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

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

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

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

(0:00) Intro.(1:21) About the podcast sponsor: The American College of Governance Counsel.(2:08) Start of interview.(2:49) Larry's "origin story." (4:49) About the Internet Security Alliance (ISA). Founded in 2000 by former Congressman Dave McCurdy, former chairman of the House Intelligence Committee. Larry joined as CEO from the beginning."The ISA view is that we need to look at not just how the attacks are occurring, we also need to look at why the attacks occur. Because unless we understand why the attacks occur, we're never going to be able to create a truly sustainable system.""Cyberattacks are cheap, easy to acquire, they're incredibly profitable, trillions of dollars a year in damage. The business plan is fabulous, same attacks all over the world constantly. It's hard for on the defense side, we're defending an incredibly porous perimeter. It's hard to show return on investment to things you've prevented, and there's no law enforcement. We prosecute maybe 1% of cybercrimes. So it's that imbalance in the economics of cybersecurity that ISA focuses on.""The reason that we have all these attacks is because it is such a profitable endeavor to do these attacks."(10:19) China's threat in cybersecurity.(12:07) About the NACD/ISA Director's Handbook on Cyber-Risk Oversight.(15:36) On the evolution of the Directors' Handbook since it's first version in 2014. International editions, and adding a 6th ESG principle ("the systemic resilience and and collaboration principle").(20:20) On the cost of cyber crimes: expected to cost the world ~$8 trillion dollars in 2023 (per the WEC)."The narrative is that the export controls and sanctions and de-risking coming out of Washington DC is simply pushing China to be more self-sufficient." "This has to be seen as a temporary measure, that gives us time to resolve the actual conflicts that exist."(24:40)  Principle 1: Cybersecurity from IT risk to a strategic, enterprise risk."We would argue that cybersecurity should be considered in the same sense by a board, that they would consider finance and legal. So the board does not make any decision, any important decision, without consulting with legal and finance. We would argue in the 21st century, there's not a single important decision the board makes, major decision, that does not have a cybersecurity component to it."(27:12)  Principle 2: Legal and Disclosure Obligations.(28:05)  Principle 3: Board Oversight Structure and Access to Expertise."[I]t is probably not necessary, it may not even be a good thing, to have a cyber experts, so to speak, on the board. We think that this is a full board responsibility."(29:43)  Principle 4: Enterprise Framework for Managing Cyber Risk.(31:03)  Principle 5: Cybersecurity Measurement and Reporting."[T]he core definition of what a cyber risk is, is how much money is this going to cost our firm over a certain period of time. That's a definition of risk. And you need to be able to figure out what this means to the business. [T]here is all sorts of spending, you know, in cybersecurity. We are now seeing exhaustion with that. We're seeing boards saying, hey, we're not going to increase your budget by 200% every year. Can't do it."(33:53)  On the SEC mandating cybersecurity experts in the boardroom.."ISA's number one legislative agenda is we need much more cybersecurity people. You know, one of the reasons that we can't have a cyber expert on every board is we don't have enough cyber experts for every board."(36:53) On SolarWinds' CISO enforcement action, and the case of Uber's CISO conviction.(41:40)  How should boards think about China risk ("digital silk road")"I think it was General Alexander who commented that the theft of intellectual property from cyber means is the largest single theft in world history."(45:36)  Regulating Artificial Intelligence (AI) and OpenAI's case."Dave McCurdy used to say that Congress does two things well, nothing and overreact. So we're in that do nothing space with AI now. We don't want to overreact."(49:28) Three other issues for boards to consider: 1) The cybersecurity personnel shortage (we currently have a shortage of about 750,000 cybersecurity jobs we can't fill); 2) We should create an economic cyber security model; and 3) Challenges to Government regulation of cybersecurity.(53:08) Books that have greatly influenced his life: Working by Stud Turkel (1974)(53:47) His mentor: his father.(54:49)  Quotes that he thinks of often or lives her life by: "This argument has the added benefit of being true" by Henry Kissinger. "The Godfather is never afraid to demonstrate his friendship first." from The Godfather book by Mario Puzo.(56:12) An unusual habit or absurd thing that he loves: "(Post COVID) I spend an hour a day just with my son, an hour a day just with my wife and an hour a day working out for my own health."(58:00) The living person he most admires: Barack Obama.(59:43) About his new TV show "Fixing Cybersecurity" (launching in January 2024).Larry Clinton is the President and CEO of the Internet Security Alliance.__This podcast is sponsored by the American College of Governance Counsel. You can follow Evan on social media at:Twitter: @evanepsteinLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/epsteinevan/ Substack: https://evanepstein.substack.com/__You can join as a Patron of the Boardroom Governance Podcast at:Patreon: patreon.com/BoardroomGovernancePod__Music/Soundtrack (found via Free Music Archive): Seeing The Future by Dexter Britain is licensed under a Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License

