It was to persist, reappear, sting, and remain troublesome. The 27th Army Group followed the Japanese nearly all the way to the outskirts of Changsha.   They did not fight many large set-piece engagements. That was never their main value. But the Japanese could not ignore them. If Japanese units turned and tried to hit them directly, they tended to dissolve into the landscape. If the Japanese pushed on and ignored them, they reappeared to sabotage roads, hit supply lines, and create alarms in the rear. Even Japanese official histories later described them memorably. They called them "like a swarm of annoying flies." The phrase was meant as contempt. But as so often happens in war, an insult became an accurate description of effect. If these Chinese troops could not be tigers in formal battle, they could still become intolerable as flies. And under certain conditions—fatigue, heat, uncertainty, stretched supply, shaken morale—flies can become more oppressive than an enemy would like to admit.   When later generations look back on campaigns, they often search for a single explanatory image. But the fighting of September 1941 resists reduction to one symbol alone. What gives the campaign its force in memory is not one isolated episode, but the convergence of several pressures at once: a city under threat, a command trying to coordinate multiple fronts, exhausted reinforcements thrown directly into battle, Japanese forces advancing quickly but becoming increasingly vulnerable the farther they pushed, and Chinese troops in the rear refusing to disappear after defeat. Seen from Chongqing, the campaign was a matter of telegrams, maps, and the management of strategic risk. Seen from the front, it was a matter of thirst, mud, broken fieldworks, sudden bombing, exhausted marching, and the uncertainty of whether the next order meant reinforcement, retreat, or death. Seen from the Japanese side, it was initially an aggressive advance toward an important objective, but one increasingly troubled by stretched supply, difficult terrain, and the persistent reappearance of Chinese forces behind the line of movement.   At the same time, the campaign reveals a Chinese war effort that had become more resilient than in the earliest years of the conflict. The Japanese advance toward Changsha was dangerous and at moments appeared close to success. Chinese blocking forces suffered severe defeats. Units arrived exhausted and were hurled into action at once. Commanders lost men at devastating rates. Changsha itself briefly fell into enemy hands. And yet the city was not simply surrendered as an accomplished fact. Chinese forces regrouped. Orders were coordinated across war zones. Reinforcements marched at desperate speed. Counterattacks were mounted. Forces west of the Xiang prepared and crossed back into the city. Elsewhere, troops under Yang Sen gnawed at the Japanese rear and made advance more costly than a map of front lines alone might suggest. This combination of desperate frontal resistance and incessant rear harassment was one of the characteristic strengths of China's resistance in this stage of the war. China could not always match Japanese power in one concentrated blow. But it could absorb, delay, fragment, and trouble that power across space and time. That is why the struggle around Changsha in late September 1941 deserves to be remembered not merely as a sequence of engagements, but as a layered event in which tactical battle, morale, logistics, political endurance, and international context all converged.   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 1941, Japan pushed deeper into China, but Chinese forces—supported gradually by international help—kept resisting. Changsha in Hunan became the central point of the conflict, seen as vital to strategic control in south-central China. Meanwhile, elsewhere in Hunan and Hubei, Yang Sen's 27th Army Group—often using smaller, opportunistic actions—reappeared behind Japanese lines to disrupt depots and convoys. Even when Chinese gains were temporary, the cumulative pressure delayed Japanese momentum.       

Send us Fan MailEuropeans at the First Battle of Bull Run (First Manassas) with (Ryan  Diamond)In this episode of American Civil War & UK History Podcast, host Daz is joined by fellow American Civil War Round-Table UK member Ryan Diamond to explore the role of Europeans at the First Battle of Bull Run (First Manassas). Together, they discuss the experiences of European-born soldiers who fought on both sides of the conflict, their motivations for serving, and the impact they had during the first major battle of the American Civil War.The First Battle of Bull Run (First Manassas), fought on 21 July 1861, included thousands of European-born soldiers on both the Union and Confederate sides. Many were recent immigrants from Ireland, Germany, England, Scotland, France, and other nations who had settled in America before the war. They served in both ethnic regiments and mixed units, bringing valuable military experience and playing an important role in the first major battle of the American Civil War.ACW & UK History's Website.https://www.acwandukhistory.com/ACW & UK History's Pages.https://linktr.ee/ACWandUKHISTORYSupport the show

Last time we spoke about the Miluo River Catastrophe. On September 17, General Xue Yue, watching alarming reconnaissance telegrams, learns the Japanese 11th Army has massed across the north bank of the Xinqiang River—3rd, 4th, 6th, and 40th Divisions—alongside additional detachments. Chinese operatives even intercept a Japanese order directing divisions to prepare for an attack on September 18. Despite this, Xue Yue's decisions and readiness remain inadequate. By September 21–23, the fighting at and around the Miluo River and Dongting Lake destroys the 37th Army's ability to function as a coherent combat force. The disaster as both tactical collapse and a failure of planning: Japanese interception and decoding of radio orders allow them to shift toward encirclement, turning Chinese movements into a "trap" laid in advance.   #211 The Japanese Blunt China's Iron Army at Changsha 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 four divisions that had stormed into northern Hunan had made good progress, achieving the victory of defeating three main Chinese armies in quick succession. General Anami Korechika, commanding the Japanese forces, was secretly pleased, but he dared not slacken his efforts in the slightest. He was a methodical man, and he understood that the contest was not yet decided. Every day, his intelligence officers placed before him a stream of intercepted Chinese military telegrams and aerial reconnaissance reports. What they showed gave him reason for both confidence and caution. Two significant forces were moving toward the battlefield — forces unlike those he had so far encountered. One of them was Chiang Kai-shek's elite 74th Army, a formation whose reputation had reached Anami long before, from his time at headquarters in Tokyo. The other was the 10th Army, considered second only to the 74th in quality and fighting spirit.   The 74th Army was no ordinary unit. It had been rigorously trained under German and Soviet instructors specially hired by Chiang Kai-shek, its officers schooled in both European combined-arms doctrine and Soviet tactical flexibility. It was characterized by its disciplined offensive and defensive tactics and was lavishly equipped by the standards of the Chinese military. Most remarkably, it had maintained an undefeated record on the battlefield since the beginning of the war — a distinction that had earned it the title of "Iron Army of the Anti-Japanese War" among the Chinese people. In the high command of the Imperial Japanese Army, it was referred to, with a mixture of respect and wariness, as the Tora no Ko — the "Tiger Child" — meaning, in essence, the ace in the enemy's hand.   The 10th Army was held in nearly equal esteem. The deployment of either of these two formations required the personal approval of Chiang Kai-shek himself. The Generalissimo's principle for employing them was clear and deliberate: they were to be committed only to the most critical battles, those that would decide outcomes, or to the most prominent ones, where their prowess could demonstrate the might of the Chinese army to a watching nation. Since the outbreak of the war, the 74th Army had been kept in reserve at Fenyi in Jiangxi Province, and the 10th Army at Hengyang in southern Hunan. Both forces had been conserving their strength, training, and waiting.   Now Anami's relentless offensive had forced Chiang Kai-shek's hand. The battle situation had tilted dangerously under the weight of Japanese pressure, and the fall of several elite units had left the Chinese commander of the Ninth War Zone, General Xue Yue, with little room to maneuver. Xue Yue had no choice but to appeal to Chongqing for help, and Chiang Kai-shek, reluctantly and with full awareness of the risks, agreed to release his two trump cards. Anami, having mastered his opponent's intentions through his intelligence apparatus, now found himself in the rare and advantageous position of a card player who could see his opponent's hole cards. He carefully planned his battle strategy, studying maps late into the night, conferring with his officers, and calculating how best to neutralize the Chinese elite before they could bring their full weight to bear. He knew that his life's honor, his career, and his legacy rested on this one gamble.   Li Yutang, the commander of the 10th Army, was from Guangrao in Shandong Province — a place that had given China more than its share of fighting men. He was a graduate of the first class of the illustrious Whampoa Military Academy, where he had trained alongside men who would go on to shape the fate of China. At the academy, he had been part of a celebrated group known informally as the "Four Lis of Shandong": himself, Li Xianzhou, Li Yannian, and Li Hanfan. The first three would all rise to significant commands in the Nationalist army. The fourth, Li Hanfan, a native of Changqing in Shandong, had taken an entirely different path, joining the Communist Party of China and fighting the same war under a different flag. In later years, the group became known as the "Three Lis of Shandong," the fourth having parted ways with his classmates long before the guns fell silent.   Li Yutang had not risen quickly or through privilege. He embodied the hardworking, resilient, and tenacious qualities long associated with the men of Shandong — qualities forged by a hard land and harder circumstances. He had climbed the ranks of the army step by step: platoon leader, company commander, battalion commander, regimental commander. Each step had been earned through performance under fire. When Japan launched its full-scale invasion in 1937, Li Yutang was serving as commander of the 3rd Division of the 2nd Army under Li Yannian, participating in the brutal Battle of Shanghai in August of that year. He fought in the grinding urban warfare along the Suzhou Creek, learning lessons in modern combat that would serve him for the rest of the war. The following spring, in March and April of 1938, he led his troops in the Battle of Xuzhou, holding the Linyi line northeast of Taierzhuang, blocking the Japanese 5th Division under Itagaki Seishiro from breaking through to reinforce the embattled Japanese forces at that critical engagement. His handling of the defense contributed to one of the few early Chinese battlefield successes of the war.   For his performance at Xuzhou, he was promoted to commander of the 8th Army. During the Battle of Wuhan in 1938, he led his troops in major engagements against the Japanese 101st and 106th Divisions along the Nanxun Railway, inflicting significant casualties on the attackers. After that campaign, General Xue Yue, recognizing both Li's talent and his Shandong origins — Shandong being home to Mount Tai, the foremost of China's Five Sacred Mountains — personally inscribed a banner reading "Mount Tai Army" and formally presented it to Li Yutang's 8th Army. Chiang Kai-shek added his own recognition, awarding Li Huazhou a medal. In the Battle of Nanchang, Li Yutang again distinguished himself, leading his troops in the defense of Wuning for ten days and ten nights of uninterrupted fighting. When the battle was over, Japanese soldiers lay piled in front of his defensive lines, and the name "Taishan Army" was on every officer's lips from Chongqing to the front. After the First Battle of Changsha in 1939, Chiang Kai-shek personally nominated Li Yutang to take command of the 10th Army — the posting that would now define his legacy. The orders came on September 20, 1941 — three days after the Japanese forces had broken through the Xiangbei defense line in the north. General Xue Yue's summons reached Li Yutang's headquarters in Hengyang, and the 10th Army began immediate preparations for movement to the battlefield.   The mobilization was extraordinary even by the standards of an army that prided itself on discipline and fighting spirit. Li Yutang addressed his men, and the response was unlike anything a commander might ordinarily expect. He received wave after wave of letters — requests to be placed at the front, declarations of determination, pledges to die before surrendering. Some of the letters were written in ordinary ink. Others had been written in blood, the soldier biting his own finger to draw enough for a few lines. These were not men who needed to be driven to battle. They were men who had spent months training for precisely this moment.   Their preparation had been rigorous to the point of fanaticism. For six months before the order came, the 10th Army had conducted intensive training in the three core skills of infantry combat: marksmanship, grenade throwing, and bayonet fighting. The Ministry of National Defense had set a standard that considered a unit successful if one quarter of its men scored "top-tier" in each category. Chiang Kai-shek had personally raised the bar for the 10th Army: eighty percent of every unit must score "top-tier," with the remainder no lower than "excellent." Any unit falling short would face elimination. When the assessments were completed, the result was unambiguous — one hundred percent of the army had met the standard.   Over 30,000 men boarded seven special trains at Hengyang, their military songs and mobilization slogans ringing through the station as families and bystanders watched them depart. The troops traveled by train to Zhuzhou, then transferred to motor vehicles for the road north to Changsha, arriving in the Jinjing area — some seventy kilometers northeast of the city — on September 22nd. They had moved with professional speed. What awaited them would test something no training exercise could fully replicate. From the moment of arrival, the situation was clear to any officer with eyes: the 10th Army had stepped into chaos. However, given the already established passive situation, the 10th Army was like a leaf caught in a whirlpool as soon as it arrived on the battlefield. General Xue Yue, at the Ninth War Zone Command, immediately ordered the entire army to support the besieged 37th Army and simultaneously launch an offensive against the Japanese 3rd Division. It was an ambitious order for troops who had just completed a multi-day journey and had not yet oriented themselves to the ground. Nevertheless, Li Yutang passed the order down and his divisions began to move.   The first division to feel the dislocating effect of high command's demands was Zhu Yue's 190th Division. On September 23rd, the vanguard regiment of the 190th made contact with Japanese forces and was preparing to engage. Before a single shot was fired in earnest, Division Commander Zhu Yue received a telegram from army headquarters ordering him to abandon his current position and rush immediately to Shending Mountain to relieve the siege of the 140th Division of the 37th Army. The order brooked no delay. The troops dropped their baggage where it lay and ran — truly ran, in light order — to the vicinity of Shending Mountain.   They had barely formed ranks at their new position when a second telegram arrived from General Xue Yue. The 190th Division was to immediately reverse course and return to the Fulipu area to establish a defensive line and block the Japanese advance southward. Another forced march, exhausting men who had already marched and traveled for days. They arrived at the designated position on time — a testimony to their conditioning — and Zhu Yue established his division headquarters at Liangjiaduan, near Fulipu. After all the aimless marching and countermanding orders, after all the wasted energy and fruitless attempts, the troops were running on the last of their reserves. They worked through the night constructing fortifications with shovels and bare hands. Just as the first light of dawn revealed the outline of their new positions, the Japanese army advanced.   General Toyoshima Fusataro's Japanese 3rd Division had not rested. It had decisively defeated the 37th Army on the night of the 23rd and turned immediately, without pause, to attack the 190th Division. The blow came from the sky before it came from the ground. At dawn, more than ten Japanese planes swept down over Zhu Yue's division headquarters — seemingly guided, as the Chinese soldiers would later say, as if they had eyes in their heads, so accurate was the targeting. The small village that housed the headquarters was bombed almost to the ground. Dust and smoke billowed over the ruins as the aircraft banked away, and before it had settled, over a thousand Japanese infantrymen, seemingly springing from the earth itself, rushed forward directly toward the headquarters position. The regiment commanders, still at their positions elsewhere, could not be recalled in time.   Division Commander Zhu Yue did not hesitate. He drew his pistol and began commanding his subordinate units to fight back, rallying the headquarters staff and support troops into a perimeter defense. Under the fierce and accurate Japanese fire, Zhu Yue was hit by a bullet in his right arm. Then another round struck him in the left leg, and he went down. Almost simultaneously, Deputy Division Commander Lai Shixiang took command of the nearest available men and attempted to lead a breakout with a machine gun. An enemy mortar round found its mark, and Lai Shixiang was killed instantly. The division headquarters personnel, already shocked by the swiftness of the attack and the wounding of their commander, broke into disorder. Chaos erupted on the battlefield. Many soldiers ran blindly in the smoke and confusion, dying in the crossfire from multiple directions.   Division Chief of Staff Tao Xiu, now acting as deputy division commander with Zhu Yue incapacitated, took hold of the situation as best he could. He led the remnants of the headquarters staff in retreat toward a hollow in a grove of trees near the edge of the village. When the headcount was taken, approximately twenty men remained capable of fighting. It was already ten o'clock in the morning. Tao Xiu gathered these few men and led them along a small path through the dense forest on the outskirts of the village, bypassing Liangjiaduan, searching for the dispersed units of the division.   Out on the main positions, the 568th, 569th, and 570th Regiments were simultaneously surrounded and attacked. The officers and soldiers, exhausted from days and nights of continuous fighting, summoned what remained of their endurance and put up a tenacious resistance. From dawn until the afternoon, several positions were cut off and divided by Japanese encircling movements. In the ever-shrinking pockets, each cluster of defenders became an isolated target for enemy aircraft and artillery. Completely losing the initiative, groups of officers and soldiers perished in the shelling. Many of them died not in defiance but in something closer to despair — regretting this humiliating reversal, the waste of their patriotic aspirations, their unfulfilled desire to fight and kill the enemy on their own terms.   By evening, the regimental commanders had lost control of their respective battalions and companies. The remaining soldiers on each position scattered and concealed themselves in whatever ground offered cover, hiding in all directions across the darkening hills. It was not until midnight that the lightly wounded and unwounded officers and soldiers managed to assemble, as the contingency plan had directed, in a dense forest on the southwest side of the position. Division Commander Zhu Yue, wounded in both his arm and his leg, had been sent to the rear to receive treatment. Acting Deputy Division Commander Tao Xiu stood before the assembled survivors — more than two hundred men gathered from the regiments — and offered them quiet words of comfort. There was little else he could give them. The people present carried the seriously wounded on improvised stretchers and supported the lightly wounded with their arms and shoulders, groping their way through the darkness toward Zhuzhou. The 10th Reserve Division, under Commander Fang Xianjue, had been assigned to hold the Jinjing line — a position that, on paper, formed an anchor of the defensive scheme. In practice, the situation was deeply flawed from the outset. The Ninth War Zone Command had placed the 10th Reserve Division alone at Jinjing with no depth behind it and no friendly forces on either flank — an isolated salient that offered the Japanese every opportunity for encirclement.   On the 23rd, the division captured the Kanai line at noon, an initial success that promised more than it delivered. Around six o'clock in the evening, as darkness gathered, General Kanda Masatsuka arrived at the front with the vanguard of the Japanese 6th Division. He was not a man to move without information. Before committing to a full assault, Kanda ordered a probing attack and watched its progress carefully through binoculars from a small hill behind the advancing force. What he saw gave him pause. However he searched for a weak point in the Chinese line, the defenders showed none. No gap in the wire, no position carelessly manned, no sector that sagged under pressure. Kanda lowered his binoculars and considered his next step. He felt this was indeed an elite unit with excellent tactical skills, and should not be underestimated. He ordered a halt to the attack and waited for the full arrival of his division's strength.   On the morning of the 24th, the Japanese launched their proper assault — a fierce attack from the east, north, and west simultaneously. The three-directional pressure was designed to pin the defenders and deny any lateral reinforcement. Kanda went further, requesting permission from General Anami to concentrate all thirty-plus bombers available for the entire battlefield and direct them at the 10th Reserve Division's positions in a single concentrated raid. Anami granted the request. The bombing was devastating. The defending positions were almost completely destroyed from the air. Yet in the ruins of their fortifications and bunkers, the soldiers of the 10th Reserve Division continued fighting, repelling Japanese ground attacks wave after wave through the rubble and the smoke.   At two o'clock in the afternoon, a report reached Fang Xianjue that halted him in his tracks. A Japanese regiment had executed a large-scale outflanking maneuver around the south side of Jinjing and was approaching the rear of the position. The encirclement was closing. Fang Xianjue was shocked. He now grasped in full the tactical impossibility of his assignment. The Ninth War Zone Command had placed the 10th Reserve Division here alone, exposed on all sides, without depth and without support. The order to "block the enemy's southward advance" had been an empty promise from the start. Fang Xianjue could not understand the strategic intention behind the deployment at all — there was none that made any tactical sense. The only purpose of holding out here, he concluded bitterly, was to theoretically be seen to be "fighting the Japanese." Before Fang Xianjue could translate his analysis into a decision, the Japanese troops launched another fierce attack from the front and both flanks, and one side of the defensive line was breached. The situation became critical. Fang Xianjue decided to withdraw before the encircling force to the south could complete its movement and seal off all escape. He did not have time to seek authorization from the war zone — there was no time. He ordered each regiment to organize its own breakout and reassemble at designated locations.   At four o'clock in the afternoon, Fang Xianjue led the division headquarters in the first withdrawal from the battlefield. Looking back as he departed, he watched as the regiments were cut apart by Japanese fire, large numbers of officers and soldiers falling among the mountain ridges and into the ditches and gullies. There was nothing more he could do for them.   By the 25th, approximately half of the division's troops had reached the designated reception point. After a hasty reorganization, they were ordered to occupy positions along the Xueshi Bridge line and prepare to resume the defense. That same evening, a portion of the Japanese 3rd Division — fresh from its defeat of the 190th Division — launched a fierce attack on Xueshi Bridge. The positions could not be held. The scene of the previous day's rout was repeated almost exactly, and this second defeat completed the destruction of the 10th Reserve Division as a coherent fighting force. General Xue Yue's rebuke reached Fang Xianjue shortly afterward, and the division commander had no way to express the depth of his frustration — the tactical position he had been placed in had made his assignment impossible before the first shot was fired. On the 26th, he led the surviving troops to be received and reorganized by war zone units near Changsha. Compared to the bitter fates of the 190th Division and the 10th Reserve Division, Zhou Qingxiang's 3rd Division wrote a different kind of story in these same days — one of extraordinary tactical competence maintained against mounting odds. In the equally fierce battles, the 3rd Division demonstrated the qualities of an elite force more effectively than any other unit on either side.   On the 22nd, the 3rd Division had been ordered to establish positions two kilometers east of Fulipu. At noon on the 24th, after the Japanese 3rd Division defeated Zhu Yue's 190th Division, a portion of the Japanese force turned and attacked the right flank of Zhou Qingxiang's position. It was repelled. That evening, the Japanese 4th Division, riding the momentum of its success against the 37th Army, launched a night attack on the 3rd Division's left flank. It too was repelled. On the 25th, Zhou Qingxiang's division was attacked from both sides simultaneously by the main forces of two Japanese divisions — forces that outnumbered the defenders several times over. The officers and soldiers of the entire division showed no fear. They fought bravely and with skill honed by months of intensive preparation, holding their lines despite heavy casualties and preventing the Japanese from breaking through at any point.   When word of this resistance was relayed to General Anami Korechika at his headquarters, he fell into a long, uncharacteristic silence. He studied the reports before him, the maps, the casualty tallies on both sides. Then he turned to his chief of staff, General Isamu Kinoshita. "This is the elite force," Anami said quietly. He paused a moment, and added: "I really want to go there and see for myself." The compliment, delivered in the private setting of a Japanese headquarters, was perhaps the most honest assessment of the fighting quality of Zhou Qingxiang's men that history has preserved.   Anami's response, however, was not admiration — it was determination to overwhelm. On the morning of the 26th, he concentrated nearly the entire combat power available to him against the single 3rd Division: units drawn from the Japanese 3rd, 4th, 6th, and 40th Divisions — close to 100,000 men — were directed to surround and destroy the Chinese formation. The 3rd Division stubbornly held its ground despite catastrophic casualties, the soldiers refusing to give way even as the perimeter contracted and the dead accumulated.   To ease the relentless pressure from enemy aircraft, the division commanders made a calculated decision: all positions were ordered to allow the Japanese troops to close to hand-to-hand fighting range. If the enemy was within arm's reach, the bombers above could not strike without killing their own men. Several instances of fierce hand-to-hand fighting erupted across the defensive line as a result — bayonets, shovels, pistols and bare hands in the broken earth and shell craters. By noon, the 8th Regiment had been divided and surrounded. Shortly afterward, the 7th and 9th Regiments met the same fate. Zhou Qingxiang moved the division headquarters to the position of the 7th Regiment to maintain command over his most accessible unit, while the deputy division commander and chief of staff were dispatched to coordinate the independent defense of the 8th and 9th Regiments respectively. For another half day, each of the three regimental pockets fought alone. At dusk, Zhou Qingxiang ordered a breakout.   As darkness fell, exploiting the brief respite that came when the Japanese halted their attacks for the night, each regiment burst simultaneously from its position. Carefully prepared covering detachments remained behind and created convincing feints toward false breakout directions, drawing the enemy's main pursuit forces away from the actual withdrawal routes. The deceptions worked. By the time the Japanese commanders understood what had happened, the breakout had succeeded. Officers and soldiers filtered into the designated reception point in small groups — three men here, five there — arriving through the night and into the following morning. When the count was complete, the 3rd Division was a remnant of less than one-fifth of its pre-battle strength. The finest infantry division in the 10th Army had bled itself almost dry, but it had done so on its own terms, and it had extracted as much as it was possible to extract from an impossible situation.   On September 27th, a chilly autumn wind blew across the city of Changsha. At the playground of Lizhong Middle School in the eastern part of the city, Li Yutang stood and watched the survivors of his divisions come in. A week before, on September 20th, more than 30,000 men had departed Hengyang aboard seven special trains. Their military songs had filled the railway station. Their letters of determination, some written in blood, had been stacked on Li Yutang's desk. Their training scores were the highest ever recorded for a Chinese army unit — a perfect one hundred percent of "top-tier" achievement across all three infantry skills. They had been, by every measurable standard, the finest army China could produce.   Standing now at the playground of a secondary school repurposed as a muster point, Li Yutang looked at what remained: a little over 2,000 men, including lightly wounded soldiers from Changsha who had been caught up in the fighting and bandaged civilians who had taken up arms. Two thousand, from thirty thousand. What had happened to the others? They were dead. They were injured. They were maimed. Some had broken under the pressure and run. The accounting was simple and devastating. Li Yutang's expression remained dignified as he inspected his survivors — the face of a commander who understood that bearing is required of officers precisely in the moments when bearing costs the most. But his heart was filled with tears. Perhaps soon, he reflected, there would be another 10th Army — still heroic and spirited, still singing loudly as it went to war. But it would not be the same one.   History has no gaps or blank pages. The story of the 10th Army's ordeal was barely complete before the next chapter began. Reluctantly, one must turn the page. Following the 10th Army, Wang Yaowu's 74th Army also suffered a crushing defeat. Wang Yaowu had received his orders from Commander Xue on September 21st and had immediately begun moving his three divisions from their cantonments at Fenyi and Xinyu in Jiangxi Province. The 74th Army was composed of three divisions: the 51st Division under Li Tianxia, the 57th Division under Yu Chengwan, and the 58th Division under Liao Lingqi. These were the formations that had kept the "Iron Army" undefeated through four years of brutal warfare. Their code names told their own story — the 51st Division was called "Frontline," the 57th was called "Tiger Warrior," and the 58th was called "Exhilarating." Wang Yaowu had personally chosen the code name for the army headquarters: "Brilliant." Chiang Kai-shek himself had once remarked, "Of all the code names, yours is the best." It was a small distinction, but one that Wang Yaowu quietly cherished.   What Wang Yaowu did not know — could not know, for Anami's intelligence network had kept the preparation perfectly concealed — was that Anami Korechika had been monitoring his movements since the order to deploy was first issued. The Japanese commander had already selected the terrain, positioned his units, and laid the trap. He was waiting for the 74th Army's arrival.   On the 25th, Wang Yaowu led the 57th Division into the battlefield first, marching rapidly as Xue Yue had directed to Chunhua Mountain on the north bank of the Laodao River, east of Changsha, to occupy positions and cover the main force's deployment. On the evening of the 25th, the 169th and 170th Regiments of the 57th Division arrived at the south side of Chunhua Mountain and encountered a Japanese search party of over a hundred men. The 169th Regiment swiftly cut off the small force's escape route, coordinating effectively with the 170th. The Japanese detachment suffered heavy casualties, and the survivors fled toward Chunhua Mountain. When part of the 170th Regiment reached the foot of the mountain, they ran into a much larger Japanese force coming down to meet them — and learned in that moment that Chunhua Mountain had already been occupied by the enemy.   Wang Yaowu responded instantly. To seize the initiative before the Japanese could consolidate, he ordered two regiments to assault Chunhua Mountain that same night. Around midnight, the troops advanced in silence through the dark. After a fierce night battle, two Japanese battalions were unable to hold against the assault and withdrew in the early hours of the morning. The 57th Division had its foothold. At dawn on the 26th, a regiment from the 57th Division followed up the night's success, and Yu Chengwan positioned the division along the Chunhua Mountain line. As the morning advanced, the 51st and 58th Divisions arrived to complete the deployment. Following Xue Yue's orders, Wang Yaowu spread his force across the line: the 57th Division at Chishi River, the 58th Division at Chunhua Mountain itself, and the 51st Division at Fengjiang Bridge. They were ready. Or so it appeared.   At dawn on the 27th, Wang Yaowu went on the offensive. The 57th Division launched a surprise attack on the camp of the main force regiment of the Japanese 3rd Division. The Japanese were caught entirely unprepared — the attack came in total darkness, and the camp was thrown into chaos before anyone could organize a coherent response. The Japanese managed to form some kind of defense only as the first light of dawn broke, and through the morning the two armies clashed furiously. By mid-morning, the Japanese had been forced back three kilometers — a genuine and significant victory achieved through aggression and timing.   Then, at eight o'clock, the Japanese 3rd Division launched its counterattack with the support of dozens of aircraft — fighter-bombers diving low over the Chunhua Mountain positions, strafing and bombing. Both armies knew themselves to be elite formations; each had its country's reputation riding on the outcome. They clashed with corresponding ferocity.   Around noon, Wang Yaowu climbed to the rooftop of a farmhouse and studied the Japanese battle line through his field glasses. What he saw was encouraging: a breach had appeared in the enemy's formation to the north of Chunhua Mountain — a gap that, if exploited quickly, could roll up the Japanese flank. He ordered Li Hanqing, the infantry commander of the 51st Division, to take two regiments and execute an outflanking maneuver through that gap, striking the Japanese from the side. An hour later, Li Hanqing's movement succeeded. The Japanese forces were thrown into disarray, breaking rearward in a rout. For one brief hour, it seemed as though the 74th Army might achieve a decisive success. Then the Japanese 4th Division arrived. It swept in from behind Li Hanqing's flanking force, surrounding his two regiments before they could extract themselves. In the desperate fighting of the breakout attempt, Li Hanqing was shot and killed.   In the afternoon, with two of its regiments lost to encirclement and its flanking stroke reversed, the 57th Division found itself holding off two full Japanese divisions alone. The fighting continued — artillery, rifle fire, close assaults — until nightfall dimmed the battlefield. The division had suffered over 3,000 casualties, and more than half of all commanders below battalion level had been killed or wounded. Division Commander Yu Chengwan conferred with Wang Yaowu over the field telephone, and together they decided to withdraw the troops to prepared positions to hold through the night.   Meanwhile, on the same 27th of September, Liao Lingqi's 58th Division at Chunhua Mountain was subjected to a separate and equally devastating assault by the Japanese 6th Division, reinforced by elements of the 3rd Division. The positions at Chunhua Mountain were compact and clustered — ideal targets for concentrated aerial bombardment. The Japanese bombers came in two waves, and after both had passed, the hastily constructed earthen fortifications were almost entirely destroyed. Across what had been the defensive line, limbs and broken bodies could be seen among the wreckage. The entire division had suffered devastating casualties.   Beginning at nine o'clock in the morning, tens of thousands of Japanese troops launched successive offensive waves, methodically dividing the defensive line into sections and breaking through each one in turn. The defenders engaged the Japanese in hand-to-hand combat at position after position, gunfire and the shouts of bayonet fighters filling the smoke-thickened air. At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Chunhua Mountain defense line collapsed. The surviving soldiers attempted to break out in small groups, but many were intercepted and cut down by Japanese forces waiting along the escape routes.   Wang Yaowu was seething. He directed the battle from wherever he could find a usable vantage point, issuing orders in rapid succession — one moment ordering the 51st Division to send reinforcements to Chunhua Mountain, the next directing the army's directly subordinate regiments to absorb the shattered remnants of the 58th Division, then ordering the 57th Division to block Japanese forces from reinforcing the encirclement. He was everywhere at once, doing the work of a staff of twenty, improvising responses to crises that unfolded faster than any plan could accommodate. And as he directed, the same thought played and replayed: wasn't the Ninth War Zone just feeding them to the wolves? They had jumped into the enemy's encirclement without any initiative, while the enemy could attack from whatever direction they chose. He had nowhere to vent his frustration on the battlefield, only able to fend for himself. While directing the battle, he cursed under his breath: "What kind of hell is this?!"   As dusk fell over the chaos, the gunfire gradually subsided. The Japanese as a rule did not launch night attacks — a pattern the Chinese had come to rely upon for the brief respite it offered. Li Tianxia, commander of the 51st Division, concentrated his troops from the flanks toward the center to consolidate a defensible perimeter. The 57th Division, adjacent to the 51st and badly diminished by the day's fighting, did the same. Both divisions settled into their positions, and the exhausted soldiers lay down fully clothed, weapons in hand, and tried to rest. At midnight, the battlefield exploded.   Fierce gunfire roused the soldiers from whatever shallow sleep they had found. Two elite regiments of the Japanese 6th Division had broken through the gap that had opened between the positions of the 51st and 57th Divisions — a gap created by both units pulling inward — and were driving directly toward the headquarters of the 74th Army. In Wang Yaowu's many years of battlefield experience, this was the only instance he ever encountered of a large Japanese force launching a major attack at night.   The knowledge of terrain displayed by the attacking Japanese regiments was so precise, the route to army headquarters so accurately selected, that it raised immediate suspicions of an intelligence compromise — an inside source who had provided the attackers with maps and positions. Whatever the explanation, the effect was devastating. The headquarters' directly subordinate regiment and guard battalion were outnumbered and quickly overwhelmed. They fought where they could, but the Japanese pushed through them.   The guard platoon leader, a man who had served at Wang Yaowu's side through numerous campaigns, gathered several of his best soldiers and formed a close escort. He led Wang Yaowu into the darkness as the Japanese closed around the headquarters compound. More than a hundred Japanese soldiers gave chase — moving through the dark with a sureness of foot that seemed almost preternatural, as if they had developed night vision. The platoon leader recognized that Wang Yaowu could not outrun a hundred men. He shouted to the general and the remaining escort: "Go quickly!" Then he and a single machine gunner turned and stayed behind. Wang Yaowu ran. A few minutes later, the machine gunner was killed. Shortly after that, the platoon leader was shot through the leg and fell to the ground. He was captured.   Wang Yaowu threw himself into the grass beside a drainage ditch and lay still as Japanese soldiers searched the ground around him, their voices close enough to touch. From his hiding place, he heard his platoon leader — the man who had been at his side day and night, who had chosen to stay behind so that his general might live — cursing the Japanese soldiers from the ground where he lay captured and wounded. Then a Japanese officer drew his sword. The cursing stopped. The Japanese soldiers moved on. The gunfire subsided. Wang Yaowu lay in the grass in the dark and did not move until he was certain they were gone. When he crawled out of the bushes, he looked up at the stars, found the direction of Liuyang, and began walking in the darkness with the few guards who had stayed close. He walked until dawn.   Since joining the army, Wang Yaowu had never allowed himself to think about fear of death. He had spent too many years on battlefields, seen too much death and bloodshed, to entertain it as a personal concern. This time, however, he was in tears. Not from sadness, and not from fear. From something harder to name and harder to bear: frustration — the frustration of a capable commander who had been committed to battle by a higher command that neither understood the ground nor provided him the support to fight on it, and who had watched good men die for orders that made no tactical sense.   In the aftermath of the battle, Wang Yaowu's grief was compounded by something beyond the ordinary losses of combat. The 27th alone had cost the 57th Division nearly half its strength, and the 58th Division had been essentially wiped out as a fighting formation. Of his three powerful divisions, only the 51st remained relatively intact. In war, such losses, however painful, are comprehensible. What happened next was not. Liao Lingqi, the commander of the 58th Division — one of the three officers Wang Yaowu had called his "tigers" — did not remain with his shattered troops to regroup and reorganize them. Instead, after the division's collapse, he slipped away from the battlefield with only his personal guards, changed into civilian clothes, and boarded a train bound for his hometown of Qiyang in southern Hunan to visit his family.   By unhappy chance, a senior staff officer from the Ninth War Zone was aboard the same train. He recognized Liao Lingqi and watched, saying nothing, as the division commander traveled south in civilian dress while his men lay dead on Chunhua Mountain. Upon arriving in Hengyang, the officer went directly to report the incident to General Xue Yue. Xue Yue instructed the Military Law Supervision Department to investigate and referred the case to the Military Commission's Military Law Enforcement Directorate on charges of desertion in the face of the enemy. At that point, in that situation, there was nothing Wang Yaowu could say. He had no words left. He had given everything he had to the battle, and this was what greeted him at the end of it.   The elite 74th Army, with its heroic spirit and its unbroken record, had captured the imagination of the Chinese nation and the hearts of countless young men. When soldiers of the 74th Army returned to their hometowns on leave, they wore their elite status openly, and the prestige of the unit was such that families sought them as sons-in-law. Young men who enlisted and were not selected for the 74th Army were known to weep. What a fine unit. But this time, the trap had been perfectly laid, and the intelligence had been mastered. Anami had looked at his opponent's hole cards and played accordingly. He had concentrated overwhelming force, moved with coordination and speed, and exploited the confusion generated by contradictory orders from the Ninth War Zone Command. The Chinese elite had fought with courage and skill that earned the admiration of their enemies. They had simply been outgeneraled at the operational level.   The Second Battle of Changsha, Phase Three, had cost China two of its finest armies. The 10th Army had departed Hengyang over 30,000 strong and returned barely 2,000. The 74th Army had suffered a crushing defeat from which it would require months to rebuild. Wang Yaowu had walked alone through the dark to Liuyang. Li Yutang had stood in the autumn wind at a schoolyard and looked at what remained of the men who had written their determination in blood.   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. Phase Three of the second battle of Changsha showed Anami Korechika using intelligence and planning to blunt China's elite forces as Chiang Kai-shek reluctantly deployed the "Iron Army" 74th and the 10th. Intercepted communications enable encirclement and heavy losses. Li Yutang's merit and experience shape resistance, yet Japanese strategy dominates from the outset through coordinated advances.

