Chapter 46: Eastern Expedition, Northern Expedition 1

Just after Sun Xiansheng's funeral, the summer heat of Lingnan swept in with a scorching, irritable force. The humid heat wave, carrying kapok fluff, swirled through the streets and alleys of Yangcheng. On the docks, coolies hauling cargo worked bare-chested, their bronze backs glistening with oil under the scorching sun, occasionally wiping their faces with sweat towels draped over their shoulders, whispering as they gazed at the Blue Sky White Sun Flag fluttering over Guanyin Mountain.

Sun Xiansheng's sudden death—like the removal of a stabilizing pillar—instantly threw the already tangled power structure off balance. Newsboys on the streets waved extras, shouting hoarsely about the latest developments in the Dongjiang campaign. Most unsettling of all was that Guangdong warlord Chen Jiongming had assembled thirty thousand rebel troops, advancing on Yangcheng in three columns, their spearhead aimed straight at the heart of the National Government.

In haste, the Revolutionary Army was forced to engage. From spring to September, the two sides fought a seesaw battle around Huizhou and Chaozhou, the roar of guns and cannons shaking even the waters of the Pearl River. Wounded soldiers sent down from the front lines packed the trains on the Guangzhou-Kowloon Railway, the blood on their bandages quickly turning black in the summer heat, giving off a suffocating stench. Yet after all the fighting, neither side had gained a clear advantage; the front line was like a taut string, and no one knew when it would snap.

In the midst of this stalemate, the National Government in Yangcheng convened an emergency meeting at the Grand Marshal's Mansion. Inside the European-style building shaded by palm trees, military and political officials argued through the entire night, kapok blossoms falling silently outside the window at dawn. The final decision was made: the time for the Northern Expedition had come; the army should march north to recover the Central Plains. The first step toward achieving this goal was to crush Chen Jiongming's rebel forces and secure the Guangdong base—the plan was set as "First the Eastern Expedition, then the Northern Expedition."

Appointments came quickly: Jiang Ruiyuan was named Commander-in-Chief of the Eastern Expeditionary Force and Army Commander of the First Army, while Li Yuxuan was pushed into the position of Division Commander of the Third Division.

"Jingxing, I'm putting you in charge of the Third Division—any problems?" Jiang Ruiyuan stood before a huge military map, his finger tapping heavily on the Dongjiang region, his tone carrying unquestioning trust. This Third Division was the backbone of the Huangpu Student Army, mostly outstanding cadets from the first and second classes—a unit truly capable of fighting hard battles.

Li Yuxuan's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained impassive. He noticed the dark circles under Jiang Ruiyuan's eyes and knew that this Young Master had also been up all night. "In reply to Young Master, please allow me to write a few letters. I want to find some regimental commanders to help share the burden."

His words were half true, half false. The officers of the Third Division were all students he had trained himself, solid in tactical theory, but he always felt they lacked a certain "killer instinct in actual combat." More importantly, he himself felt uncertain—the theories he had learned at the Berlin Military Academy were a completely different matter from commanding thousands of troops in real combat.

"Who are you planning to find?" Jiang Ruiyuan raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Good friends from my time studying in Germany," Li Yuxuan said frankly. "All proper military academy graduates who saw blood in the Great War and crawled out of piles of corpses. Rest assured, their command skills are absolutely no problem."

"Alright." Jiang Ruiyuan didn't ask further, waving his hand. "Whatever you need, just say the word. Weapons, supplies—I'll scrape them together for you as best I can."

"Thank you, Young Master." Li Yuxuan breathed a sigh of relief, turned, and quickly walked back to his office.

The moment he closed the mahogany door, his tense shoulders slumped. Outside the window, a squad of soldiers was drilling, bayonets glinting coldly in the sunlight. "I'm a theory guy—I'm fine with armchair strategy, but actually being in charge of so many lives? That still makes me a bit nervous." Professional matters should be left to professionals. He rubbed his face, picked up the wolf-hair brush on the desk, and thought, "No, I need to write letters quickly, to rope in the connections I made in Germany—no, not rope in, it's a plea for help from old friends."

A few months earlier, he had received a letter from a German friend saying that the situation in Europe was getting increasingly tense, that the Treaty of Versailles was like a yoke choking the German military, and that many capable soldiers were looking for new paths. This might be an opportunity.