In this final look back at the phone calls of Richard Nixon with Alexander Haig it is December of 1972 and January of 1973. The end of the War for America in Vietnam seems at hand. We will hear the two men work on these final problems and issues concerning getting an agreement to end the war. We will also hear them as they learn of the death of President Nixon's predecessor Lyndon Johnson and the ultimate irony that he would die literally on the eve of peace and not live to see it for himself. This is an extraordinary look inside the White House at one of the most difficult times in all of our history, listening in on two of history's most significant players.  Questions or comments at , Randalrgw1@aol.com , https://twitter.com/randal_wallace , and http://www.randalwallace.com/Please Leave us a review at wherever you get your podcastsThanks for listening!!

In this episode, we see President Nixon moving in on what he believes will be peace in Vietnam. However, it is not without issues and games being played by not only our enemies in Hanoi, or their allies in Peking and Moscow, but also by our own friends in Saigon too. This is a fascinating look at the end of the War in Vietnam that so divided the nation and we listen in on the thoughts of the men who brought that war to an end, Richard Nixon and one of his assistants General Alexander Haig.  These calls cover mostly 1972. DoDContract.comThe US military buys everything from office supplies and landscaping services to the...Listen on: Apple Podcasts Spotify Questions or comments at , Randalrgw1@aol.com , https://twitter.com/randal_wallace , and http://www.randalwallace.com/Please Leave us a review at wherever you get your podcastsThanks for listening!!

In this second episode on General alexander Haig , we will listen in on the phone calls between the President and the Assistant National Security Advisor Al Haig. These are the calls from 1971 and they cover several different subjects from the theft of the Pentagon Papers, to issues in Africa, to the Indian - Pakistan War.  Plus the war in Vietnam. We have used some of these calls in our earlier series on Vietnam and some are shared here for the first time. What you will hear is a President in firm control of his foreign policy and the adept way Alexander Haig assisted Henry Kissinger in carrying it out.  These next three episodes are a chance for you to hear the thinking and the strategy of an American President during war time working to get our troops and POW's out and how the same President handles a various array of issues and problems.  these are the calls between Nixon and Haig and we hope you will enjoy them and find them insightful too. DoDContract.comThe US military buys everything from office supplies and landscaping services to the...Listen on: Apple Podcasts Spotify Questions or comments at , Randalrgw1@aol.com , https://twitter.com/randal_wallace , and http://www.randalwallace.com/Please Leave us a review at wherever you get your podcastsThanks for listening!!