Last time we spoke about the battle for Dayun Mountain. Chinese forces  under Xue Yue, believed they were encircling an exposed Japanese regiment. Acting on that assumption, Chinese units concentrated attacks to crush the "trapped " force, hoping to annihilate an elite enemy formation. Their pressure briefly seemed to succeed: on the 13th–14th, Chinese assaults compressed the Japanese positions to a small area, and individual fighting around ambush and prepared defenses produced moments where "victory appeared close." But the Chinese command misunderstood the target. The Japanese had layered deception: Dayun Mountain was held to draw attention, then replaced at night with another unit to maintain the appearance of continued occupation. Despite heavy fighting, the Dayun Mountain battle ends in stalemate by Sept. 17, and Chinese attention turns back to the primary offensive around Changsha.   #210 The Miluo River Catastrophe 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 the morning of September 17, 1941, General Xue Yue, commander of the Ninth War Zone, sat at his desk at the headquarters on Changsha's Yuelu Mountain and fell into deep thought. Spread before him were a series of intelligence telegrams dispatched by the reconnaissance teams of his war zone and by General Yang Sen, commander of the 27th Army Group operating to the north. What they described was unambiguous and alarming. Along the north bank of the Xinqiang River, stretching westward from Yueyang, reconnaissance had identified a massive Japanese build-up: the 3rd, 4th, 6th, and 40th Divisions of the Japanese 11th Army, along with five additional detachments, had taken up positions facing the river. On the afternoon of September 16th, General Kanda, commander of the Japanese 6th Division, had personally toured the north bank accompanied by a retinue of staff officers, training his binoculars across the river for a long and deliberate survey of the Chinese defensive positions on the southern bank. Perhaps most conclusively, Chinese operatives working behind enemy lines had tapped Japanese military telephone lines and intercepted a direct communication from the 11th Army to all of its divisions, ordering them to prepare for an attack on September 18th. On any reasonable reading, the evidence pointed in one direction: a massive Japanese offensive was imminent. Yet Xue Yue, one of China's most celebrated wartime commanders and a man renowned for the tenacity with which he had defended Changsha, arrived at a different conclusion. He had been studying the record of 11th Army Commander Korechika Anami and came away convinced that Anami was a general who habitually used a mix of truth and deception in his operations—a man for whom the most obvious sign was precisely the most suspicious one. The scale of the preparations, their openness, the conspicuous presence of senior officers on the riverbank—all of it struck Xue Yue as too theatrical to be real. He concluded that Anami was feigning a frontal attack on the Xinqiang River in order to draw the main force of the war zone forward, leaving the flanks exposed for a surprise breakthrough elsewhere. Once this interpretation took hold in Xue Yue's mind, it became immovable. No subordinate could dislodge it. When intelligence reports then confirmed that the Japanese had transported the equipment for building pontoon bridges to the very banks of the Xinqiang River—a detail that left virtually no room for doubt about what was being planned—Xue Yue remained unmoved. He told his chief of staff with quiet certainty: "No rush. Let's see tomorrow." He was unaware that he had already lost his tomorrow. At dawn on September 18th, after 11th Army Commander Korechika Anami presided over the routine silent prayer ceremony that opened each day of active operations, he drew his gleaming ceremonial sword and pointed it towards northern Hunan. The battle had begun. On the Chinese side of the Xinqiang River, the first indication that this was no ordinary morning came from the sky. Air raids were a familiar occurrence along the front; the veterans of the 4th Army had grown accustomed to Japanese bombing runs. But this time was different. The number of bombs was greater, the density higher, and the bombs themselves heavier than anything the soldiers on the south bank had experienced before. Two successive waves of air attack struck the fortifications with crushing force, destroying positions that had taken months to construct. Then came the infantry. At Xiaotang, Siliufang, Tongxi Bridge, Shanmu Bridge, and a string of other crossing points along the river, dozens of tanks led the assault, pushing forward with unstoppable momentum, their treads churning up the riverbank mud as the infantry followed closely behind, advancing through fire, forcing their way across the water. On the not-so-wide front in Xiangbei, four Japanese divisions had lined up side by side—like four ferocious beasts pouncing forward simultaneously. Even the veteran soldiers of the defending Chinese forces, men who had been fighting the Japanese for years, had rarely seen such a terrifying formation. The troops defending the Xinqiang River were the 4th Army under Ou Zhen, one of the most distinguished units in the Nationalist order of battle. The 4th Army had earned the reputation of "Iron Army" during the Northern Expedition, where it had demonstrated a ferocious capacity for breaching fortified positions and defending strategic points under fire, and it had fought many of the major battles of the War of Resistance. In theory, the army consisted of four divisions: Zhang Deneng's 59th Division, Chen Kan's 90th Division, Bai Huizhang's 102nd Division, and the 60th Division, which had recently been transferred to the army's command. In practice, however, by September 18th the Iron Army had been hollowed out. During the concurrent Battle of Dayun Mountain, the Ninth War Zone and the 27th Army Group had stripped away most of the 59th and 102nd Divisions to commit them elsewhere, while the 60th Division had followed the army group as a reserve force. What remained at the Xinqiang River was the 90th Division and only a remnant of the 102nd—a fragment of what had once been a formidable fighting force. Xue Yue had planned for the first-line position to hold for three days. It held for two hours. Against a Japanese force that outnumbered the defenders several times over and enjoyed an absolute advantage in artillery and air power, the position could not stand. In just two hours, the Japanese broke through the 102nd Division's defensive line and then swung their forces around to encircle the 90th Division. With no remaining options, Xue Yue ordered both units to retreat to the second line of defense. The Xinqiang River had fallen.  The crisis at the Xinqiang River was compounded by the predicament of Yang Sen, commander-in-chief of the 27th Army Group, who should have been the force most capable of responding to the breakthrough. Instead, Yang Sen found himself trapped far to the east, bogged down in a battle on Dayun Mountain from which he could not extract himself. The situation on Dayun Mountain was one of those military embarrassments that seem almost unbelievable in retrospect. Yang Sen had committed five full divisions to encircle what was supposed to be a single regiment—the 234th Regiment of the Japanese 40th Division, which had dug into the deep mountain. What followed was a sustained humiliation. Two divisions were ground down until their combined fighting strength equalled that of one. Another division was reduced to a regimental shadow of itself. Yang Sen, who had first served in the army in 1906 and had seen virtually every variety of military difficulty in three and a half decades of Chinese warfare, said afterwards that he had rarely experienced such deception. The Shigematsu Regiment, ensconced in the mountains and dense forest, had proved maddeningly resilient. Yang Sen had committed his forces expecting a quick resolution—finish the battle on Dayun Mountain, then redeploy to defend the Xinqiang River—but the regiment would not be finished. He could not advance and he could not retreat. Just as he was preparing to intensify the assault for another day or two, certain that the enemy must finally be near collapse, the news arrived on the morning of September 18th that the Japanese had launched their general offensive across northern Hunan. By nine o'clock that morning, the Xinqiang River's first line of defense was already gone. Yang Sen immediately ordered the abandonment of the Dayun Mountain operation and commanded all divisions to redeploy back towards the Xinqiang River. But the Japanese had moved too fast. Between the first and second lines of Chinese defense there were only scattered guard units; the main force was simply not in place. The second-line troops, moreover, had been configured according to the defensive setup used during the First Battle of Changsha and were wholly unsuited to withstand such a massive, concentrated enemy thrust. The defending forces were too weak and too thinly spread to mount any gradual, coordinated resistance. The Japanese advanced through the gap as if they were in an empty field. The five divisions of the 58th Army and the 4th Army now found themselves in a desperate race against the Japanese, studying maps as they marched, trying to reach blocking positions before the enemy could. No matter what they did, they could not outrun the 11th Army. It was not merely the front-line units of the 4th Army that were endangered by the speed of the Japanese advance. Even the army headquarters itself, positioned forward in the proud tradition of the Iron Army, found itself running for its life. Army Commander Ou Zhen had been directing the battle from his headquarters in a small village called Lintang, located on the south bank of the Xinqiang River—a mere twenty kilometers behind the front line. The proximity was deliberate and characteristic of the Iron Army's ethos, a visible declaration that its commander would live or die alongside his men. On this day, it nearly proved fatal. Among those at the headquarters was Li Rupin, a native of Jing County in Anhui Province, who served as a sergeant squad leader in the 2nd Company of the 4th Army's Guard Battalion. Years later, reflecting on the events of that day, Li said without hesitation that of all his eight years fighting in the War of Resistance against Japan, that one battle was the most humiliating he had ever experienced. "The army headquarters was located in a small village called Lintang, south of the Xinqiang River, only about 20 kilometers away from the front lines," Li recalled. "The army headquarters was located in the front, which was a tradition of the 'Iron Army' to show that the commander was not afraid of danger and would live and die with his brothers. In that battle, we did not expect the enemy to break through the position so quickly. Not long after the battle started, the army headquarters had to move. Our guard battalion's task was to follow the army headquarters and serve as guards." Li described how Company Commander Chang Mingli assigned his platoon to help load the army headquarters' equipment onto trucks—huge, heavy boxes that required real effort to shift. While the loading was underway, Li caught sight of Army Commander Ou Zhen himself, speaking intently on the telephone. Li noted that Ou Zhen was ordinarily a man of few words, always seeming lost in thought, serious with the troops but not given to the kind of arbitrary reprimands that characterized lesser officers. What struck Li most vividly about the Army Commander, even in the midst of that morning's chaos, was a detail almost absurd in its incongruity: a pair of leather shoes that were always so perfectly polished they reflected light. "I heard he had studied abroad," Li added simply. Before the loading was even complete, the sound of machine gun fire erupted from the southwest of the village. A sentry reported: enemy attack detected, number unknown. Company Commander Chang, still pulling on his leggings, turned to Li and said without breaking stride: "Quickly take your squad and follow the deputy company commander. You must keep the enemy out of the village." Li took evident pride in the character of the guard battalion, comparing it unfavorably to what he saw in later years. "I see that nowadays, officers choose bodyguards who are fair-skinned and delicate, like little girls. I don't know why," he reflected. "Back then, our guard battalion, including the commander's personal bodyguards, were all big, dark-skinned men. Our squad of 12 men were all broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, and carrying a machine gun was like an ordinary person carrying a rifle." The squad carried three light machine guns, and each soldier also carried a pistol. They drilled constantly on marksmanship and physical conditioning. In the tradition of the unit, a guard soldier was expected to be able to carry his officer for dozens of miles without slowing and without fear of death. Li led his squad to the southwest corner of the village, where the 1st Company of the guard battalion was already engaged with the Japanese in a cemetery just outside the village boundary. The 1st Company commander had just descended from a rooftop when Deputy Company Commander Yan arrived and assessed the situation. "There are about 100 enemy soldiers in this direction," the 1st Company commander reported. "I don't know if there are any more in other directions." Yan replied without hesitation: "I'll take my four squads to outflank them and find out what's going on with the enemy. If it's a good opportunity, we'll wipe them out." He asked and received permission from the deputy battalion commander, who transferred three additional machine guns from the 1st Company to Yan's force. The squad slipped around to the south of the village, entered a nursery grove, and began working their way southwest to flank the enemy. "Before we even emerged from the woods, enemy machine guns opened fire," Li recalled. "The nursery grove was planted too densely, so it was inevitable that we'd bump into tree branches. We crept forward, keeping close to the ground, when the deputy company commander gave the order: 'Prepare grenades.'" Li looked back and saw that all his men had kept pace. Then Deputy Company Commander Yan's voice rang out clearly: "Charge!" He burst out of the woods at the head of the column. "Deputy Company Commander Yan is a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy," Li said. "People say that Whampoa graduates are always at the forefront of battle. Others may not know, but several of us in our battalion are like that." The charge was furious and caught the enemy entirely off guard. "We shouted 'Charge! Kill!' and followed the deputy company commander out of the grove," Li recounted. "The enemy was about 40 or 50 meters ahead. Hearing the shouts, they hurriedly turned their guns to fire at us, but it was too late! We threw out our grenades, lay down, and fired back at the enemy. At this moment, the 1st Company also charged out of the village. The enemy could not stop them and retreated in droves. Looking around, there were no fewer than 200 of them. The enemy suffered a loss and left behind more than a dozen dead bodies." The 2nd Company did not pursue. Led by Deputy Company Commander Yan, they withdrew back to the village, where the deputy battalion commander stood at the crossroads and praised the 2nd Company for their fighting before immediately ordering them to follow the army headquarters and relocate. Li had barely grabbed his backpack and tied it to his body before gunfire erupted again outside the village. The Japanese had returned. Two battalions of the army reserve moved up to engage them, and the army's trucks and cars poured out of the village and accelerated south along the road. The guard battalion ran after them on foot. In less than half an hour, the enemy caught up. There were cavalrymen and a large truck packed with infantry. Li registered the significance of this with something close to shock: "It seems that the Xinqiang River has really been lost to the enemy, otherwise how could cars still drive across?" The battalion commander—whose surname, Li noted with dry humor, was the same as the Generalissimo's—ordered the 2nd Company under the deputy battalion commander to form a rear guard. They had one artillery platoon and two mortars between them. There was no time to prepare fortifications; the soldiers scattered on both sides of the road and found their own firing positions as best they could. When Li looked back south, the army headquarters was already a distant speck on the road. "The enemy was getting closer and closer," he recalled. "First, fifty or sixty cavalrymen charged over, brandishing swords and guns and shouting. The trucks were behind them, and we could already see two machine guns mounted on the front of the trucks." The deputy battalion commander's voice carried steadily over the noise: "Brothers, stay calm, aim carefully before you fire—we're going to slaughter a pig and drink tonight!" Nobody laughed, Li noted carefully, but nobody broke either. What followed was a running, desperate firefight. Within the range of 600 to 200 meters, the rear guard inflicted severe casualties on the advancing Japanese. Li watched soldiers toppling from their horses. One horse, shot but not immediately killed, dragged its dead rider—still entangled in the stirrups—forward at a gallop until it collapsed only a few steps from Li, the sudden impact startling him badly. The enemy dismounted from the trucks and formed attack waves, pressing the assault in shifts. The Chinese machine guns worked to suppress each wave and prevent the Japanese from closing the distance. The deputy battalion commander directed the two mortars against the densest enemy concentrations. Then one of the mortars exploded inside its own barrel, killing two gunners instantly. "I still can't figure out why," Li said years later. "The fuse of the mortar shell is on that tip, how could it explode inside the barrel?" There was no answer to be found. The two men were simply dead, and there was no time to grieve them. The rear guard repelled two enemy attacks before the deputy battalion commander ordered a withdrawal while the enemy paused to regroup. It was past two o'clock in the afternoon. "It's all just running," Li said with characteristic bluntness. "How can I not get tired? Even if I'm tired, I still have to keep running!" As they ran, Li overheard the company commander say quietly to the deputy battalion commander: "Actually, we can wipe out these enemies." The deputy battalion commander turned on him with a fierce look: "Eat it all up! Have you forgotten what we're here for again?" The exchange brought to Li's mind a memory from two years earlier, when he had first been assigned to the guard battalion. He had been transferred from the machine gun company of the 2nd Battalion, 305th Regiment of the 102nd Division at the end of 1939, appointed as deputy squad leader. Company Commander Chang had spoken to him at that time, asking why he had joined the army. "Who else would come here if not to fight the Japanese?" Li had answered. The company commander replied: "Very good, but the guard battalion's primary task is to ensure good security; that's the most important thing." The assignment had chafed at Li ever since—a natural fighter who had been a front-line machine gun squad leader, now consigned to watching other men fight. On one holiday, having drunk rather more than was wise, he had gone to the company commander and announced that he wanted to return to the 102nd Division and "mow down the Japanese with a machine gun." The company commander, who had also been drinking, chuckled and said: "Have you had enough of life? You might as well stay here and squat obediently! What do you know about life? You don't know anything! After we win, go home, get a wife, and live a good life..." Now, running south along a road contested by Japanese cavalry and infantry, with the army headquarters already out of sight ahead of him, Li perhaps understood the company commander's words in a way he had not before. The pursuit was unrelenting and grew worse before it improved. Over a hundred cavalrymen and four trucks drove after the guard unit without pause. In an attempt to split and divert the enemy, the company dispatched a platoon under Deputy Company Commander Yan himself down a different road, to lure one group of pursuers away. None of the men in that platoon returned alive. The deputy battalion commander led the remaining force in a continuing fighting retreat, engaging another Japanese contingent in a separate encounter that cost more than twenty dead and thirty wounded. Eventually the survivors managed to cross a large river, finally shaking off the pursuers, and caught up with the army headquarters at dusk. They had barely had a moment to catch their breath when night fell and they stumbled into another large Japanese force in the darkness. The 4th Army—the Iron Army, the pride of the Northern Expedition—seemed to have its commander and headquarters specifically targeted by the enemy. Driven from one position to the next throughout the day, they were eventually pushed up into the hills of Mufu Mountain and did not escape danger until the following morning. "That battle," Li Rupin concluded, "was truly humiliating." When the scale of the Japanese offensive became undeniable on the evening of September 18th, Xue Yue finally grasped the gravity of what was unfolding. It was too late to adjust his forces meaningfully; the overall numerical superiority he had enjoyed across the theater of operations had dissolved wherever the Japanese chose to strike, becoming a dangerous numerical disadvantage at each critical point. In just one day, even Yuelu Mountain—the historic height that had dominated Changsha and housed his headquarters—was no longer safe. He moved the war zone command post south to Zhuting and urgently telegraphed the Military Commission in Chongqing, requesting that Chiang Kai-shek immediately transfer troops from other war zones to provide reinforcements, warning that without them the situation would deteriorate with serious consequences for the national war effort. The telegram arrived in Chongqing, where Chiang Kai-shek and several senior military advisors sat in silence before the battle map in the Military Commission Operations Room, with the grim concentration of men watching a difficult game of chess they cannot influence. Troop movements take time. While the number of Japanese troops committed to northern Hunan was not enormous in absolute terms, they moved with unstoppable momentum. Xue Yue was requesting three to four combat corps—a mobilization from outside the Ninth War Zone that could not possibly be accomplished in the available time. Chiang Kai-shek was at a loss for what to do. He paced back and forth in the corridor adjoining the operations room. The only foreigner among the assembled staff—a blond-haired man with a prominent nose—was the Soviet military advisor Chuikov. He walked up to Chiang and fell into step beside him, pacing with him as he spoke. "Hunan and northern Hunan are in a passive position and we don't have any good solutions for the time being," Chuikov said. "Why don't we think about other things? Isn't there an ancient Chinese story called 'Besieging Wei to Rescue Zhao'?" Chuikov's specific proposal was this: if the forces of the Sixth War Zone were to attack the Japanese 13th Division at Yichang—a city in Hubei Province that had fallen to Japan in June 1940, and which was garrisoned by a division under the overall command of Anami's 11th Army—Anami Korechika would not be able to remain indifferent to the threat. Yichang was no ordinary city. It controlled the crucial choke point on the Yangtze River's waterway, and since its capture it had placed much of the river under Japanese control. More critically for the Chinese, Yichang Airport had become the closest bomber base to Chongqing, and the Japanese aircraft that harassed the wartime capital daily flew from that field. The Military Commission had long been reluctant to authorize a major attack on Yichang for these very reasons—it would not be easy to retake, and failure would be costly. But why not seize this moment? Chiang Kai-shek stopped walking, considered Chuikov's proposal, and nodded. He thanked the Soviet general for his suggestion, and the two men returned to the operations room together. Chiang instructed Chief of Staff Xu Yongchang to draft an implementation plan for combined operations: the Ninth War Zone would continue engaging the Japanese in northern Hunan, while the Sixth War Zone would simultaneously launch a counterattack against Yichang and ensure its capture. While Chongqing deliberated over the Yichang gambit, the immediate question facing the Ninth War Zone was how to organize a second line of defense following the fall of the Xinqiang River. The Japanese had also successfully landed forces on both sides of the Xiangjiang River estuary at Shangqingshan, blocking the waterway, which further constrained Chinese options. Xue Yue's solution was straightforward: he proposed deploying the 37th and 26th Armies in a line along the south bank of the Miluo River, using the river as a natural barrier to halt the Japanese advance toward Changsha. His chief of staff, Wu Yizhi, agreed without reservation and immediately instructed the operations section chief, Zhao Zili, to begin drafting the necessary orders. But Zhao Zili had been turning the strategic problem over in his mind, and he had reached a different conclusion. Zhao was a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy's 6th class, a veteran of the Battles of Nanchang and Shanggao, and a man who had watched this war closely from his position at the center of the war zone's planning operations. At this moment he asked permission to share his thinking with his two superiors. Zhao's argument was systematic and urgent. The combined strength of the two armies—five combat divisions in total—was clearly insufficient to withstand four intact Japanese divisions in a set-piece defensive battle along the Miluo River. The 10th and 74th Armies were being summoned from elsewhere to reinforce the theater, but by Zhao's calculation they would require another four days to arrive. A static defense of the Miluo River line, therefore, would pit inadequate forces against overwhelming pressure for four days, and those forces would be destroyed long before help arrived. His alternative proposal was as follows: rather than standing and fighting at the Miluo, the two armies should conduct a deliberate fighting withdrawal—using alternating rear-guard actions and mutual cover—to fall back all the way to the south bank of the Liuyang River, in the hills immediately north of Changsha. The timing, Zhao argued, was almost providential in its precision: if the 26th and 37th Armies arrived at the Liuyang River at roughly the same moment that the 10th and 74th Armies arrived at the same position from the east, the combined force of four armies could then turn and strike the Japanese formations—which by then would have advanced more than a hundred kilometers into hostile territory with supply lines stretched thin and fighting strength degraded by continuous combat. Even if the Chinese could not completely sever the Japanese supply lines, the enemy would be exhausted, and victory under those conditions would be certain. Zhao Zili finished his presentation in one breath and waited. Xue Yue and Wu Yizhi conferred briefly. Then they decided to proceed with the original plan. Zhao Zili sighed inwardly. He got up, returned to his office, and began drafting the orders that, in his professional judgment, would lead to catastrophe. One hour later, the orders embodying Xue Yue's thinking were converted to radio waves and flew into the night sky. As some poet once asked of fate: "When the curtain rises, you don't know whether it's a comedy or a tragedy." On the morning of September 20th, in the intelligence section of the Japanese 11th Army's Special Operations headquarters, Lieutenant Colonel Hachimō rose from his seat feeling dizzy and unsteady on his feet. He had been awake for an extraordinary stretch of hours, hunched over a radio set in a state of almost superhuman concentration. He took a couple of steps before realizing he was still wearing his headset. He pulled it off, tossed it onto the radio equipment, and—holding the handrail for support—made his careful way down from the third floor to the second. Hachimō was not a professional soldier by background. Before the war, he had been a young designer at the renowned Mitsubishi Corporation. After the outbreak of hostilities, he had enlisted, taught himself the Chinese language and writing system, and dedicated himself entirely to the exacting discipline of cryptanalysis. Given the severe technological limitations of the era, what he accomplished rested on a kind of willpower and intuition that bordered on the extraordinary. His method was laborious and painstaking: he spent long hours with a headset pressed against his ear, listening to the endless stream of radio signals, detecting patterns, discerning differences and similarities among thousands of beeps and pulses. He analyzed signal traffic appearing over time and correlated it against observed enemy troop movements. He used captured battlefield documents to decode fragments of text, then leveraged those fragments to deduce the positions of commonly used characters in Chinese military telegrams. Every time the Chinese side changed their cipher, all of Hachimō's accumulated work was rendered worthless in an instant, but he would begin again—listening, thinking, starting over from nothing, with the same unbroken patience. On the perfectly timed morning of September 20th, Lieutenant Colonel Hachimō achieved what he had been working toward. He cracked the cipher in use by the Ninth War Zone for communications with its various subordinate armies, and successfully intercepted and decoded the operational deployment order that the Ninth War Zone Command had issued to all its armies on the night of September 18th—the very orders that Zhao Zili had drafted in quiet despair after his plan was rejected. Those orders told the Japanese exactly where every Chinese unit was going, what it intended to do, and when. Hachimō made his way downstairs and reported his achievement. Staff officer Kinoshita Isamu read the summary, then stood and walked without a word into the room where 11th Army Commander Anami Korechika was at work. The other officers in the room looked at Hachimō with confusion, uncertain what had just happened. After a few minutes, Anami and Kinoshita returned together. Anami stepped forward and took Hachimō's hand. "I, the Commander, congratulate you," Anami said, "on becoming the first officer to receive a certificate of merit in Operation Plus. Now I order you to go and rest immediately." The intelligence transformed the battle. Anami's original operational plan had been relatively modest in its ambition: a breakthrough along the Changsha-Yueyang highway, advancing toward Jinjing and the Xiangjiang River, with the 3rd and 4th Divisions planned for deployment toward the river. But now that the Japanese held a complete map of Chinese intentions—the positions, routes, and assignments of every army in the Ninth War Zone—a far more ambitious opportunity presented itself. What could be more valuable, or more satisfying, than the direct encirclement and annihilation of the main Chinese forces in the field? Anami immediately revised his entire operational deployment. As Chinese historical records later documented: "The Japanese intercepted and deciphered the radio telegrams issuing operational orders from the Ninth War Zone, gaining access to the Nationalist Army's operational plans and deployments. This led to a shift in their original strategic concept from a breakthrough to an encirclement of the Nationalist Army's right flank." The trap was set. The Chinese armies, following Xue Yue's orders faithfully, were marching toward positions the Japanese already knew they would occupy. The 26th Army was commanded by Xiao Zhichu, and it comprised three divisions: the 32nd Division under Wang Xiushen, the 41st Division under Ding Zhipan, and the 44th Division under Chen Yong. When Xiao received Xue Yue's orders to move his army to defend the south bank of the Miluo River, the situation was already deeply unfavorable. The Japanese had broken through the Xinqiang River line and were advancing rapidly southward; the 26th Army was positioned in the Liuyang and Yong'an area to the west, at a starting point that was even farther from the Miluo River than the Japanese forces were. The army was engaged in a race against a faster-moving enemy to reach the same objective, running from the farther starting block. The timing was unfavorable. The location was unfavorable. And the personal dimension was unfavorable as well, in a way that would prove deeply consequential, because Xue Yue and Xiao Zhichu harbored a long-standing resentment toward one another with its roots six years in the past. In 1935, both men had attended the third session of the Lushan Officers Training Corps, each holding the rank of army commander in the army but serving as battalion commanders within the training structure. The corps was nominally commanded by Chiang Kai-shek himself, with Chen Cheng as deputy commander. Xue Yue was a favorite of Chen Cheng—a celebrated battle commander who had fought his way across half of China—and he carried himself accordingly, often holding forth at length in seminars and discussions and not infrequently straying off-topic into territory where his assertions were questionable. The other senior officers present were content to listen, taking what was useful and ignoring the rest. Xiao Zhichu, however, was a man of earnest and literal disposition who simply could not let inaccuracies pass without challenge. He disputed Xue Yue's claims on several occasions, insisting on clarifying the facts, and each such correction landed on Xue Yue like a public rebuke. The estrangement that resulted between the two men was severe and lasting. By 1941, Xue had risen to command an entire war zone; Xiao remained an army commander under his authority. In the intervening years, Xiao had learned to be extremely cautious in all his dealings with his superior, acutely aware that any apparent failure or challenge might be held against him. On the night of September 19th, Xue Yue issued Xiao Zhichu an order to move the 26th Army to the second line of defense on the south bank of the Miluo River. Then, at noon on September 20th, he changed the order entirely: Xiao was to push his troops forward to the first line of defense along the riverbank, a more exposed position further north. At dawn on September 21st, Xiao Zhichu personally led his 44th Division—the division with which he had built his reputation—on a forced march toward the designated position. They were 2.5 kilometers from their destination, at the town of Wengjiang, when they encountered the Japanese 6th Division. The Japanese already knew they were coming. Having read Xue Yue's intercepted operational orders, they had deployed their forces specifically to intercept the 26th Army on the march. Within just twenty minutes of the initial encounter at Wengjiang, the entire 44th Division was completely surrounded. Xiao Zhichu reported the situation to Xue Yue by telephone. Xue Yue's response from the other end of the line was white-hot fury: "What's going on? We're surrounded before we even arrived! Why aren't we fighting? If we lose the Miluo River position, I'll kill you!" Xiao Zhichu swallowed his bitterness. Following orders, he threw the 44th Division into battle in terrain that could hardly have been more disadvantageous. They fought for a full day and a night and were unable to break through the encirclement. He ordered Wang Xiushen's 32nd Division to press forward and relieve the siege, but by the time those orders could be executed, the 32nd Division was itself under attack—surrounded on three sides by the Japanese 3rd Division at Wukou. Wang Xiushen led the entire division in a desperate battle with the river immediately at his back, suffering grievous casualties, and was eventually forced to fight his way clear rather than advance to relieve the 44th. On September 23rd, General Kanda Masazuka committed a portion of the 6th Division to a fierce assault against the rear of the already-encircled 44th Division. The situation became critical. Xiao Zhichu's army was fighting simultaneously on two fronts, and the lines were beginning to give way. It was only the timely intervention of Ding Zhipan's 41st Division, which arrived on a diagonal axis and struck the enemy threatening the 44th Division's rear, that prevented a complete collapse. When Ding Zhipan came to report to the army commander, the chief of staff of the 44th Division informed him with hollow composure that the entire division had suffered more than half casualties. The daily reality inside the encircled positions was one of sustained and grinding misery. During brief lulls in the fighting—stolen moments between one Japanese assault and the next—the soldiers would stuff a cold rice ball into their mouths and scoop up a mouthful of muddy water from the nearest roadside ditch; that was their meal. Immediately they would put down whatever they had in their hands and rush to reinforce the hastily dug earthworks, knowing another assault was imminent. The wounded lay where they had fallen, unable to be evacuated, their groans a constant sound beneath the work of digging and the distant thunder of artillery. The dead were not buried; there was simply no time. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation. After Xiao Zhichu's repeated requests, Xue Yue finally authorized a withdrawal. The 26th Army was permitted to pull back to Putang, a position a few kilometers to the south with marginally more defensible terrain. The entire army moved overnight, arriving exhausted, and immediately began constructing new fortifications. They had barely caught their breath when the Japanese 40th and 6th Divisions came on in succession, pressing the pursuit without pause. The 41st and 44th Divisions threw themselves into the fighting and were decimated. After destroying those two divisions, the Japanese turned their full attention on the surviving 32nd Division and the army headquarters. As Xiao Zhichu swept his binoculars across the positions, watching his men lie on the ground—dead, dying, or fighting on sheer will—one phrase repeated itself in his mind: "total annihilation." It was the most despairing phrase in a soldier's vocabulary, and it seemed to be becoming a description of reality. On the evening of September 25th, as the Japanese ring tightened around the remnants of the 26th Army, a Japanese Chinese-language translator began calling out to the encircled troops in Mandarin, urging them to surrender. The entire army appeared to be at its final moment. Then, in the darkness, reinforcements arrived—in the most improbable way imaginable. The head of the army's reconnaissance section had slipped through the Japanese encirclement looking for any exit, and in doing so had stumbled upon an entire regiment of the 32nd Army that had completely lost contact with the headquarters days earlier. This regiment had suffered damage to its radio equipment and had simply not received any of the telegrams announcing changes to the army's deployment and assignments. When they arrived at their designated rendezvous point, the area was empty. They had been sending scouts in all directions trying to locate friendly forces and make sense of the situation, when they encountered the reconnaissance section chief who had been doing precisely the same thing from inside the encirclement. The two men compared unit designations and confirmed their identities. Then the section chief remembered something: the regiment's party representative was his own classmate from the Whampoa Military Academy. Old bonds held. The two men exchanged information, assessed the situation together, and without further deliberation the regimental commander led his troops on a forced march straight toward the guns. They found and struck the weakest points in the Japanese encirclement, broke through, and extracted the army headquarters and the surviving remnants of the 32nd Division. The 26th Army had been saved, but only barely, and at a terrible cost. What had before the battle been a formidable force with numerous victories was now reduced to less than one-fifth of its original strength. Wang Xiushen, commander of the 32nd Division, had previously served as commander of the great warlord Feng Yuxiang's own bodyguard brigade—a valiant and decorated general of the old Northwest Army. Division commanders Ding Zhipan and Chen Yong were similarly seasoned veterans, known for their courage and resourcefulness throughout years of hard fighting. After the battle, they and Army Commander Xiao Zhichu were utterly dejected. They had fought as hard as men could fight, under conditions as unfavorable as circumstances could devise, and they had been broken. More than forty kilometers to the west of the 26th Army's ordeal, at the point where the Miluo River flows into Dongting Lake, a second major engagement was being fought at the same time. Here, the Japanese 3rd and 4th Divisions struck at Chen Pei's 37th Army, whose two main fighting formations—Luo Qi's 95th Division and Li Tang's 140th Division—were deployed across the hills and river-network terrain of the area. The fighting was, by any measure, equally bloody and equally brutal. Before the battle, with their blood up and their honor committed, the commanders of the 37th Army's divisions had gathered their officers for ceremonies of dedication that spoke to the seriousness with which they understood what was coming. Li Tang, commander of the 140th Division, organized a frontline oath-taking ceremony at which he stood before his assembled officers and men and vowed aloud to annihilate the Japanese invaders and avenge the deaths of fallen compatriots. Luo Qi, commanding the 95th Division, sent written instructions throughout his formation: "The defense of the Shending Mountain line is not only a matter of honor for our division, but also a matter of victory or defeat for the entire battlefield. With this stubborn enemy pressing in, all our officers and soldiers should be even more courageous and loyal, resolutely defend the position, annihilate the Japanese invaders, and achieve extraordinary feats!" Song Ruike, who served at the time as a senior staff officer at the Ninth War Zone Command headquarters, recorded his recollection of the battle's progress in later years with the systematic precision that his professional training demanded. "On the morning of the 19th," Song recalled, "the enemy's main force successively advanced towards the Miluo River via Yanglin Street, Guanwang Bridge, and the Changhu-Dajing Street highway. Our 37th Army was on high alert on the south bank, while our vanguard troops were also advancing forward on the north bank. That afternoon, the enemy's vanguard encountered our troops north of Changle Street. After a fierce battle, many enemy soldiers were killed. Then, enemy cavalry and artillery, along with several thousand infantry, attacked from three sides. Our defending 1st Company fought a bloody battle, but due to being outnumbered, they suffered almost all casualties. Changle Street was occupied by the enemy. At around 7 p.m., the enemy began to attempt a crossing at Modao Beach. Our troops defending the south bank fought bravely and fought fiercely throughout the night, but the enemy failed." The first crossing attempt had been beaten back, but the respite was brief. Song continued: "At dawn on the 20th, the enemy, under the cover of aircraft and artillery, launched another forced crossing. At around 7 a.m., fierce fighting broke out between the two sides along the Wugongshi, Guiyi, and Hejiatang line." Those words, whatever courage the oaths and instructions had inspired, could not alter the underlying arithmetic of the battle. From the 21st through the 23rd of September, the 37th Army fought ferocious engagements with the Japanese 4th and 3rd Divisions across the Shending Mountain and Banjunmiao areas, absorbing casualties that could not be replaced. Song recorded the progression: "The main force of the enemy, advancing rapidly southward, captured our positions at Nanyangmiao and Banjunmiao in Wengjiang at noon on the 22nd. Our 140th Division engaged the enemy at Lishan Lane and Daxingling, and fought fiercely for two days and nights..." After the battle, the 37th Army had effectively ceased to exist as a fighting force. It had gone into the engagement with nearly fifty thousand fully equipped and manned troops. Song Ruike, reflecting on it all in his old age, acknowledged with unusual candor the limitations of his own account: "Since history cannot be reproduced, people summarize events based on memory, striving to retain the most important and valuable aspects while filtering out the unimportant and those that do not reflect the essence." The elderly Song retained the factual architecture of the battle—times, places, unit designations, tactical methods—but he knew, as any honest chronicler must, that within those facts lay a multitude of individual experiences, individual sufferings, individual deaths, that no record could fully capture. "Then what about every individual in history?" he asked. "How should their emotions, will, beliefs, their flesh and blood, their breath, and everything they sacrificed be expressed and entrusted to us?" It was a question he could not answer, and neither can history. 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. After commander Zhao Zili's plan was rejected, he drafted orders anyway, but Lieutenant Colonel Hachimō of Japan's 11th Army intercepted and decoded the Ninth War Zone's deployment orders on September 20. Meanwhile, the 37th Army fought the Japanese at the Miluo River confluence with Dongting Lake, launching oaths and grim defenses before being effectively destroyed as a combat force.

