Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Chapter 893 Important Guests

There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end of the phone.

Heisuke Yanagawa could hear his heart beating wildly, and sweat had soaked through the collar of his shirt.

On one hand, there's the extremely risky act of controlling the military police, and on the other hand, the terrifying prospect of a military tribunal or even worse. . .

Finally, a nearly exhausted, trembling voice came from the receiver:

"...Hi! General...I...I understand...I...I will immediately arrange...to control Yusuke Ichijo and his main subordinates in Matsue...in Shanghai..." Yanagawa Heisuke could hardly speak clearly.

"Don't worry about Shanghai! I'll handle it myself!" Matsui Iwane interrupted him immediately, his tone unquestionable: "You just need to make sure that Songjiang is foolproof! Remember, be quick!

Keep it secret! No news can leak out until we succeed!

Otherwise, you and I will both be doomed!"

"Hi...Hi!" Yanagawa Heisuke's voice trembled.

With a "click", Matsui Iwane hung up the phone.

He slumped in the chair, as if he had used up all his strength, and his forehead was covered in cold sweat.

This decision is extremely risky, like walking a tightrope on a cliff.

But at this moment, his eyes showed more of the madness and determination of being forced into a desperate situation.

He picked up another internal phone and called his absolute confidant at the Shanghai Expeditionary Force Headquarters: "Hello, it's me.

"Immediately implement the 'house arrest' target. Itai Yudai, Nakamura Shunsuke, Nakagawa Ken, don't hurt them, but absolutely control them... Yes, now."

After giving the secret order, Matsui Iwane grabbed another phone and said, "Notify the commanders of all divisions to hold a combat meeting immediately!"

A crazy and radical action against internal colleagues was quietly launched through an encrypted phone call on this gloomy afternoon.

Zhou Zhengqing, who was far away in Tianjin, had no idea that the fuse he lit was about to detonate the powder keg.

. . . . . . . . . . .

In December 1937, winter had arrived in Tianjin.

Lead-gray clouds hung low, like a huge piece of felt cloth soaked in ice water, tightly covering this important port city in North China.

It was just past noon when the sky was already dark. A sharp north wind howled through the empty streets, raising dust and debris that lashed against the closed doors and windows, making crackling sounds.

The coldness was pervasive, reaching the bone marrow. Even the usually bustling Quanyechang area seemed exceptionally deserted. Pedestrians wrapped themselves tightly in cotton robes, hunched their necks, and walked in a hurry.

However, the Tianjin Railway Station, located on the banks of the Haihe River, now presents a highly tense "order" that is completely different from the surrounding dead silence.

The usual hustle and bustle and crowds have long disappeared, replaced by a suffocating atmosphere.

The platform was completely cleared, and ordinary passengers were politely but firmly guided by armed soldiers to other exits away from the main station building.

Instead, there were teams of stern-looking and well-equipped Japanese military police.

These military police were different from ordinary infantrymen. They wore thick woolen military coats with scarlet collar badges and eye-catching white "Military Police" armbands on their arms that were particularly eye-catching against the gray background.

They were in groups of five or ten, standing like stakes on both sides of the VIP passage, their bayonets reflecting a cold light in the gloomy sky.

Their eyes were as sharp as eagles, scanning every corner vigilantly to ensure that not even a suspicious fly could fly into this temporarily designated restricted area.

The air seemed frozen, with only the whimpering sound of the north wind as it swept across the platform roof and the occasional monotonous echo of the soldiers' heavy leather boots stomping on the ground.

In the very center of the platform, facing the incoming tracks, a group of people stood silently, like a few cold sculptures.

The leader was Zhou Zhengqing, the commander of the Japanese military police in Tianjin.

Today he changed into a Japanese major general's uniform that was meticulously ironed and well-tailored.

His hands, wearing white velvet gloves, hung naturally at his sides. He stood tall and straight, his eyes gazing calmly at the distance where the railway tracks extended and was shrouded in fog and haze.

On that young face that already revealed a deep demeanor, there was no trace of emotion. Only the slightly pursed corners of his lips revealed that his heart was not as calm as he appeared on the surface.

Standing half a step behind him was Lieutenant General Daichi Naoki, commander of the First Army of the North China Front Army.

At this time, Daihui Naoki, whose face still showed some signs of fatigue and weathering, was also wearing a formal military uniform.

Unlike Zhou Zhengqing's calmness, Daihui Naoki's eyes were intertwined with expectation, solemnity, and a hint of imperceptible anxiety.

Behind the two men stood several high-ranking staff adjutants and gendarmerie officers, all holding their breath and concentrating, blending into the solemn scene like a background board.

Time passed slowly in the oppressive silence.

Every second seemed to be stretched, and people on the platform could even hear their own heartbeats.

Zhou Zhengqing's thoughts had already flown to the upcoming meeting.

He didn't know yet that at this moment in the south, in Shanghai and Songjiang, the fuse he lit was about to ignite an unexpected explosion.

His current attention was focused entirely on the approaching special train and the "heavyweight guest" on it.

"Ugh——!"

A long, dull whistle, as if coming from far below the horizon, suddenly broke the silence on the platform.

The sound came from far away, carrying the heavy and oppressive feeling unique to a steel behemoth, and instantly captured everyone's attention.

All eyes on the platform were involuntarily turned to the direction where the sound came from.

Even the military police who looked like stone sculptures seemed to have tightened their gun-holding postures.

I saw a black silhouette breaking through the fog in the distance and slowly moving along the railway tracks.

As the distance got closer, its outline became clearer. This was an unusual train.

The front of the locomotive was not an ordinary passenger locomotive, but a special traction locomotive that had been reinforced with armor and looked exceptionally sturdy and fierce. The rising sun flag hanging on it was shaking violently in the wind, like a burning flame.

The carriage being towed from behind was not an ordinary passenger carriage either. It had smaller windows and thicker steel plates, exuding a cold and hard atmosphere that kept strangers away.

This is a special train used exclusively by the top brass of the Kwantung Army, with both command and protection functions.

The train slowly slid into the platform and finally stopped precisely in front of Zhou Zhengqing and others.

The heavy brakes sounded and the train came to a complete stop.

The carriage doors opened, and the first people to get off from the middle carriage were four guards and staff officers wearing tan woolen uniforms, with eyes as sharp as knives and clean and efficient movements.

They quickly formed a cordon on both sides of the door, their eyes sweeping over every corner of the platform like searchlights to ensure it was absolutely safe.

Their presence itself declares the importance of the people in the car.

Then, a figure appeared at the car door.