This is the first episode in a four episode special series looking back at the life of General Alexander Haig.  Haig served several Presidents, working most closely with Presidents Nixon, Ford and Reagan. He has been a major player throughout the time periods we have been covering throughout the entire storyline of our podcast. He has been such a large player throughout the run of our series and  we thought here at what will be his last major appearance in our timeline that now was a time to look back at Al Haig, so that you could get a full picture of this man who played such a major role in four major historic moments in our nation's history: The Vietnam War, Watergate, the Nixon Pardon by Ford, and The Reagan State Department. To say Alexander Haig was a major player in all of these events would be a major understatement. All three of these Presidents relied on Haig for advice an understanding of the World. Over the final months of the Vietnam War, Haig helped guide the President to the conclusion, as we shall see in this special series, and it is alleged he may have also later helped guide Richard Nixon out of the Presidency.  Haig's role in the Nixon years, especially, is not without controversy, some of which I was unaware of when I started this podcast several years ago. In this episode we will look back at several historic moments from the life of Alexander Haig.  We start first at the moment that most likely ended his political life when he stepped up to the cameras and insisted he was incharge of the government after the assassination attempt on President Reagan.  We will hear from the man himself, from an interview he gave while attempting to run for President in his own right in 1988. We will hear of his role in the pardon of Richard Nixon from Gerald Ford, and we will hear of his successes as Secretary of State including his role in trying to prevent the Falklands War. But it is his role at the end of Vietnam, and at the end of the Nixon Administration itself that has engendered the most controversy, including accusations that at some point he may have been involved in a spy ring against the President from the Joints Chiefs of Staff, and also that he may have been a secret source for the Washington Post's journalistic team of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, while also managing the Nixon White House as its Chief of Staff.  We will examine it all here in this first of four episodes on General Alexander Haig.  Questions or comments at , Randalrgw1@aol.com , https://twitter.com/randal_wallace , and http://www.randalwallace.com/Please Leave us a review at wherever you get your podcastsThanks for listening!!

A Chinese woman living in German-occupied Belgium in the 1940s finally succeeded in her mission: an audience with the top Nazi leader in Belgium, General Alexander von Falkenhausen. It was not the first time that Qian Xiuling had met the general, and she was counting on their prior connection to aid her. She told Falkenhausen that 96 people were being held hostage in the Belgian city of Écaussinnes and they would be killed in a few hours by Nazi soldiers in reprisal for a resistance attack on SS o"cers. She pleaded with him to save their lives.  

In this episode of Throwback FDNY… A military structure takes root in 1867 under General Alexander Shaler, the 1940 origin of the training publication, WNYF, and the deadly 1949 Holland Tunnel Fire.