Hour 1 of Scotty G. & The Coach with Scott Garrard and Tim LaComb. Starting Lineup Try not to overreact to the Summer League performances Vincent Trocheck, Center for the Utah Mammoth

Can love truly survive death? In celebration of America's 250th birthday, this episode of Everyone Dies explores the enduring power of remembrance, devotion, and profound farewells across generations. https://bit.ly/4vJJAyhIn this episode, we discuss:The Legacy of "Enough": A touching airport goodbye between a father and daughter that reveals a beautiful, intergenerational blessing for a meaningful life. Letters from the Frontline: The deathless Civil War love letter of Major Sullivan Ballou to his wife, Sarah, written just days before the First Battle of Bull Run. National Healing & Hope: How Abraham Lincoln's call to "bind up the nation's wounds" and Emma Lazarus's iconic poem The New Colossus re-framed national grief into an endless welcome. Continuing Bonds: How those navigating hospice, palliative care, or grief can maintain deep, lasting connections with those they have lost through values, traditions, and story. Read the full blog post, get the recipe, and get resources at: www.every1dies.orgEvery day is a gift. And we wish you enough. #IWishYouEnough #GenerationalWisdom #FinalBlessings #GriefAndBereavement #LoveLetters #AmericanHistory #GriefSupport #FamilyLegacy  #CivilWarHistory #EveryoneDiesPodcast Timestamps:00:00 - Intro: The Enduring Power of Love01:19 - Recipe of the Week: Pulled Pork Sliders02:05 - I Wish You Enough - An Aging Father's Last Wishes for His Daughter05:05 - Love and Duty on the Frontlines of the Civil War - Sullivan and Sarah Ballou08:13 - The Reality of the Battle of Bull Run10:09 - A Grieving Widow and Sullivan's Comforting Last Words11:59 - Emma Lazarus's Iconic 1883 Poem, "The New Colossus"13:01 - Outro with Words from Mark TwainSupport the show

Last time we spoke about the battle of Zhongtiao Mountain. On 7 May 1941, Japan launched a three-front assault on the Zhongtiao Mountains, striking multiple axes and using paratroopers to disrupt Chinese command. On the northeastern front, Wu Shimin's 98th Army scored a success at Wangcun, routing about 2,000 attackers. Elsewhere, three-pronged Japanese forces drove south toward Yuanqu with overwhelming artillery, armor, and coordinated movement. During the first night, paratroopers found the Chinese headquarters already disordered: orders were unclear and communications with most units collapsed. By 8 May, the First War Zone could no longer coordinate; armies fought alone. From mid-May into June, Japanese units swept the mountains, manning river crossings to block retreat and eliminating pockets. Surviving Chinese formations escaped or regrouped south of the Yellow River, but the three-year Zhongtiao defensive system was destroyed in about twenty days, sharply worsening Japan's strategic situation in northern China.   #208 Operation Plus: The Road to the Second Battle of Changsha 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 autumn of 1939, Japanese forces under General Yasuji Okamura launched a major offensive aimed at capturing Changsha — the gateway to China's interior and one of the most important cities still under Nationalist control. The First Battle of Changsha ended without a decisive Japanese victory. Chinese forces, anchored by the Ninth War Zone under General Xue Yue, managed to repel the advance, inflicting significant casualties and preserving the city. It was a notable achievement at a time when Japanese arms had swept across vast swathes of Chinese territory, and it reverberated through both the Chinese military establishment and the watching international community. Following the Japanese withdrawal, Chiang Kai-shek convened the Second Nanyue Military Conference to carry out a thorough assessment of the battle and to plan for the period of relative calm that would follow. The conference sought to answer several pressing questions: What had worked in the defense? Where had coordination broken down? How could the period of Japanese inactivity be used most productively? Chiang made it clear that this respite was not to be wasted. Commanders of all the major war zones were simultaneously expected to serve as governors of their respective provinces, ensuring unity of military and civilian command. Chiang himself set an example by personally assuming the governorship of Sichuan Province and focusing attention on that province's production and reconstruction efforts. The conference produced broad directives for the reconstruction of war-zone provinces and the intensification of military training. For Hunan, responsibility for implementing these directives fell on the shoulders of General Xue Yue, who had emerged from the First Battle of Changsha with greatly enhanced prestige and authority. The reason Changsha and Hunan more broadly attracted such persistent Japanese attention was geographical and logistical. The Yuehan Railway — running from Yueyang in northern Hunan down through Changsha and south toward Guangzhou — was one of the most important transportation arteries in China. Whoever controlled it could move troops, equipment, and supplies across vast distances with speed and reliability. Opening up the Yuehan line would, in Japanese strategic thinking, effectively connect their forces in Central China with those in South China, allowing for a gradual tightening of the strategic noose around Chiang Kai-shek's wartime capital at Chongqing in Sichuan Province. Hunan was therefore not merely a defensive problem for the Chinese; it was a strategic prize that Japan would inevitably seek to take. Xue Yue, whose headquarters were in Changsha, was well aware of this logic. With the First Battle of Changsha behind him and the province in need of recovery, Xue Yue turned his attention to governance. He was not content to wait passively for the next Japanese offensive. He believed that a province that was economically productive, administratively disciplined, and politically stable would provide a far more durable foundation for military resistance than one that was disorganized and demoralized. At the beginning of his tenure as effective governor of Hunan, Xue conducted a thorough survey of the province's situation and then articulated a philosophical framework for his administration in the form of a "three-character policy," consisting of three guiding principles: "Peace"  (an), "Convenience" (bian), and "Sufficiency" ( zu). In Xue's formulation, "Peace" meant that the population should be able to live, work, and conduct their daily affairs free from fear and disruption. "Convenience" meant that policies should benefit the people, the nation, and the war effort simultaneously — eliminating bureaucratic obstacles and inefficiencies. "Sufficiency" meant achieving adequate levels in all essential areas: enough soldiers, enough food, and enough wisdom in leadership. These seemingly simple principles were elaborated into extensive implementation guidelines. The announcement of this framework immediately sparked debate across Hunan's intellectual and administrative community. Veteran officials and scholars were divided. Some praised the policy as a clear and practical framework for wartime governance. Others dismissed it as hollow wordplay, offering nothing new or substantive. A minority was more sharply critical, warning that if such superficial philosophizing was all Xue could offer, the province would decay into warlordism. Undeterred by the criticism, Xue Yue built upon the three-character framework with a set of "Six Policies" for governing the people of Hunan: "Benefiting the People, Raising the People, Educating the People, Protecting the People, Managing the People, and Utilizing the People." Each of these six principles came with specific implementation targets and performance metrics, designed to be measurable rather than aspirational. This second round of policy announcements generated yet another wave of debate, but Xue pressed forward with implementation regardless. From the beginning of 1940, Xue vigorously pushed for the expansion of agricultural and industrial production across the province. His approach was comprehensive and at times uncompromising. He approved funds for the reconstruction of the Zhongshan Road National Goods Exhibition Hall in Changsha — which had been destroyed in the catastrophic Changsha Fire of 1938 — and by February 1940, 114 shops had reopened there. In March, he approved the "Eight Measures for the Construction of Sheds in Changsha," drafted by the Changsha Municipal Police Bureau, which relaxed housing regulations and helped address the severe shortage of accommodation for the city's residents, who had largely fled or been displaced during the fire and the Japanese offensive. One of the more creative initiatives of this period was the Ninth War Zone's order requiring all troops stationed in Hunan to cultivate a certain amount of farmland in their spare time, growing grain to supplement military rations. Local residents came to refer to the plots tended by soldiers as "soldier's fields" (bing tian). This policy served a dual purpose: it reduced the logistical burden of feeding the garrison forces from civilian stocks while keeping soldiers productively occupied during lulls in fighting. It also served to maintain a degree of goodwill between the military and the rural communities on which any prolonged resistance ultimately depended. One of the most consequential steps Xue Yue took to stabilize Hunan's governance was an aggressive campaign against corruption. On April 15, 1940, he ordered the execution of Tian Weizheng, the county magistrate of Changsha, and Wang Lun, the county magistrate of Xiangtan, both on charges of corruption and abuse of office. The proclamation accompanying the executions was blunt: "This serves as a warning against corruption and establishes the authority of the law in upholding discipline." The message was not lost on officials across the province. In the months that followed, a sweep of investigations led to the punishment of numerous corrupt officials and illegal businessmen. The effect on public confidence in the provincial government was significant. Citizens and soldiers alike perceived that there was now a leadership willing to hold its own accountable — a stark contrast to the corruption and self-dealing that had plagued Chinese provincial governance throughout the war. Xue was also attentive to the ideological dimension of the war effort. On May Fourth Youth Day — itself laden with nationalist significance, commemorating the great student movement of 1919 — Xue attended the provincial capital's sports meet and delivered a speech before thousands of young people entitled "Iron Youth, Iron Spirit, Sacred Labor, Sacred Survival." The speech was aimed at galvanizing the younger generation, connecting their personal futures to the fate of the nation and the resistance against Japan. That same month, in May 1940, the 110th executive meeting of the Hunan Provincial Government revised and approved the "Hunan Province County Heads Performance Evaluation Method," a document that formalized military service and support for the war effort as the primary criterion in the evaluation of local officials' political performance. Throughout 1940, the provincial government and the Ninth War Zone organized a series of training courses for officials, including courses specifically designed for guerrilla cadres, women cadres, and village chiefs — an indication that preparations for sustained, decentralized resistance were underway. Xue himself addressed the cadre training group with a speech on "The Conditions That a Well-Rounded Cadre Should Possess." By the end of 1940, after more than a year of sustained effort, Hunan had broadly recovered to the administrative and economic condition it had enjoyed before the Changsha Fire, when the reformist official Zhang Zhizhong had governed the province. Agriculture, industry, and commerce all showed measurable improvement over their wartime lows. The government's accounts for the year reflected growth across all sectors. This recovery was not merely statistical; it represented a genuine rebuilding of the province's capacity to sustain a prolonged defense. Soldiers were better fed and equipped, local officials were more disciplined, and the civilian population had a functioning, if still imperfect, relationship with the wartime state. Early in 1941, Xue Yue's reputation had grown to the point where local gentry and public figures jointly petitioned for a bustling street in Changsha to be named after his courtesy name — a mark of genuine popular esteem unusual for a military governor in wartime China. While Xue Yue was rebuilding Hunan, events at the geopolitical level were reshaping the strategic environment in ways that would directly precipitate the Second Battle of Changsha. On September 27, 1940, Japan signed the Tripartite Pact with Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, formally joining the Axis powers. The pact alarmed the Western democracies and accelerated their support for China. On December 2, 1940, the United States Congress passed a bill approving a one-hundred-million-dollar loan to China. On December 10, 1940, Britain followed suit, approving a ten-million-pound loan. Both measures were explicitly understood — by all parties — as responses to Japanese expansion and Japan's recognition of Wang Jingwei's collaborationist puppet government in Nanjing. For the Japanese military leadership, these loans signaled that the international community was not prepared to accept Japan's fait accompli in China, and that the war of attrition against the Nationalist government could not be allowed to continue indefinitely. The imperative to resolve the "China Incident" — as Japanese officials euphemistically called the war — before the international situation deteriorated further became more urgent than ever. On January 16, 1941, the Japanese Army adopted the "Long-Term Operational Guidance Plan for China." The document acknowledged a painful internal contradiction: Japan could only sustain a protracted war in China, yet it simultaneously demanded a swift resolution to the conflict through strong military pressure. The plan's solution to this contradiction was to intensify operations while "taking note of the international situation" — meaning that military actions should be calibrated to avoid triggering direct American or British intervention. The plan called for large-scale offensive operations in the summer and autumn of 1941. The companion document, the "Annual Plan for Showa 16 (1941)," was more specific. It required Japanese troops stationed in China to conduct a major operation in the summer and autumn of that year with the aim of dealing a heavy blow to the main force of the "Whampoa Military Academy" — the term used by Japanese planners to describe the core of Chiang Kai-shek's professional officer corps, trained at the Whampoa (Huangpu) Military Academy and regarded as the backbone of the Nationalist army. The stated goal was to destroy the Chongqing government's will to continue resistance and thereby force a resolution to the China Incident. Xue Yue himself read translated summaries of both these documents when he traveled to Chongqing to report on his work in early 1941. He returned to Hunan in a reflective, and determined, frame of mind. For much of the period between the two Battles of Changsha, the Japanese Eleventh Army — the primary force facing Xue Yue's Ninth War Zone — had been commanded by General Yasuji Okamura, a seasoned officer with whom Xue had developed a degree of familiarity through combat. By early 1941, it became known that Okamura was to be transferred to the Military Advisory Council at Imperial General Headquarters in Tokyo — a prestigious but more removed role. Xue Yue reflected on this change with a mixture of relief and characteristic self-confidence, reasoning that whoever replaced Okamura would be a new adversary to be dealt with on the battlefield, and that there was no reason to lose to him regardless. Korechika Anami received his appointment as commander of the Eleventh Army on February 15, 1941. From the first day of his appointment, he carried a detailed battle map of the three provinces facing his command — Hunan, Hubei, and Jiangxi — along with comprehensive intelligence files on both sides' troop dispositions and strengths. He studied these materials constantly, on trains, in waiting rooms, wherever he had a free moment. By the time he formally took up his post on March 10, 1941, he already had a clear operational vision for the coming campaign. Before reaching the front, Anami stopped in Nanjing to meet with General Hata Shunroku, the Commander-in-Chief of the China Expeditionary Army. Hata had himself arrived in China in early 1941, having been summoned by the Emperor before his departure and entrusted with what the Emperor called the sacred mission of resolving the China Incident. The two men talked through the night, their conversation returning repeatedly to the planned summer-autumn offensive. Hata urged Anami to annihilate the main force of the Ninth War Zone in the area south of the Miluo River — to destroy, once and for all, the core of Chiang Kai-shek's best troops. "If this battle is fought well," Hata told him, "the entire war situation in China will undergo a huge change." Anami listened and agreed, though he had his own reasons to want the battle to go well. He had voluntarily relinquished the prominent position of Vice Minister of the Army at General Headquarters in Tokyo to take this field command — a significant personal sacrifice that reflected his deep desire for battlefield achievement. There was a personal dimension to Anami's motivations as well. His second son, a bright and lively boy to whom he was deeply attached, had died in combat in China. Anami carried a photograph of his son wherever he went, and had resolved to transform his grief into a consuming commitment to military excellence, whatever the human cost. At the Eleventh Army's headquarters in Yueyang, Anami found the war game board and operational plans that Okamura had left behind. He did not immediately begin issuing orders. Instead, for weeks he immersed himself in the problem, traveling between divisional headquarters and subordinate commands to gather ground-level perspectives, or sitting alone for hours before the great map, motionless and in deep concentration. His new chief of staff, Kinoshita Isamu, who had come from a divisional unit and was unfamiliar with his commander's temperament, could only keep silent company during these long sessions. When Anami eventually convened his headquarters personnel to explain his operational intentions, he made a pointed critique of the First Battle of Changsha. "The reason why the last battle in Changsha did not achieve great results," he said, "was that the troops were too dispersed and the main direction of attack was not highlighted, so they could not form a strong impact and lethality." He named the new operation "Operation Plus" — a deliberate contrast with what he saw as the subtracted, diluted efforts of the previous campaign. His concept was one of radical concentration: rather than dispersing the attack across multiple fronts in Hubei and Jiangxi while simultaneously advancing on Changsha, Anami proposed pulling the forces from southern Hubei and northern Jiangxi and massing them in front of northern Hunan. The effect on his staff officers when he demonstrated this redeployment on the map was electric; one of them involuntarily exclaimed aloud at the sudden clarity of the advantageous position that mass concentration would create. Anami's personality was, in the judgment of those who worked with him, fundamentally different from Okamura's. A commander's fighting style is shaped by his character, and Anami's character was defined by intensity, focus, and a willingness to commit fully. These traits would shape "Operation Plus" from conception to execution. On June 22, 1941, five and a half million German troops launched Operation Barbarossa — the largest military invasion in history — against the Soviet Union. The news reached the Japanese military establishment with a degree of surprise, since such a momentous operation should, under the terms of the Tripartite Pact, have been communicated in advance. Beyond the procedural slight, German strategists had placed themselves in the position of fighting a two-front war, something Japanese generals found strategically bewildering. The outbreak of the Soviet-German War forced a serious debate within the Japanese General Staff. One faction argued for a "northward advance" — seizing the opportunity to strike the Soviet Union from the east while its military was fully committed in the west. Another faction argued for a "southward advance" — moving into Southeast Asia and the Pacific to secure the oil and raw materials that Japan desperately needed. Prime Minister Fumimaro Konoe adopted a wait-and-see compromise, authorizing secret preparations for war in the north known as Operation Kantokuen while continuing to monitor developments. Now it just so happens I released a Patreon/Youtube Members exclusive episode covering Operation Kantokuen the previous month. I highly recommend it, fascinating what if piece of history. For just a teaser I can briefly summarize it: Operation Kantokuen — officially designated "Kwantung Army Special Maneuvers" — was Japan's plan for a large-scale invasion of the Soviet Far East, developed in the summer of 1941 following Germany's launch of Operation Barbarossa. When news of the German invasion reached Tokyo, Foreign Minister Yosuke Matsuoka and senior Kwantung Army officers argued Japan should abandon its neutrality pact with the USSR and strike in coordination with Germany. An Army-Navy compromise on June 24th allowed preparations to proceed so long as they did not interfere with Japan's concurrent southern ambitions. On July 5th, Matsuoka and Major General Shin'ichi Tanaka convinced War Minister Hideki Tojo to back a more ambitious scheme, and the two men then bypassed the War Ministry entirely, securing Emperor Hirohito's personal authorization. The plan was structured in two stages — a buildup and readiness phase followed by an offensive phase — during which the Kwantung Army would await an explicit order to attack. The Army General Staff calculated that any campaign had to conclude by mid-October before Siberian winter conditions made logistics impossible. Their ideal force requirement was 16 to 22 divisions supported by 800,000 tons of shipping, though this assumed the Soviets would first redeploy half their Far Eastern infantry and two-thirds of their armor westward against Germany. The planned order of battle ultimately settled on 24 divisions — 17 committed to the eastern front and 5 concentrated near Mutanchiang. The opening blow was designed to fall on the Primorye (Maritime Province) front. The 1st Area Army, commanding the 3rd and 20th Armies along with elements of the Korea Army, would cross the border south of Lake Khanka to shatter Soviet defensive lines and menace Vladivostok. Simultaneously, the 5th Army would strike south of Iman to cut the Trans-Siberian Railway and isolate the Maritime Province from northern reinforcements. In the north, the 4th Army would hold the Amur River line before pivoting to attack Blagoveshchensk, while two additional reinforced divisions would invade Northern Sakhalin in a land-and-sea pincer. A second phase envisioned capturing Khabarovsk, Komsomolsk, and Sovetskaya Gavan, with amphibious operations considered against Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky and Kamchatka itself. The operation was to be supported by a massive air assault — between 1,800 and 2,700 aircraft combining Army and Navy aviation — aimed at annihilating the Soviet Far East Air Force in the opening hours, after which Japanese air power would shift to tactical ground support and interdiction of Soviet supply lines. Armored assets included roughly 800–900 tanks, mostly Type 97 Chi-Has and Type 95 Ha-Gos. Kantokuen was also allocated chemical weapons stockpiled in Manchuria and biological agents produced by Unit 731, intended for deployment against Soviet rear areas and supply lines. Despite the scale of planning, the operation was already fatally compromised before it could be launched. Japan's industry and logistics could not sustain a two-front war while remaining bogged down in China. On August 1st, 1941, the United States enacted a total oil embargo that cut off 80% of Japan's fuel supply, and the Dutch East Indies followed. With oil reserves sufficient for only 12–18 months of peacetime consumption, a Siberian offensive that would consume an estimated one to two million barrels per month was no longer tenable. By August 9th, the Army General Staff conceded that seizing the oil-rich territories of Southeast Asia was the overriding strategic priority. The Kantokuen buildup was formally terminated, and Japan turned south — setting the course toward Pearl Harbor and the Pacific War. Now Kantokuen held some practical consequences for the China Expeditionary Army was disruptive. Serious consideration was given to redeploying units of the Eleventh Army away from their positions facing Hunan and northward toward Manchuria, in anticipation of a possible war with the Soviet Union. This threatened to derail Anami's planning entirely. The cloud of uncertainty hung over the Changsha operation for several weeks. Despite the disruption, Anami refused to let the operation be indefinitely deferred. On June 24, 1941 — just two days after Barbarossa began — he formally approved the operational guidance outline for the Changsha offensive and set a planned launch date of September 15. This was an act of deliberate institutional pressure: by formalizing the plan so quickly in the wake of Barbarossa, Anami made it harder for higher authorities to redirect his forces northward without explicitly cancelling a plan already in motion. The gamble worked. The northward deployment option was ultimately shelved, and the Eleventh Army remained in place to conduct its summer-autumn offensive. While Anami and his staff at Yueyang bent over their map of Hunan, so too did Xue Yue and his staff at Changsha. Two nearly identical colored military maps were laid out on large tables in two different command centers — one in Chinese, one in Japanese — showing the same terrain of Hunan, southern Hubei, and western Jiangxi. The Xiang River appeared on both as a green ribbon; Dongting Lake as a blue maple leaf. For those responsible for commanding the impending battle, the war game was the battle, played out in simulation before blood was shed. Xue Yue, his Chief of Staff Wu Yizhi, Chief of Staff Zhao Zili, and the intelligence and operations officers of the Ninth War Zone Command engaged in extensive map exercises throughout the summer of 1941. Wargaming pieces bearing unit designations moved across the terrain as staff officers reported troop strengths, timings, and geographic objectives. The summer heat was intense, and there was nowhere cool in Changsha; Xue and his staff worked in the heat, sweating heavily as they played out scenario after scenario. It was during these sessions that Xue came to believe he had grasped the essential shape of the Japanese plan. Reasoning from the known Japanese strategic posture and the pattern of the first battle, he concluded that the enemy would again advance roughly the same way. His counter-strategy was as follows: in northern Jiangxi and southern Hubei, the war zone would launch pincer attacks on Japanese forces that were not part of the main offensive, targeting the area north of Chongren and Xingan, east of Yichun, Wanzai, Tonggu, and Xiushui, to defeat them in detail. In northern Hunan — the main theater — the war zone would deliberately allow the Japanese to advance, luring their main force south of the Miluo River into the area north of Jinjing, Fulinpu, and Sanjieqiao, and then launch a devastating counterattack to encircle and annihilate them. After a successful counterattack, Xue imagined pursuing the broken Japanese forces all the way back to Yueyang, and beyond — even, in his more expansive moments, recapturing the great cities of Jiujiang and Wuhan, lost in 1938. This was the "lure and annihilate" strategy, and it was not merely a hope — it was the formal operational order issued to the forces of the Ninth War Zone. In August 1941, the Ninth Military Front officially assessed that Japan intended to capture Changsha and obtain supplies, and the lure-and-annihilate plan was formalized accordingly. What Xue Yue did not know — and could not know through his intelligence network alone — was that Anami's operational philosophy was fundamentally different from Okamura's. The critical assumption underlying the lure-and-annihilate plan was that the Japanese would attack in roughly the same dispersed, multi-front pattern as the first battle. Anami's "Operation Plus" invalidated this assumption entirely. By concentrating his forces in front of northern Hunan rather than dispersing them, Anami would strike with an impact Xue's cordon defenses were not designed to absorb. Xue was, unknowingly, planning to fight a replay of the first battle against an opponent who had studied that first battle as a case study in what not to do. Despite this fundamental intelligence gap, the Chinese were not without information. From mid-August 1941 onward, residents of mountain villages and riverside communities in northern Jiangxi and southern Hubei began reporting unusual nighttime activity. Faint sounds of motor engines and the footsteps of large columns moving on main roads were heard after dark. On moonlit nights, fleets of motorboats were seen moving without lights on the rivers, visible only as dark shadows on the water. The local population was puzzled and unsettled: what kind of unit was this, and what were they doing? The answer was that Anami's forces were conducting their pre-offensive assembly under cover of darkness and strict light discipline, moving four divisions totaling approximately 120,000 troops into position for the attack on Hunan. Military and civilian intelligence agents operating in these areas crouched in the bushes, enduring insect bites through long nights, watching and recording everything they witnessed. The information was relayed by human chain, passed from one agent to another across a network stretching back to Changsha, until it was collated and placed on Xue Yue's desk by staff officers from the Ninth War Zone Command's Intelligence Department. Xue studied the reports carefully, comparing them against his map. The evidence of a large Japanese build-up in northern Hunan was unambiguous. But Xue was suspicious of its implications. "Mobilize troops? All the troops are moved to northern Hunan. What about Tongcheng? What about Yueyang? Impossible! Feint? What does that mean? You want me to concentrate my troops in northern Hunan so you can attack from both sides?" His staff officers were similarly uncertain how to read the intelligence. The scale of the Japanese concentration defied the pattern of previous operations, and Xue's trained instincts — calibrated against years of dealing with Okamura — led him to doubt what his intelligence was plainly showing. He concluded, without firm evidence, that the concentration must be a feint or a deception. On August 26, 1941, Imperial General Headquarters in Tokyo issued Mainland Order No. 538, which authorized the Commander-in-Chief of the China Expeditionary Army to "temporarily conduct operations beyond the designated operational area in Central China during the summer and autumn." This order provided the formal imperial sanction for the Changsha offensive, lifting any remaining bureaucratic constraints on Anami's operational plan. It represented the final piece of institutional authorization, completing a chain that stretched from Anami's June 24 approval of the operational outline through Hata's advocacy at the China Expeditionary Army level to the formal imprimatur of the Imperial General Headquarters. With Mainland Order No. 538 in hand, the Eleventh Army's final preparations could proceed without ambiguity. The original planned launch date of September 15 would in practice be moved forward, with combat beginning on September 7 — itself a date chosen partly to maximize the advantage of late-summer weather conditions in the Hunan river-crossing terrain. By the time Anami's forces were assembled, the operational force was formidable. Estimating that the enemy facing them comprised fifteen divisions from the Chinese 4th, 37th, 99th, 74th, and 26th Corps, Japanese planners calculated — somewhat optimistically — that two infantry battalions would suffice to handle one enemy division. To provide a margin for error and to ensure decisive striking power, the Eleventh Army committed forty-one infantry battalions distributed across four full divisions and three specialized task forces, supported by twenty-nine artillery battalions. This represented a massive concentration of firepower and manpower along a relatively narrow axis of advance, precisely as Anami had intended. The objective was clearly stated: "to deal a major blow to the Ninth Military Front in order to thwart the enemy's plan for resistance." Japanese senior leadership reiterated at every briefing that the mission was emphatically not territorial — the army was not to occupy Changsha or secure it for long-term administration, and it was not to forage for supplies. The goal was destruction of Chinese combat power. On the Chinese side, the Ninth Military Front had not been idle. Since the Battle of Shanggao in March 1941 — a significant Chinese defensive victory in Jiangxi that had inflicted heavy casualties on Japanese forces attempting to advance into the province — the Ninth Military Front had ordered its troops to cooperate with guerrilla units operating in the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border region, conducting harassment operations against Japanese logistics and communications. This cooperation served both to maintain offensive pressure and to train the irregular forces that would prove invaluable in a war of attrition. By August 1941, Xue Yue had assembled a force of thirty-five divisions organized into thirteen armies across three army groups, totaling 378,307 troops. The headquarters of the Ninth Military Front remained in Changsha. Xue had also assessed his forces' combat readiness with some confidence: in the summer of 1940, the Ninth War Zone had dispatched one corps from each army group and one division from each corps on summer offensive operations against Japanese positions, explicitly testing their readiness in real combat. Although no major victories had been achieved in those operations, the exercise confirmed that troop morale was high and that combat effectiveness had recovered to the level of the First Battle of Changsha. If anything, Xue thought, after another full year of training, they should be better. 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. Operation Plus, emphasized concentrating forces and creating a decisive breakthrough rather than dispersing attacks across multiple fronts like in earlier battles. On the Chinese side, commander Xue Yue developed a "lure and annihilate" strategy, expecting the Japanese to fight like before; however, Anami's concentrated approach undermined these assumptions, making a Chinese counteroffensive far harder to execute.

