bookrandom Chapter 362 Major General Fitch: I am not good at running
Chapter 362 Major General Fitch: I am not good at running
Early morning a few days later.
As the morning light shines and the breeze blows, the streets of Myitkyina are already bustling with activity.
This is an important transportation hub in northern Bago, close to the border with Yunnan Province, and is also the first major city liberated by the People's Army of An.
The streets are crowded with people, including freight teams traveling north and south, various vendors, factory workers, teahouse waiters, and patrolling police, interweaving into a bustling picture.
The shops on both sides of the street open early.
The rice shop clerk was writing the latest rice price of the day on the sign in front of the door, and the owner of the candy store was adding newly arrived, beautifully packaged corn-flavored and pineapple-flavored candies into glass jars.
The waiters in the teahouse shuttled between the tables and chairs, some carrying boiling hot soy milk and freshly steamed buns, while others carried rice noodles and freshly made wontons.
It can be seen that the boss sells food from both the south and the north.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowd, a little newspaper boy, estimated to be about twelve or thirteen years old, was weaving through the crowd with brisk steps, constantly shouting:
"Newspapers for sale, South China Morning Post, 10 cents a copy! Chittagong conflict: The People's Army triumphs over John's Army!"
A little newspaper boy, who looked to be only twelve or thirteen years old, was running on the streets of Myitkyina, shouting, carrying a cross-body bag full of newspapers.
His voice was clear and full of the childishness that is typical of a teenager, but what he said was shocking enough.
"7 to 129 in air combat, over a hundred John planes shot down!"
"The army captured a whole hundred acres of prisoners, and the senior officers above the rank of major could form two football teams!"
As soon as these words came out, people on the street looked sideways. Some stopped in their tracks, while others laughed and cursed in disbelief: "Little devil, are you making this up? A prisoner from the Hundred Acres?"
"That's right!" The little newsboy proudly patted his canvas bag, which was filled with newspapers. "The big photo on the front page shows two major generals from the John people being captured alive by our Security Army. Just see it with your own eyes and you'll know for sure."
At a wonton stall on the street, several workers who were eating breakfast were attracted by the shouting of the little newspaper boy and turned to look.
Their blue work clothes had become a little pale due to washing, but they were in high spirits. The big words "Nanhua Steel" shone brightly on the nameplate on their chests, and the stains on their cuffs showed that they had just finished their night shift.
One of the men, who was in his early thirties, wiped his mouth and said with a smile, "Give me one. Let's see how our army defeats the white guys."
A tall, thin worker nearby took over the conversation and said cheerfully, "What's the point of you reading this alone? One for each of you! This is such a big victory, you have to take a good look at it yourself."
Seeing this, the newsboy smiled until his eyes narrowed into slits: "You guys are right! This is a victory over the Ansar people, it's no small matter! Giving everyone a copy will make us look more proud!"
As he spoke, he swiftly pulled out a few newspapers from his bag and handed them over. He took the money quickly and efficiently, obviously being used to this job.
The workers got the newspaper and couldn't wait to open it. The freshly printed paper still had a faint scent of ink and the handwriting was clear.
All South China factories have night literacy classes. In order to get full wages, workers must learn to read 500 commonly used Chinese characters in Mandarin (writing is not counted separately). Therefore, it is not difficult for a few workers to read the South China Morning Post.
On the front page, the picture showed a prisoner camp full of disarmed John soldiers. The most conspicuous among them was a major general with a neat uniform but a depressed expression, who was being escorted by two soldiers of the National Security Army.
This is not who Major General Elvis of the 50th Armored Brigade is.
In order to achieve the best photo effect, An Minjun not only helped him wash his clothes, but also shaved his face, leaving only two small mustaches.
"Tsk, tsk, he really is a major general!" A worker sighed. "Before, even when we were coolies, we were bullied by foreigners. Now look, even their senior officers have been taken prisoner. What a shame!"
"There's also a major general here. Under the photo is written 'Major General Haywood Fitch, Commander of the 36th Infantry Division,' and there are captured tanks and trucks."
In the photo, the hapless Major General Fitch looked like he was not good at running, and next to him were a few ordinary soldiers of the National Security Army who looked proud and flushed.
"Damn it! We caught Major General Angsa alive even though he was hiding in a tree hole in the rainforest!"
"Look at these numbers! 11 to 116! On the first day of fighting, our Security Army only lost 11 armored vehicles, but destroyed or captured 116 John tanks."
The workers discussed with each other, their eyes full of pride and excitement.
Whether in the Republic of China or in Southeast Asia, foreigners have always been regarded as the superior "foreign masters".
Now they have become the losers in the news, captured like pigs by the Anmin Army. This reversal makes them feel proud.
"Over the past year, the steel produced by our Nanhua Iron and Steel Group has been turned into guns and vehicles on the front lines. We have made a contribution." The older worker patted the shoulder of the young worker next to him.
"Now that you new workers who have attended night school can read newspapers, that's even better. We workers also need to know about our country's affairs, right?"
The young worker nodded rapidly, holding the newspaper in his hand, his face full of pride: "Yes, all the words I learned in night school were not learned in vain, hey!"
The newsboy took the money, curled his lips, turned around and continued to squeeze in and out of the crowd, his shouting still loud:
"Newspapers for sale! Big photo on the front page! The captured Major General Haywood Fitch, commander of the 36th Infantry Division! Beautiful lady, would you like to buy a copy?"
People are discussing this on the streets:
The John people brazenly launched an attack on the People's Army of Japan in Chittagong. The People's Army fought back in self-defense and won a great victory, annihilating three divisions and one brigade of the John people and capturing tens of thousands of prisoners.
On the street, many people gathered around the newspaper stalls and talked about it. Even some white employees of foreign companies secretly bought a copy and hid in the corner to read it.
When White Eagle's special ambassador Harold saw that John's men were defeated, he was secretly happy and signaled his men to send a telegram to the country.
"God bless our poor European relatives, hahahahaha!"
Dismantle John and the Gallic colonies, gain access to these markets, and then dump White Eagle's products.
This was the absolute consensus among the White Eagle upper echelons, so Harold returned to his bedroom and hurriedly took out his typewriter to begin drafting a new report.
He was well aware that the South China Morning Post was Zhang Chi's official mouthpiece, so the meaning of the word "conflict" in the newspaper title was worth pondering.
Should we push Zhang Chi now and make him break up with John completely?
Or should we wait a bit and wait until the war is over before taking our actions gradually?
Harold, with his hands on the typewriter, shook his head. The bigwigs in the White House only needed to make decisions, but he, as the special envoy on the front line, had a lot to consider.