Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Chapter 1185 "No 1".

Chen Gongshu's fingertips touched the wood grain of the table, and he looked up at Zhao Guangyuan opposite him, uttering a single word: "Save."

“But we can’t just force our way in. Japanese spies aren’t just for show; we have to outsmart them.” He leaned closer, his voice low but clear, “Go and get an ambulance. It has to be the Toyota model that Japanese military hospitals use. The paint color and the position of the red cross must be exactly the same as the real thing.”

Find three more complete sets of Japanese military doctor uniforms, along with the corresponding medical identification documents. The documents must be flawless; the photograph, stamp, and serial number must withstand close scrutiny. Ideally, have someone familiar with Japanese military document regulations verify them.

He raised his hand and glanced at the old pocket watch hidden in his sleeve. The hands on the dial were just past seven in the morning. "Tonight at ten o'clock, I'll take two people to try. At this time, the Japanese soldiers are changing shifts and their attention is most easily distracted. It's the best window of opportunity."

Zhao Guangyuan was startled and instinctively took half a step forward, his knee hitting the table leg with a slight sound, but he was completely unaware of it. His voice was filled with urgency and anxiety: "You're going yourself? That's too dangerous!"

"There are three layers of sentry posts inside and outside Meizha Hutong. Two Type 91 machine guns are pointed at the main gate, and guard dogs patrol the side gate. There are also mobile patrols constantly moving in and out. You're the stationmaster of Beiping Station; if something happens, the station will be in complete chaos!"

He became more and more anxious as he spoke, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, sliding down his temples and into his collar.

"I have to go." Chen Gongshu raised his hand to interrupt his exclamation and slowly stood up. His body, stiff from sitting for so long, turned his neck slightly, and his cervical vertebrae made a soft "clicking" sound, like an old machine in operation.

He reached up and rubbed his temples. After days of planning the assassination and rescue, his eyes were bloodshot, and exhaustion washed over him like a tide, but he managed to suppress it.

"Qi Anzhi and his men must focus all their attention on preparing for the assassination of Wang Kemin. That is the most important thing, and they cannot afford to be distracted."

The slightest error in an assassination attempt could lead to disastrous consequences; any oversight could cost our men their lives and alert the enemy.

He walked to the wall, his fingertips tracing the map of Beiping city posted on it, then pointed heavily at the location of Meizha Hutong: "Go and find two people, and the candidates must be reliable."

One must be familiar with the terrain of Meizha Hutong, preferably someone who has lived in that area for more than ten years, knowing every narrow alley, every corner, even which courtyard wall has a gap, and which dog doesn't bark at night.

The other must be fluent in Japanese, with an authentic accent that doesn't betray any flaws in their pronunciation to Japanese speakers.

"But if the Japanese find out, you and your brothers will be trapped inside! You won't even have a chance to break out!"

Zhao Guangyuan wanted to persuade him further, but the look Chen Gongshu gave him abruptly stopped him. That sharp, resolute gaze made him unable to utter the words he was about to say.

“There’s no chance of anything going wrong.” Chen Gongshu picked up the operation route map on the table. The yellowed paper had the general layout of the Special Service Department marked with a red pencil. He quickly ran his finger across it, his tone full of confidence. “Don’t forget my skills.”

I also worked my way up from the bottom as an action team member. I learned everything from knives, guns, fists, and footwork to stealth and raids, all of which I honed in piles of dead bodies.

Those ordinary Japanese agents can't do anything to me." He folded the route map and tucked it into his pocket, his tone suddenly becoming stern: "Prepare as I say. Time is running out. The ambulance and uniforms must be in place by four o'clock this afternoon, and the chosen personnel must be brought to see me as soon as possible."

He paused, then added, "Also, immediately notify Qi Anzhi that at 10 a.m., he and I will disguise ourselves as rickshaw pullers to scout out the location, finalize the details of the assassination operation two days from now, and double-check the retreat route."

Seeing his unyielding expression, Zhao Guangyuan knew that further persuasion would be useless.

He nodded heavily, raised his hand to give a slightly off-standard but solemn military salute, and turned to walk quickly out of the secret room.

. . . . . . . . . .

At nine o'clock in the morning, Chen Gongshu and Qi Anzhi had already changed into coarse cloth short jackets that were washed until they were faded and pilling, with worn cloth belts tied around their waists, and old straw hats with worn edges, the brims pulled down so low that they almost covered most of their faces.

The two men each pulled a dilapidated rickshaw, the handlebars wrapped in thick strips of rags. The wheels crunched over the thin layer of ice on the road, making a creaking sound that stood out starkly against the deserted street.

The area around West Chang'an Street was even more deserted than usual. Most of the shops on both sides had their doors closed, and the vermilion wooden doors were covered with dust. Many of the doors had notices from the Japanese army pasted on them, which read "No Assembly" and "Curfew Notice" in both Chinese and Japanese. The ink was fresh, so it was clear that they had just been posted recently.

Next to the notice were black and white photos of anti-Japanese patriots wanted by the Japanese army. The faces in the photos were circled in red, exuding a bloody atmosphere.

Occasionally, a few breakfast stalls would open their doors, but they only dared to leave one half-open, letting out a faint light. The steam rising from the steamers was instantly blown away by the cold wind as soon as it reached the doorway.

At the corner of the street, leaning against the wall, stood a Japanese military police patrol. They were eating steamed buns with their mouths dangling from their lips, their eyes scanning the passersby like hyenas searching for prey. Every now and then, they would tap the butts of their rifles against the wall, making a dull thud.

There were very few pedestrians on the street, and everyone was wrapped up tightly in their clothes, with their heads down and hurrying along, their steps so fast it was as if they were avoiding something.

No one dared to look up at the arrogant Japanese military police carrying their Type 38 rifles.

Not far away, a beggar wearing a tattered cotton-padded coat tried to approach the entrance of a breakfast stall to beg for food. He had only taken two steps when a Japanese ronin dressed as a samurai, who was buying steamed buns, kicked him to the ground and cursed him in obscure Japanese. The beggar curled up on the ground, not daring to make a sound, and could only silently endure it, his eyes filled with numbness and fear.

People around them quickly moved away upon seeing this.

The Japanese military police officers who were eating steamed buns over there, as if they had spotted prey, quickly stuffed the remaining buns into their mouths and swallowed them whole. Then, the leading military police sergeant blew a metal whistle, held a Type 38 rifle, and led his men in a swarm of people running towards them.

Hearing the commotion, the ronin turned around. The effects of the sake he'd been drinking all night visibly dissipated, and his lips twitched. His hand unconsciously tightened on his purse at his waist.

Chen Gongshu pulled the rickshaw, deliberately slowing his pace. The wheels made a soft sound as they rolled over the snow on the road.

He tilted his head slightly, lowered the brim of his straw hat, pointed with his chin to the intersection ahead, and spoke in a voice so low that only the two of them could hear him, his breath scattered in the air by the cold wind: "That's the intersection, the intersection of West Chang'an Street and South Chang'an Street, a place that Wang Kemin's motorcade always passes through."

He would pass by here every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon at 3 p.m. on his way to the office of the puppet North China Political Affairs Committee located in Tieshizi Hutong.

This was also a place he would definitely pass through on the day of the government's inauguration ceremony.