The Marines finish the airstrip, now just waiting for fighters to defend them against daily air raids. Meanwhile, an American patrol gets ambushed which leads to Vandegrift's first major offensive. Join Ray Harris Jr. (The History of WW2 Podcast), Tony Lupo, and Ryan Fairfield (The Warrior Next Door Podcast) for a live crossover event to share your personal stories of family or friends who served in WWII. When: Thursday, July 9th | 7:00 – 9:00 PM EST Moderator: Shaun Hall (Veterans Breakfast Club) Bonus: Select stories may be featured on future podcast episodes! Don't let these legacies be forgotten—come share yours live! Click on the link below to register for the event: https://us06web.zoom.us/meeting/register/-7tUxTWRSl-Zsm2OPpXcnw Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Genesis 4:1-8

The Adventure Guide: Secrets of Enduril is a learn-as-you-play Dungeons & Dragons starter set for families and beginner players or Game Masters. This is Part 2 of our playthrough adventure. The Adventure Guide is available on Kickstarter through July 16, 2026 or at The Adventure Guide website anytime thereafter. About us: When kids are at the table, everyone wins! Playing TTRPGs levels up kids' critical thinking, creativity, communication, collaboration, & confidence. That's why we create our family-friendly D&D show, tips for playing with kids, and campaigns to bring the adventures home! More Family Adventures: ⁠⁠⁠Our Website⁠⁠⁠ Support Our Work: ⁠⁠⁠Patreon⁠⁠⁠ Follow Us: ⁠⁠⁠YouTube⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠TikTok⁠⁠⁠ A hearty huzzah for: ⁠⁠⁠Emberglow Gaming⁠⁠⁠ - GM Shield & Game Publisher (affiliate, 10% off: TheKidsTable) ⁠⁠⁠Monument Studios⁠⁠⁠ - Music (30% off: KIDSTABLE) ⁠⁠⁠Ember Rest⁠⁠⁠ - Filmed on Location ⁠Our Patreon Members⁠ - Thank you for your support! #dungeonsanddragons #actualplay #familyfriendly

Last time we spoke about the Hubei-Henan Campaign of 1940-1941. In November 1940, a Central Hubei operation using multiple task forces aimed to exploit Chinese dispersal, achieving only local successes and no lasting territorial gains. The Japanese then tried again in late January 1941 with a major offensive into southern Henan. Despite concentrating a large force, the campaign failed strategically. After the Henan failure, Japan attempted to regain momentum in spring 1941 by attacking western Hubei around Yichang on the Yangtze. Despite an initial barrage and rapid early gains, Japanese forces became exposed in a narrow salient. The Chinese reorganized their river defenses and launched a converging counteroffensive, driving the invaders back and ending the engagement where it began, with the Japanese suffering heavy casualties and their westward push thwarted.   #206 The Battle of Shanggao 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 year 1940 had brought a particular humiliation. In August of that year, Communist General Peng Dehuai had launched the Hundred Regiments Offensive — a massive, coordinated assault across North China that shattered Japanese rail and supply lines, embarrassed Imperial General Headquarters, and demonstrated that the Chinese were far from finished. Japan's response had been brutal, the infamous "Three Alls" campaign of reprisals across the countryside. But the damage had been done, and the attention of Imperial General Headquarters shifted northward. The autumn of 1940 had also seen the First Battle of Changsha, where the Japanese 11th Army under General Sonobe Yahachirō pushed south into Hunan Province expecting to overwhelm the Chinese defenders and finally deal a decisive blow to Chiang Kai-shek's armies. Instead, General Xue Yue — the "Tiger of Changsha" — had allowed the Japanese to advance deep into his prepared killing ground before counterattacking from multiple directions. The Japanese had been forced to retreat in disorder, and the front in Hunan and Jiangxi settled once again into sullen stalemate. It was in this atmosphere of frustrated ambition and strategic inertia that the seeds of Shanggao were sown. By February 1941, Imperial General Headquarters had decided to redeploy the 33rd Division — then garrisoned in the town of Anyi, in northwestern Jiangxi — to North China. The transfer was scheduled to begin in early April, and it made strategic sense: the north required reinforcement, and the front in Jiangxi had been quiet enough that one division could be spared. The problem was that the 33rd Division's departure would leave a gap in Japanese dispositions, and no significant offensive operation had yet been conducted to weaken the Chinese forces that would be left facing a thinned-out Japanese line. Lieutenant General Ōga Shigeru, the energetic commander of the Japanese 34th Division, saw opportunity in the window that existed before the 33rd departed. His division was concentrated around Xishan and Wanshou Palace, astride the Xiang–Gan Highway — the main road running westward through Jiangxi — and across that highway lay the town of Shanggao and the Chinese forces defending it. Ōga proposed exploiting the presence of both divisions for a coordinated strike: a sharp, limited offensive to crush Chinese field forces around Nanchang and the Jiangxi interior before the 33rd Division's train north. The 11th Army headquarters, now commanded by General Marube, endorsed a cautious concept — a "quick strike" with limited objectives. But the 34th Division's staff, energized by Ōga's ambition, had already run well ahead of this guidance. Large-scale requisitioning of coolies for logistics was underway; training exercises aimed at the specific terrain around Shanggao had been conducted; planning had progressed in far more detail than a "limited" operation warranted. This eagerness would prove to be the Japanese undoing before the first shot was fired. Chinese intelligence networks, always attentive to the movement of porters and the telltale preparations that preceded a Japanese offensive, quickly detected the scale of these preparations and reported them to General Luo Zhuoying, commander of the Chinese 19th Army Group. By the time the Japanese columns were forming up to march, Luo had already hardened his defenses and laid the groundwork for a trap. General Luo Zhuoying was not a passive commander. He served simultaneously as commander of the 19th Army Group and as Deputy Commander of the 9th War Zone — the latter post placing him directly under General Xue Yue, the victor of Changsha. Luo had spent the lull after Changsha doing what Chinese commanders across the theater had learned was essential: reorganizing, retraining, and above all improving the defensive architecture of his sector. The plan Luo devised for meeting the anticipated Japanese offensive was elegant in its simplicity and demanding in its execution. Rather than contesting the Japanese advance at the frontier, he would allow the enemy to push westward, yielding ground through three successive defensive lines while bleeding the attackers at every step. The first and second lines would slow the Japanese, exact casualties, and stretch their logistics. The third line — anchored at Shanggao itself — would be the killing ground. There, the Chinese forces would hold fast while other formations swung around the Japanese flanks and rear to close the encirclement. The Japanese, having marched deep into Chinese-held territory with their supply lines thinning and their flanks exposed, would find themselves surrounded rather than victorious. For this plan to work, each Chinese formation had to perform its role with discipline. The 70th Corps, deployed in the north along the arc from Shitou Street through Fengxin to Jing'an, would have to conduct a controlled fighting retreat — yielding ground but making the Japanese pay for it, never breaking and running. The 49th Corps would hold the southern flank and create conditions for flanking action. And the 74th Corps — General Wang Yaowu's elite formation, comprising the 51st, 57th, and 58th Divisions — would hold the final line at Shanggao and serve as the anvil upon which the Japanese advance would shatter. The 74th Corps was by 1941 one of the most battle-hardened formations in the Nationalist Army. It had fought at Shanghai in 1937, at Wuhan in 1938, and in the hills and valleys of Jiangxi through the years since. Its men knew the terrain around Shanggao. They had prepared positions in depth, studied the approaches, and rehearsed the defensive plan Luo had designed. When the Japanese came, they would be ready. Against the Chinese 70,000 — distributed across eleven divisions in four corps, with additional provincial security forces for local coverage — the Japanese would throw roughly 20,000 men: three major formations advancing in coordinated columns. The disparity in numbers was stark, but the Japanese had the advantages of offensive initiative, air superiority, and the formidable fighting quality that the Imperial Army had demonstrated throughout the war in China. The question was whether those advantages would be enough to overcome a prepared defense wielded by a commander who had invited the attack. The operational plan devised by the Japanese 11th Army called for three columns to converge simultaneously on Shanggao from north, center, and south — a classic encirclement concept that, if executed with precision, would catch the Chinese defenders in a tightening vice. In the north, the main force of the 33rd Division under Lieutenant General Sakurai Shōzō would drive westward from its bases around Anyi and Ganzhoujie, descending the Liao River valley to threaten the Chinese right flank and prevent the 70th Corps from interfering with operations in the center.In the center, Ōga's 34th Division would advance along the Xiang–Gan Highway — the direct route from Nanchang toward Shanggao — capturing the town of Gao'an along the way and pressing relentlessly westward until it reached the main defensive positions. This was the principal striking force, the column designed to crack open the Chinese defenses and seize the objective.In the south, the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade under Major General Ikeda would cross the Jin River and advance along its south bank, eventually swinging north to link up with the 34th Division and complete the encirclement of whatever Chinese forces remained in the Shanggao area. The plan was coherent on paper. But it contained a structural flaw so serious that, in retrospect, it is difficult to understand how the 11th Army's staff allowed it to proceed uncorrected. The success of any converging operation depends on synchronization — on each column hitting its objectives on schedule and maintaining communication with the others so that each can react to developments on the other prongs. Yet the 11th Army headquarters made no recorded effort to coordinate the 33rd and 34th Divisions before the battle began. There was no forward command post established to oversee the operation. General Marube remained at Hankou, hundreds of miles to the north, throughout the battle — as remote from the fighting as a Tokyo bureaucrat. Operational decisions were left entirely to the individual divisions, with no mechanism to coordinate their actions if something went wrong. Something was going to go wrong. Luo Zhuoying had seen to that. On the morning of March 15, 1941, all three Japanese columns stepped off simultaneously, advancing into the misty hills and rice paddies of northwestern Jiangxi. In the north, Sakurai's 33rd Division moved briskly from Anyi toward Fengxin. The town fell by noon, and the division pressed westward in good order. The Japanese infantry moved confidently along the Liao River valley, experienced soldiers who had fought across China and had no particular reason to expect what was coming. The Chinese 70th Corps gave ground — as it had been ordered to — but did so on its own terms, occupying and then abandoning successive pieces of high ground along both banks of the river, making the Japanese advance uncomfortable and costly. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the 33rd Division was being drawn forward into terrain that favored the defender. By March 18 and 19, the 33rd Division had pushed all the way to Guzhu'ao and Huamenlo — a considerable advance, but one that had taken the division far from its base at Anyi. And it was here, far from support and with flanks increasingly exposed, that the Chinese blocking forces closed in. Chinese infantry, who had been waiting in prepared positions in the high ground overlooking the river valley, launched coordinated counter-attacks that struck the 33rd Division from multiple directions. The fighting was fierce and costly. In two days of close combat, the division suffered more than 2,500 casualties — a grievous toll that represented a significant fraction of its effective strength. The northern column had been stopped dead. On March 19, Sakurai ordered the 33rd Division to reverse course. By March 23, after four days of painful withdrawal under pressure, it had pulled back to Anyi — the same place it had started. The northern prong of the Japanese offensive had accomplished nothing except the loss of thousands of men. In the south, the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade had a rougher start. Its initial attempt to cross the Gan-Jin river junction at noon on March 15 was repulsed by Chinese defenders, and it was only under cover of darkness that the brigade managed to force a crossing. Once across, it moved westward along the south bank of the Jin River, but progress was slow and contested. A detachment — the Gan River Detachment — ran into fierce resistance from the 26th Division of the Chinese 49th Corps on March 19. The brigade's main body meanwhile fought its way through the 51st Division of the 74th Corps, but the 107th Division and elements of the 51st managed to contain the advance at the Laichunling–Zhutoushan line. On the night of March 20, the main body of the 20th Brigade crossed the Jin River at Huifu to link up with the 34th Division — but a portion of its troops, cut off on the south bank, was destroyed by Chinese forces. The southern column was across the Jin River, but it had taken losses and was already engaged in ways its planners had not anticipated. In the center, the 34th Division fared best in the early going. Ōga's division moved westward from Xishan along the Xiang–Gan Highway on March 16, and by the 17th had captured Gao'an — a meaningful early success. The Chinese 74th Corps, executing Luo's plan faithfully, dispatched only screening forces east of the Tangpu River to slow the Japanese advance rather than contesting it decisively. The main body of the 74th Corps fell back to the third-line positions at Sixi, Guanqiao, and Tangpu, preparing the killing ground that Luo had designated. Simultaneously, the 26th Division and most of the 105th Division from the 49th Corps were shifted across the Gan River to operate south of the Jin River on the Japanese left flank, and the 72nd Corps was ordered to maneuver on a wide envelopment around Daxia and south of Ganfang. By March 20–21, the 34th Division had pressed forward to attack the Chinese positions at Sixi and Guanqiao. Ōga's men were confident — they had taken Gao'an, they were moving, and the objective of Shanggao lay within reach. But as the division pushed toward Shangjijia, it ran squarely into the 57th and 58th Divisions of the 74th Corps, fighting with a tenacity that told the Japanese plainly enough: this was where the Chinese intended to stand. The week of March 21–24 brought the battle to its crisis. The 34th Division hammered at the Chinese positions defending Shanggao itself, while on the flanks, the fighting took on a character that neither side had entirely anticipated. On March 21, General Wang Yaowu — commanding the 74th Corps from his headquarters in Shanggao — decided it was time to do more than absorb Japanese blows. He ordered General Li Tianxia to clear Japanese forces from the south bank of the Jin River and advance on Gao'an, with the aim of cutting the 34th Division's supply line and threatening its rear. It was an aggressive move, and if it had worked, it might have produced a decisive result earlier than history would record. It did not work — at least not immediately. That very evening, the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade, which had been reorganizing after the chaos of the river crossing, launched a powerful offensive at dawn on the 22nd. Li Tianxia's lead elements had barely set out from Shitou Street when they collided head-on with the main force of the 20th Brigade, which had crossed back from the north bank of the Jin River. The Japanese thrust was coordinated and aggressive: one column circled wide to attack Lazhu Mountain; another swung south of Hu Family west of Shitou Street to strike Li's division in the flank and rear; and nine aircraft with four artillery pieces bombarded the Chinese positions from north to south. Li's division could not hold against this convergent assault and fell back to the high ground southwest of Shitou Street. Wang Yaowu reacted quickly. He ordered Li's main body to wheel left to face the new threat and simultaneously dispatched the Army's Field Supplementary Regiment — held in reserve near Yintang — on a forced march to Huayang to block the Japanese westward drive. This regiment, racing down roads strafed by nine enemy aircraft, covered 15 li per hour and seized Huayang and the high ground to its northeast by around seven in the morning. By nine, the 20th Brigade arrived in strength and — supported by more than ten aircraft — launched a fierce assault on the regiment's positions. The regiment's officers and men held firm, taking heavy casualties but refusing to break. Frustrated at Huayang, the 20th Brigade shifted its effort to the Kuang Family area, linking up with over a thousand men who had crossed from Baichetou to the south bank and pushing along the river toward Xiongfang in an attempt to outflank the Chinese left wing. The Supplementary Regiment sent its 1st Battalion with a mortar company to meet this threat, and the two forces met in a fierce engagement. When the Japanese reinforced their assault and deployed incendiary bombs and poison gas, Xiongfang fell by early afternoon — but Li Tianxia immediately sent two regiments from his right flank to take it back, and by midnight the position was in Chinese hands again. Shitou Street and Jigong Ridge were simultaneously recaptured. The Independent Mixed 20th Brigade now found itself in an increasingly uncomfortable position, fighting with the Jin River at its back and the initiative slipping away. Meanwhile, the main event was being fought in the rubble and ridgelines around Shanggao itself. From March 22 to 25, the 34th Division and whatever remnants of the 20th Brigade could contribute threw themselves repeatedly at the defensive line anchored on Stone Arch Bridge, Xia Po Bridge, Xu Lou, Pan Family Bridge, Cloud Head Mountain, and Lei Family Mountain. This was not the fluid, mobile warfare that the Japanese had envisioned but brutal, grinding attritional combat for individual strongpoints and ridgelines, with positions changing hands multiple times in a single day. The Japanese air arm was deeply involved. Ōga's division had close air support that could operate even in poor weather, and Group 3 of the Japanese Air Force hammered the Chinese positions with sustained effort. On the morning of March 24, after the 34th Division fed in more than 3,000 additional troops transferred across the Jin River, the Air Force dispatched over seventy aircraft that dropped more than 1,700 bombs, largely destroying the defensive positions of Liao Lingqi's division. The Japanese exploited the resulting chaos and twice broke through gaps in the line — but were driven out each time by Chinese counterattacks. At noon, enemy aircraft bombarded in relays and Japanese infantry broke through at Xia Po Bridge. It was at this moment that Li Hanqing, commanding the Chinese infantry defense in that sector, did what officers throughout history have done when systems fail and only personal example can stem the tide: he personally led his officer cadre in repeated counter-attacks, hand-to-hand fighting in the rubble until the Japanese were finally expelled. By this point, the 34th Division's offensive capacity was nearly spent. At the same time — and this was the critical shift that would determine the battle's outcome — General Luo Zhuoying recognized that the moment to spring the trap had arrived. The northern column had already been broken and sent reeling back toward Anyi. The southern column was pinned against the Jin River with its back to the water. The central column was bled white against the defenses of Shanggao. Luo now ordered all his armies to close in from multiple directions. On the morning of March 22, he had already begun revising his orders; by noon on the 23rd, the forces of Liu Duoquan and Li Jue had occupied Shitou Street, Guanqiao Street, and Yanggong Market, pressing on Huifu and Gaoyao. The encirclement of the 34th Division was not yet complete, but its shape was unmistakably forming. By March 25, the 34th Division knew it was in mortal danger. Surrounded on three sides, its ammunition running low and its casualty lists growing by the hour, the division urgently appealed to the 11th Army for rescue. The message that arrived in Hankou was a shock. General Marube and his staff, who had remained at their distant headquarters throughout the battle without establishing a forward command post, had not properly grasped the scale of the disaster unfolding in Jiangxi. The lack of coordination between the 33rd and 34th Divisions — the structural flaw that had been built into the operation from its conception — had allowed Luo Zhuoying to defeat each column separately, and now the central column faced annihilation. The 11th Army responded in a scramble. Chief of Staff Kinoshita was dispatched by aircraft to Nanchang with Operations Staff Officer Lieutenant Colonel Yamaguchi and Captain Ōne to organize a relief operation. The 33rd Division — barely recovered from its own battering in the north — was ordered to sortie immediately and fight its way to the 34th Division's relief. Sakurai organized his battered 33rd Division into three rescue columns. Infantry Brigade Commander Araki Shōji took the right column, leading Infantry Regiment 215 with one mountain artillery battalion. Infantry Regiment 214 formed the left column. The divisional commander himself led the central column with the main divisional force. On March 24 and 25, all three columns sortied from strongpoints at Niuxing, Fengxin, and other positions, attacking across the Wuqiao River and through Cunqian Street toward Tangpu and Guanqiao. The relief operation brought the battle to its most complicated moment. On the morning of March 25, the 33rd Division launched a fierce assault on the forces that Luo Zhuoying had positioned to tighten the encirclement from the north — striking Zhang Yanchuan's division at Kengkou Leng, Jiezipo, and Nancha Luo. Zhang's division, struck simultaneously from the front and rear, withdrew at dusk to near Tu Di Wang Temple, where it linked up with Tang Boyin's division. What happened next became one of the most controversial decisions of the entire battle. Zhang Yanchuan was serving as deputy army commander in the absence of Li Jue from the front. Surveying the situation — his own division under heavy pressure, the 33rd Division's relief columns pushing aggressively — Zhang concluded that the position was untenable. On his own authority, without authorization from Luo Zhuoying or any superior commander, he withdrew both his own and Tang Boyin's divisions to Fenghuang Market and Zhuangfang. The consequence was immediate and severe. The withdrawal opened a corridor through which the 33rd Division entered Guanqiao and linked up with the encircled 34th Division. An encirclement that had taken days of blood and sacrifice to construct was torn open by a single unauthorized decision. Luo Zhuoying, when he received word of Zhang's withdrawal the following morning, was furious — but he could not change what had already happened. He could only adapt. The breakout itself was an ordeal. A portion of the 34th Division that attempted to escape to the east was intercepted near Huifu by a division of the 49th Corps and lost roughly half its strength before being compelled to turn back. The main body ultimately broke out on March 27, withdrawing in march order that told its own story of disaster: headquarters, baggage, artillery, casualties, field hospital, rear guard — all moving in what the records describe as "a wretched state." On the night of March 27, Japanese troops escorting the 34th Division's field hospital — a field artillery company of the 8th Battery — were completely annihilated in a Chinese night attack. When the division reached Longtuan Xu on March 28, the stretcher-bearer column carrying the wounded stretched some seven to eight kilometers along the road. That same day, the 33rd Division's Infantry Regiment 214 finally made contact with the 34th Division's headquarters, completing what amounted to a rescue of men who had already endured their defeat. The 33rd Division's mountain artillery batteries exhausted their entire ammunition supply covering the retreat and required emergency aerial resupply drops to continue. The 34th Division limped back to its original garrison on April 2. Despite the setback caused by Zhang Yanchuan's unauthorized withdrawal, Luo Zhuoying did not abandon his design. Assessing his situation on the morning of March 26, he found reason for cautious optimism: Wang Yaowu's army was still making progress at Shanggao; the Japanese south of the Jin River had largely been cleared; and Sichuan Army and Northeastern Army units that had been moving to reinforce the battle had now reached the field, meaning Chinese forces retained significant numerical superiority. He resolved to execute a second encirclement. At nine in the morning of March 26, Luo issued strict orders: Zhang Yanchuan's and Tang Boyin's divisions were to immediately comply with their original orders and block the enemy near Guanqiao; Yu Chengwan's division was to attack northward via Pan Family Bridge; Liao Lingqi's and Song Yingzhong's divisions were to press toward Guanqiao with full force; Wang Kejun's division was to strike the enemy's flank and rear east of Guanqiao; Fu Yi's division was to advance south of Jiang Family Isle; and Chen Liangji's division was to swing southeast via Changpu to complete the enemy's destruction. The second ring was being drawn. On March 28, as the 34th Division's battered column trudged eastward toward survival, Wang Kejun's division advancing from Yanggong Market moved to intercept it. The Chinese occupied high ground north and south of Yanggong Market and along Mozi Ridge, and what followed was a grinding all-day battle that fixed the Japanese column at the Xiama Bei–Huxing Ridge line. Part of the 20th Brigade, moving up from Gao'an to assist the withdrawing 34th Division, was blocked near Long Tu Market. Liao Lingqi's division pursued the enemy rear guard to the Changling–Manmei high ground, where the fighting erupted with renewed intensity. At noon, part of Li Tianxia's division arrived and deployed along the Shangluoxiang–Shanyuan–Fangtounao line to harass the Japanese right flank; part of Yu Chengwan's division reached Longxing Mountain and outflanked Guanqiao Street from the south. The surviving Japanese defenders in Guanqiao withdrew into the town for a last stand, and after Liao's division pressed the assault, street fighting raged until five in the afternoon, when over 600 defenders were annihilated. Over 2,000 troops of the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade conducted a fighting withdrawal from Long Tu Market and Yanggong Market, covered by Japanese aircraft bombing to shield the 34th Division's retreat. By noon on March 30, the Japanese had abandoned both strongpoints and scattered northeastward. One group of over 600 men fled directly into the main positions of Zhang Yanchuan's division — an ironic fate, given Zhang's earlier withdrawal — and were largely annihilated. The encircling forces had been essentially dispersed, and the two pursuit columns now pressed forward under the overall direction of General Xue Yue, who had assumed personal coordination of the chase. On March 27, Luo Zhuoying — confident that victory was secured — issued a general order for a final offensive and announced substantial cash rewards to his troops: prizes offered for the capture of Japanese officers, artillery pieces, regimental colors, and other materiel. The rewards were both a practical incentive and a mark of how far the battle had tipped. By midnight on March 31, Chen Hongshi's advance column had recovered Gao'an; Wang Tiehan's division had recovered Xiangfu Guan. On April 2, the divisions of Zhang Yanchuan and Song Yingzhong recovered Fengxin; that afternoon Wang Tiehan's division took back Xishan and Wanshou Palace — the very base from which the 34th Division had launched its offensive. By April 3, the pursuing armies had reached the vicinity of Dacheng and Ganzhoujie. On April 8 and 9, the 70th Corps recovered the outpost strongpoints around Anyi before halting operations. The Japanese had retreated into their original positions and were defending from prepared terrain. The pursuit was over. The Battle of Shanggao had lasted nineteen days and nights. No battle of the Second Sino-Japanese War was ever free of the fog of competing claims, and Shanggao was no exception. On March 29, before the pursuit had even concluded, Luo Zhuoying telegraphed Chiang Kai-shek with his accounting of the victory. His numbers were dramatic: Major General Iwanaga, the Japanese infantry commander, killed; regimental commander Colonel Hamada, killed; over 15,000 Japanese killed or wounded in total. Chinese losses, Luo reported, exceeded 20,000. Ten guns, over a thousand rifles, and numerous machine guns had been captured. His superior, General Xue Yue, was skeptical. In a telegram to Chiang Kai-shek on April 5, Xue reduced Luo's numbers by twenty percent, reporting 12,520 Japanese killed or wounded and 14 prisoners captured. The discrepancy between two Chinese commanders reporting on the same battle speaks to the difficulty of battlefield accounting in any era, and suggests something of the competitive pressures that shaped how Chinese commanders reported their victories to Chongqing. The official Chinese histories, compiled after the war in the History of the War of Resistance, reported approximately 15,000 Japanese killed or wounded, 17 prisoners taken, and significant quantities of captured materiel: 6 mountain guns, 1 mortar, 24 light machine guns, 408 rifles, 24 grenade launchers, and over 111,717 rounds of various ammunition. Chinese casualties, by the same records, were 17,119 killed or wounded and 2,814 missing. Japanese records for the battle do not survive — a consequence of the wholesale destruction of Imperial Army documentation at the war's end. Contemporary scholars, working from other sources, estimate actual Japanese combat losses at approximately 5,500 killed and wounded. This is substantially lower than the Chinese claims, as was nearly always the case in the war, but represents a significant defeat by any measure: roughly a quarter of the force committed, many of them veterans impossible to replace. Chiang Kai-shek subsequently awarded the victorious Chinese units a commendation prize of 150,000 yuan — a substantial sum that marked the battle's significance in Nationalist eyes. The outcome at Shanggao was not accidental. Several interlocking factors combined to produce a Chinese victory, and each deserves consideration. The most fundamental was Luo Zhuoying's defensive plan. The decision to trade space for time — to absorb the Japanese advance through three successive defensive lines rather than contest the frontier — required both tactical confidence and a willingness to accept initial setbacks that could easily be misread as defeat. Chinese forces had to give ground, and they did. They had to suffer through the early days of Japanese advance without breaking and running, drawing the enemy forward and allowing the encirclement to take shape. That they largely succeeded in executing this plan reflects the improving quality of the Nationalist Army by 1941: better trained, better led at the operational level, and — critically — equipped with a strategic design that matched the actual balance of forces. The defeat in detail of the Japanese columns was equally important. By neutralizing the 33rd Division in the north before it could contribute to the central effort, and by pinning the 20th Brigade against the Jin River with its back to the water, Luo's forces ensured that the 34th Division faced the third-line defenses essentially alone — outnumbered, overextended, and unsupported. The Japanese operational concept had been a three-pronged convergence; what actually materialized was a single exhausted division hammering at a prepared defense while two other columns were rendered ineffective. The absence of coordination within the Japanese 11th Army was a gift that kept giving throughout the battle. No forward command post. No mechanism for the divisions to adjust their operations in response to each other's situations. No ability to recognize, in real time, that the northern column was being destroyed and redirect resources accordingly. General Marube's decision to remain at Hankou while his men died in Jiangxi was not merely an administrative failure; it was an operational catastrophe. Japanese commanders acknowledged this failing explicitly after the battle, but the acknowledgment changed nothing for the dead. Zhang Yanchuan's unauthorized withdrawal — the single most consequential individual decision of the battle — ultimately prevented a complete annihilation of the 34th Division rather than affecting the battle's outcome. The 34th Division escaped; but it did so in a "wretched state," having lost enormous numbers of men and equipment. It broke out, not triumphed. The encirclement Luo had constructed was torn open, but the Japanese paid dearly for the breach. The consequences of Shanggao rippled outward in ways that shaped the subsequent course of the war in central China. The transfer of the 33rd Division to North China — the original logistical rationale for the entire operation — was delayed by the division's involvement and subsequent losses at Shanggao. When it finally arrived at the Battle of Central Plains  the following month, it did so on the eve of battle with no time for preparation or orientation, entering combat under severely disadvantaged conditions. The operation that was supposed to facilitate a smooth redeployment had instead damaged one of the two units involved and delayed the other. For the Chinese 74th Corps, Shanggao had an ironic consequence. The Japanese 11th Army, following the battle, formally designated the 74th Corps as a priority target — a "standing enemy" and directed its forces to seek out and destroy it in future operations. At the First Battle of Changsha that September, the 11th Army specifically oriented its forces against the 74th Corps, a testament to the lasting impression that corps's fierce resistance at Shanggao had made on its adversaries. The compliment of being specifically targeted by the enemy was one the 74th Corps had earned in blood at Shanggao's ridgelines and shattered bridges. More broadly, the battle was widely regarded at the time, and has been regarded since, as one of the most significant Chinese tactical victories of the first four years of the War of Resistance. Its significance lay not only in the casualties inflicted — those were contested and probably inflated in the Chinese records — but in what it demonstrated. The improving tactical and operational competence of the Nationalist Army was on display. The deliberate defense, the layered withdrawal, the coordinated encirclement — these were not the operations of an army that had been fighting desperately for survival since 1937 and had learned nothing. They were the operations of an army that had studied its defeats and adapted. Shanggao did not change the strategic situation in China. The front in Jiangxi remained where it had been; the Japanese still occupied Nanchang and the major cities; Chiang Kai-shek was still in Chongqing and the war was still far from over. But it demonstrated something important: that the Chinese Army, given capable commanders, a sound plan, and the discipline to execute it, could do more than survive Japanese offensives. It could reverse them, encircle them, and pursue them back to where they came from. 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 March–April 1940, Japanese forces attacked Shanggao with a limited, multi-pronged plan. Chinese troops used elastic defense and coordinated counter-moves, turning initial advantages into a trap. After intense fighting and air strikes, a coordinated encirclement and timely breakout routed the Japanese, forcing retreat despite their numbers in a costly battle.

On 26 April 1915, 444 men of the 47th Sikh Regiment went over the top at the Battle of Ypres. By nightfall, 347 could not answer roll call, a 78% casualty rate in a single day. Their names? Barely 16 or 17 appear on the Menin Gate.This is the story Britain left out.Right now, you can get 50% off your first three months of Audible using my link here: https://bit.ly/ROASAudibleI sat down with Dr Dominiek Dendooven, historian at the In Flanders Fields Museum in Belgium, to piece together what actually happened when Indian troops were sent to the Western Front in 1914. Not as a footnote. Not as support staff. But as combatants who held a third of the British front line at the height of the First Battle of Ypres, in autumn, in tropical kit, carrying weapons one generation behind the British soldiers beside them.They were never supposed to be in Europe. Britain had never deployed Indian troops to the continent before, partly because officials feared what Indian soldiers might learn if they watched Europeans destroy each other up close. But by the end of September 1914, the British Expeditionary Force was in dire straits. They needed bodies, so they sent for India.Yet something else happened in those trenches. Sikh soldiers, Hindu soldiers and Muslim soldiers ate together, slept side by side, and began describing themselves, perhaps for the first time, simply as Indian. The Western Front did not just take lives. It also planted a seed.Dr Dendooven has spent more than two decades recovering this history at the In Flanders Fields Museum. This conversation is long overdue.Explore the interactive WWI Indian Army map here: https://bit.ly/WW1IndianArmyMapRead the guide, Who Was at Ypres: Every Indian Unit That Fought in the Battles of 1914–1915, here: https://bit.ly/WhoWasAtYpresGuide

‘…if you take your EYE off the POSSIBILITY of it happening that's when it GETS you!'Major Sullivan Ballou & the First Battle of Bull Run - July 21, 1861 To help support this Podcast & get exclusive videos every week sign up to Neil Oliver on Patreon.comhttps://www.patreon.com/neiloliver Gold Bullion Partners,for more info about buying gold & silver go to this affiliate link,https://goldbullionpartners.co.uk/download-our-complimentary-guide-neil-oliver/ To Donate,go to Neil's Website:https://www.neiloliver.com Shop:https://neil-oliver.creator-spring.com Neil Oliver YouTube Channel:https://www.youtube.com/@Neil-Oliver Rumble site – Neil Oliver Official:https://rumble.com/c/c-6293844 Instagram - NeilOliverLoveLetter:https://www.instagram.com/neiloliverloveletter Podcasts:Neil Oliver: News Comment HistoryNeil Oliver: HistoryNeil Oliver: InterviewsAvailable on all the usual providershttps://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/neil-oliver-news-comment-history/id1513737418https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/neil-oliver-history/id1871225730https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/neil-oliver-interviews/id1869660872 #NeilOliver #AmericaCivilWar #CivilWar #SullivanBallou #FirstBattleofBullRun #AbeLincoln #Confederates #Unionists #battleofAntietam #LoveLetter #War #history #travel #culture #ancient #historyfact #explore Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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In this episode, Kelly is joined by NYC Historian Peter Aigner! He is the director of the Gotham Center for New York City History, and the co-founder of “Echos of Revolution: NYC,” A new immersive walking tour experience that uses geolocation to put you in the world of historic New York. Join them, as Peter talks to Kelly about the process of obtaining his PHD. Peter talks about why he decided to pursue higher education, and talks a bit about the history of the study of history and why it was important for him in his family. Peter talks about his family's chocolate shop and how it's been around for 100 years! He talks about the legacy of the shop and being a part of it while he was growing up.  Kelly and Peter talk about some important figures and time periods in NYC history. Peter talks about how we are currently in the second Gilded Age and makes comparisons to the first one. Peter talks about Daniel Patrick Moynihan and the book that he's writing about him: what his legacy was, how he was a scholar, as well as his influence on modern politics. They also talk a bit about the history of transportation in America and the significance of the Highway Act. Kelly asks Peter about Echoes of Revolution. Peter talks about the inspiration behind the project. He talks about how he got involved with Niantic and Ubisoft, bringing them together to revolutionize the tour business. Peter talks about how the app works and what people will get from using it. He talks about the process of designing the tours and how they wanted the experience to work, and how being in person enhances the experience for the users.  Kelly asks Peter about New York City during the time of the revolution. Peter talks about how many people lived in the city at the time, what percentage of them were revolutionaries, loyalists, or in between. Peter talks about what the city limits were at that time, and how New York was impacted by the battles, the invasion, and the fires. He talks about why New York was such an important city during the Revolutionary Era and how it was left out of the conversation nationally.  Finally, Kelly asks Peter some quickfire questions about his favorite historical spots, his favorite historical figures who came from New York City, and what NYC means to him in one word.  But above all else; Peter Aigner is a New Yorker! Kelly's Social Media @NewYorkCityKopp Peter's Social Media  @gothamcenternychistory Jae's Social Media @Studiojae170 Chapters (00:00:00) - Meet The New Yorkers(00:02:43) - Peter Eigner on Growing Up in Queens(00:05:36) - Long Island: The Gold Coast(00:10:00) - What is the Gotham Center?(00:14:30) - NYC resident on mass suburbanization(00:18:49) - Bookmark: Daniel Patrick Moynihan(00:21:36) - The Life of Daniel Patrick Moynihan(00:23:53) - New York's role in the American Revolution(00:28:20) - The First Battle of New York(00:29:46) - The darkest years of New York City's history(00:36:48) - The Story of New York(00:42:42) - New York City History: The Discovery App(00:48:15) - The Story of New York in the US(00:53:46) - George Washington and the Liberty of Slaves(00:56:45) - NYC on History of the American Revolution(00:58:36) - Most Underrated NYC Historical Spot(01:02:20) - What It Means To Be A New Yorker(01:05:36) - The New Yorkers: Thank You!