Start of Interview [1:33]Suzanne's start in the U.S. Air Force [2:50]Her transition to cyber operations [4:25]Suzanne's take on transitioning from the Military to corporate boardrooms [7:25]Adding former military leaders in the boardroom adds to "diversity of thought": "[Board composition] should seek concinnity, rather than falling into the lowest common denominator which would be consensus" [09:07]At the time of Suzanne's transition to the private sector, "the Government had recognized that [cyber] was an area where there was going to be significant change and significant attention was needed" [11:15]Collaboration in the Cybersecurity field: "The private sector wants to protect who they are, the Government wants to protect how they know" [13:19]How to think about offensive and defensive capabilities in cybersecurity: "On the offensive side of cybersecurity you only have to succeed once, on the defensive side you have to protect everything, all the time." [15:42]General Alexander: "the difference between bolting it in on and baking it in"  [16:00]"In 2020 we are in the half-way point, we still have an architecture that relies on technology that is fundamentally at risk but technology is getting better and more secure" [17:58]How sitting on boards in different industries shapes her cybersecurity approach: Battelle Memorial Institute, Parsons Corporation, Wells Fargo, CSX [19:38]How to think about cybersecurity expertise in the boardroom [22:52]Cybersecurity education for corporate directors [24:39]What is the best way for the board to address cyber risk [28:30]"You want to have good baseline security systems, plus resilience and redundancy" [30:25]Recommended cybersecurity resources  for directors: [33:03]Cybersecurity & Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA)Cyber ScoopSans NewsBitesSecureworks Recommended Frameworks: [36:48]National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST)National Initiative for Cybersecurity Education (NICE)"The people in your organization are the  greatest risk vector because that's the easiest path in" [38:56]How COVID-19 has impacted cybersecurity risks [39:30]The increase in cyber risks, particularly with "work from home" trend. "the vectors have increased for ransomware attacks involving health professionals. Sans "Work from Home" Guide. [42:45] Her take on greatest cyber challenges moving forward: [46:12]Critical shared infrastructure (power, transportation, etc.)Supply chains (praising DARPA doing bug bounty program for hardware)Her recommendations to other directors on cybersecurity matters [51:14]Ask about current tech or framework and what are the risks to such foundations/systemsWhere are you most at risk for litigation (for example: privacy)Her favorite books [53:21]:She's a Malcolm Gladwell fan, most recently read "Talking to Strangers" and "David & Goliath.""Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power" by Jon Meacham."First Ladies" by Margaret Truman."Dr Seuss and Philosophy" by Jacob Held.Suzanne's mentors [55:35]:Earlier in her career: Gen. Thomas S. Moorman, Jr., Gen. John Shalikashvili, and Col Adelbert Buz" Carpenter"As a board member: Dan Schulman and Doug Baker.Her favorite quotes: early in life "Here is Edward Bear coming downstairs now, bump bump bump..." Later: Colin Powell's "Eternal optimism is a force multiplier." John Schofied: "The discipline which makes the soldiers of a free country reliable in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment..." [59:40]The living person she most admires: Condoleeza Rice [01:02:25]___Music/Soundtrack (found via Free Music Archive): Seeing The Future by Dexter Britain is licensed under a Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License 

