si-mexico Chapter 1173: This is the effect we want
Chapter 1173: This is the effect we want
"This is the effect we want."
Dai Li's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling hardness that penetrated to the bone, echoing in the oppressive office.
As he spoke, he slowly stood up, the hem of his dark Zhongshan suit sweeping several documents off the desk. He turned around and his fingertips landed heavily on the large map on the wall, where two areas had long been covered by the Japanese army's red markings, like two ugly scars.
"The Japanese thought that once they occupied North China, they could rest easy and treated this land as their backyard, committing all sorts of atrocities, including burning, killing, looting, and pillaging." Dai Li's gaze swept across the mountains and rivers on the map, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's.
"Traitors think that by surrendering to the enemy, they can rely on a powerful backer to act arrogantly and domineeringly, forgetting where their roots are and forgetting that the blood left by their ancestors is warm."
He abruptly turned to look at Chen Gongshu, who was standing in front of the desk, his tone suddenly becoming harsher, each word like ice: "You must use this operation to tell everyone what happens to traitors."
The bigger the commotion, the better. We must keep the traitors in Beiping awake at night, make the people of North China hold their heads high, and let the whole country and the world know that those who betray their country will surely die.
Chen Gongshu's hands, hanging by his sides, clenched quietly, his palms damp with a thin layer of sweat.
At that moment, he fully understood Dai Li's intention. This was not a simple assassination mission, but a show of force to intimidate and deter the enemy and their collaborators, a declaration of war that resistance would never cease.
Who the target of the assassination was was no longer important; what mattered was to use this operation to tear apart the seemingly tight network of enemy control and ignite the flames of resistance against the enemy in North China.
"Understood, sir." He replied in a deep voice, without the slightest hesitation: "When shall I depart?"
“Now.” Dai Li said decisively, turning around and walking back behind his desk, bending down to pull open the bottom drawer.
Several confidential letters, a dagger, and a Colt M1911 pistol were neatly stacked in the drawer.
He took out the pistol and placed it on the table. The gun body was jet black and shiny, and the handle was smooth and warm from years of use. You could clearly see the patina left by long-term handling, a mark of ten years and countless life-and-death experiences.
"This gun has been with me for many years, from the Northern Expedition to the suppression of bandits, it has accompanied me through countless battles. Today I'm giving it to you."
Chen Gongshu's gaze fell on the pistol, and his heart skipped a beat.
This is not just a weapon, but also a trust, a weighty entrustment, and even an unspoken death order.
"Once it's done, bring it back to me, and I'll give you the credit." Dai Li paused, his eyes deepening, and didn't finish his sentence, but Chen Gongshu understood the implication better than anyone.
If things fail, he will either die in the streets of Beiping, becoming a loyal soul who fought against the enemy.
Either use this gun to end my own life, or I must not be captured by the Japanese army and leak even a single secret of the Military Intelligence Bureau.
This is the fate of Kuomintang agents, and also their inviolable bottom line.
"Your subordinate understands." Chen Gongshu bowed again, his tone as firm as iron.
He stepped forward, grasped the gun handle. It was slightly cool to the touch, yet it carried a strange power, as if he were not holding a gun, but the belief of countless comrades who had sacrificed their lives.
"besides."
Dai Li's voice was lower than before, with a hint of barely perceptible gravity: "Do you still remember Liu Geqing from Beiping Station?"
Chen Gongshu nodded slowly.
He had never met Liu Geqing, but he had heard the name many times.
He was one of the top operatives at Beiping Station.
Last November, Liu Geqing carried out a mission alone in Xidan, Beiping, and accurately blew up a foreign firm run by the Japanese, killing two Japanese officers on the spot and seizing a batch of important intelligence. This became a well-known story within the Military Intelligence Bureau.
Chen Gongshu recalled that Dai Li specifically praised Liu Geqing at the meeting, saying that he was a "fierce general who could fight ten men at once".
"He was arrested last month and is being held by the Japanese intelligence agency." Dai Li's tone carried a hint of regret, but even more so, a resolute determination: "If there's a chance... try your best to rescue him."
He knew too many secrets about Beiping Station, as well as our covert network in North China.
"If we can't rescue him, we can't let him remain in the hands of the Japanese for too long."
Chen Gongshu's heart sank.
Rescuing a captured agent is a mission with a high risk of death, let alone when Liu Geqing is imprisoned in the Japanese military intelligence office, a place with tight security and rampant torture, making it several times more difficult than assassinating a traitor.
Dai Li's second half of his statement was even colder: if a rescue was impossible, the only option was to painfully silence them to prevent the secret from being leaked. This was the cruelest and most helpless choice in espionage operations.
Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately stood at attention and saluted: "Yes, sir!"
There were no extra promises, only a resounding response.
In this era, every Kuomintang agent knew that their personal life, death, honor, and disgrace were inextricably linked to the fate of their country and people, and that sacrifice was inevitable for the greater good.
As I walked out of the Military Intelligence Bureau building, it suddenly started raining in Wuhan.
The cold raindrops pelted his face, carrying the chill of late autumn, and instantly soaked through Chen Gongshu's long robe.
He stopped and looked up at the gloomy sky, which was covered with dark clouds and had no light at all, just like the current situation, which was gloomy and unclear, with no end in sight.
He took a deep breath, and the damp air filled his lungs, carrying the scent of earth and rain, which helped to calm his chaotic thoughts.
He subconsciously touched the Colt pistol in his arms. The gun was gradually warmed by his body heat, and the patina on the handle against his skin brought a sense of security.
He only had six days.
Starting from Wuhan, they traversed the battle zone where the Japanese and Nationalist armies were locked in combat. Upon arriving in Beiping, they quickly took over the responsibilities of the station chief, organized the remaining personnel, conducted reconnaissance and scouting, formulated a dual plan of assassination and rescue, and finally put it into action.
Time was of the essence, and every step was taken with extreme caution, leaving no room for error.
As evening fell, Chen Gongshu changed into a coarse cotton robe, put on a black leather hat, and smeared some dust on his face. He shed his usual capable demeanor and transformed into a traveling herbal medicine merchant.
He was carrying a dark brown leather suitcase filled with samples of medicinal herbs such as Coptis chinensis, Angelica sinensis, and Astragalus membranaceus, which emitted a faint medicinal fragrance.
Hidden in a compartment of the box was the Colt pistol, five thousand yuan in Chinese currency, and a forged business license for a traditional Chinese medicine shop.
He boarded a train bound for Zhengzhou with two trusted subordinates, Xiao Li and Xiao Wang.
Li is small and thin, skilled in reconnaissance and disguise, while Wang is burly and has excellent marksmanship; he is Chen Gongshu's most trusted subordinate.
At this moment, the train carriages were crowded with refugees. The air was thick and foul, filled with the smells of sweat and mildew, the cries of children, the violent coughs of the elderly, and the suppressed sighs of men and women, all intertwined to create a desolate scene of displacement in a chaotic world.
Some people were dressed in rags, with wounds on their bodies, staring blankly out the window.
Some people hugged their families tightly, whispering words of comfort, but could not hide the anxiety in their eyes; others huddled in a corner, silently shedding tears, not knowing where the road ahead lay.