Last time we spoke about the beginning of the first battle of Changsha. From Chongqing, Chiang debated defensive strategies for Hunan, ultimately adopting Plan B after Xue Yue's pleas, focusing on successive resistance north of Changsha to thwart Japanese advances. Japanese forces, under Okamura Yasuji, launched assaults in Jiangxi and Hunan. In Jiangxi, the 106th and 101st Divisions attacked Huibu and Gao'an, where Chinese troops under Luo Zhuoying and Song Kentang fiercely resisted. Gao'an fell briefly but was recaptured by the 32nd Army and the elite 74th Army, with heavy casualties on both sides, as recounted by soldier Liu Qihuai. In Hunan, Japanese units crossed the Xin Qiang River and landed at Yingtian, facing brutal opposition. At Bijia Mountain, Qin Yizhi's 195th Division held for four days; Battalion Commander Shi Enhua's reinforced unit perished entirely, their fragmented remains mourned by locals. Along the Miluo River, Chen Pei's 37th Army fortified positions, repelling waves of Japanese attacks, including suicide squads disguised as civilians. Recruit Yang Peyao's unit endured bombardments, inflicting significant enemy losses before withdrawing at dusk.   #197 The First Battle of Changsha 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. Major Luo Wenlang, battalion commander of the 3rd Battalion, 55th Regiment, 19th Division of the 28th Army, harbored a peculiar quirk: he couldn't sleep soundly without unwrapping his leg bindings, a small ritual that anchored him in the chaos of war. Since the war's eruption, such luxuries were rare, and unwrapping his bindings every night became an impossibility, leaving him to endure restless slumbers. Tonight, however, sleep eluded him entirely; he tossed and turned on his makeshift bed, his mind a whirlwind of unrest. Two days after the northern Hunan battle ignited like a powder keg, the 55th Regiment received urgent orders from Division Commander Tang Boyin to race to Wukou in Pingjiang County. Their path wound through Luo Wenlang's hometown of Fulinpu, a twist of fate that stirred conflicting emotions. Entering the village under the cover of night, the entire battalion encamped in the commander's modest family village, with battalion headquarters naturally established in his ancestral home.   Luo yearned to step across that familiar threshold but dreaded it, for his parents remained oblivious to a devastating truth. They slaughtered chickens and prepared meat, hosting the battalion staff with drinks and hospitality, after all, this was their son's unit gracing their home. Luo orchestrated door planks and straw for bedding, posted sentries, and deftly evaded his parents until they retired. Before dawn broke, he mustered the troops, ensured they were fed, and led them onward, slipping away like a shadow. By noon on the 22nd, they reached Wukou, only to receive fresh directives: rush to Yingtian to bolster the 95th Division against the enemy's audacious landings. The 3rd Battalion spearheaded the division's reinforcements, marching relentlessly through day and night, arriving at Dongtang, over 30 kilometers southeast of Yingtian—on the 23rd, hearts sinking upon learning Yingtian had already fallen into enemy clutches.   Luo Wenlang sought out the retreating 95th Division Commander Luo Qi to beg for a mission, his resolve unyielding. Luo Qi, anticipating his arrival, relayed Commander Guan Linzheng's ironclad instructions: The 19th Division's reinforcements would assume Dongtang's defenses. With the main force still en route, Luo Qi tasked Luo's battalion with relieving a segment held by a replacement regiment. He handed over a map, sketching a line with a pencil, a simple stroke that thrust Luo Wenlang and his men onto the front lines of fate. An operations staff was dispatched to guide them to the position and oversee the handover.   As the troops advanced, they encountered scattered soldiers fleeing like startled rabbits; seizing a platoon leader revealed they were indeed from the replacement regiment. Mere minutes from division HQ, the enemy was already closing in, a predator's breath hot on their necks. Luo Wenlang and Deputy Battalion Commander Wu Yacui split the battalion, launching a counterattack on Dongtang from dual routes. Fortune favored them; the Japanese held only an exhausted company, crumbling under a single, ferocious charge. They swiftly deployed two companies to the positions, reserving one as a bulwark. By dusk, the full 55th Regiment arrived, accompanied by the rest of the 19th Division's reinforcements, allowing the battered 95th Division, ravaged at Yingtian, to withdraw for desperate reorganization. The regimental commander positioned Luo's 3rd Battalion on the regiment's vulnerable left wing. In the blink of an eye, it was the 27th, aligning with the 15th of the eighth lunar month. Amid the relentless great battle, few noted the calendar, and the skies hung heavy with clouds. Luo Wenlang twisted on his straw bed, his thoughts a snarled knot of anxiety and memory.   At 11 p.m., gunfire shattered the night; a barrage of machine gun bullets riddled the battalion HQ house, raining thatch and dust upon Luo like fallout from a storm. Catastrophe had struck! Luo surged toward the positions with the bugler—his battalion signal chief—and the reserve force, ascending the hilltop in a frenzy. Halfway up, he spotted 8th Company's Lieutenant Platoon Leader Rong Fayu leading over 20 soldiers in retreat. Bellowing "Why unauthorized retreat?" while brandishing his pistol, he compelled Rong to rally and turn back. The Japanese had launched a nocturnal assault; 8th Company Commander Yi Zuitao lay slain by a fatal shot, over a dozen comrades felled in brutal close combat, the survivors scattered like leaves in the wind; the high ground now belonged to the enemy.   Upon learning of Dongtang's loss, the regimental commander personally led the regimental reserve, his face etched with urgency. Under flickering lantern light, poring over the map with Luo, Division Commander Tang Boyin telephoned, his voice a whipcrack of command: Recapture it before dawn, or both would face the merciless hand of military justice. After seizing the high ground, the enemy hesitated to press further; Luo surmised the darkness concealed paths, and their numbers were not overwhelming. Forgoing the regimental reserve, he led 7th Company's 4 squads and remnants of the routed 8th Company in a stealthy ascent. Near the position, a ravine concealed over 20 8th Company soldiers, rallied by Sergeant Squad Leader Tan Tianrong, who had lurked in wait for reinforcements, dreading exposure at dawn under the enemy's gaze.   Spotting the battalion commander personally spearheading the counterattack, Tan Tianrong's face lit with fierce joy; his men, armed with grenades, surged as the vanguard. Intimate with the terrain even in blindness, they hurled explosives into bunkers, trenches, and works. The commander orchestrated the charge; the Japanese force of 40-50 men crumbled, over half slain or maimed, the remnants fleeing northward to their village stronghold. It was past 4 a.m.; the moon pierced the clouds, bathing the earth in a silvery glow. With positions reclaimed, the night revealed its secret: tonight was Mid-Autumn. Moonlight unraveled the tangled threads of his past; Luo draped his clothes over his shoulders, sat beneath the luminous orb, and wept in solitary anguish.   Before the war, devastating news had arrived: his brother Luo Yinong had been killed in Jiangxi. Luo had three brothers; the eldest shouldered half the family's burdens, their bond unbreakable. The brother had enlisted first in the 50th Army, climbing to battalion commander through sheer valor. He and his younger brother had followed suit, inspired by that call to arms.   Wartime conscription demanded only one per family, but battling the devils was a duty for the nation and its people. His brother had risen to deputy regimental commander before his end. The 50th Army notified him first. Engulfed in battle, there had been no time to console his grieving parents or tend to the funeral; it weighed on his heart like an unyielding stone. His sister-in-law, diligent and unassuming, cared for a young boy and carried another child; the long, arduous days ahead loomed like an endless shadow. The night dew brought a biting chill, the moon an icy sentinel; Luo shivered uncontrollably, his tears mingling with the frost.   The sky hung heavy with overcast gloom, yet the moon lurked beyond the clouds, casting a faint, ethereal light that warded off utter darkness. Along the road, a unit's elongated black shadow snaked southward in hurried silence, a serpent of weary resolve pressing through the night. Qin Yizhi reined in his horse, pausing to gaze back: the queue stretched onward, silent and impeccably orderly, belying the exhaustion of a force scarred by days of ferocious combat, their spirits unbroken amid the shadows. After the Japanese seized the 195th Division's defiant outpost at Bijia Mountain, they surged across the Xin Qiang River in a merciless onslaught. The river, shallow enough to wade knee-deep, offered no true impediment; the real barrier was forged from the defenders' scorching blood, a crimson testament to their unyielding stand. The 195th Division clashed in a maelstrom of cruelty; positions were heaped with corpses time and again, the Xin Qiang's waters churning blood-red in relentless cycles of carnage. From the night of the 23rd to the dawn of the 25th, respite was a forgotten dream; Okamura Yasuji, in a gesture of grim respect, inscribed Qin's name in elegant calligraphy and hung it within his command tent, a haunting trophy of the foe's tenacity.   Following their triumphant landing at Yingtian, the Japanese entangled the Ninth War Zone's left-wing defenders in a protracted snare, their advances grinding slowly like a predator toying with prey, menacing the flanks of the frontal troops with insidious intent. On the evening of the 27th, Xue Yue issued the fateful order for the 15th Army Group to withdraw to the precarious ground between the Miluo River and Shangshan City, ushering this blood-soaked force into an all-night march toward the next defensive crucible. Late into the night, a brief halt was called. Soldiers slumped to the ground, adjusting leg wraps and gear with mechanical precision; logistics teams darted through the ranks, distributing rations like lifelines; cooks, having forged ahead, arrived with steaming pots of rice soup, infusing the air with a rare warmth. Though no clamor broke the hush, a quiet camaraderie enveloped the queue, a fleeting balm against the war's chill.   The division staff claimed a flat expanse beside a farmhouse yard for their respite. Qin settled onto a stone roller used for grinding grain, nibbling at his meager ration and sipping the hot soup that steamed in the cool air. Suddenly, moonlight pierced the clouds, cascading down in silvery streams; the familiar contours of the farmhouse stirred a flood of warmth in his heart, evoking memories of home.   Chongqing, Huangshan Villa. Every window was shrouded in double layers of thick curtains, sealing out any sliver of betraying light, as if the very walls conspired to guard secrets from the encroaching night. Tonight's ethereal protagonist rose languidly from the eastern valley, its orange-red moonlight casting an aura of drowsy reluctance, as though it had not fully shaken off the slumber of the day. The feeble glow dappled the building's roof, balcony, and the surrounding hillsides, intersections, and thickets, where armed shadows lurked, capturing every rustle in the oppressive silence. Only upon close inspection could one discern the faint specks of moonlight glinting off steel helmets. Yet, beyond those fortified walls, another realm pulsed with life, a vibrant contrast to the shadowed vigilance outside. The front hall, living room, and dining room blazed with brilliant light. Vibrant flowers, dominated by chrysanthemums in full, defiant bloom, infused the air with color and fragrance; a phonograph murmured a cheerful Guangdong melody, weaving an atmosphere thick with festive joy, a deliberate illusion amid the storm of war.   Chiang Kai-shek, clad in a flowing black silk gown, strode ahead with poised grace, escorting his guests into the dining room alongside the elegantly attired Soong May-ling, their conversation laced with laughter and warmth. At the table, Soong May-ling's smile was a beacon of diplomacy, as she artfully arranged the seating to suit hierarchies and alliances, while servers in crisp white uniforms moved with nimble precision. This was Chiang Kai-shek's intimate Mid-Autumn family banquet; beyond a handful of pivotal military and political figures, the gathering brimmed with relatives. Guests and kin alike noted Chiang's buoyant spirits tonight; his smiles were wide and genuine, his discourse light and expansive, delving into casual topics with uncharacteristic ease.   In September 1939, China's War of Resistance Against Japan had entered its grueling third year. After the initial cataclysm of turmoil and disarray, the government and military had clawed their way to stability, adapting to this unprecedented historical crucible, with operations finally aligning into a semblance of order. According to figures proclaimed by Minister of Military Affairs He Yingqin to Chinese and foreign reporters on the 13th of this month, Japanese invaders had seized 521 counties across 12 provinces, a vast swath of conquest. Yet, the Japanese imperialists had exacted this toll at a staggering cost. Just prior, on August 30, the Hirannuma Cabinet, installed a mere eight months earlier, had collapsed in mass resignation. Hirannuma Kiichiro's predecessor, Konoe Fumimaro, had similarly bowed out amid governmental failures, chiefly the unmet ambitions in the Sino-Japanese War that he had boldly promised to parliament, exacerbating domestic political and economic woes. Days ago, when Wang Pengsheng briefed Chiang on Japan's turbulent politics, he quipped: "Konoe said three months to destroy China; three months didn't work, nor three years, who knows about 30 or 300. Hirannuma had no solutions, down in eight months. Does Abe have good ideas? How long can he be prime minister?" Indeed, Abe Nobuyuki, Hirannuma's successor, would endure a mere four and a half months before resigning in ignominy. Tonight's feast showcased Chiang's favored cuisines: delicate Jiangsu-Zhejiang dishes mingled with robust Sichuan flavors. Chiang abstained from alcohol, raising his cup in mere symbolic toasts to his guests. During the meal, as if by unspoken accord, no one broached the raging domestic battles or the volatile international landscape; conversations meandered through trivialities, skirting anything heavy or discordant, a fragile bubble of normalcy.   On September 3, Britain and France had declared war on Germany, shattering the global order in a seismic shift. Foreign newspapers already bandied the term "Second World War," a phrase that evoked freshness, exhilaration, and sheer terror in equal measure. China's diplomacy surged with newfound vigor. In April, Ambassador to the US Wang Zhengting had negotiated a $20 million loan with American banks on China's behalf. In May, Stalin responded to Chiang's overtures, agreeing to exchange arms for Chinese tea, wool, raw hides, and more. A month later, the first consignment of light and heavy weapons—including artillery and heavy machine guns—arrived via clandestine routes through Xinjiang and Mongolia, bolstering the central army's frontlines. In August, Hu Shih, Wellington Koo, and Chien Tai represented the Nationalist Government at the 19th League of Nations Assembly, laying bare the Japanese imperialists' atrocities in China before the world and rallying global forces for peace to support China's defiant stand. Soon after, British and American civic groups ignited "China Week" campaigns, pressing their governments to aid the beleaguered nation. Waves of foreign volunteers streamed in from distant shores: doctors, journalists, ordnance engineers, even retired soldiers clamoring to join the fray on the frontlines.   "If we could pull America into this war..." Through Soong May-ling's subtle, persuasive influence, Chiang allowed himself to daydream of that prosperous, dynamic young powerhouse across the vast ocean. Thus, on this Mid-Autumn night, his talk turned to America, to his correspondence with President Roosevelt regarding the "tung oil loan." That saga had unfolded the previous October; T.V. Soong had jetted to America, securing a loan with China's tung oil, a commodity scarce in the US, as collateral. China had boldly requested $400 million; America countered with $25 million, a classic tale of "ask high, settle low." Yet, the funds were secured. One success paved the way for many. Soong May-ling had once confided to Chiang: "In mobilizing US aid for China's resistance, I'll make a difference." When Chiang responded with a smile, "Thank you, Madam," he could scarcely foresee how his beautiful wife's extraordinary prowess in fulfilling this solemn vow would astonish him, etching eternal glory for Chinese women worldwide and elevating Soong May-ling to the zenith of her life's achievements.   The most direct echo of the First Battle of Changsha's thunderous saga resides in the Ninth War Zone's meticulous report on the northern Hunan and southern Hubei operations, submitted to the Chongqing Military Committee and Chiang Kai-shek himself, a faded relic now entombed amid the vast ocean of Nationalist Government military and political archives in Nanjing's Second Historical Archives of China. This document, a painstaking compilation of combat dispatches from divisions, armies, and army groups, stands as a testament to valor and sacrifice. Tragically, time's relentless march and human folly have ravaged this priceless artifact, leaving only shards and whispers to conjure the heart-wrenching inferno of that bloody clash.   "October 24, Year 28. Urgent. To Chongqing. Chairman Chiang. Secret. Submitted by Commander Xue on orders." The rice paper has yellowed to a deep, somber hue, brittle and parched; a careless touch could reduce it to dust. Some pages lie fractured, their remnants affixed to white paper, forever unable to reclaim their original wholeness. Leafing through page by page unleashes a pungent miasma, a scorched, acrid, decayed blend that assaults the senses. Traces of fire and water mar the original rice paper sheets, with countless fragments glued haphazardly to white backings, their sequences lost to eternity.   "...The Xin Qiang River spanning from Lujiao to Leishi Mountain, defending a front of over 110 li..." "Enemy 13th and 33rd Divisions, parts of the Hata Detachment, naval units, and artillery, cavalry, engineers totaling..." "...Began attacking us first with artillery... fortifications completely destroyed, then infantry charged; relying on our officers and men all resolved to coexist with the homeland..." "...And launched balloons to direct artillery... our army braved the cannons... repelled them, corpses filling the river, turning the water red..." "Division casualties also reached over a thousand... failed to inflict greater strikes and annihilate... deep inner guilt, besides vigorously training troops awaiting orders to kill the enemy..." "...Attack casualties heavy, then concentrated large forces... artillery fire so dense like continuous firecrackers for hours... released poison gas, Wang Street garrison all heroically sacrificed, then breached... Zhao Gongwu kowtows, October 15"   Zhao Gongwu commanded the 2nd Division under Zhang Yaoming's 52nd Army. This unit first held the line along the Xin Qiang River, then fell back to northeast of Fengjiang Bridge to staunch the enemy tide once more; after October 6, it hammered southward-marching Japanese from the west in the Yanglin Street and Dajing Street regions. Through these crucibles, the division bled over half its strength. A fragment of an envelope clings to a sheet of white paper, its words faintly visible: "Changsha 126-3 Zhang Yaoming," "Hunan Jinjing Air Mail," "Combat Process by..." and the like. The stamp remains remarkably intact—a philatelic gem now. Measuring 1.5 cm square, it features Sun Yat-sen's portrait at its center, inscribed "Republic of China Post" below, with "5" in the upper right, "fen" to the left, and "5" in each lower corner. I sat at the long table in the spacious, brightly lit reading room, staring vacantly, my thoughts grinding to a halt. These remnants are all that endure for posterity, of that monumental battle, of the scorching blood and vanished lives of countless unnamed Chinese soldiers. With hands that once gripped a rifle, I gently caressed those pages from a bygone era; they were cold, devoid of any lingering breath.   As the full moon of the 15th of the eighth month dissolved into the golden-red blaze of sunrise, Qin Yizhi's 195th Division had already plunged into the rugged mountains and dense forests encircling Fulinpu. Per directives from 15th Army Group Commander Guan Linzheng, the 195th was to forge a new defensive bastion centered on Fulinpu, 40 to 70 kilometers from Changsha. Their mandate: stall the Japanese southward juggernaut, granting precious time for allied forces to muster and fortify around the city. Despite the grueling all-night march, morale soared undimmed. The advance chief of staff doled out positions to each regiment, and the troops dove into fortification labors with fervent zeal. The 195th Division's unyielding stand along the Xin Qiang River had already etched preliminary glory upon this unit in its baptism of fire. "Fame in one battle" echoed as a battle cry throughout the division, where collective honor intertwined with personal valor. Honor and triumph formed the bedrock for soldiers and armies alike. Yet, another fire fueled their resolve.   On September 23, amid the Japanese forcing the Xin Qiang River, Guan Linzheng's voice crackled over the phone to Qin Yizhi: "Facing you is the 6th Division." The 6th Division, a name that ignited fury in Chinese troops and civilians, forever linked to the demonic specter of Tani Hisao. Moments later, the whisper spread like wildfire through every trench: "The Japanese army that perpetrated the Nanjing Massacre is right in front." Agitation rippled through the ranks; some donned fresh uniforms and shoes from their packs, casting aside the worn; others flouted discipline to bid farewells to hometown comrades: "Today we fight to the death here; see you in the next life." "Tell my mother I died fighting the Nanjing Massacre enemies."   Some company commanders commanded their mess sergeants to expend all funds on hearty feasts. All Japanese were foes, but the 6th Division embodied a blood debt, an unforgivable vendetta; the Chinese nation does not lightly forget its tormentors. In the Xin Qiang River maelstrom, the 195th Division battled with heroic ferocity. Some soldiers, in their final breaths, murmured: "Die then; it's worth it." Others lamented slaying too few devils, gritting teeth, eyes refusing to close in eternal regret. Now under Inaba Shiro's command, the 6th Division splintered southward after breaching the Xin Qiang; roughly a thousand hounded the 195th to Fulinpu. On the morning of September 29, the Japanese blundered into the 195th's meticulously laid ambush. Qin Yizhi, pulse racing with excitement and tension, fumbled the binoculars from his guard's hand. His command sliced the air: "Begin." War history chronicles: "The 6th Division advanced south from the Miluo River along the Xinshi-Liqiao road and Xinshi-Fulinpu routes. The over a thousand reaching Fulinpu were ambushed by the Nationalist 195th Division, suffering heavy losses." As Japanese artillery and aircraft unleashed hell upon the 195th's positions, Qin orchestrated a swift southward withdrawal to the environs of Shangshan City. Again, without pause, they erected fortifications and set deadly traps.   On the morning of September 30, the pursuers from Fulinpu closed in on Shangshan, their numbers swollen to over 1,500. Qin Yizhi clenched his jaw, his demeanor icy calm, allowing the Japanese to creep into the kill zone before barking: "Hit them hard!" Combat raged from dawn to dusk, obliterating over 700 foes. Qin ascended a hill, surveying through binoculars, then erupted: "Bad! The enemy is retreating." Upon receiving Qin's telegram, Guan Linzheng scrutinized the map, momentarily stunned, then replied: "Enemy shows no retreat signs yet; proceed per original plan. Your unit to block at Shangshan City line until October 2." Xianning, Okamura Yasuji's 11th Army HQ.   Combat maps bristled with markings, staff officers darting amid ringing phones and clattering telegrams. The colossal red arrow in northern Hunan had fractured into tributaries, surging over 100 km southward from the outset; one tendril pierced to Yong'an City, a mere 30 km from Changsha. Vast swaths of northern Hunan lay conquered, yet Okamura sensed the tide turning, it was time to retreat. The Chinese employed their time-honored gradual resistance, battling while retreating with cunning grace. Some units fell back directly, others amassed on flanks—what portent did that hold? In Okamura's shrewd mind loomed an equally shrewd Xue Yue; he envisioned his adversary methodically weaving a snare.   Post-Yingtian landing, the 15th Army Group's timely evasion had unraveled his "Xiang-Gan Operation Plan" like fragile thread. If encircling and annihilating the Chinese main force proved unattainable, what purpose in pressing onward? Telegrams from 3rd Division's Fujita Susumu, 6th's Inaba Shiro, and 13th's Tanaka Seiichi piled on his desk, pleading to assault Changsha—for headlines and Imperial accolades, perhaps, but blind to their exposed supply lines vulnerable to enemy thrusts? Ground logistics teetered on collapse; the air force resorted to airdrops for isolated regiments. Venturing further south would stretch lines to breaking; a severed artery spelled doom for the vanguard. When would these commanders mature into true stewards of the Imperial Army? Okamura fretted and pitied them in equal measure.   At 4 p.m. on September 30, Okamura decreed a halt to advances at Shangshan and Yong'an. He commenced orchestrating the retreat. Changsha, Yuelu Mountain, Ninth War Zone Command Forward HQ. October 1. Xue Yue stood before the map, Guan's latest telegram clutched in hand. Qin's second missive insisted on Japanese withdrawal, corroborated by 15th Army Group scouts from Yingtian: This morning (October 1), Japanese transports unloaded artillery stowed the previous night, hauling it back to Yueyang; intercepted wires revealed a regiment aborting its southward push, standing idle. Guan assessed the mosaic and commanded counteroffensives: intercept if feasible, pursue relentlessly, deny the Japanese escape; he relayed retreat indicators to Xue. Xue paced the chamber, head bowed in contemplation. Chief of Staff Wu Yizhi, Staff Director Zhao Zili, and their cadre tracked his every step with expectant eyes, awaiting the verdict. Xue's thoughts whirled through military stratagems and beyond.   Pre-war, Xue had segmented the war zone's forces into tripartite blocs: Northern Hunan under Guan Linzheng's 15th, Yang Sen's 27th, and Shang Zhen's 20th Army Groups as "A Cluster"; Northern Jiangxi Nanchang with Yunnan Army Lu Han's 1st Army Group and the 74th Army as "B Cluster"; the Wuning, Xiushui, Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border guarded by Sichuan Army Wang Lingji's 30th Army Corps, Fan Songpu's Border Advance Army, and 8th Army; augmented by 3 armies' 7 divisions in general reserve. Before the storm broke, Xue pored over maps, tracing every mountain, river, road, and bridge, envisioning burial grounds for the invaders.   Now, beneath Changsha, 200,000 troops formed a tightening net. The "decisive battle in Changsha suburbs" blueprint had been wired to Chongqing. Chiang and the nation yearned for a resounding triumph as the resistance pivoted into a new epoch?! A masterful drama, honed over half a month's toil, neared its crescendo; yet that cunning fox appeared to sniff the trap's metallic tang, freezing in place. "Commander, phone from Minister Chen." "Brother Boling, good news." Chen Cheng's voice brimmed with levity, "Your formal appointment published. What? Ninth War Zone Commander! First to congratulate; document tomorrow." Shedding the "acting" prefix was inevitable; Chiang had intimated as much long ago. But for a man and general, true worth lay not in titles, but in forging indelible feats. Splendor was judged not by underlings, colleagues, or superiors, but by peers in the craft of war.   Unmoved by the promotion, Xue exhaled a profound sigh. Though the 15th's intelligence couldn't confirm a wholesale retreat, preparations for dual contingencies were imperative. Victories came hard; a splendid battle, harder still. He summoned Wu Yizhi and Zhao Zili to devise countermeasures for the enemy's potential flight. October 2, Sichuan Army Yang Sen's 27th Army Group, Yang Gancai's 134th Division special service company, under Company Commander Wan Mingyu, slogged through the profound mountains and forests on the northern Mufu Mountains' flanks. The 134th's covert mandate: infiltrate enemy rear via treacherous terrain, sabotage supply arteries in the Chongyang-Xianning sector, and deliver a dagger to the Japanese spine when opportunity struck, bolstering frontal defenses.   Past 3 p.m., a crystalline mountain stream materialized. Wan decreed a respite. Over 100 soldiers, drained from a half-day's ascent, collapsed like puppets with severed strings. Most propped their torsos with rifles in one hand, fanning hats to ward off the relentless forest mosquitoes with the other. Regaining breath, they devoured rations washed down with stream water. Some unfurled towels and ventured downstream, letting the cool flow rinse away layers of sweat. Then, a muted engine drone encroached from the heavens. Wan peered through the foliage: a low-flying plane vectored southward, its wings emblazoned with the Rising Sun.   A transport; Wan recognized the temporary Japanese airfield near Xianning. With lines overextended, airdrops sustained isolated units. Wan was prying open a can with his bayonet, the tip etching a cross on the lid before levering along the edge; paired with a rice ball, it promised a savory repast. His orderly proffered a cup of fresh stream water; 2nd Platoon Leader Hu Yaozong perched nearby on a rock, smirking, poised to pilfer from the opened tin. Wan warded off this Sichuan Pixian compatriot. The plane droned overhead then.   Both glanced skyward; the platoon quipped: "Open quick, damn, I'll repay two cans later." Commander: "Want cans? Sky has; shoot plane down, enough for two lifetimes, bloat your mother-in-law first." The can hailed from a prior supply raid. Platoon: "You want me to shoot the plane?" Commander: "Bastard! You shooting or not?" The platoon snatched the light machine gun from a tree fork, jamming the butt against his belly, one hand on the grip, aiming crudely: "Come down, you turtle son!" The other hand squeezed the trigger. Wan assumed jest, resuming his task. "Da-da-da..." Wan jolted; the half-opened can tumbled to his feet, spilling Japanese fish onto Chinese soil. Recoil floored the platoon; he hurled the gun like a branding iron, face ashen. Inspecting the trigger, he snarled: "Whose damn fault, why no safety?!" The gunner dashed over; tall and even-tempered: "Safety was on; how'd it fire without pulling?" Wan's initial panic: "Damn! Position exposed."   The company spearheaded the division's reinforced regiment to raze a recent Japanese depot, guarded by a mere company—but exposure doomed the regiment deep in hostile territory. The assault had been plotted for days; pre-departure, Yang Gancai had toasted them. Wan had sworn a blood oath: No return to Sichuan without success. Hu had jested then: "No Sichuan return means wanting Hunan girl as concubine." Banter was fine in peace, but in war's grip, this was no trifling errand. Wan unleashed a torrent of curses, rising to survey the environs. The main force lagged 15 km behind; advance or abort post-blunder? Enemy rear was a labyrinth; this isolated band teetered on a razor's edge. As if to compel a choice, the radio operator approached; Wan itched to lash out. In his fury and indecision, a miracle unfolded.   The transport's engines hacked like a consumptive invalid, then a witness spied the plane banking left, plummeting, its nose inexorably toward a colossal rock 3-4 km distant. It rebounded twice on the stone, nose and left wing crumpling; the fuselage, fragile as parchment, tumbled gently, skewing onto the slope amid splintered trees. Wan gaped, then bellowed: "Assemble!" The men snapped from reverie, charging downhill in a frenzied cascade. One hour later, 134th Deputy Commander and Reinforced Regiment Commander Liu decoded Wan's vanguard transmission via radio. Another hour passed before Liu received Yang Gancai's directive: Abort Mountain Leopard operation; return with documents expeditiously. One day hence, October 3, Okamura Yasuji's original retreat order from October 2 dawn, addressed to northern Hunan's 6th, 33rd Divisions, Nara and Uemura Detachments, plus its Chinese translation, landed on Xue Yue's desk.   Fifteen days later, at the Changsha Victory Celebration, unit accolades were proclaimed; for "shooting down enemy plane, obtaining vital enemy documents," meritorious honors went to 134th Commander Yang Gancai and Deputy Liu. Each received 1000 yuan and one 3rd Class Baoding Medal. Okamura's October 2 order original: Chinese forces retreated to Miluo and Xiushui Rivers banks assembling; to avoid disadvantage, this army should quickly withdraw to original positions, restore combat strength.   Withdrawal plan as follows: … Xue's October 3 order original:   "Northern Hunan frontal units with current posture immediately pursue facing enemy fiercely, must capture in Chongyang-Yueyang south area. ... Pursuit units may detach part to monitor and sweep enemy collection troops; main force execute overtaking pursuit... Already deep behind enemy advance units vigorously destroy enemy transport lines, cut escape routes."   From October 3, Chinese forces unleashed ferocious counteroffensives against the Japanese on three fronts: northern Hunan, southern Hubei, and the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border; the invaders receded like a vanishing tide, never to reclaim their ground. The 25th and 195th Divisions hounded the 6th Division and Nara Detachment from Fulinpu back to the Miluo River, then to the Xin Qiang River. On October 8, the Japanese fled across the Xin Qiang; the 195th's 566th Brigade surged in pursuit, launching a nocturnal raid on Xitang-Jianshan. Gains were modest, but the enemy, entrenched in their den, resisted with feral tenacity. Qin commanded the brigade's withdrawal southward; northern Hunan operations concluded.   In southern Hubei, the 79th Army chased remnants of the 33rd Division from Sanyan Bridge to Pingjiang, across Nanjiang Bridge, hounding them back to their Tongcheng lair. On the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border, 30th Army Group Commander Wang Lingji orchestrated a pincer against Japanese at Xiushui. The foes retreated to Sandu, mounting a stubborn defense. Chinese assaults faltered for three days; on the fourth night's blitz, victory crowned their efforts, expelling the invaders to their original Wuning stronghold. With both armies reclaiming pre-war lines, the First Battle of Changsha drew to its resounding close.   Over days, Xue Yue received a deluge of congratulatory telegrams and letters from the Nationalist Government, Military Committee, National Assembly, myriad civic groups, party officials, and social luminaries. As hoped, among them was Chiang Kai-shek's effusive missive, brimming with joy. For Xue Yue, this one sufficed. Chiang Kai-shek's telegram to Xue Yue:   "In this northern Hunan campaign, over half the enemy was annihilated. The triumphant news has invigorated the nation, all due to effective command and soldiers' valor; I commend without reservation. Thoroughly investigate and report meritorious personnel from this battle; also report the dead and wounded for awards and relief. With this initial victory foundation laid, our officers and men's responsibilities grow heavier; urge your subordinates to extra vigilance, redoubled effort, avoiding arrogance or complacency, to amass great achievements, my deepest hopes."   As if countering Chongqing's high-powered broadcasts, Japanese radios in Wuhan, Nanjing, Beiping, and Manchukuo blared at full volume: "In this Xiang-Gan operation, valiant Imperial forces penetrated over 100 km into northern Hunan, sweeping anti-peace elements, routing Chinese central main forces, inflicting over 40,000 enemy casualties, a pivotal triumph advancing the holy war. Having achieved objectives, Imperial troops have victoriously withdrawn..."   In the aftermath of the First Battle of Changsha, the Japanese high command spun a tale of calculated restraint, insisting their assault was merely a spoiling raid, a calculated jab never intended to seize and hold the city indefinitely. With brazen confidence, they downplayed their toll, claiming a mere 850 souls lost to death and 2,700 wounded in the fray, while boastfully asserting they had slain 44,000 Chinese defenders and taken 4,000 captive, painting a picture of overwhelming triumph amid the smoke and ruin. Yet, foreign military observers, peering through the fog of propaganda with detached scrutiny, painted a starkly different canvas. They gauged Chinese losses at a far more tempered 20,000 killed and wounded, a heavy but bearable scar on the nation's resolve, while estimating Japanese casualties soared to around 30,000, a grievous hemorrhage that belied the invaders' claims of minimal sacrifice. Military historian Michael Clodfelter, sifting through the annals of conflict, ventured an even grimmer tally: a staggering 50,000 Japanese casualties endured in the relentless clash, a testament to the ferocity of Chinese resistance and the high price of imperial ambition. In the battle's locale, neither side claimed clear victory, but globally for the resistance, it favored China. 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 First Battle of Changsha unfolded in September 1939 during China's War of Resistance Against Japan. Japanese forces under Okamura Yasuji advanced into Hunan and Jiangxi, crossing rivers and capturing key positions like Yingtian amid fierce Chinese defenses led by Xue Yue. 