Interview mit Alexander Graf LambsdorffBegrüßung Tickets für die Lage LiveLage der Nation Plus Irak (Interview Alexander Graf Lambsdorff) Luftangriff im Irak: Machtvakuum mit Gewalt gefüllt (Süddeutsche.de)The Shadow Commander (The New Yorker)Dexter Filkins on the Air Strike that Killed Qassem Suleimani — The New Yorker Radio Hour (overcast.fm) Der Meister des Schattenkriegs (Süddeutsche.de) US-Luftangriff im Irak: Trumps Angriff, Irans Drohung (Süddeutsche.de) Kassim Soleimani: US-Militär tötet iranischen Top-General der Quds-Brigaden (Spiegel online)Iran general Qassem Suleimani killed in Baghdad drone strike ordered by Trump (the Guardian) Nobelpreisträger im Interview: Paul Krugman: „Europa sieht aus wie Japan vor 20 Jahren“ (handelsblatt.com) Pro-Iranian Protesters End Siege of U.S. Embassy in Baghdad (The New York Times) Irak: Im Nahen Osten steht eine neue Eskalation bevor (Süddeutsche.de)US-Botschaft in Bagdad - Koordinierte Randale im Irak (Süddeutsche.de)Angriff auf US-Botschaft: Bloß kein zweites Bengasi (Süddeutsche.de)Paul Krugman: „Europa sieht aus wie Japan vor 20 Jahren“ (Handelsblatt) Wahl 2020: Warum Trump beste Chancen hat (Süddeutsche.de) WRD löscht Kinderchor-Video Tagesthemen 23:45 Uhr, 30.12.2019 (YouTube)"Eklatante Verletzung der Rundfunkfreiheit": WDR-Redakteure kritisieren Buhrow (Übermedien) Martin Hoffmann (Twitter) Blog | Luca Hammer (Luca Hammer) Sonneborn kritisiert WDR-Intendant Buhrow für Umgang mit "Umweltsau"-Lied (t-online)"Umweltsau"-Skandalisierung: Die Empörungsmaschine läuft heiß (Spiegel online) WRD Kommunikation  (Twitter)Stephan Anpalagan  (Twitter)ProseccoPrinz (Twitter) WDR-"Umweltsau"-Skandalisierung: Die Empörungsmaschine läuft heiß (Spiegel online) Satire Deluxe - Die Bühnenshow zur Kultsendung (WDR 5)"Über dieses Stöckchen werde ich gewiss nicht springen" (Spiegel online) MR081 Was im Gehirn von Rechten passiert (Philipp Huebl, Philosoph) (Medienradio) Leipziger Silvesternacht Leipziger Silvesternacht - Wer trägt welche Schuld? (Süddeutsche.de)Andreas Raabe (thread reader)Aiko Kempen (Twitter)TAZ: Leipziger Polizei könnte Angriff auf Polizisten in Silvesternacht aufgebauscht haben (Deutschlandfunk)Gewalt in Leipzig-Connewitz an Silvester: Eskalation mit Ansage (TAZ)Eine Nacht der Eskalation. Worte zu Silvester am Connewitzer Kreuz (Juliane Nagel) Krawalle in Leipzig-Connewitz: Rituale der Gewalt (Süddeutsche.de)Radikale in Leipziger Linkenviertel Connewitz: Rote Zone (Spiegel online) Polizei schwächt Aussagen zu Ausschreitungen ab (Süddeutsche Zeitung) Politik gegen Steuertricks Konzern will Steuern zahlen (Süddeutsche.de)Google in Irland - Ein Steuerschlupfloch schließt sich (Süddeutsche.de)I Was Google’s Head of International Relations. Here’s Why I Left. (Medium) Waldbrände in Australien Tagesthemen 23:45 Uhr, 30.12.2019 (YouTube) Hacker-Kongress 36C3 36C3 - Verkehrswende selber hacken (YouTube)36C3 - Let’s play Infokrieg (YouTube) 36C3-Videotipps: Genervt vom Online-Banking? Sie sind nicht allein (Spiegel online)What the World can learn from Hongkong (media.ccc.de)36C3 - Was hat die PSD2 je für uns getan? (YouTube)36C3 - "Hacker hin oder her": Die elektronische Patientenakte kommt! (YouTube) 36C3 - BahnMining - Pünktlichkeit ist eine Zier (YouTube) Bilder Alexander Graf Lambsdorff CC0 WRD Kommunikation  (Twitter) Feuerwerk von Ciara Cesaro-Tadic  Google Headquarter in Irland CC-BY-2.0 Waldbrände Australien (YouTube) Logo 36C3  (YouTube) Hausmitteilung Spenden: Bankverbindung Spenden: Banking-Program mit BezahlCode-Standard Spenden: Paypal Kuechenstud.io-Newsletter Kuechenstud.io Shop "Lage der Nation" bei iTunes bewerten "Lage der Nation" bei Youtube "Lage der Nation" bei Facebook "Lage der Nation" bei Instagram  "Lage der Nation" bei Twitter "Lage der Nation" in der Wikipedia

