bookrandom Chapter 382 Landing (2)
Chapter 382 Landing (2)
On the other side, an old man also stayed up all night, paying close attention to the amphibious operation that would determine the fate of the South Seas.
General Stevenson, the four-star general appointed by the Allies as the commander of the Southeast Asia Theater and the nominal supreme commander, was wearing a neat military uniform and sitting in a temporary command post converted from a villa left by businessman John on the outskirts of Yangon.
It was still dark outside, but the house was brightly lit. The coffee pot on the table had already burned out three times. The large blackboard was filled with codes, time, weather, routes, landing points and backup plans. There was also a large wall chart in the corner that outlined the progress of the Anmin Army's operations with red lines.
"Sir, your coffee," the adjutant whispered, placing a cup of freshly brewed hot coffee on the table. His brows knitted slightly, clearly troubled.
"Thank you, George." Stevenson took the cup, smelled the strong coffee aroma, and then took a small sip.
The adjutant hesitated for a moment, but finally lowered his voice and said:
"Sir, in the battle of Betio Island last year, the 2nd Marine Division fought for three days and two nights. There were only 4,000 Japanese soldiers on the island, and 500 Koreans forced to work as laborers, but we suffered 4300 casualties. There are no fewer than 40,000 Japanese soldiers on the Malay Peninsula and in Singapore... Isn't Zhang's plan too radical?"
Stevenson did not respond immediately after hearing this. Instead, he put the coffee cup back on the table, tapped the handle twice with his index finger, and his eyes were calm.
Of course he remembered Betio Island. The "Red Beach Bloodbath" almost became a shadow on the US military's Pacific battlefield. To this day, it is still often used as a topic of conversation among Marines in bars, while they drink and curse.
Although at this time, the old empires in Europe commented on the White Eagle soldiers as "cowardly young soldiers with cigarettes in their left trouser pocket, chocolate candies in their right trouser pocket, and condoms in their back pocket."
But in reality, the White Eagle Marines were a tough unit that dared to use machetes to fight the Japanese in hand-to-hand combat, bayonets to the point of bloodshed, and fight to the last man standing.
Because of this, the White Eagle Army also had a high opinion of the combat effectiveness of the Japanese, especially these elite Japanese soldiers in the Pacific.
"George, I know what you are worried about." He spoke slowly, but his tone was not stiff. It didn't sound like a lecture from a superior, but rather like an old friend answering a question.
"But we can't generalize. Betio Island is less than four square kilometers, a coral reef surrounded by the sea. Singapore is different. West Malaysia is a full 130,000 square kilometers, with complex terrain, long transportation lines, and a far lower troop density than Tarawa. Different geographical conditions determine different tactics."
He stood up, walked to the map, stretched out his pointer and tapped the "Red Beach" marked with a red circle northwest of Kuala Lumpur Port.
"I'll make a five-knife bet with you. There are no more than a squadron of Japanese soldiers on this beach. Two hundred would be considered a lot."
The adjutant smiled bitterly and raised his mug. "Sir, I already owe you twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents. Can we please stop betting? I'm planning on using my salary to pay off my debts first, rather than mailing it back to my girlfriend."
"Then you should find a new girlfriend." Stevenson raised an eyebrow. "Someone who truly cares about you should support you in trading your salary for peace."
The adjutant laughed, the coffee in the cup swayed slightly, and the atmosphere became a little more relaxed.
In fact, Stevenson was no longer the nominal chief of staff of the Republic of China's war zone at this time - he had just handed over this position, along with the work of coordinating, contacting, allocating supplies, and training with the Republic of China, to Wedemeyer not long ago.
The latter was a famous "desk general" with little battlefield experience. However, because of this, there was less friction between Wedemeyer and the political and military leaders in Shancheng, and the cooperation was smooth.
And precisely because he was relieved of the tedious task of "coordinating the Allied Forces and the White Party government" and got rid of the dirty dealings with the White Party high-level officials, the four-star general felt a lot more relaxed.
He was finally able to focus on what he did best, and had more time to concentrate on the deployment of the Southeast Asian battlefield and the regularization of the People's Security Army.
He held the hot mug in his arms, walked to the window with his hands behind his back. Outside the window was a humid tropical dawn, a thin layer of mist slowly rising from the Irrawaddy River, and occasional ship horns could be heard from the distant harbor.
Stevenson looked down out the window, lost in thought.
"If Zhang Chi can successfully take over the Strait of Malacca this time, what should we do next?" he muttered to himself.
The adjutant picked up the map from the table and followed up, whispering, "Are you saying we should send them south? Attack Kalimantan and Sumatra?"
"Or we can advance eastward and seize Annan." Stevenson nodded, his eyes sharp as a knife. "Then we can move north along the Indochina Peninsula, cut into the Yunnan and Guangxi battlefields, and fight alongside the Republic of China Army."
"We can also be more radical." He suddenly paused and turned to look at his adjutant. "We can cross directly to Luzon and cooperate with Marshal Mai to build a landing bridgehead in Manila Bay, laying the foundation for a future attack on the Japanese mainland."
The adjutant hesitated and said, "But General Mai has repeatedly emphasized that Luzon is his primary target. He also said that he would personally lead the army to the beachhead and be the 'first White Eagle soldier to set foot on Luzon.'"
Stevenson snorted softly, a hint of a meaningful smile on his face. "McPipe... He talks loudly, wears his hat low, and takes good pictures. But the dogs that really bite don't usually bark so loudly."
As the saying goes, a dog that bites never barks.
Mai Yanpi's appearance made Stevenson realize that he was weak inside.
The adjutant gave him a slightly puzzled look.
"That guy knows better than anyone that wars aren't won by photo ops," Stevenson said, taking a sip of his coffee. "Wars are won by actual combat. If Luzon can't be landed, or if the casualties are too great, the public opinion that's currently on his side will immediately turn against him. Do you believe it?"
The adjutant swallowed and thought to himself, as long as they don't bet on my salary, I'll believe it.
Stevenson tilted his head to glance at his adjutant and smiled, "Go ahead, George. We should pray for the children on those landing craft."
-----
The artillery fire at sea has stopped and the sun is rising.
On a landing craft running at full speed, a lieutenant of the Security Army was loudly encouraging everyone:
"Don't be afraid! Don't hesitate! As soon as the boat docks and the door opens, I'll blow the whistle. When the whistle blows, don't worry about anything else. Just focus on following me. The faster you run, the safer you will be!"
As the commander of the Southeast Asia Theater, Stevenson also made great contributions to this amphibious operation. At least he relied on his own connections to obtain a lot of experience and information from the White Eagle Army.
These are the precious experiences that the White Eagle Army and Marines gained with their blood when they landed in Normandy, the Gilbert Islands and other places, and are now selflessly passed on to the People's Army.
On the landing craft, dozens of soldiers silently clenched their weapons. The next second, the boat stopped with a bang.
"Come on—!"
The landing craft's door was lowered, and the lieutenant rushed out at the head of the group, holding up his Thompson submachine gun. He stepped into the shallow water, and then the soldiers followed him out one after another.
In just a few minutes, countless landing craft docked one after another, and countless pairs of military boots waded quickly through the shallow water and stepped onto the beach.