Last time we spoke about the Wang Jingwei Regime. During the Second Sino-Japanese War, tensions between Chiang Kai-shek and Wang Jingwei escalated amid Japan's aggressive invasion. Disillusioned by Chiang's scorched-earth tactics, such as the Yellow River flood and Changsha fire, Wang defected from Chongqing in December 1938, fleeing to Hanoi to negotiate peace with Japan. An assassination attempt, likely ordered by Chiang, killed Wang's secretary Zeng Zhongming, deepening the rift and sparking retaliatory violence. Wang's group, aided by Japanese agents like Kagesa Sadaaki, navigated scandals and leaks, including a forged agreement exposed in the press. After grueling negotiations in Shanghai and Tokyo, Wang conceded to harsh Japanese terms, including limited sovereignty and economic controls. On March 30, 1940, he established the Reorganized National Government (RNG) in Nanjing, adopting the nationalist flag with a controversial yellow pennant symbolizing "peace, anticommunism, nation-building." Despite Wang's vision of constitutional democracy, the RNG functioned as a wartime puppet, isolated from Chongqing and resented as traitorous. Wang died in 1944, and the regime collapsed in 1945.   #195 The Xiang-Gan Operation 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 sweltering grip of August 1939, Chongqing languished under an unbearably hot summer, the air thick with humidity and the weight of impending doom. Perched on a sun-baked hillside along the southern bank of the Jialing River, roughly 10 kilometers from the chaotic heart of the city, loomed a two-story Western-style building. This fortress of stone and resolve, known as the "Huangshan Villa," stood as Chiang Kai-shek's official residence in Chongqing, a sanctuary amid the storm of war. Unless urgent meetings or crises at the Military Affairs Commission demanded his presence, it was here that Chiang orchestrated the fate of a nation on the brink.   One fateful evening, as shadows lengthened across the villa, the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics delivered a chilling report from Wang Pengsheng, the director of the Military Affairs Commission's Institute for International Affairs. Wang was no ordinary operative; he was a knowledgeable, experienced, and sharp-minded intellectual, a master of Japanese affairs, and one of Chiang's most trusted aides, his insights cutting like a blade through the fog of deception. In this urgent dispatch, Wang distilled the latest machinations from Japan. After the traitor Wang Jingwei defected to the enemy, Japan glimpsed a sinister new path to conquer China: ramping up political inducements for surrender, with brutal military offensives reduced to mere supporting roles. On June 20, the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters unleashed "strategy" tasks upon its troops in China—to incite local armies, those ragtag "miscellaneous troops," to betray their own, isolating and pulverizing the central army units. Wang Pengsheng saw through the ruse; this "attacking the heart" and "subduing strategies," drawn from the ancient wisdom of China's military sage Sun Tzu, betrayed the Japanese army's desperate straits, manpower stretched thin, supplies dwindling to the point of desperation.   Chiang Kai-shek's eyes narrowed as he gripped his red pencil, underlining a passage in the report with deliberate strokes, marking it as a thunderclap of importance or urgency: To cooperate with the establishment of the Wang puppet regime and exert military pressure on the Chongqing government, under the direction of the Imperial General Headquarters, the commander of the Japanese 11th Army, Okamura Yasuji, had formulated the "Xiang-Gan Operation Plan" targeting the main forces of the central army in the Ninth War Zone and was intensifying preparations for its implementation. The words hung heavy in the air like a gathering storm. Chiang Kai-shek rose abruptly, his body protesting with a stiff ache from hours of unyielding vigilance. He stretched his weary waist and legs, then pushed open the wooden door beside the vast sun-facing window, stepping out onto the balcony as if seeking solace from the encroaching night.   The balcony commanded a sweeping vista, a momentary escape from the suffocating confines of strategy and betrayal. Gazing downward, the "Fog Capital" Chongqing emerged in rare clarity, serene and layered beneath the fiery embrace of the evening glow. The distant murmur of the Jialing River, flowing ceaselessly like the pulse of a defiant heart, whispered a fleeting sense of ease amid the turmoil. Yet even this pause carried the echoes of war's relentless march. After the Japanese horde seized Wuhan and surged onward to claim Yueyang—only to halt their southward thrust—both Mao Zedong in his Yan'an stronghold and Chiang Kai-shek in Chongqing etched this moment as a pivotal divide in China's War of Resistance Against Japan. Mao proclaimed the war had plunged into the "stalemate phase," a grinding impasse. Chiang, ever the resolute leader, declared the "second phase of the war of resistance" ignited from this very point.   But across the vast national battlefield, the first half of 1939 roared with unquenched fury, the air thick with the acrid smoke of gunpowder. From the year's dawn, the Japanese army, bolstered by five divisions and eight mixed brigades, launched ruthless "security consolidation" operations in North China to fortify their blood-soaked conquests, only to be harried and bloodied by the Communist Eighth Route Army slipping behind enemy lines and the valiant troops of the First and Second War Zones. In late March, the Japanese 11th Army stormed Nanchang, clashing in a maelstrom of fire with the four group armies of the Ninth War Zone under the iron command of front-line commander Luo Zhuoying. For a grueling month and a half, the battle raged, the Japanese claiming the city at a staggering cost in lives. Chiang Kai-shek, his fury mounting, demanded a counterattack from the Ninth War Zone, but it crumbled into tragedy, over 20,000 souls lost, including Lieutenant General Chen Anbao, the indomitable commander of the 29th Army. Nanchang remained in enemy hands, fueling Chiang's rage like an inferno unchecked.   Then, in May, the Japanese Kwantung Army clashed with Soviet and Mongolian forces in the epic conflagration at Nomonhan. What ignited a spark of grim satisfaction in Chiang was not merely the Japanese rout, with nearly 20,000 of their ranks obliterated, but the broader ripple: this Japan-Soviet inferno would heap pressure upon the invaders in China, weakening their grasp. As the war sank into its stalemate phase, Chiang turned his gaze inward, fiercely guarding his military strength while awaiting the winds of change. He clung to a core conviction: the essence of the War of Resistance boiled down to that single, unbreakable word—"resist." Troops could be sacrificed, territories forsaken, retreats endured when battles turned dire, but surrender was unthinkable. As long as resistance endured, the nation would hold its place among the world's powers, and its leaders their rightful thrones. In time, the tides of international intrigue would shift; the imperialist giants, driven by their own insatiable interests, would not stand idly by as China fell to Japan's maw.   With resolve hardening like steel, Chiang Kai-shek strode back to his imposing desk and seized the telephone, dialing Xu Yongchang, the Minister of Military Orders. His voice cut through the line with unyielding command: instruct Deputy Chief of Staff Bai Chongxi, currently in the Ninth War Zone dissecting the bitter lessons of the Nanchang debacle, to hasten and aid Chen Cheng in crafting ironclad military deployments against the looming Japanese "Xiang-Gan Operation" and submit them without delay.   As the last defiant ray of sunlight plunged below the horizon, the sprawl of Chongqing's urban expanse succumbed to an enveloping darkness, a shroud of uncertainty. Since the government had fled southward, Chongqing had become a relentless target for Japanese bombers, their payloads raining death and devastation in waves of tragedy. By night, the city enforced ironclad blackout controls, its citizens huddling in fear behind heavy curtains, their lives reduced to whispers in the shadows. Chiang Kai-shek's mind drifted to the pre-war nights of the mountain city, when thousands of lights danced like stars upon the river's rippling waves. A deep, weary sigh escaped him, carrying the burden of a leader who refused to yield.   Far from the shadowed balconies of Chongqing, as China's War of Resistance Against Japan plunged into its harrowing third year, the misty haven of Guilin clung to its gentle, rain-soaked serenity, a fragile oasis amid the chaos of a nation torn asunder. Farmers, oblivious to the headlines screaming from distant newspapers, trudged barefoot through the lush fields, guiding massive water buffaloes with their backward-curving horns and deceptively gentle temperaments. Verdant tea groves blanketed the undulating hills, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind, while breezes carried the haunting, sweet-and-sour melodies of mountain songs that seemed to defy the encroaching shadows of war. Those weary souls fleeing the bloodied front lines stumbled into this paradise, their eyes widening in awe, as if they had crossed into a dream untouched by the nightmare raging beyond.   Nestled in the northwestern suburbs of the city, the Guilin Office pulsed with the raw energy of command, its operations post concealed within a colossal karst cave, a labyrinth of nature's own fortifications. Amid the jagged stalagmites and dripping stalactites, wires snaked like veins, cables coiled in tense anticipation, and radio antennas reached out like desperate fingers grasping for signals. These were the nerves of war, linking this hidden nerve center to the smoke-choked, blood-drenched front lines where heroes and horrors collided in the unyielding struggle for resistance.   Deputy Chief of Staff of the Military Affairs Commission and Director of the Guilin Office—Bai Chongxi—unfolded the telegram folder thrust into his hands by his confidential staff, his heart pounding with the weight of destiny:   "To Director Bai in Guilin: Telegram received. Deploy operations according to Plan A.   Zhongzheng"   Before departing Changsha, the Second Department had already whispered warnings of the Japanese horde's intent to strike southward, and fatefully, an urgent call from Xu Yongchang had demanded the swift forging of a battle plan to confront the enemy. As Bai Chongxi devoured the enemy intelligence, a bold strategy ignited in his mind like a flare in the darkness. Chen Cheng, the steadfast Commander of the Ninth War Zone, championed the tried-and-true tactic of successive resistance, but with a grim twist: retreat would be capped north of Changsha. Front-line troops would grind down the Japanese invaders, bleeding them dry before slipping to the east and west flanks. There, they would pounce on the enemy's exposed sides as the foes pressed southward, culminating in a devastating annihilation beneath the walls of Changsha with the aid of the garrison. This blueprint minimized troop movements and promised a swift, brutal clash. Yet Chen Cheng, burdened by his dual role as Minister of the Political Department of the Military Affairs Commission, had delegated command to Xue Yue as acting Ninth War Zone Commander. In heated deliberations, Xue Yue tilted toward Chen's vision, his resolve echoing the caution of survival.   But Bai Chongxi, his strategic mind a whirlwind of innovation, saw a bolder path through the storm. The Japanese forces lurking in the Wuhan area were fractured, split between the Yangtze's north and south, facing off against China's formidable heavy troops. Though intelligence on the scale of their assault remained shrouded in mystery, Bai knew their drawable forces couldn't exceed half their might, and their endurance in sustained combat would falter like a dying flame. "To swallow the attackers whole, the battlefield must be vast and unforgiving, our forces luring them deeper while retreating to the Hengyang area, stretching the enemy thin across a sprawling 200-kilometer wasteland." There, the invaders would wither in passivity, their food and ammunition lines stretched to breaking. Then, in a masterful stroke, troops from the Jiuling and Mufu Mountains would surge westward, while those west of the Xiang River drove eastward, severing every land and water escape route in a vise of total annihilation. Both plans stood as ironclad fortresses of logic, each unassailable in its reasoning, and were dispatched simultaneously to Chiang Kai-shek, the arbiter of China's fate.   By rank and protocol, Bai's vision claimed the mantle of Plan A, while Chen's bore the label of Plan B. Bai Chongxi had voiced his conviction and released it to the winds, content to let Chiang's judgment prevail. Bai Chongxi was a master of strategy, whispered among allies as the "Little Zhuge," his intellect a weapon as sharp as any blade. Yet Chen Cheng shared Chiang's Zhejiang roots and the unbreakable bonds of Huangpu camaraderie, drawing him even closer in the inner circle of trust. On such pivotal matters, Bai Chongxi often chose the path of restraint, yielding rather than clashing in futile strife. Five agonizing days after the plans vanished into the ether, Chiang's telegram pierced the tension, affirming the adoption of Plan A. A surge of quiet triumph coursed through Bai Chongxi as he signed the missive and strode toward the operations map, his steps echoing with purpose.   While strategic minds clashed in hidden caves and distant villas, the front lines pulsed with the raw grit of soldiers readying for battle. Guan Linzheng had been assigned a mount since 1930, when he became commander of the 1st Regiment of the 2nd Training Division, during the Central Plains War between Chiang, Feng, and Yan. He led the regiment to cover the retreat of the division's main force under Zhang Zhizhong. Pursued by several times their number of Feng-Yan troops, they fought while retreating in dire straits. From night to dawn, heavy fog descended, obscuring visibility beyond dozens of paces. Guan Linzheng's chestnut horse suddenly neighed loudly and charged back toward the pursuers. After trying to rein it in unsuccessfully, Guan simply ordered the troops to countercharge into the fog. Shouts of killing filled the air, gunfire intense. The Feng-Yan troops, unclear of the situation in the fog, thought Chiang reinforcements had arrived and ordered a retreat. By the time the fog cleared, they were gone. Guan's bold cunning successfully completed the cover mission, and he was promoted to brigade commander of the division's 2nd Brigade after the war.   In July 1932, during Chiang Kai-shek's fourth encirclement of the Hubei-Henan-Anhui Soviet, Guan Linzheng was brigade commander of the 4th Army's Independent Brigade. In battle, he was surrounded by Red Army troops led by Chen Geng and Cai Shenyi of the Red 25th Army Corps in the Anhui town of Zhuanfo Temple. His unit suffered heavy casualties, and a beloved horse was killed, leaving him distressed for a long time. With the outbreak of the War of Resistance, Guan Linzheng's military career entered its golden age. He believed this was truly raising an army of justice, fighting for the people and the nation. After promotions, though equipped with cars, he always kept a warhorse, often riding to survey terrain, inspect work, and command battles. In spare moments, he personally exercised and groomed the horse. That day, he led several staff on horseback to the Xin Qiang River front line, dismounting on the southern bank. 52nd Army Commander Zhang Yaoming and 195th Division Commander Qin Yizhi were waiting.   According to the Ninth War Zone deployment, the 15th Army Group had positioned Zhang Yaoming's 52nd Army and Xia Chuzhong's 79th Army, a formidable force of six divisions along the southern bank of the Xin Qiang River, stretching from Xin Qiang to Maishi beyond the provincial border. This ironclad first line of defense spanned over 100 kilometers, a vast bulwark against the gathering storm of invasion. Fifty kilometers to the south, Chen Pei's 37th Army, with its Divisions 60 and 95, held the Miluo River from Miluo to Pingjiang as the unyielding second line, ready to absorb any breach. Meanwhile, Li Jue's 70th Army, commanding Divisions 19 and 107 along the eastern bank of the Xiang River, was deployed north and south of Xiangyin, fiercely guarding the critical landing points like Yingtian, points that could spell victory or catastrophe.   195th Division Commander Qin Yizhi reported to Guan Linzheng with a voice charged with resolve: troop morale soared like a battle cry, fortifications stood complete and impenetrable, and the army's slogan for this fateful clash thundered: "Fight with the prestige of Taierzhuang!" The division's mobilization slogan echoed even fiercer: "Win fame in one battle!" Guan Linzheng nodded with grim satisfaction toward Zhang Yaoming, his eyes gleaming with the fire of shared history. Guan had once commanded the 52nd Army himself, leading it through a gauntlet of brilliant, blood-soaked battles on the anti-Japanese front. As the Japanese hordes prepared to surge across the Xin Qiang River southward, this was the first, most perilous barrier, a crucible where legends would be forged or shattered. He had entrusted his most loyal unit to the point of greatest impact, knowing full well the stakes. Zhang Yaoming and the division commanders, who had marched at his side for years through hellfire, understood the gravity: Commander Guan was setting an unassailable example, issuing orders that rippled through the ranks, no one could afford the slightest lapse, or face the merciless blade of military law!   "Who's on the north bank?" Guan Linzheng and the others sat on the hard earth, the weight of impending war pressing down; he pointed to the map's symbols for forward positions across the river, his finger tracing lines of fate. "Guarding the Bijia Mountain position is the reinforced 3rd Battalion of the 195th Division's 131st Regiment under Qin Yizhi," Zhang Yaoming replied without hesitation, his tone steady as stone. "Who's on the north bank?" Guan Linzheng repeated as if he hadn't heard, his voice a low rumble, demanding precision in the face of chaos.   Zhang Yaoming hesitated slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, and Qin Yizhi stepped in: "3rd Battalion Commander Shi Enhua, Huangpu 8th Class."   The Central Military Academy had held its first five classes in Guangzhou's Huangpu, commonly called Huangpu Military Academy. Afterward, the school moved several times, but students continued using the Huangpu name, partly to inherit the revolutionary spirit against imperialism and feudalism from Huangpu's founding, and partly to indicate their central orthodoxy. Army generals, especially the "old Huangpu" big brothers, approved this practice, calling it Huangpu no matter where the school was.   Guan Linzheng glared at Zhang Yaoming, his gaze like sharpened steel, then pressed his knee and rose to his feet. Guan's left knee had been shattered by a bullet in 1925 during the Eastern Expedition against Chen Jiongming, a wound that had nearly claimed his leg and his future. Doctors had decreed amputation to save his life, but Liao Zhongkai, the party representative, had visited the wounded and intervened strenuously, preventing it. Otherwise, there would be no later glory for Guan Linzheng. After careful treatment and diligent exercise, the leg's function mostly recovered, though rising from a squat was slightly difficult. Zhang Yaoming reached out to help, but Guan pushed him away with a fierce independence born of countless battles. The group descended to the riverbank and stood in heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. The horses either stood patiently with heads held high, vigilant sentinels, or lowered them to sniff the grass, casually plucking some to hold in their lips, oblivious to the human storm brewing.   The Xin Qiang River, an unnamed small river that had flowed quietly for countless years, had no great turbid waves in flood seasons and still shallow clear ripples in dry periods. It flowed peacefully from its source to Dongting Lake over dozens of kilometers. At this moment, it reflected the figures and thoughts of several soldiers, utterly unaware that in a dozen days, its name would leap to the front pages of newspapers nationwide, baptized in blood and etched into history.   Amid these preparations on the front lines, deeper internal conflicts simmered among the high command. Xue Yue regretted taking the position of provincial chairman, a decision that now haunted him like a specter from the battlefield's edge.   After the nationwide shock of the "Great Fire of Changsha," Zhang Zhizhong was punished with "suspension with retention," continuing to handle daily affairs amid the ashes. He sent several telegrams requesting resignation from the provincial chairmanship, expressing to the Executive Yuan his "shameless guilt and deep pain." On January 17, 1939, the Chongqing Executive Yuan passed a resolution to reorganize the Hunan Provincial Government. That night, Zhang Zhizhong received Chiang Kai-shek's telegram instructing him to hand over work and report to Chongqing.   In December 1938, when the Military Affairs Commission issued the order for Xue Yue to act as Ninth War Zone Commander, Chiang Kai-shek personally spoke with Xue, asking: "Brother Boling, do you think this arrangement is acceptable?" Boling was Xue Yue's courtesy name. Chiang, nine years older, addressed him as brother in private. Xue Yue said: "With Changsha in such a state, I truly lack the ability to handle such a major war zone task." Chiang Kai-shek understood Xue's implication about the disunity of military and political affairs making military work difficult. He said: "You go first; we can consider unifying military and political affairs later." According to He Yaozu, then director of the Military Affairs Commission Office who witnessed this: "My impression was that Xue Yue didn't want to avoid the acting commander role, but wanted to combine military and political powers. Chiang knew this, telling me 'If he's willing, let him do it,' words Chiang said to many seeking positions."   On February 1, 1939, the Nationalist Government officially appointed Xue Yue as Chairman of the Hunan Provincial Committee of the Kuomintang and Chairman of Hunan Province. With party, government, and military powers combined, troubles followed incessantly, piling upon him like relentless enemy fire. As war zone commander, he first thought of the troops. Upon taking office, Xue implemented a policy to restrict market rice prices for military grain procurement, proposing "flat prices" to acquire grain cheaply, forcing merchants underground. Upon hearing this, Xue angrily summoned major rice merchants, reprimanded them, and ordered them to deliver quotas. The result: insufficient low-price rice, with black market prices rising daily. After half a year, sharp-tongued Hunanese nicknamed him "Xue Pinggui," a name that became household, a mocking whisper that cut deeper than any blade.   Coincidentally, his father passed away. Whether Xue instructed it or subordinates "handled it," obituaries flew everywhere, sent to county-level units across the province. Each county had at least 20 units sending condolences, and higher-level cities and provincial units all sent, leading some to secretly calculate. After Xue Yue took charge in Hunan, his family members were transferred from other provinces, and arranging work according to their abilities was reasonable in that old society. His uncle-in-law Fang Xuefen became head of the Provincial Grain Bureau, brother-in-law Qiu Weiyi head of the Provincial Bank. His brother continued business, transporting Hunan rice to Guangdong for barter.   Xue Yue's talents shone not in officialdom. Only before military maps, on battlefields of gunfire and flying shells, could one find the general-like Xue Yue; "heaven-born talent" was for warfare. This descendant of an ordinary farming family in Lechang County, Guangdong, who entered Huangpu Army Primary School at 10, became commander of Sun Yat-sen's bodyguard regiment's 1st Battalion at 24, and once carried a machine gun through hails of bullets to protect Madame Sun Soong Ching-ling from rebel encirclement, earned the nickname "Tiger Cub" in blood and fire. What propelled him to life's peak was the Battle of Changsha.   On August 21, 1939, with war clouds over Changsha thickening like a noose, Xue Yue received telegrams and calls from Chiang Kai-shek, Bai Chongxi, and Chen Cheng. Chiang's telegram required immediate deployment according to "Plan A." Bai and Chen urged resolute implementation of the Chairman's instructions. Xue Yue stood motionless before the map, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and defiance.   Many articles recalling Xue Yue mentioned his daily habit, or hobby, of studying maps; he could do so all day. With battles, he looked; without, he still studied avidly. Perhaps map-reading had evolved from a commander's work need to a professional soldier's spiritual requirement, a way to express emotions, dispel worries, a soldier's way of existence. After Chiang's order to execute "Plan A," rather than comparing plans on the map for stronger bases for his preferred view, he was organizing thoughts, adjusting emotions, and gathering courage in this soul's sanctuary. Hours later, he turned and called Chief of Staff Zhao Zili, dictating three reasons to persist with "Plan B," instructing him to draft a telegram directly to Chiang Kai-shek.   He reminded Zhao that the wording should be forceful yet resilient, making the Chairman clearly feel his firm determination. The Ninth War Zone has sufficient forces and confidence to annihilate the Japanese north of Changsha. If our forces retreat to Hengyang, the Japanese 21st Army under Ando Toshikichi in Guangzhou (with 18th and 104th Divisions, Taiwan Brigade, and attached air units) might advance north along the Yue-Han Railway in support, forming a pincer on us, making the battle hard to control. Following Plan A and allowing the Japanese south would lead to Changsha's fall, exploited by enemy propaganda, causing adverse effects domestically and internationally. These three points presented the potential military and political disadvantages of Plan A as tangible, imminent dangers, more argumentative and unyieldingly firm than his original inclination toward "Plan B."   Zhao Zili quickly noted the points, his pen flying across the page with the precision of a seasoned warrior, before retreating to the staff office to draft the telegram that could alter the course of battle. A top student of Huangpu's 6th Class, quick-witted and resourceful, Zhao had risen like a comet through the ranks after a few blistering campaigns, pinning the insignia of major general to his shoulders at the tender age of 31, a feat that stirred envy among his classmates like a storm in their hearts. Zhao Zili, of course, understood Xue Yue's true intent, piercing through the layers of strategy to the raw undercurrent of determination and unresolved fury.   In May 1938, to avenge the stinging triumph at Taierzhuang, the Japanese had massed their forces in a vengeful storm, aiming to encircle and annihilate the Chinese main forces east of the Longhai Railway, striking from both east and north with ruthless precision. The northern route's 14th Division, under the cunning Dobashi Kenji, found itself surrounded in Lanfeng by a pantheon of fierce Chinese generals, Song Xilian, Yu Jishi, Hu Zongnan, Qiu Qingquan, Wang Yaowu, Li Hanlun, Gui Yongqing, Sun Tongxuan, and Shang Zhen, warriors whose names echoed like thunder across the battlefields. Chiang Kai-shek himself descended upon Zhengzhou to supervise the carnage, appointing Xue Yue as 1st Corps Commander to orchestrate the generals in a full-throttle offensive on the morning of May 25, with the ironclad goal of obliterating that longtime scourge of China and his 14th Division before the dawn of the 26th shattered the night.   The odds were a gambler's dream: 150,000 elite Chinese troops against a mere 20,000 second-rate Japanese soldiers. Victory seemed not just possible, but inevitable; Chiang invited journalists to the front lines for live dispatches, while the Wuhan Political Department feverishly prepared celebrations for the "second great Taierzhuang victory." Chiang Kai-shek was exceptionally angry, his rage boiling over in orders that scorched the ranks, reprimanding army commanders for "inept command, cowardly actions, leading to low morale and hesitation," and that "most army, division, and brigade commanders lacked courage and self-motivation, prolonging the battle." After the Lanfeng Battle, Chiang ordered the dismissal and investigation of future Nationalist Navy Commander Gui Yongqing and 1950s Taiwan Army Commander and Provincial Chairman Huang Jie, and executed 88th Division Commander Long Muhan. But he did not hold Xue Yue accountable for leadership responsibility. For a highly self-respecting person, self-blame is more painful than others' blame. Thereafter, Xue Yue spent more time buried in maps, his eyes tracing lines of terrain like a man possessed, seeking a monumental battle to avenge his wounded pride and redeem his tarnished honor.   On March 8, 1939, shortly after Xue Yue assumed the mantle of acting Ninth War Zone Commander, Chiang telegraphed him with urgent resolve: "To secure Nanchang and its rear lines, decide to strike first, take the offensive to thwart the enemy's intentions." Chiang valued Nanchang's strategic position, as did Okamura Yasuji, but Chiang was a step slow, his hesitation a fatal crack. The Japanese, wielding two divisions bolstered by the bulk of their army's tanks and artillery, seized the initiative like predators in the night, storming Nanchang before the Chinese heavy forces could muster. Chen Cheng remained the nominal Ninth War Zone Commander, relegating Xue Yue to a watchful perch in Changsha while entrusting the Nanchang front to his confidant Luo Zhuoying. Xue Yue haunted the command room day and night, monitoring the inferno through frantic phone calls and telegrams, his discomfort gnawing at him like an unhealed wound. He bore witness to Nanchang's fall and the counterattack's agonizing collapse.   The Nanchang Battle loss was not Xue's fault, but it scarred the Ninth War Zone under his watch, with generals' whispers spreading like venom, knotting his heart in a tangle of regret and resolve. Months of intense map study and on-site inspections had etched Hunan's terrain into Xue Yue's very soul, birthing a strategy that was bold, unique, and brimming with promise—a phoenix rising from the ashes of defeat. But as Zhao Zili understood with crystal clarity, Commander Xue's telegram to Chiang, a forceful plea to reverse the decision, sprang less from cold military "strategy" than from the seething "resentment" accumulated through repeated failures and humiliations, a fire that demanded reckoning. With Chen Cheng's help, Chiang finally agreed to change the plan, bending to the tide of persuasion. Xue Yue was delighted, his spirit soaring like a liberated eagle; Bai Chongxi was angry, his frustration simmering like a storm held at bay. After the battle erupted, Bai, dispatched by Chiang to assist Xue Yue, arrived at the war zone headquarters on Yuelu Mountain atop the Xiang River's west bank in Changsha but remained silent like a mute bodhisattva, his words locked away in disapproval. Even decades later, in his Memoirs of Bai Chongxi, discussing the First Battle of Changsha, he still did not consider it a victory, saying the Japanese "conducted a planned retreat without much loss, which is a fact."   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 1939, amid the Second Sino-Japanese War's stalemate phase, Chiang Kai-shek received intelligence on Japan's Xiang-Gan Operation, aimed at pressuring Chongqing through military advances in Hunan. Deputy Chief Bai Chongxi proposed Plan A for a deep-lure annihilation south of Changsha, while Chen Cheng and Xue Yue favored Plan B for resistance north of the city. After tense debates, Chiang approved Plan B, influenced by Xue's insistence to avoid Changsha's fall and counter Japanese propaganda.   

fWotD Episode 3246: Loveday (1458) Welcome to featured Wiki of the Day, your daily dose of knowledge from Wikipedia's finest articles.The featured article for Wednesday, 25 March 2026, is Loveday (1458).The Loveday of 1458 (also known as the Annunciation Loveday) was a ritualistic reconciliation between warring factions of the English nobility that took place at St Paul's Cathedral on 25 March 1458. Following the outbreak of the Wars of the Roses in 1455, it was the culmination of lengthy negotiations initiated by King Henry VI to resolve the lords' rivalries. English politics had become increasingly factional during his reign, and was exacerbated in 1453 when he became catatonic. This effectively left the government leaderless, and eventually the king's cousin, and at the time heir to the throne, Richard, Duke of York, was appointed protector during the king's illness. Alongside York were his allies from the politically and militarily powerful Neville family, led by Richard, Earl of Salisbury, and his eldest son, Richard, Earl of Warwick. When the king returned to health a year later, the protectorship ended but partisanship within the government did not.Supporters of King Henry and his wife, Queen Margaret, have been loosely called "Lancastrians", the king being head of the House of Lancaster, while the duke and his party are considered "Yorkists", after his title of Duke of York. By the 1450s, York felt increasingly excluded from government, and in May 1455—possibly fearing an ambush by his enemies—led an army against the King at the First Battle of St Albans. There, in what has been called more of a series of assassinations than a battle, the personal enemies of York and the Nevilles—the Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland, and Lord Clifford—perished.In 1458 the king attempted to unite his feuding nobles with a public display of friendship under the auspices of the Church at St Paul's Cathedral. Following much discussion and negotiation, and amid the presence of large, armed, noble retinues which almost led to another outbreak of war, a compromise was announced. To celebrate, a procession was held by all the major participants, who walked hand-in-hand from Westminster Palace to the cathedral. Queen Margaret was partnered with York, and other adversaries were paired off accordingly, and the sons of the dead Lancastrian lords took their fathers' places. Certain reparations were ordained, all by the Yorkist lords, who for their part accepted full responsibility for the Battle of St Albans. They were ordered to make payments to the dead lords' widows and sons, and masses were paid for the souls of all who had died. Contemporaries varied in their views of the accord. Some wrote verses expressing hope that it would lead to a new-found peace and prosperity; others were more pessimistic as to its value.In the long run, the king's Loveday and its agreements had no long-lasting benefit. Within a few months, petty violence between the lords had broken out again and, within the year, York and Lancaster faced each other at the Battle of Blore Heath. Historians debate who—if anyone—gained from the 1458 Loveday. On the one hand, the crown publicised its role as the ultimate court of appeal but, conversely, although the Yorkists were bound to pay large sums in compensation, this was done with money already owed by the government. Fundamentally, factional discord was highlighted on the public stage, and the war it was intended to prevent was only deferred.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 00:15 UTC on Wednesday, 25 March 2026.For the full current version of the article, see Loveday (1458) on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Bluesky at @wikioftheday.com.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm generative Joanna.

The episode recounts the January 23–24, 1942 night raid at Balikpapan in the Dutch East Indies, seven weeks after Pearl Harbor, when Commander Paul Talbot led four aging Clemson-class destroyers (USS John D. Ford, Pope, Parrott, and Paul Jones) through the Makassar Strait toward burning Dutch-demolished oil facilities to attack a Japanese invasion convoy anchored off the coast. With no air cover, limited equipment, and unreliable Mark 15 torpedoes, the destroyers used the refinery fires for navigation and target silhouette, fired the first American surface-launched torpedoes of WWII against Japan, shifted to gunfire amid smoke and confusion, and withdrew before dawn with all four ships intact. Postwar records confirm four Japanese transports and patrol boat P-37 sunk, additional damage inflicted, but the invasion succeeded; the hosts emphasize morale, tactical lessons, and torpedo-failure documentation. The episode closes honoring Hospital Corpsman 3rd Class Manuel Reyes Denton, killed in Vietnam in 1963 during a rescue mission.

Mark and Rachel celebrate the arrival of spring, swapping stories about their favorite outdoor activities at home and around the Winchester area.Upcoming Events:Celtic Fest - Saturday, March 14, 12 PM – 5 PMhttps://friendsofoldtown.org/event/celtic-fest-2/First Battle of Kernstown Tour - Saturday, March 21, 9 AM – 4 PMhttps://visitwinchesterva.com/event/first-battle-of-kernstown-161st-anniversary-tour/

March 5, 2026

A storm‑tossed blockade‑runner, a satchel of Confederate gold, and a woman whose secrets shaped the early days of the Civil War—this episode uncovers the life of famed spy Rose O'Neal Greenhow. From Washington parlors to prison cells to the dark waters off Fort Fisher, her story reveals the hidden world of Southern espionage and the final choice that bound her to the cause she refused to abandon. Join the Community on Patreon: Want more Southern Mysteries? You can hear the Southern Mysteries show archive of 60+ episodes along with Patron exclusive podcast, Audacious: Tales of American Crime and more when you become a patron of the show. You can immediately access exclusive content now at patreon.com/southernmysteries

Maybe not it may have been a publicity stunt...but he's still a repbulican...by decree...and thats the 5th story we talk about...you'll see...HA!

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fWotD Episode 3187: CSS General Earl Van Dorn Welcome to featured Wiki of the Day, your daily dose of knowledge from Wikipedia's finest articles.The featured article for Sunday, 25 January 2026, is CSS General Earl Van Dorn.CSS General Earl Van Dorn was a cottonclad warship used by the Confederate States of America during the American Civil War. She was purchased for Confederate service in New Orleans, Louisiana, in early 1862 to serve with the River Defense Fleet in the war's Western theater. She was converted into a cottonclad warship by installing an iron-covered framework of timbers on her bow that served as a ram, and protecting her machinery with timber bulkheads packed with cotton. A sidewheel steamer, she was 182 feet (55 m) long and was armed with a single 32-pounder cannon on the bow.Having been assigned to defend the northern stretches of the Confederate-held portion of the Mississippi River, General Earl Van Dorn left New Orleans in late March 1862 and arrived at Memphis, Tennessee, early the next month. On May 10, she fought with the River Defense Fleet against the Union Navy in the Battle of Plum Point Bend, where she rammed and sank the ironclad USS Mound City. On June 6, General Earl Van Dorn was the only vessel of the River Defense Fleet to escape destruction or capture at the First Battle of Memphis. After withdrawing up the Yazoo River to Liverpool Landing, Mississippi, General Earl Van Dorn, along with two other Confederate warships, was burnt by the Confederates to prevent her capture by approaching Union vessels.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 00:53 UTC on Sunday, 25 January 2026.For the full current version of the article, see CSS General Earl Van Dorn on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Bluesky at @wikioftheday.com.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm generative Kajal.

A new study found that subconciously perceiving Batman on a train makes people more likely to give up their seat to a pregnant woman. Is it because he's going to break your back?Sega has been publishing definitive editions of games they've released. Could that actually be harming sales of their games? Death games have been around for thousands of years, but Quintin Tarantino has gotten his knickers in a knot over Hunger Games ripping off Battle Royale.***We enjoyed a nice drink of Rez which you can get a 10% discount when you type NERDS at the checkout from the Rez website at www.drinkrez.com ***Resources MentionedEver wonder why your biggest moments of kindness happen right after life throws you a curveball? Today we're diving into the Batman Effect — where one unexpected moment can turn an ordinary person into a hero. (Unexpected events and prosocial behavior: the Batman effect | npj Mental Health Research)Sega's got gamers waiting, wallets in hand—but are we being played? Let's talk definitive editions, delayed releases, and why your next game purchase could be a trap you'll regret. (Sega is aware its past “definitive version” releases could be deterring players from buying games at launch - AUTOMATON WEST)Battle Royale or Hunger Games—which deserves the crown for originality? And does it even matter when Hollywood cashes in? (Quentin Tarantino Slams 'Hunger Games' for Ripping Off 'Battle Royale')Full Show Notes : https://docs.google.com/document/d/1OxKhukgG4xAwyFh8BWT_sCoK4ib43XJy2OL8Tbn1rPI/edit?usp=sharing***If you'd like to be featured on the show, send us an email: Nerds.Amalgamated@gmail.comFollow us on: Facebook || Twitter || TwitchJoin the Community on Discord: https://discord.gg/VqdBVH5aAnd watch us on YouTube: Nerds Amalgamated - YouTube And donate on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/nerdsamalgamated

In this week's episode of The Learning Curve, co-hosts U-Arkansas Prof. Albert Cheng and Center for Strong Public Schools' Alisha Searcy speak with Sir Hew Strachan, Professor of International Relations at the University of St Andrews, Scotland, and recipient of the 2016 Pritzker Literature Award for Lifetime Achievement in Military Writing. Prof. Sir Hew, author of numerous award-winning books, including The First World War, the basis of the definitive 10-part Channel 4/BBC documentary, discusses how World War I shaped the 20th century and beyond. He explores how European imperial rivalries contributed to the conflict; the role of Germany's Kaiser Wilhelm II; the First Battle of the Marne, the Battle of Verdun, and the Battle of the Somme; and the significance of V. I. Lenin's 1917 return to Russia sparking the Bolshevik Revolution. Prof. Strachan also examines how the Zimmermann Telegram contributed to U.S. entry into the war; U.S. Army General John "Black Jack" Pershing as the commander of the American Expeditionary Forces; and the ways in which new mechanized weapons made WWI the first modern war. Sir Hew concludes by reflecting on the Great War's enduring impact on the world today and reads an excerpt from his forthcoming essay due to be released later this month.

Video will release later tonight. Sergeant Johnson participated in the very first battle of the Human-Covenant War. You know that? The Library - Halo Lorecast is a JumperScape Audio production created by Austin Murphy. "Keep What You Steal" was composed by Jafet Meza. Connect with the audience and support us at jumperscape.com! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week we're going back to a weird, weird version of 19th-century Nicaragua with Walker! Join us as we learn about William Walker's ill-fated efforts in Sonora, the Filibuster War, the El Nicaraguense newspaper, and more! Sources: Monty Python's Flying Circus Sketch: "Sam Peckinpah's 'Salad Days'": https://youtu.be/XL54pji1nfA?si=o0UbrhVH1ewe3p3J Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walker_(film) Rotten Tomatoes: https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/walker Roger Ebert's Review: https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/walker-1987 Craig J Clark, "Alex Cox Says Goodbye--and Good Riddance--To Hollywood," Crooked Marquee, available at https://crookedmarquee.com/alex-cox-says-goodbye-and-good-riddance-to-hollywood/ Rufus Kay Wyllys, "William Walker's Invasion Of Sonora, 1854" Arizona Historical Review, http://hdl.handle.net/10150/623744 Rufus Kay Wyllys, "The Republic of Lower California, 1853-1854," Pacific Historical Review 2:2 (1933): 194-213. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3633829 Robert G. Cleland, "Bandini's Account of William Walker's Invasion of Lower California," Huntington Library Quarterly 7:2 (1944): 153-66. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3815990 The Sierra citizen. (Downieville, CA), Feb. 11 1854. https://www.loc.gov/item/sn86058097/1854-02-11/ed-1/. The Nevada journal. (Nevada City, CA), Apr. 14 1854. https://www.loc.gov/item/sn84026884/1854-04-14/ed-1/ Joseph Bilby, "Through Hades with his Hat Off: The strange career of A.J. Morrison," Military Images 11:5 (1990): 14-15. https://www.jstor.org/stable/44032253 Walter Johnson, "The Grey-Eyed Man of Destiny," in River of Dark Dreams: Slavery and Empire in the Cotton Kingdom (Harvard University Press, Belknap Press, 2013). https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctvjsf5q7.17 Michel Gobat, Empire by Invitation: William Walker and Manifest Destiny in Central America (Harvard University Press, 2018). https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv24w64hk.7 Issue of El Nicaraguense from 3/12/1856, UT Austin Archives: available at https://collections.lib.utexas.edu/catalog/utblac:c81aa1b7-44bd-444c-b097-de95dd810392 Issues of El Nicaraguense, Volume 1: https://www.latinamericanstudies.org/nicaragua/El_Nicaraguense-Aug-Nov-1856.pdf James Carson Jamison, With Walker in Nicaragua. First Battle of Rivas excerpt available at https://play.google.com/books/reader?id=GYpnAAAAMAAJ&pg=GBS.PA28&printsec=frontcover&output=reader&hl=en

With fears that the powerful Danish fleet would join with the French against the British, what great gamble did Horatio Nelson take? After taking the drastic decision to attack the Danish fleet in their own harbour, what challenges did Nelson and his men face? How did the bloody Battle of Copenhagen in 1801 then unfold? And, what would be the consequences of this epic naval clash for Britain, Napoleon's France, and Nelson himself? Join Dominic and Tom as they discuss the First Battle of Copenhagen, in the next dramatic phase of Nelson's triumphant, though very dangerous, career… ______ Start generating your own greener electricity for less, with £500 off Solar. Visit https://www.hivehome.com/history for more information. T&Cs apply**Output and savings varies by season, electricity usage and system size. Paid-for surplus requires an eligible SEG tariff. Offer for new customers only. Ends 17th November. Search Vanguard to find out more. When investing, your capital is at risk. Tax rules apply. _______ Twitter: @TheRestHistory @holland_tom @dcsandbrook Video Editor: Jack Meek Social Producer: Harry Balden Assistant Producer: Aaliyah Akude Producer: Tabby Syrett Senior Producer: Theo Young-Smith Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

fWotD Episode 3075: Otto Hahn Welcome to featured Wiki of the Day, your daily dose of knowledge from Wikipedia's finest articles.The featured article for Sunday, 5 October 2025, is Otto Hahn.Otto Hahn (German: [ˈɔtoː ˈhaːn] ; 8 March 1879 – 28 July 1968) was a German chemist who was a pioneer in the field of radiochemistry. He is referred to as the father of nuclear chemistry and discoverer of nuclear fission, the science behind nuclear reactors and nuclear weapons. Hahn and Lise Meitner discovered isotopes of the radioactive elements radium, thorium, protactinium and uranium. He also discovered the phenomena of atomic recoil and nuclear isomerism, and pioneered rubidium–strontium dating. In 1938, Hahn, Meitner and Fritz Strassmann discovered nuclear fission, for which Hahn alone was awarded the 1944 Nobel Prize in Chemistry.A graduate of the University of Marburg, which awarded him a doctorate in 1901, Hahn studied under Sir William Ramsay at University College London and at McGill University in Montreal under Ernest Rutherford, where he discovered several new radioactive isotopes. He returned to Germany in 1906; Emil Fischer let him use a former woodworking shop in the basement of the Chemical Institute at the University of Berlin as a laboratory. Hahn completed his habilitation in early 1907 and became a Privatdozent. In 1912, he became head of the Radioactivity Department of the newly founded Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Chemistry (KWIC). Working with Austrian physicist Lise Meitner in the building that now bears their names, they made a series of groundbreaking discoveries, culminating with her isolation of the longest-lived isotope of protactinium in 1918.During World War I he served with a Landwehr regiment on the Western Front, and with the chemical warfare unit headed by Fritz Haber on the Western, Eastern and Italian fronts, earning the Iron Cross (2nd Class) for his part in the First Battle of Ypres. After the war he became the head of the KWIC, while remaining in charge of his own department. Between 1934 and 1938, he worked with Strassmann and Meitner on the study of isotopes created by neutron bombardment of uranium and thorium, which led to the discovery of nuclear fission. He was an opponent of Nazism and the persecution of Jews by the Nazi Party that caused the removal of many of his colleagues, including Meitner, who was forced to flee Germany in 1938. During World War II, he worked on the German nuclear weapons program, cataloguing the fission products of uranium. At the end of the war he was arrested by the Allied forces and detained in Farm Hall with nine other German scientists, from July 1945 to January 1946.Hahn served as the last president of the Kaiser Wilhelm Society for the Advancement of Science in 1946 and as the founding president of its successor, the Max Planck Society from 1948 to 1960. In 1959 in Berlin he co-founded the Federation of German Scientists, a non-governmental organisation committed to the ideal of responsible science. As he worked to rebuild German science, he became one of the most influential and respected citizens of post-war West Germany.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 00:30 UTC on Sunday, 5 October 2025.For the full current version of the article, see Otto Hahn on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Bluesky at @wikioftheday.com.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm generative Salli.