General Alexander and Coordinator Painter discuss U.S. responses to cyber attacks from Russia, Iran and China, the urgent need for stronger defense & cyber as a tool of national power.

Host Jim Lewis interviews Keith Alexander, a retired four-star general who served as commander of the United States Cyber Command and director of the National Security Agency in the Bush and Obama administrations. Listen in to hear how General Alexander helped establish and structure U.S. Cyber Command. General Alexander talks about NSA modernization, the different responsibilities that the Department of Defense, Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Department of Homeland Security have to address cybersecurity threats; the current threats in cyberspace; and the merits of persistent engagement.

Host Jim Lewis interviews Keith Alexander, a retired four-star general who served as commander of the United States Cyber Command and director of the National Security Agency in the Bush and Obama administrations. Listen in to hear how General Alexander helped establish and structure U.S. Cyber Command. General Alexander talks about NSA modernization, the different responsibilities that the Department of Defense, Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Department of Homeland Security have to address cybersecurity threats; the current threats in cyberspace; and the merits of persistent engagement.

Robert Stasio leads Dreamit’s SecureTech vertical where he sets overall strategic focus, expands the customer network, and works daily with securetech startups from around the world helping them refine their positioning and go-to-market strategy.  In addition, they assist startups to think through how to scale sales and operations and map out their capital needs along with how to raise their next round. Robert Stasio - Demand in the Private Sector During Bob's educational path he received a BS in Mathematical Physics and holds a Master’s degree in Intelligence Studies.  He also completed numerous U.S. Department of Defense professional education courses focusing on intelligence operations. Bob holds various technical certifications, including CISSP, a globally recognized standard of achievement in the cybersecurity industry. Bob joined the Army in 2001 during ROTC in college.  He then branched into Military Intelligence as an officer.  Bob new they would be deployed to Iraq during 2004-2005 so they trained Korean linguists and turned them into Arabic linguists for deep intelligence.  After they returned, General Alexander and his team plucked him out and Bob then helped NSA stand up one of the Army’s first dedicated cyber units.  It was then that he knew there was potential and demand in the private sector. “I saw the need to take this skill set and go into the private sector.” – Robert Stasio Before joining Dreamit, Bob held multiple roles at IBM Security, leading efforts in Cyber Operations and Threat Hunting. Prior to IBM, Bob worked in the private sector, leading threat intelligence programs at Bloomberg and global financial firms.  He also has deep government experience having held positions at NSA’s Cyber Center, U.S. Cyber Command, U.S. Army’s Signals Intelligence Corps, the FAA, and NASA. Bob served as a U.S. Army officer and is a recipient of numerous military awards, including the Bronze Star and Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal. Bob is also a Truman National Security Fellow, Brookings Institution Council on U.S. and Italy Fellow, and serves on the advisory boards of multiple startups. Lessons Learned Many lessons were learned when Robert Stasio started his own venture.  He had the skill set, a great idea, the demand and knew technologically how it would work.  Bob had no experience in running a company and did not have a MBA.  Therefore he reached out to others who had previously started their own business for advice and help when he started his company.  Bob started with a service only business.  He learned quickly that the hockey stick approach and trying to scale your business through a service only mindset is almost impossible to do. “Services only can take you so far.  In that type of mindset it can only scale so much. It is not a venture backed business model. It is not a scalable business model from a scalability perspective.” – Robert Stasio Vision of Excellence and Profitability The goal should be to run a good company and be profitable.  In Bob's business they are looking for market validation and revenue of the product or offering you are trying to scale not the services revenue.  His advice to entrepreneurs is to grow your company by getting customers and by getting revenue.  Bob recommends getting feedback and quickly and cheaply as possible during the startup process. “Most startups fail because they run out of revenue.”-Robert Stasio To hear the rest of Robert Stasio’s transition from the Army to civilian entrepreneur, download and listen to the rest of the episode. Don’t forget to leave us a 5-star rating and review if you enjoyed the show. We would love to hear from you! Check out these links for Robert Stasio Dreamit.com LinkedIn Robert Stasio: bob@dreamit.com Download Joe Crane’s Top 7 Paths to Freedom or get it on your mobile device. Text VETERAN to 38470. Join the Veteran on the Move on Facebook!

This week, The Cipher Brief's National Security Reporter and Europe Analyst Kaitlin Lavinder speaks with Ambassador Alexander Vershbow, former Deputy Secretary General of NATO (2012-2016). A changing external threat environment, internal security concerns, and the rise of populist anti-EU political parties leave Europe in a vulnerable position in 2017. Alexander tells Kaitlin how NATO can play a vital role in European security, and how the United States plays an indispensable role. 

When someone with the long-range perspective of Alexander “Sandy” Vershbow says relations with Russia are the worst he’s seen in his entire career, everyone should take notice. Vershbow has been a student of the Soviet Union and Russia for many decades, rising to the highest levels of the US State Department, the Pentagon and NATO.  Before … Continue reading Former NATO Deputy Secretary General Alexander “Sandy” Vershbow on the challenge posed by Russia →

As the head of United States Cyber Command (USCYBERCOM) and the National Security Agency/Central Security Service, General Keith Alexander is at the front lines of many aspects of American national security. While online life has improved many aspects of public life, it has also opened up a entirely new realm of possibilities for those wishing to do the US harm. Drawing on his prestigious education and military career, General Alexander will discuss cybersecurity challenges facing the US in the modern era. Speaker: Keith Alexander, Commander, US Cyber Command  http://www.worldaffairs.org/speakers/profile/general-keith-alexander.html Moderator: Anja Manuel, Principal, The RiceHadley Group, LLC http://www.worldaffairs.org/speakers/profile/anja-manuel.html