A special edition of Pratt on Texas from the Gonzales Memorial Museum sitting 10 feet from the “Come and Take It” cannon with museum director Gary Schurig. Recorded in May of 2022.

Ok guys this was the livestream i did on youtube. So if you want video of it go herehttps://www.youtube.com/live/PvOPDLlhWO4?si=7Nhzi3uCakCNSytmIt was so much fun just hanging out and goofing around. So sit back and enjoyAlso new store announcmentThewhiskeyshaman.comBadmotivatorbarrels.com/shop/?aff=3https://www.instagram.com/zsmithwhiskeyandmixology?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igsh=MWZ4dGp2MzlucjVvdw==Who has a. birthday on september 6Famous individuals who were born on September 6 include actor Idris Elba, singer Macy Gray, and comedian Jeff Foxworthy. Actors and performersIdris Elba: English actor known for The Wire and Luther.Macy Gray: American R&B and soul singer.Rosie Perez: Academy Award-nominated actress and choreographer.Anika Noni Rose: Tony Award-winning actress and singer.Naomie Harris: British actress nominated for an Academy Award for her role in Moonlight.Jeff Foxworthy: Comedian known for his "You might be a redneck" jokes.Jane Curtin: Emmy Award-winning actress and original cast member of Saturday Night Live.Swoosie Kurtz: Tony Award-winning actress.Lauren Lapkus: Actress and comedian known for her role in Orange Is the New Black.Justina Machado: Actress known for her work on Six Feet Under and One Day at a Time.Michael Winslow: Actor and comedian known for his vocal sound effects, particularly in the Police Academy films.Asher Angel: Actor who starred in the film Shazam! and the series Andi Mack. Roger Waters: Co-founder, bassist, and songwriter for the rock band Pink Floyd.Dolores O'Riordan: Late lead singer of the Irish rock band The Cranberries.Lil Xan: American rapper and singer. Jane Addams: Sociologist, pacifist, and social activist who co-founded Hull House.John Dalton: English chemist, physicist, and meteorologist who developed the modern atomic theory.Marquis de Lafayette: French aristocrat and military officer who fought in the American Revolutionary War.Joseph P. Kennedy Sr.: American businessman, investor, and politician, and father of U.S. President John F. Kennedy.Chris Christie: American politician and former governor of New JerseyWere any notable historical events on September 6?Throughout history, September 6 has been the date of several notable events, from the first circumnavigation of the globe to assassinations and record-breaking sports achievements. World events1522: Ferdinand Magellan's expedition completes the first circumnavigation of the world. After Magellan was killed in the Philippines, his one remaining ship, the Victoria, returned to Spain under the command of Juan Sebastian de Elcano.1914: The First Battle of the Marne begins. This decisive battle during World War I involved a French and British counter-offensive against the German army, northeast of Paris.1941: The Nazi German regime orders all Jews in German-occupied territory to wear a Star of David.1966: South African Prime Minister Hendrik Verwoerd is assassinated. The architect of the apartheid system was stabbed to death in a parliamentary meeting in Cape Town.1972: Munich Olympics massacre. After a failed rescue attempt at the Fürstenfeldbruck air base, nine Israeli Olympic team members held hostage by Palestinian terrorists were killed. Five of the terrorists and one West German police officer were also killed.1991: The Soviet Union recognizes the independence of the Baltic states, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania.1991: The Russian city of Leningrad is renamed St. Petersburg. Its name was changed back from Leningrad, which it had been called since 1924 in honor of Vladimir Lenin.1997: Funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales. The funeral for Princess Diana, who had died in a car crash on August 31, was televised to an estimated 2.5 billion viewers worldwide. 1870: The first woman in the U.S. legally casts a ballot. Louisa Ann Swain of Laramie, Wyoming, voted in the territory's general election. Wyoming was the first U.S. territory to grant women's suffrage.

The Trump administration has ramped up its attacks on museums and The Smithsonian. We're recoding a special reaction episode that will appear in our newsletter - sign up now to get it. In the meantime, here's an episode from the archives on the founding of the institution.It's August 15th. This day (actually Aug 10th) in 1846, President Polk signed into law a bill establishing the Smithsonian Institution, after almost a decade of squabbling about how the United States would use the money donated to it by Englishman James Smithson.Jody, NIki, and Kellie discuss the various ways in which the Smithsonian money could have been spent, why it was used the way it was — and whether the currrent institution honors Smithson's original vision.Don't forget to sign up for our America250 Watch newsletter, where you'll also get links and lots more historical tidbits.https://thisdaypod.substack.com/Find out more about the show at thisdaypod.comThis Day In Esoteric Political History is a proud member of Radiotopia from PRX.Your support helps foster independent, artist-owned podcasts and award-winning stories.If you want to support the show directly, you can do so on our website: ThisDayPod.comGet in touch if you have any ideas for future topics, or just want to say hello. Follow us on social @thisdaypodOur team: Jacob Feldman, Researcher/Producer; Brittani Brown, Producer; Khawla Nakua, Transcripts; music by Teen Daze and Blue Dot Sessions; Audrey Mardavich is our Executive Producer at Radiotopia Learn about your ad choices: dovetail.prx.org/ad-choices

Trailer for the novel 'The Prince with the Silver Hand', if you like this, you'll like that.

Union troops, facing increasing resistance and mounting casualties, began to retreat in what soon turned into a disorganised ...

South Korean President Lee Jae-myung has announced nominations for several key positions handling North Korean issues, continuing to select pro-engagement officials for inter-Korean roles. NK News Correspondent Joon Ha Park talks about the latest appointments, as well as South Korea's live-fire artillery exercises near the inter-Korean border and North Korea's launch of about 10 artillery rockets from near Pyongyang.  He also discusses his interview with retired Vice Adm. Suh Young-gil, who led South Korean naval forces at the First Battle of Yeonpyeong, to mark the 26th anniversary of the pivotal inter-Korean clash. About the podcast: The North Korea News Podcast is a weekly podcast hosted by Jacco Zwetsloot exclusively for NK News, covering all things DPRK — from news to extended interviews with leading experts and analysts in the field, along with insight from our very own journalists.

The Chinese use Pakistan as a cheap instrument to triangulate India between them. It is safer to presume that the Chinese now see Pakistan as an extension of their Western Theatre Command. A two-front war is on. Except, the Chinese see no need to fight it directly. They have an able and willing proxy in Pakistan. Watch this week's #ThePrint #NationalInterest with Shekhar Gupta --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Read this week's National Interest here: https://theprint.in/national-interest/op-sindoor-is-the-first-battle-in-indias-two-front-war-a-vicious-pawn-in-a-kings-gambit/2650009/  

Fancy setting us a gaming challenge? Get in touch here!In this first episode for a while we dive into GTA and all things that caused Matt's PC to explode. From there we create a unique Battle Royale game which will truly knock your socks off!Thanks for listening and please leave us a review and subscribe if you enjoyed it. It really helps us out. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-gaming-blender/id1597738101Also please get in touch with us at @gamingblendpod or thegamingblenderpod@gmail.com with your ideas for new games and challenges.We have begun to update our YouTube channel with video playthroughs and we hope to put more up there soon https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZTPuScm5BTf8DdwvaCj0jQKeep blending!

Marine veteran George Kite shares his account of close combat in Fallujah, the brutal realities of war, and the lifelong impact of PTSD in this week's Urban Valor episode. From growing up poor in South Carolina—sometimes homeless—to enlisting on his 17th birthday, George's journey is one of survival, grit, and raw honesty.He remembers the chaos of the First Battle of Fallujah, including rooftop firefights, mortar attacks, and moments that still haunt him decades later. George opens up about accidentally shooting a combatant, encountering child soldiers, losing friends in battle, and the emotional fallout that followed. His story captures what so many combat veterans face but rarely share publicly.George also describes life after war: working with the Army National Guard, battling depression, and discovering a new purpose by supporting fellow veterans through mental health challenges. From sniper school to urban warfare instructor to DC security assignments, George's Marine Corps career is filled with intense and emotional moments that every American should hear.This is not just a war story. It's a human story. One of courage, trauma, transformation, and the quiet fight that continues long after the battlefield.

Are you in the Japanese Nintendo lottery? Let us know your results and whether it was worth the drama here: Podcast@VideoGamesChronicle.com Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Babur, a descendant of Timur and Genghis Khan, had established a power base in Kabul but the victory at Panipat gave him control of Delhi and Agra, allowing him to establish the foundations of what would become the Mughal Empire in ...

Last time we spoke about the January 28th Incident. In January of 1932, tensions escalated in Shanghai as anti-Japanese sentiments surged after Japan's invasion of Manchuria. Orchestrated by Yoshiko Kawashima, a Japanese spy, a provocation led to violence, sparking outrage among Japanese expatriates. Japan demanded apologies and compensation from China, threatening military action if their demands were unmet. As the Japanese military amassed forces in Shanghai, the Chinese 19th Route Army prepared to resist, igniting the conflict known as the January 28th Incident, marking the beginning of a fierce struggle for control. Amidst chaos, the Nanjing government struggled to respond to Japan's escalating aggression in Shanghai. Chiang Kai-Shek prioritized avoiding war, urging a diplomatic approach to protect Shanghai's economy. Despite pressure, the 19th Route Army was ordered to withdraw, but tensions flared when Japan attacked the Chinese garrison. The 19th Route Army fiercely resisted, leading to intense battles. As Japan sent reinforcements, Chiang faced mounting protests and criticism for his passive stance, questioning whether he could maintain his strategy against the encroaching enemy.   #144 The First Battle of Shanghai 1932 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 last episode we covered the January 28th Incident. At 11:30 pm on January 28, Japan ordered 2,300 Japanese Marines to advance westward along every branch road on the west side of North Sichuan Road, without waiting for a response. This road, which crosses into the northern area of the International Settlement and has frequently been designated as a Japanese defense zone, includes Target Road (now known as Wujin Road in Hongkou District, Shanghai), Qiujiang Road, and Yokohama Road. Their objective was to seize the Songhu Railway defense line at Tiantong'an Station. They faced strong resistance from the 19th Route Army, further escalating the conflict. In the early hours of the 29th, Japanese aircraft launched from the Notoro seaplane carrier, which was moored on the Huangpu River, attacked the Chinese district of Zhabei. Both the Commercial Press located at No. 584 Baoshan Road and the Oriental Library, the largest private library in China with over 300,000 books, were completely destroyed. That same day the 19th Route Army sent a telegram to the entire nation concerning the situation: Do forgive me it's a rough translation “Urgent. Dear Sir and Madam, the Japanese have occupied our three northeastern provinces, changing the color of our territory and making our nation perish. Recently, they have killed and set fire in Shanghai, and vagrants are everywhere, doing the most despicable and violent things in the world. Gunboats are coming one after another, and the Marines are all landed. At 12:00 a.m. on the 28th, they openly invaded our defense line in Zhabei, Shanghai, and challenged us. Guang Nai and others are soldiers, and they only know that it is their duty to defend themselves and defend their land. They cannot give up even an inch of land or an inch of grass. They resist to save the country and protect the race. Even if they sacrifice only one person and one bullet, they will never retreat and lose the personality of the soldiers of the Republic of China. This thing and this ambition are exposed to the sun and the sun and are known to the world. The spirits of our ancestors in heaven are truly relying on it”. On the morning of January 29, Chiang Kai-shek met with He Yingqin and Zhu Peide to discuss countermeasures. Simultaneously Zhu Peide convened a meeting with He Yingqin, Gu Zhutong, Li Jishen, Deng Shizeng, Lin Wei, and others to address issues such as defense deployment, the security of Nanjing and the Yangtze River, and resistance against Japan. Chiang Kai-Shek established the principles going forward for negotiations with Japan, emphasizing the need to prepare for talks while actively resisting. He stated that negotiations must have a clear final line of defense and a maximum limit that would not compromise administrative and territorial integrity, undermine the spirit of the Nine-Power Treaty, or jeopardize national sovereignty. If these limits were exceeded and unacceptable concessions were made, a decisive battle would be fought, even at the cost of defeat and death.  The defense and military strategy for Beijing and Shanghai included the 19th Route Army defending Shanghai with full strength, while the front guard army consisting of the 87th and 88th divisions would protect Nanjing. He Yingqin would remain in Nanjing, overseeing all party, government, and military personnel left behind. Chiang, along with the Central Political Council of the Kuomintang, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the National Government, and Chen Mingshu, all expressed their commitment to resisting Japanese aggression. Chiang also sent a telegram to He Chengjun, director of the Hubei Province Pacification Office, and Xu Tingyao, commander of the Fourth Division, stating "Last night, the Japanese invaders attacked our 19th Route Defense Line in Zhabei, Shanghai, and the battle is ongoing. Our army is determined to fight to the death. Their naval forces in Han and Xun will likely engage in military operations. We urge you to remain vigilant and defend yourselves, never yielding to them. The Fourth Division should concentrate on strict defense in Wuhan and avoid dispersal. If military funds become scarce, local governments will need to raise them independently." The National Government Military Committee appointed Chiang Kai-shek, Feng Yuxiang, Yan Xishan, and Zhang Xueliang as members responsible for mobilizing the army and commanding the Shanghai War. Chiang Kai-Shek officially resumed power after resigning to prevent a surrender and committed to a prolonged resistance. On January 30, the Chinese Nationalist Government announced the relocation of the capital to Luoyang. Chiang Kai-shek sent a telegram urging resistance against the Japanese and dispatched the elite Fifth Army to reinforce Shanghai. That night, Dai Ji, the commander of the Songhu Garrison, took charge of military operations in Shanghai, overseeing the 19th Route Army. The commander-in-chief was Jiang Guangnai, with Cai Tingkai as the army commander and division commanders Qu Shounian, Mao Weishou, and Shen Guanghan. Chiang Kai-Shek then issued a telegram to his troops across the nation and again I apologize for the rough translation. "Since the Northeast Incident began, the Central Government has been enduring humiliation and maintaining peace in order to avoid war and protect the lifeline of the country. It hopes to use justice and fairness to awaken the Japanese pirates. Unexpectedly, the more we tolerate, the more arrogant they become. When the Shanghai Incident occurred, we accepted their demands with great pain, but the Japanese pirates still brazenly pressed on, repeatedly attacking our Shanghai Defense Force, bombing civilian houses, throwing bombs on the streets, and our compatriots were ravaged. The country is about to perish. Anyone with blood in his veins would rather endure it. Since the 19th Route Army has risen up to defend itself bravely, our entire army In this time of national destruction and extinction, when the revolutionary soldiers are facing imminent danger, they should fight for the dignity of the country, strive for the survival of the nation, fulfill their responsibilities for the revolution, and be determined to die rather than live in disgrace, so as to deal with the brutal Japan that destroys peace and despises faith and integrity... Chiang Kai-shek and his comrades have shared hardships for a long time. Although I am now in the opposition, I am willing to swear to live and die with the soldiers and fulfill my bounden duty. I am here to inform you in advance with my blood and sincerity, and ask you to be determined and work hard, share the same hatred with the enemy, do not be arrogant, maintain the spirit of sacrifice, stay ready to fight, and save the country from danger." From that day on, the various ministries, commissions and committees of the National Government began to move to Luoyang, but the Military Commission and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs remained in Nanjing . At the same time, the frontline troops were ordered to be jointly commanded by the Minister of Military Affairs He Yingqin and the Chief of the General Staff Zhu Peide.  Typically Chinese sources breakdown what is known as the First Battle of Shanghai into three phases. In the previous episode we looked through the event up until the point of the first phase. After the initial fighting, both the 19th route army and Japanese agreed to a ceasefire so they could strengthen their positions and at least allow some form of diplomacy to occur. This went into effect on the 29th. As we mentioned, immediately afterwards the Japanese rapidly began reinforcing their position in Shanghai. They first sent the Sasebo 26th Squadron on the 30th, bearing 474 troops of the Sasebo 3rd Special Marine Corps alongside supplies. The next day the aircraft carriers Kaga and Hosho came over with 30 aircraft from the 1st air fleet. Then the cruisers Naka, Yura and Abukuma alongside 4 torpedo boats came bearing another 2000 marines. On February 1st the Terukoku Maru brought over the Yokosuka 1st Special Marine corps, roughly 525 men who landed at Huishan Wharf. With all that said and done, roughly 7000 Japanese troops had been brought over. On February 1st, the IJN warships began bombarding Nanjing from the Yangtze River, prompting Yu Jishi to frantically demand Chiang Kai-Shek transfer more troops to Shanghai. That night the Japanese light cruiser Tenryu, the protected cruisers Hirado and Taima, and the seven ships of the Navy's 23rd Destroyer Squadron fired upon Nanjing using four 140mm guns, 12 152mm single-mounted rapid-fire guns, 12 120mm single-mounted guns, and 20 76mm single-mounted rapid-fire guns. The rich and officials fled the city for refuge, but the Japanese army did not land any men to follow up the attack. Simultaneously 40,000 Shanghai workers from over 20 Japanese owned cotton mills began an anti-Japanese strike, being heavily backed by Communists. The workers began aiding the 19th route army to blockade the Japanese in the factories and streets and sabotage what they could.  On February 2nd, the Japanese army attacked Wusong several times, but was repelled each time. On the 3rd the Japanese expanded their attacks against Zhabei, Baziqiao and other locations, but the Chinese defenders successfully repelled these assaults as well. On the 4th, the Japanese launched their first major offensive, which extended the conflict to Jiangwan and Wusong. Following a day of intense fighting, the Wusong fort was destroyed by enemy bombardment; however, the Japanese army was unable to land due to the determined resistance of the Chinese defenders. The anti-aircraft artillery company from the 88th Division, reassigned to the 4th Regiment of the 156th Brigade of the 19th Route Army, managed to shoot down a Japanese aircraft. After the failure of the general offensive, Yukiichi Shiozawa was dismissed and sent back to Japan. Vice Admiral Yoshisaburo Nomura, the newly appointed commander of the Third Fleet, succeeded Shiozawa. After Nomura assumed his role, the Japanese army began to bolster its forces. Japan had initially planned to deploy troops when tensions escalated in Shanghai, but the navy had opposed this move. However, as the situation deteriorated, the navy was compelled to seek assistance from the army. On February 2, the Japanese cabinet officially decided to send troops. In response to the urgent circumstances in Shanghai, they resolved to dispatch the Shanghai Dispatch Mixed Brigade, led by Brigade Commander Major General Shimomoto Kuma, along with the 9th Division, commanded by Lieutenant General Ueda Kenkichi. The Shanghai Dispatch Mixed Brigade and the Second Independent Tank Squadron were prioritized for transport. Concurrently, the Japanese Navy also sent the Yokosuka 2nd Special Marine Corps to Shanghai. The 24th Mixed Brigade landed in Wusong on the afternoon of February 7. By this time, the combined forces of the Japanese navy, army, and air force had exceeded 10,000 personnel. At dawn on February 8, the Japanese Army's 24th Mixed Brigade launched an attack on Zhanghuabang, Yunzaobang, and Wusong Town along three routes, but they were repelled by our forces. Meanwhile on February 4, the National Government Military Commission sent out a telegram that divided the country into four defense zones. The first zone, which includes the area north of the Yellow River, was assigned to Zhang Xueliang as the commander-in-chief. The second zone, covering the area south of the Yellow River, was placed under the command of Chiang Kai-shek. The third zone, encompassing the area south of the Yangtze River as well as Fujian and Zhejiang provinces, was led by He Yingqin. The fourth zone, which includes Guangdong and Guangxi, was commanded by Chen Jitang. The telegram also stated that, aside from maintaining troops for local stability, all commanders were to concentrate their forces within their respective defense zones to confront the aggressive Japanese. Additionally, a directive was issued for the provinces of Sichuan, Hunan, Guizhou, Hubei, Shaanxi, and Henan to send troops to serve as a general reserve. On February 5, upon learning that the Japanese army had been redeployed from mainland China to Shanghai, Chairman of the Military Commission Chiang Kai-shek sent a telegram from Luoyang to He Yingqin. He instructed that if the Japanese forces landed, the Chinese Air Force would engage in combat. Additionally, Chiang sent a message of condolence to Jiang Guangnai, Cai Tingkai, and Dai Ji of the 19th Route Army, stating "Brothers, you have been fighting valiantly for a week. Each time I reflect on the tremendous sacrifices made by the soldiers and their dedication, I feel a deep sadness... If necessary, Zhong (Zheng) can come to lead in person. When the Air Force enters the fray, the Army must establish various signals in advance to communicate with it and ensure coordinated efforts..." On the same day, the 88th Division arrived in Suzhou. On February 6, Chiang ordered the 261st Brigade of the 87th Division to move from Nanjing to reinforce Kunshan. The troops reached Kunshan on February 7. On February 8, Chiang directed He Yingqin to transfer an artillery battalion to support the 19th Route Army. Then, on February 9, Chiang Kai-shek mobilized the First Division, led by Commander Hu Zongnan, and the Seventh Division, commanded by Wang Jun, to prepare for reinforcement of the 19th Route Army in Shanghai. February 8th marks the second phase of the battle. On the 10th, to ensure that the 88th Division of the Central Army complied with the orders from the 19th Route Army of the Guangdong Army, Chiang Kai-shek sent a telegram to Yu Jishi insisting that "your troops must strictly follow the commands of Commander-in-Chief Chiang and coordinate their movements with allied forces." The Japanese Marine Corps, under Yukio Shiozawa, initiated a three-pronged encirclement attack from Hongkou. The National Army mounted a determined defense and ultimately repelled the Japanese forces, pursuing and destroying them, which significantly lowered their morale. On February 11, Chen Cheng, commander of the Central Army's 18th Army, sent a telegram to Chiang Kai-shek from Ji'an, Jiangxi, reporting that the troops had not been paid for nearly two months and were lacking food. At that time, the National Government was planning to redeploy the National Army that had been engaged in suppressing the Communists in Jiangxi to Zhejiang and Shanghai and to relocate the capital to Luoyang.  On February 12, following a battle at Caojiaqiao, the Japanese army's strategy to consolidate their forces was entirely disrupted. The next morning, February 13, the Japanese 24th Mixed Brigade crossed the Caojiaqiao Bridge in Zhuozaobang and engaged with the Nationalist army. Seizing the moment, the 19th Route Army Headquarters aimed to annihilate the Japanese forces. The Nationalist army surrounded the Japanese troops near the Yong'an Cotton Mill. Additionally, 60 members of a suicide squad launched a suicide attack, resulting in the complete destruction of 1,600 Japanese soldiers. The Japanese army faced significant losses, thwarting their attempt to swiftly capture Wusong. On February 14, Chiang ordered the 88th and 87th Divisions, which were already stationed in Nanxiang and Kunshan near Shanghai, to be reorganized into the Fifth Army. He appointed Zhang Zhizhong, a volunteer eager to fight against the Japanese, as the commander of the Fifth Army. This new army was placed under the unified command of the 19th Route Army and took over the defense line stretching from the northern end of Jiangwan through Miaoxing to the western end of Wusong. It served as the left-wing army, while the 19th Route Army acted as the right-wing, tasked with defending Jiangwan, the area south of Dachang, and the urban region of Shanghai. To replenish the 19th Route Army's losses, Chiang repeatedly ordered reinforcements from various locations. For instance, on February 15, Shangguan Yunxiang dispatched 500 active soldiers from Bengbu to the 19th Route Army; on February 17, Liang Guanying sent 500 unarmed soldiers from Qingjiangpu; and on February 19, Liu Zhi contributed 1,000 active unarmed soldiers from Henan. On February 16, Chiang Kai-shek communicated with Finance Minister Song Ziwen via telegram, stating, "Since the Japanese refuse to withdraw their troops from Shanghai, we must resist until the end. ... Food supplies in Jiangxi and Henan will dwindle, and assistance will be completely halted. Please arrange to deposit 10 million yuan in central banknotes in Nanchang and 20 million yuan in Zhengzhou. This will allow the government to continue functioning, the army to be sustained, and perhaps we can navigate this crisis and avert collapse. This is my final request. I hope you can find a way to assist." To prevent any friction between the Fifth Army and the Nineteenth Route Army over competing for military accolades, Chiang Kai-shek sent a telegram to Zhang Zhizhong and Yu Jishi on February 18. "The fight against Japan is a matter of national survival and is not a matter of honor for an individual or a certain unit. Our frontline officers and men should fully understand this. Therefore, the honor of the 19th Route Army is the honor of our entire National Revolutionary Army. There is absolutely no distinction between honor and disgrace. The Fifth Army's joining the front line is feared by the enemy and will also be slandered by the reactionaries (those who oppose the Nanjing Central Government). If we can continue to fight in the name of the 19th Route Army, it will be enough to demonstrate the strength of our National Revolutionary Army. We will share life and death, let alone honor and disgrace. I hope that this will be conveyed to the officers and men of the Fifth Army. They must unite and fight with our 19th Route Army and make no sacrifices to complete the revolutionary mission." Over on the other side, following reports of significant losses suffered by the Japanese army in Wusong, Tokyo received an imperial decree from Emperor Hirohito demanding the Shanghai incident get settled quick. In response, Chief of Staff Zairen urgently ordered the 9th Army Division, commanded by Ueda Kenkichi, to swiftly reinforce Shanghai. By the afternoon of February 13, the main contingent of the 9th Division had arrived at Shanghai Port, and by February 16, all personnel had disembarked in Wusong. Consequently, Lieutenant General Ueda took over command from Nomura. At this point, the Japanese invading forces comprised over 30,000 troops from naval, land, and air units, along with 60 to 70 field artillery pieces, more than 60 aircraft, and dozens of ships concentrated at the Wusong mouth. Ueda issued a statement late on the night of the 13th, asserting, "If anyone obstructs our division from fulfilling its mission, we will take decisive action without hesitation." On the 18th, he sent an ultimatum to Cai Tingkai, demanding, "Your army must immediately cease hostilities and withdraw from the following areas by 5:00 p.m. on February 20: on the west bank of the Huangpu River, retreat from areas connecting the western end of the concession, Caojiadu Town, Zhoujiaqiao Town, and Pushong Town to the north; on the east bank, withdraw from areas connecting Lannidu and Zhangjialou Town to the north, and retreat to a zone 20 kilometers away from the border of each concession Additionally, all military installations in the specified areas must be dismantled and no new ones established. If these demands are not met, the Japanese army will have no choice but to act freely against your forces, and your army will bear all resulting consequences." In response to Ueda's ultimatum, Tsai and Chiang ordered their front-line troops to fire heavily at Japanese positions as a warning. On the morning of February 20, Ueda commanded a full-scale attack across the front, employing tactics to break through the center while flanking from both sides. The 9th Division led the assault on the junction of Jiangwan and Miaohang, aiming to encircle Wusong from the north with the Kurume Brigade and Zhabei with the Marine Corps from the south. The Japanese began with artillery bombardments, followed by infantry and tank assaults on the Zhanghuabang and Yangshupu lines, both of which were successfully repelled by Chinese defenders. Over a thousand Japanese soldiers and several tanks in Zhabei were killed or wounded due to landmines. On February 21, Ueda personally directed thousands of infantry, supported by aircraft and artillery, to attack the Chinese defensive positions. Both sides incurred heavy casualties, and the battle continued until dawn on the 23rd. The Japanese forces attempted to encircle Jiangwan Town from Jiangwan Station, but the Chinese defenders fought valiantly, launching multiple charges and capturing Japanese Major Kong Sheng along with hundreds of soldiers. Ultimately, the Japanese army was unable to withstand the resistance and began to retreat. After the Japanese 9th Division arrived in Shanghai, it prepared to initiate a second major assault on the defenders of the city. The strategy involved a comprehensive attack stretching from Zhabei to Wusong to contain the Chinese army's strength, with primary forces concentrated on Jiangwan and Miaohang. The goal was to seize these two strategic points, achieve a breakthrough in the center, sever the link between the 5th Army and the 19th Route Army, and then defeat them individually. At dawn on February 20, the Japanese dispatched over ten aircraft for reconnaissance and bombing missions over the Miaohang area. Naval artillery and heavy army cannons heavily shelled the Miaohang positions. Simultaneously, Japanese artillery bombarded the Yunzaobang area in an effort to force a crossing and facilitate the Miaohang offensive.   By 9 am, part of the Japanese forces advanced towards the Xiaochang Temple and the Maijiazhai position, immediately conducting a fire search on our troops' positions. At noon, 3,000 Japanese soldiers launched an attack against our forces. The officers and soldiers of the 527th Regiment, defending the Maijiazhai and Zhuyuandun positions, mounted a counterattack, marking the beginning of the Battle of Miaohang. After three hours of intense fighting, the Japanese suffered significant casualties and were unable to continue, retreating to their original positions. Following this, over 2,000 Japanese troops attacked the Xiaochang Temple and Jinjiatang positions. The officers and soldiers of the 523rd Regiment, taking cover in the trenches, launched counterattacks and successfully repelled the Japanese forces. As dusk fell, the Japanese infantry halted their assaults, but naval and land artillery continued to bombard our positions in an attempt to weaken our defenses and personnel for a renewed attack the following day. On February 21, Japanese artillery relentlessly shelled the positions of the 88th Division of the Fifth Army in Miaohang. Following this, thousands of Japanese infantry launched an assault on the Yanjiazhai and Miaohang Town front. As the Japanese forces advanced, the officers and soldiers of the 523rd and 524th Regiments bravely counterattacked and successfully repelled them. However, a significant number of enemy troops coordinated a comprehensive assault on the Maijiazhai, Zhuyuandun, Xiaochangmiao, and Yanjiazhai lines south of Miaohang. Our 523rd, 524th, and 527th Regiments engaged in intense combat with the enemy, particularly at the Zhuyuandun front near Maijiazhai and Xu Xu, where the fighting was especially fierce. After a day of conflict, the enemy was temporarily pushed back. On February 22, the Japanese 9th Division launched a full-scale attack on the Miaohang position held by the 88th Division of the Fifth Army. Throughout the day, aircraft bombed the Chinese defenders, and thousands of artillery shells were fired at them. However, under the direct command of Zhang Zhizhong, the enemy faced a devastating defeat due to the coordinated three-pronged assault by the Sun Yuanliang Brigade, the Song Xilian Brigade, and the 61st Division of the 19th Route Army. The Miaohang position was ultimately saved from peril, inflicting heavy casualties on the elite forces of the Japanese 9th Division and the Kurume Mixed Brigade. This victory became known as the "Miaohang Victory." In the days that followed, the enemy continued their bombardment and attacks but were consistently repelled by the defenders. The Japanese army suffered significant losses, shifting from an all-out offensive to a more focused approach before ultimately halting their attacks. By the 25th, Ueda's overall offensive strategy had also failed. On February 24, the Japanese army decided to escalate the conflict once more, transferring the 11th and 14th divisions from Japan to join the Shanghai Expeditionary Force, which included troops already engaged in the war. At that time, the flagship of the Japanese Navy's Third Fleet, the Izumo, sustained damage from a bombing raid carried out by the suicide squad of the 19th Route Army, which sent shockwaves through Japan. Additionally, the large troop presence made a quick resolution to the war impossible. Consequently, on the 23rd, the Japanese cabinet decided to promptly reinforce the army. The General Staff then established the Shanghai Expeditionary Army Command, appointing General Shirakawa Yoshinori, the former Minister of War in the Tanaka Cabinet, to replace Ueda. They dispatched the 11th Division (led by Lieutenant General Atsutarou Atsuto), the 14th Division (led by Lieutenant General Naoaki Matsuki), and over 100 aircraft to China to initiate a larger-scale offensive in Shanghai. After several reinforcements, the Japanese forces in Shanghai, under Shirakawa's command, grew to over 90,000 troops, supported by 80 warships and 300 aircraft, significantly enhancing their combat effectiveness. In contrast, the total strength of the Chinese defenders was less than 50,000, with inadequate equipment. After a month of intense fighting, the Chinese forces had suffered heavy losses, leaving their river defenses in the Taicang Liuhe area vulnerable. Learning from the failures of the previous three commanders' frontal assaults, Shirakawa opted to land at Liuhe and flank the Songhu defenders. He directed the 9th Division and other units to launch a direct attack on Songhu and Shanghai while using the 3rd Fleet to escort the 11th Division into the Yangtze River estuary. They executed surprise landings at Liuhekou, Yanglinkou, and Qiyakou, quickly outflanking the defenders. On March 1, the Japanese forces initiated attacks in Naobei, Jiangwan, and Miaohang, employing heavy artillery, field guns, and aircraft for continuous bombardment. The infantry capitalized on this to engage in close-quarters combat, resulting in heavy casualties on both sides. Meanwhile, Shirakawa secretly instructed the 11th Division to exploit the weakness of the Chinese troops in Liuhe, forcibly landing at Qiyakou, Yanglinkou, and Liubinkou, ultimately capturing Liuhe. The fall of Liuhe posed a significant threat to the flank and rear of the Chinese army, compelling the entire force to retreat to the second line of defense (the Jiading-Huangdu line) by the evening of March 1.  After 34 days of intense fighting, they were forced to retreat to their second line of defense. At this point, the war had entered its final phase, resulting in a stalemate between the two sides. On the 2nd, the Japanese army seized Shanghai, and by March 3, they occupied Zhenru and Nanxiang, subsequently announcing a ceasefire. Now while we have been focused on the Japanese and Chinese perspectives in this, the international community was also heavily involved in the background. After the outbreak of hostilities, the British and American consuls in Shanghai offered to mediate. However despite a ceasefire being implemented the hostilities continued. So on February 2nd, Britain, America, France, Italy and Germany sent a notice to China and Japan "proposing to stop the conflict; (1) both sides immediately stop all violent acts according to the following conditions; (2) there will be no mobilization or preparation for any hostile acts between the two countries; (3) the Chinese and Japanese combatants in Shanghai will withdraw from the contact points; (4) a neutral zone will be established to separate the combatants of both sides to protect the public concession. The area will be garrisoned by neutral military and police, and various methods will be formulated by the consular corps; (5) once the two countries accept the treaty, they will not make any demands or reservations in advance, but will quickly negotiate with the assistance of neutral observers or participants in accordance with the spirit of the Kellogg-War Pact and the December 9th League of Nations resolution to resolve all outstanding issues..." Nanjing generally accepted the terms, but Japan instead proposed non-military zones be established 20 miles around the major ports of Shanghai, Hankou, Tianjin, Qingdao and Guangzhou as a sort of counter proposal. Meanwhile at the League of Nations, Yan Huiqing was drawing attention to the Shanghai incident, obviously linking it to the Manchuria incident and advocated for Article 10 of the League of Nations Charter, which was in regards to respecting territorial integrity and political independence of league nations. The League of Nations agreed and organized a committee to investigate the Shanghai incident. On February 4th Chiang Kai-Shek would write in his diary "As long as we do not lose our national sovereignty and territory, and the Japanese invaders do not put forward unacceptable conditions, we can take advantage of the opportunity of British and American intervention to negotiate with them; we cannot take a tough stance when other countries intervene, which will lead to adverse effects." By late February US Secretary of State Henry Stimson warned Japan for the second time, that the Nine Power Treaty and other treaties had to be maintained. Then on the 23rd he sent a letter reiterating the nine-power treaty and Kellogg War Pact to the League of Nations in regards to the Shanghai situation. On the 29th, a four-point plan for mediating the Shanghai incident was adopted at the League of Nations. The objective was to swiftly establish a local ceasefire agreement with the assistance of civil and military officials from various countries present in Shanghai. Following this, a round-table meeting was to be convened with representatives from nations with vested interests in Shanghai to discuss security measures for the International Settlement, the French Concession, and the local residents, as well as to address other issues. Subsequently, representatives from Britain, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, and other nations unanimously supported the plan, with Chinese representative Yan Huiqing and Japanese representative Sato Naotake also indicating their general agreement in principle. However, on March 2, the situation escalated when the Japanese army compelled the Chinese forces to retreat to their second line of defense. The Japanese side adopted a more aggressive stance, presenting four stringent conditions and insisting that the Chinese army withdraw first before halting their attacks. The Japanese forces were only willing to withdraw to the Shanghai and Wusong areas and refused to do so under the supervision of neutral countries, which the Chinese government firmly rejected. On March 3, the Japanese army launched another offensive. On that same day, U.S. Secretary of State Stimson summoned Japanese Ambassador to the United States Idebuchi, condemning Japan for accepting the League of Nations resolution on February 29 while simultaneously escalating military operations. On March 3rd a ceasefire came into effect as a formal meeting was held at the British consulate. The Chinese delegation was led by Guo Taiqi, the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, along with military representatives Dai Ji, Huang Qiang, and seven others. The Japanese delegation included Shigemitsu Mamoru, Minister to China, and military representatives Ueda, Tashiro, and nine others. Officials from Britain, the United States, France, and other nations also participated in the meeting. During the negotiations, numerous contentious issues arose, particularly regarding the timing and location of the Japanese army's withdrawal. It would take until May 5th for a armistice agreement to be signed. The agreement designated Shanghai as a demilitarized zone, prohibiting China from stationing troops in the areas around Shanghai, Suzhou, and Kunshan, while permitting a limited number of Japanese units to remain in the city. China was permitted to maintain only a small police force within Shanghai. According to Chinese war reports, a total of 10,254 Japanese soldiers were killed or wounded in the Battle of Shanghai on January 28. According to Japanese data, a total of 3,091 Japanese soldiers were killed or wounded in the invasion of Shanghai: 620 Japanese soldiers were killed and 1,622 were wounded in the army; 149 Japanese soldiers were killed and 700 were wounded in the navy. Another Chinese report, stated the 19th Route Army and the Fifth Army suffered a total of 14,104 casualties 4,274 killed and 9,830 wounded. Among them, the 19th Route Army suffered 8,792 casualties, while the Fifth Army suffered 5,312 casualties. Shanghai residents faced bombardments from Japanese aircraft and artillery, resulting in over 6,080 fatalities, more than 2,000 injuries, 10,400 missing persons, and property losses totaling 1.6 billion yuan. At the onset of the war, the Japanese military intentionally targeted cultural institutions in Shanghai, such as the Commercial Press and the Oriental Library, leading to the total destruction of the Commercial Press, the oldest and largest publishing house in China. The Oriental Library, which housed millions of volumes, including over 100,000 rare ancient texts from the Song and Yuan dynasties and the Sikuquanshu compiled during the Qianlong era of the Qing Dynasty, was first devastated by artillery fire and then looted by Japanese forces. Reports from that time indicated that the Japanese army used trucks to transport the remaining books for seven consecutive days. 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 what became known as the first battle of Shanghai had come to a not so swift end. Was its resolvement a victory for the League of Nations? Or was it just another indicator that the League of Nations was nothing but promises and pieces of paper? One man took notice of the Manchuria and Shanghai incidents, and he would soon bring Europe into a global war.  

With War on everyone's mind these days we decided to tackle a tough subject in War Crimes.  For this week Mike brings you a discussion of the First Gulf War or the Iraq Iran conflict.  Unfortunatley JT was sick so Paige of Reverie True Crime pinch hit for him.    Sourceshttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iran%E2%80%93Iraq_Warhttps://www.britannica.com/event/Iran-Iraq-Warhttps://www.history.com/topics/middle-east/iran-iraq-warhttps://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/topics/iran-iraq-warhttps://www.brookings.edu/articles/how-the-iran-iraq-war-will-shape-the-region-for-decades-to-come/chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.airuniversity.af.edu/Portals/10/AUPress/Books/B_0025_BERGQUIST_AIRPOWER_IRANIRAQ.pdfhttps://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctvjk2vcjhttps://www.canada.ca/en/department-national-defence/services/military-history/history-heritage/past-operations/middle-east/vagabond.htmlchrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.nonproliferation.org/wp-content/uploads/npr/81ali.pdfhttps://www.cambridge.org/core/books/iraniraq-war/7C6E42D57383472EA9B9F6101BEABD94https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/9/22/legacy-of-iran-iraq-war-still-reverberates-40-years-laterhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iraqi_chemical_attacks_against_Iranhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iraqi_chemical_weapons_programhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muthana_State_Establishmenthttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tabun_(nerve_agent)https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarinhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mustard_gashttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VX_(nerve_agent)https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_wave_attackhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1975_Algiers_Agreementhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aftermath_of_the_Iranian_revolutionhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iranian_revolutionhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Dawn_2https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Battle_of_al-Faw#Iranian_attackhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halabja_massacre 

Last time we spoke about the Jinzhou Operation and Defense of Harbin. After the Mukden Incident, Zhang Xueliang, despite commanding a large army, was pressured into non-resistance against Japan. As tensions escalated, the Japanese bombed Jinzhou to intimidate Zhang Xueliang and the Kwantung Army prepared to invade. By January 1, 1932, Zhang's forces retreated, marking a significant loss for China. Meanwhile, Ma Zhanshan emerged as a resistance hero, navigating complex alliances against Japanese aggression. In the face of Japanese aggression, Ding Chao rallied forces in Harbin, a crucial city in Northeast China. Together with Ma Zhanshan and other generals, they formed the Kirin self-defense army to resist the Japanese advance. Despite fierce battles, including victories at Shuiqu and Shulan, the Japanese ultimately launched a full-scale assault. After intense fighting, Harbin fell on February 5, 1932. The resistance crumbled, leading to Ma Zhanshan's defection and the establishment of the puppet state of Manchukuo.   #143 The January 28th 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. In the words of Ron Burgundy, “phew, Boy, that escalated quickly... I mean, that really got out of hand fast”. Ishiwara Kanji unleashed the Mukden Incident, beginning a series of military conflicts. The Kwantung army invaded all three provinces of Manchuria, Ma Zhanshan tried to fight back at Heilongjiang, Ding Chao at Harbin and Zhang Xueliang at Jinhouz. All of this culminated in the conquest of Manchuria and the establishment of the new puppet state of Manchukuo. Yet another significant conflict also broke out in Shanghai of all places.  Now before we start this one I want to point out there are a lot of bias issues with how this incident began. It is known as the January 28th Incident or the First Battle of Shanghai. There are a few arguments as to how exactly it began, but the two main narratives are as such. During the invasion of Manchuria, anti-Japanese demonstrations broke out across China, particularly in large cities like Shanghai and Guangzhou. In most Japanese sources, these demonstrations got out of hand, requiring military action to defend Japanese citizens and property in Shanghai. Now as for Chinese sources, and I will say it here, I place a lot more credibility on the Chinese side on this one, during the Invasion of Manchuria, the League of Nations passed resolutions to get the Japanese to withdraw their troops and many of the members expressed support for China. Although the United States was not a member of the League, Secretary of State Stimson issued a "non-recognition" note in response to Japan's occupation of Jinzhou, aiming to pressure Japan. This isolation in the international arena heightened anxiety within the Japanese government and military, prompting them to seek conflicts in other regions of China to divert attention from their invasion of Manchuria.  Now a lot of trouble had been stirred up in Shanghai ever since the Mukden Incident broke out. Shanghai's business community initiated a boycott of Japanese trade, significantly impacting Japan's coastal and Yangtze River shipping industries. To give one example the "Nissin Steamship Company" halted all operations since the incident. Between July 1931 and the end of March 1932, Japanese merchants in Shanghai reportedly suffered losses amounting to 41,204,000 yen . To give you an idea, in 1930, Japanese goods accounted for 29% of Shanghai's average monthly imports, but by December 1931, this figure had plummeted to 3%. On October 5, 1931, the Japanese government convened a cabinet meeting, resolving that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would issue a stern warning to the National Government, with the Foreign Minister and Navy Minister overseeing the issue of ship deployment. Shanghai was the key hub for Western powers in China. It was here they made significant investments and maintained strong commercial interests in the region. The political and economic dynamics among these powers were intricate. Shanghai held the largest amount of foreign settlements and concessions. Any outbreak of war in Shanghai would inevitably capture international attention and prompt intervention from nations with vested interests, such as Britain, the United States, and France.  On October 1, Tanaka Takayoshi, the assistant military attaché at the Japanese Consulate in Shanghai and head of the Shanghai Secret Service, was summoned to Shenyang by Colonel Seishirō Itagaki who told him "Our next move is to occupy Harbin and make Manchuria independent. We have sent Colonel Doihara to pick up Puyi. If we succeed, the League of Nations will have a big fight and the Tokyo government will have a headache. I want you to do something in Shanghai to divert the attention of other countries. When you cause a commotion, we will take Manchuria." Tanaka promised to complete the task and said that he was "training an excellent spy who can bribe Chinese troublemakers in Shanghai to start this fake war".  Itagaki then withdrew 20,000 yen from the Kwantung Army's secret service funds and provided it to Tanaka for operational purposes. Now here it gets wild. Tanaka took the funds and paid a Japanese female spy named Kawashima Yoshiko, known also as Jin Bihui, but whose birthname was Aisin Giori Xianyu with the courtesy name of Dongzhen, meaning “eastern jewel”. Yes Manchu royalty, to be more precise the 14th daughter of Shanqi a Manchu prince of the Aisin Gioro clan of the former Qing Dynasty. Shanqi was a descendant of Hooge, the eldest son of Hong Taiji, it all comes full circle sometimes. After the Xinhai revolution, Xianyu was given up for adoption in 1915 to her fathers friend Naniwa Kawashima, a Japanese spy and adventurer. Thus here she took the name Yoshiko Kawashima. She was raised in Tokyo and excelled at judo and fencing. In 1922 he biological father Shanqi died and as Manchu royal tradition dictated, her biological mother committed suicide to join her husband in death. On November 22nd of 1925, Yoshiko stated the she “decided to cease being a woman forever”. Henceforth she stopped wearing a kimono, undid her traditional female hair style and took a final photo to commemorate “my farewell to life as a woman”. That same evening she went to a barbershop and got a crew cut and from there went to a men's clothing store. A photo of this dramatic transformation appeared 5 days later in the Asahi Shimbun under the headline "Kawashima Yoshiko's Beautiful Black Hair Completely Cut Off - Because of Unfounded 'Rumors,' Makes Firm Decision to Become a Man - Touching Secret Tale of Her Shooting Herself". This title was in reference to a prior scandal where she allegedly shot herself in the chest with a pistol given to her by Iwata Ainosuke. Historians believe it is much more likely she chose to become a man because of the death of her parents, failed romances or possibly sexual abuse from her foster father. Kawashima would go on to explain to a new reporter two days later "I was born with what the doctors call a tendency toward the third sex, and so I cannot pursue an ordinary woman's goals in life... Since I was young I've been dying to do the things that boys do. My impossible dream is to work hard like a man for China, for Asia." She was in fact something of a tomboy in her youth, despite being quite beautiful.  Now obviously the times being the times, those close to her were, lets just say not very receptive to this dramatic change. Thus in November of 1927, at the age of 20, her brother and adoptive father arranged her marriage in Port Arthur to one Ganjuurjab, the son of the Inner Mongolian Army General Babojab, who had led the Mongolian-Manchurian Independence Movement in 1911. The marriage lasted only three years, ending in divorce. Following this, she left Mongolia and began touring coastal cities of China before adopting a bohemian lifestyle back in Tokyo, where she had relationships with both men and women. She then moved to Shanghai's foreign concession, where she met the Japanese military attaché and intelligence officer Ryukichi Tanaka. This takes us back to our story at hand.  On the afternoon of January 18th, 1932, Yoshiko Kawashima orchestrated an incident by enlisting two Japanese Nichiren monks and three other Japanese supporters to stir up trouble at the Sanyou Industrial Company headquarters on Mayushan Road, located near the East District of the Shanghai International Settlement. The group of five Japanese individuals watched the worker volunteer army training outside the factory and threw stones to provoke a confrontation, intentionally sparking a conflict. Prior to this, Yoshiko Kawashima had also hired thugs disguised as workers to blend in with the crowd. During the altercation, the five Japanese individuals were attacked by unknown assailants. The Japanese Consulate General later reported that one of the Japanese individuals had died and another was seriously injured. However, the police were unable to apprehend the culprits, prompting Japan to accuse the Chinese factory patrol team of being behind the attack. This event became known as the "Japanese monk incident."   At 2:40 am on January 20, following orders from  Yoshiko, the military police captain Chiharu Shigeto led 32 members of the Shanghai "Japanese Youth Comrades Association in China" to sneak into the Sanyou Industrial Company factory. They brought guns, bayonets, and other weapons, along with flammable materials such as saltpeter and kerosene. Dozens of members of the Japanese Youth Association set fire to the Sanyou Industrial Society at night , and hacked to death and injured two Chinese policemen from the Municipal Council who came to organize firefighting. That afternoon, Tanaka Takayoshi instigated 1,200 Japanese expatriates to gather at the Japanese Residents' Association on Wenjianshi Road, and marched along Beichuan Road to the Japanese Marine Corps Headquarters at the north end of the road, demanding that the Japanese Marine Corps intervene. When they reached Qiujiang Road, they started rioting and attacked Chinese shops. In response, Shanghai Mayor Wu Tiecheng formally protested to Japan. Japan in return demanding a formal apology from the mayor and the apprehension of the person responsible for the death of the Japanese monk. Japan also insisted that China pay compensation for medical and funeral expenses, handle the anti-Japanese protests, and immediately disband any groups hostile to Japan. China had the option to firmly reject these unreasonable demands. On the morning of January 21, Japanese Consul General Murai Kuramatsu met with Shanghai Mayor Wu Tiecheng to express regret for the Japanese arson and the killing of Chinese police officers. He promised to arrest the Japanese ronin responsible for the fire. At the same time, he presented a formal protest regarding the "Japanese monk incident" and outlined four demands: (1) The mayor must issue an apology to the Consul General; (2) The authorities should swiftly and effectively search for, arrest, and punish the perpetrators; (3) The five victims should receive medical compensation and consolation money; (4) All illegal actions against Japan should be prohibited, with the Shanghai Anti-Japanese National Salvation Association and other anti-Japanese groups disbanded promptly.  Starting on January 22, Admiral Shiozawa of the Japanese Navy and Consul General Murai demanded that Shanghai Mayor Wu dissolve anti-Japanese groups and halt any boycott activities. Representatives of Japanese business conglomerates also filed complaints with the Shanghai International Settlement's Municipal Council, calling for an official apology from China for the offensive report and attacks on monks, and demanding that the attackers be punished. As tensions rose, the Japanese Residents Association urged Japanese naval forces in Shanghai to take measures to protect their safety. That same day Yukichi Shiozawa, Commander of the 1st Japanese Expeditionary Fleet in Shanghai, made a threatening declaration, stating that if the mayor of Shanghai failed to respond adequately to the four demands presented by Matsui, the Japanese Navy would take "appropriate action." Even before this the Japanese Navy had deployed troops and sent additional warships to Shanghai under the pretext of protecting its citizens In addition to the warships that arrived in Shanghai after the Mukden incident, the Japanese Navy sent the cruiser Oi and the 15th Destroyer Squadron (comprising four destroyers) from the mainland Wu Port on January 21. They carried over 450 personnel from the 1st Special Marine Corps along with a large supply of arms and arrived in Shanghai on January 23. The following day, the Notoro special service ship (an aircraft carrier of 14,000 tons, carrying six aircraft) anchored in Port Arthur, also arrived in Shanghai. On January 22, the Japanese government convened a meeting and decided to take appropriate measures, with Navy Minister Osumi Tsuneo handling the situation as deemed necessary. By January 25, the heads of the Japanese Navy Ministry and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs held a joint session, where they agreed that if the Chinese side failed to demonstrate sincerity or meet Japan's demands, force would be used to ensure compliance. They also agreed on specific “emergency actions." On January 26, the Navy Ministry met again and resolved to demonstrate Japan's military strength within the next day or two. The proposed measures were as follows: (1) If the Shanghai garrison was insufficient, the Second Fleet would be deployed; (2) Japanese citizens in Shanghai would be directly protected; (3) The Japanese Navy would secure the route from Wusong to Shanghai; (4) All Chinese vessels would be detained outside Wusongkou; (5) Additional warships would be sent to ports in Nanjing, Hankou, Guangzhou, Shantou, Xiamen, and other locations, with civil unrest in those areas also being addressed. Emperor Hirohito authorized the Japanese Navy's military actions. On the 26th, Hirohito's military meeting, led by Chief of Staff Prince Kan'in (Prince Zaihito), ordered Yukichi Shiozawa in Shanghai to "exercise the right of self-defense." That same day, the Japanese Navy Ministry urgently deployed the 1st Torpedo Squadron (flagship "Yubari" cruiser, accompanied by the 22nd, 23rd, and 30th Destroyer Squadrons, totaling 12 destroyers), with over 460 personnel from the 2nd Special Marine Corps, which arrived in Shanghai on the afternoon of January 28. By this time, the Japanese military had gathered 24 warships, over 40 aircraft, more than 1,830 marines, and between 3,000 to 4,000 armed personnel in Shanghai, stationed across the Japanese concession and along the Huangpu River. On January 28, the Japanese Navy Ministry instructed the deployment of the aircraft carriers Kaga and Hosho, the cruisers Naka, Yura, and Abukuma, and four mine carriers from the mainland to Shanghai. Back on the 24th, 1932, Japanese intelligence agents set fire to the residence of the Japanese Ambassador to China, Shigemitsu Mamoru, in Shanghai, falsely accusing the Chinese of the act. On the 27th, Murai issued an ultimatum to the Shanghai authorities, demanding a satisfactory response to four conditions by 18:00 on the 28th, threatening necessary actions if the deadline was not met. Meanwhile, with threats and rumors of a Japanese naval landing circulating in Shanghai, the nearby 19th route army units moved closer to the International Settlement's Little Tokyo. The 19th Route Army of the Guangdong Army was in charge of defending Shanghai at the time, with Jiang Guangnai serving as the commander-in-chief and Cai Tingkai as the commander. Chen Mingshu, the leader of the 19th Route Army and commander of the Beijing-Shanghai garrison, was a strong proponent of responding to the Japanese army's provocations. The Chinese public, along with critics of the Nanjing government, called for punishment of the Manchurian warlord forces who had failed to halt the Kwantung Army's blitzkrieg, which encouraged officers of the 19th Route army to take a firm stance. As the Nanjing government had not enacted any policies, General Cai Tingkai and his colleagues convened an emergency meeting on January 23, pledging to resist any potential Japanese naval invasion of Shanghai at all costs. Now the Nanjing government response to this crisis was quite chaotic as you can imagine. There was still a anti communist campaign going on, Manchuria was being taken over and Chiang Kai-Shek fully understood they could ill afford an all out war with Japan. There was a general feeling things were getting out of hand, the league of nations were failing to do anything. Thus Chiang Kai-Shek retained his passive stance. On January 23rd after extensive consultations with Wang Jingwei and Chiang Kai-shek, newly appointed Executive Yuan President Sun Ke urgently telegraphed Shanghai Mayor Wu Tiecheng. "Our priority should be the preservation of Shanghai as the economic center, adopting a moderate stance towards Japan's demands. We must immediately gather all sectors to diplomatically explain our position and avoid conflict to prevent Shanghai from being seized by force." That same day, Minister of Military Affairs He Yingqin also sent a telegram to Wu Tiecheng, emphasizing, "Shanghai is our economic hub, and we must continue peaceful negotiations and avoid conflict." On that same day He Yingqin instructed the 19th Route Army to withdraw from Shanghai and relocate west of Nanxiang within five days. Zhang Jingjiang then invited Cai Tingkai to Du Yuesheng's home, where he convinced the 19th Route Army to "withdraw to the Nanxiang area to avoid confrontation with the Japanese." Upon learning of the Nationalist government's position, both Chiang Kai-shek and Cai Ying-ying were disappointed, but they expressed willingness to follow military orders and withdraw from Shanghai. As Chiang Guangnai put it, "We must simply obey the government's orders." On the afternoon of January 27, Chief of Staff Zhu Peide and Minister of Military Affairs He Yingqin deployed the 6th Military Police Regiment to assume responsibility for defending the 19th Route Army's positions in the Zhabei area of Shanghai. The regiment departed Nanjing Station at 8 pm on January 27, reaching Zhenru by noon on the 28th. The first battalion arrived at Shanghai North Station that afternoon, preparing to take over defense from the 6th Regiment of the 156th Brigade of the 78th Division of the 19th Route Army in Zhabei at dawn on January 29. Back on the 27th, after Murai issued an ultimatum to the Chinese authorities in Shanghai, Mayor Wu Tiecheng, responding to a request from both the Nanjing National Government and various sectors of Shanghai, sent a letter on the 28th at 13:45 accepting all the unreasonable demands made by the Japanese. Later, at 11:05 pm the Shanghai Public Security Bureau received a response from Murai, which was directed to both Mayor Wu Tiecheng and the head of the Shanghai Public Security Bureau. In the letter, Murai expressed "satisfaction" with Shanghai's acceptance of Japan's four demands, but also insisted on the withdrawal of Chinese troops from Zhabei, citing the need to protect overseas Chinese. Wu Tiecheng received this response at 11:25 pm At 11:30 pm, without waiting for a reply from the Chinese side, the Japanese military launched an attack on the Chinese garrison in Zhabei. In response, Weng Zhaoyuan's troops from the 156th Brigade of the 78th Division of the 19th Route Army, along with part of the 6th Regiment of the Military Police that had been sent to reinforce the defense, fought back.  During the January 28 Incident, the 19th Route Army, stationed in the Beijing-Shanghai area, was the Chinese military force involved. Following the September 18 Incident, Chiang Kai-shek entered into negotiations with the Guangdong faction. As part of these discussions between Nanjing and Guangdong, the Guangdong side proposed that Chen Mingshu, a Cantonese leader, be appointed as the commander-in-chief of the Beijing-Shanghai garrison. On September 30, 1931, Chiang Kai-shek agreed to this proposal. Consequently, the 19th Route Army, under Chen Mingshu's command, was transferred from Ganzhou, Jiangxi, where it had been stationed after the September 18 Incident (following Chiang's decision to halt "suppressing the Communists"), to defend the Beijing-Shanghai area. By November, the army was fully deployed along the Beijing-Shanghai line. The military leadership included Jiang Guangnai as commander-in-chief, Cai Tingkai as army commander, and Dai Ji as the garrison commander. The army was composed of the 60th Division, led by Shen Guanghan, stationed in Suzhou and Changzhou; the 61st Division, led by Mao Weishou, stationed in Nanjing and Zhenjiang; and the 78th Division, led by Qu Shounian, stationed in Shanghai, Wusong, Kunshan, and Jiading. The total strength of the army was over 33,000 soldiers. By early November, after the 19th Route Army had secured the Beijing and Shanghai areas, the military leadership, influenced by the Shanghai populace's strong anti-Japanese sentiment, resolved to resist the impending Japanese invasion. On January 15th the 19th Route Army assessed intelligence indicating an inevitable Japanese attack and began preparing for defense, less than two weeks before the invasion. On th 19th Jiang Guangnai convened a meeting of the 19th Route Army officers in Shanghai. During the meeting, several strategic policies were decided, as recalled by Cai Tingkai. These included. Maintaining an invisible state of alert in response to potential enemy harassment. Ensuring that frontline units were adequately reinforced, with Qu Shounian's division tasked with holding for at least five days. Rapidly constructing fortifications in each defense zone, while rear units pre-select lines of resistance. Ensuring that the 60th and 61st divisions could reinforce Shanghai within five days of the start of hostilities. Establishing a stance on the Shanghai Concession. Issuing an order that, starting January 20, no officers or soldiers were to remain in the concession unless on official duty. On January 23, 1932, under mounting pressure from Japan, Chen Mingshu, Jiang Guangnai, Cai Tingkai, and others issued a "Letter to All Officers and Soldiers of the 19th Route Army," urging a great spirit of sacrifice. On the same day, the army issued a secret combat order, stating that they must be fully prepared for war to defend the nation. If the Japanese attacked, all efforts should be focused on repelling them. The 19th Route Army was poised to resist the Japanese invasion in the Songhu area.   On January 24, 1932, Cai Tingkai and his colleagues arrived in Suzhou and held an emergency meeting with senior garrison commanders, including Shen Guanghan, to communicate the secret order issued on January 23. The generals unanimously supported the directive. However, under pressure from the National Government to avoid war, Chiang, Cai, and others reluctantly agreed to comply with an order to withdraw from Shanghai. They ordered the Zhabei garrison to exchange duties with the 6th Military Police Regiment on the morning of January 29. Due to the tense situation, the commander of the 156th Brigade of the 78th Division instructed the 6th Regiment at Zhabei to remain on high alert. At 11:00 PM on January 28, Dai Ji also ordered strict vigilance to prevent the Japanese army from occupying Zhabei during the guard change, instructing all units to take their positions and be on high alert. At 11:30 pm on January 28, 1932, Major General Shiozawa and the Japanese Marine Corps unexpectedly attacked the Chinese garrison located on the west side of North Sichuan Road. In response, the 6th Regiment of the 156th Brigade of the 19th Route Army, commanded by Zhang Junsong, promptly initiated a strong counteroffensive. At that moment, the Japanese forces, spearheaded by over 20 armored vehicles, split into five groups and launched assaults from different intersections in Zhabei. Upon receiving news of the Japanese attack, Jiang Guangnai, Cai Tingkai, and Dai Ji hurried to Zhenru Station on foot during the night, established a temporary command center, and instructed the rear troops to advance swiftly to Shanghai as per the original plan. At dawn on the 29th, the Japanese forces launched a series of intense assaults, supported by armored vehicles. Aircraft from the carrier "Notoro" bombed the Zhabei and Nanshi districts, leading to rapid escalation of the conflict. The 156th Brigade of the defending forces fiercely resisted the Japanese advances, using cluster grenades against the enemy's armored units and organizing stealth squads to sabotage enemy vehicles. They held their positions and counterattacked at opportune moments under artillery cover, successfully repelling the relentless Japanese assaults. According to Japanese accounts, the battle was described as "extremely fierce, with fires raging everywhere, flames filling the sky, and the battlefield in a state of devastation." At around 10 am, Japanese aircraft dropped bombs, causing the Commercial Press and the Oriental Library to catch fire, resulting in the destruction of over 300,000 books, including many rare ancient texts. More than a thousand Japanese soldiers, shielded by heavy artillery and armored vehicles, launched a vigorous attack at the intersection of Baoshan Road and Qiujiang Road, aiming to seize the Shanghai North Railway Station. This station was a crucial land transport hub, and its control was vital for the safety of the entire Zhabei area. At 2 pm on the 29th, taking advantage of the chaos at the North Station, the Japanese forces mounted a fierce assault. A company from our military police engaged in combat with the Japanese for an hour before withdrawing from the station. By 5 pm on the 29th, the main force of the 156th Brigade entered the fray and launched a counteroffensive, reclaiming both the North Station and Tiantong'an Station. They pressed their advantage and captured the Japanese Shanghai Marine Corps Headquarters, forcing the Japanese troops to retreat east of North Sichuan Road and south of Target Road. The initial Japanese offensive ended in defeat. Following the setback, British and American consuls intervened to mediate in the afternoon of the 29th (the Shanghai government stated it was at the request of the Japanese consuls, while the League of Nations report indicated it was initiated by the mayor of Shanghai). The Chinese and Japanese forces agreed to cease hostilities at 8 pm that night. Although the 19th Route Army recognized this as a delaying tactic, they consented to the ceasefire to allow for troop redeployment. Concurrently, the 19th Route Army strengthened their positions, urgently ordering the 60th Division from east of Zhenjiang to move into Nanxiang and Zhenru, while transferring the 61st Division to Shanghai. The 78th Division, stationed in Shanghai, was fully mobilized to the front lines to bolster defenses and prepare for further combat. Following the ceasefire, the Japanese army made significant efforts to bolster its forces. The Japanese Navy Ministry promptly dispatched four destroyers from the Sasebo 26th Squadron, under the command of the cruiser "Tatsuta," to reach Shanghai on January 30 and dock at Huangpu Wharf. Accompanying the vessels were 474 soldiers from the Sasebo 3rd Special Marine Corps, along with a substantial supply of ammunition. On the morning of January 31, the Japanese aircraft carriers Kaga and Hosho reached Shanghai, bringing approximately 30 aircraft from the First Air Fleet. They anchored off the coast of the Ma'an Islands, about 130 kilometers east of Shanghai. By 4 pm, three cruisers Naka , Yura , and Abukuma along with four torpedo boats arrived in Shanghai, transporting over 2,000 marines who disembarked in groups. On February 1, the Japanese cruise ship "Terukoku Maru," carrying the Yokosuka 1st Special Marine Corps 525 men, docked at Shanghai Huishan Wharf. On the 2nd, the Japanese Navy Central Headquarters established the Third Fleet with ships from the First Overseas Fleet in the Yangtze River area, with the Izumo serving as the flagship (the Izumo arrived in Shanghai on February 6) under the command of Vice Admiral Yoshisaburo Nomura, to execute coordinated military operations. Following the reinforcement of Japanese forces, they resumed attacks on Chinese defenders in Zhabei, Baziqiao, and other locations on February 3 but were still repelled. On February 4, the Japanese launched their first major offensive, expanding the conflict to Jiangwan and Wusong. After a day of intense fighting, the Wusong open-air artillery fort suffered destruction from enemy bombardment, yet the Chinese defenders successfully prevented a Japanese landing. The anti-aircraft artillery unit from the 88th Division, assigned to the 4th Regiment of the 156th Brigade of the 19th Route Army, shot down a Japanese aircraft. Following the failure of the general offensive, Yukiichi Shiozawa was relieved of his command and sent back to Japan. Vice Admiral Yoshisaburo Nomura, the newly appointed commander of the Third Fleet, took over Shiozawa's position. Upon his appointment, the Japanese military began to bolster its forces. Even before the situation in Shanghai escalated, Japan had planned to deploy ground troops, but this was initially rejected by the navy. However, as the situation deteriorated, the navy had to request assistance from the army. On February 2, the Japanese cabinet officially decided to deploy ground forces. Due to the urgent circumstances in Shanghai, they resolved to send the Shanghai Dispatch Mixed Brigade, led by Major General Shimomoto Kuma and the 9th Division, led by Lieutenant General Ueda Kenkichi, with the Shanghai Dispatch Mixed Brigade and the Second Independent Tank Squadron being transported first. Concurrently, the Japanese Navy dispatched the Yokosuka 2nd Special Marine Corps to Shanghai. The 24th Mixed Brigade landed in Wusong on the afternoon of February 7.  Now within the backdrop of all of this Nanjing was certainly freaking out. What had started as a small incident, had escalated into a full blown battle. The Japanese were continuously sending reinforcements, and now so was China. Chiang Kai-Shek had recently resigned and came back as Generalissimo ushering in the slogan "first internal pacification, then external resistance." With that he had led a massive campaign against the Jiangxi Soviet, while avoiding a frontal war against Japan. Obviously this led to wide scale protest in China, which in turn contributed to this new incident in Shanghai. The Shanghai incident was certainly disrupting Chiang Kai-Shek's offensives against the communists, allowing those like Hu Hanmin's Guangdong based 19th Route Army to deal with the Japanese at Shanghai. Yet how long could Chiang Kai-Shek keep this up? Should he divert all attention to the Japanese? Will he step down again in shame for not facing the encroaching foreign empire?  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 January 28th Incident was yet another powder keg like moment for the very vulnerable and still fractured Chinese nation. Chiang Kai-Shek had internal enemies left-right and center and now the Empire of Japan was pressing its luck to keep seizing more and more from his nation. What was the Generalissimo to do in the face of these insurmountable odds?   

In this episode, Sean and James discuss the 1959 film Pork Chop Hill, which stars Gregory Peck, Woody Strode, Rip Torn, George Peppard, and many other future stars of the big and small screens. Based upon the 1956 book by U.S. military historian Brigadier General S. L. A. Marshall, Pork Chop Hill depicts the fierce First Battle of Pork Chop Hill between the U.S. Army's 7th Infantry Division and Chinese and North Korean forces in April 1953.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Day 1,034Today, in addition to military and political updates, we report speculations about potential offensives over the New Year period, and feature an interview we did in Kharkiv with a lady who lived under Russian occupation. Then, we end with music in David's memory.Contributors:Francis Dearnley (Assistant Comment Editor). @FrancisDearnley on X.Venetia Rainey (Co-host Battle Lines podcast). @venetiarainey on X.Video of Kharkiv Dispatch with Francis:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gi20lWX4FykDonate to David's charity:This Christmas, the Telegraph is honouring the life and work of our late colleague David Knowles by working with Humanity & Inclusion, a charity helping the ill, vulnerable and disabled left behind in Ukraine's warzones. You can donate here:https://telegraph.ctdonate.org/ Learn more Portsmouth Cathedral Choir:https://www.portsmouthcathedral.org.uk/musicArticles Referenced:N. Korea preparing for additional troop deployment, suicide drone supply to Russia (Yonhap News Agency, South Korea):https://en.yna.co.kr/view/AEN20241223002700315Ukraine's All-Robot Assault Force Just Won Its First Battle (Forbes):https://www.forbes.com/sites/davidaxe/2024/12/21/ukraines-first-all-robot-assault-force-just-won-its-first-battle/Trump to demand Nato nations spend 5pc of GDP on defence (The Telegraph):https://www.telegraph.co.uk/world-news/2024/12/20/donald-trump-nato-nations-demand-increase-defence-spends/Subscribe to The Telegraph: telegraph.co.uk/ukrainethelatestEmail: ukrainepod@telegraph.co.uk Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Kentucky basketball faces off with arch-rival Louisville tomorrow evening. Jack Pilgrim, and Zack Geoghegan break down the match-up in another jam packed episode of the Sources Say Podcast.

Kentucky basketball faces off with arch-rival Louisville tomorrow evening. Jack Pilgrim, and Zack Geoghegan break down the match-up in another jam packed episode of the Sources Say Podcast.