Spreading out the letter paper, he first wrote to Rommel: "Dear Rommel: Long time no see, I miss you greatly. Now Huaxia is in chaos, surrounded by rebel forces, with the Northern Expedition imminent, and I urgently need capable generals to help. You and I once discussed tactics late into the night at the tavern, and I know your talent well. If you could come and help, to fight against the stubborn enemy together, it would truly be Huaxia's fortune, and I also look forward to renewing our bond as classmates..."

After writing it, he read it through and felt it wasn't earnest enough, so he added another line: "... Though there are no advanced weapons here, there is the hope of four hundred million people. I hope you can come here and give me a hand."

Next, he wrote to Guderian, that senior: "Dear Senior: Do you still remember the days when you taught me to read armored unit tactical charts? Though the Huaxia Army is crude now, it has countless passionate young men. The rebel forces are strong, and I have been ordered to command a division, feeling deeply inadequate. I hope you can come over to Huaxia and help your dear junior, putting your tactical ideas into practice here..."

For the last letter, he hesitated, then wrote to Karl Dönitz—that submarine warfare expert. Though the Eastern Expedition was a land battle, if coastal defense needed to be strengthened in the future, this man was definitely a talent. "Dear Karl Dönitz: I hear you are making a name for yourself in the navy, and I greatly admire that. Huaxia's coastline is long, and I urgently need coastal defense talent. If you could come to Huaxia to help me, even just offering some guidance, it would be like charcoal in the snow..."

After finishing the three letters, he called for someone.

"Sir, you called for me?"

"Have these three letters translated into German, then send them to Germany. The addresses and everything are already filled in." After handing them to his subordinate to have the translated letters sent by fast horse to Modu for transfer to airplane, Li Yuxuan let out a long sigh of relief. "Alright, I don't know how to fight, but those men who've been on the battlefield and crawled out of piles of corpses—they know how to fight, don't they?" He raised an eyebrow at himself in the mirror, thinking smugly, "Not bad, me. Using my connections just right."

But then his thoughts turned to his son in Xikou, and his brow furrowed again: No, he still had to hurry and improve his military capabilities. Relying on others all the time wasn't a long-term solution; his own kid needed to step up early. He picked up his pen.

Three weeks later, in distant Germany, the three letters arrived one after another.

At the submarine base in Kiel Naval Port, Karl Dönitz was studying shipping routes on a sea chart when his Adjutant came in with a letter: "Captain, a personal letter for you, from Huaxia."

Karl Dönitz opened it and read it, surprise flashing in his eyes. He walked to the window, looking at the submarines moored in the harbor, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the window frame. "An old acquaintance sent me a letter, asking me to go to Huaxia to help him out." He stroked his chin, lost in thought.

The Adjutant was stunned: "Going now isn't realistic, is it? We're about to carry out a mission."

"No, I'll just resign." Karl Dönitz smiled, a glint of adventurous light in his eyes. "Huaxia's coastline... that's a place worth studying."

On the other side, at the Berlin Military Academy, Guderian had just finished a lecture on armored tactics when an assistant handed him a letter. Seeing the sender on the envelope, he raised an eyebrow: "My junior wrote to me, asking me to go to Huaxia to help him."

"How are you planning to go?" the assistant asked curiously. "Leaving now would have a significant impact on your promotion."

"Impact?" Guderian laughed. "Compared to staring at old maps in an office, going to a country at war to put my ideas into practice is far more interesting. I'll go after I resign. After all, this junior of mine rarely asks for help; if he's spoken up, he must really need it."

And in the city of Munich, in his room, Rommel was polishing his medals when his wife came over: "Rommel, what are you looking at? You look so lost in thought."

Rommel held up the letter in his hand: "A friend of mine wrote to me, asking me to go to Huaxia to help him."

"So, will you go?" His wife was a bit worried; she knew her husband's adventurous spirit.

"He helped me a lot in the past." Rommel remembered how, when he was short on money back then, this Huaxia confidant had secretly slipped him cash to help him buy precious tactical books. "So I'll go."

"What about your work here after you leave?"

"I'll be back within a year at most." Rommel comforted her, patting his wife's hand. "Don't worry, my good partner. I'll come back once I've made a name for myself in the East."

Three letters crossing the vast ocean, like three stones thrown into a lake, stirred ripples in distant Europe. And at this moment in Guangzhou, Li Yuxuan stood before the barracks of the Third Division, watching the soldiers clean their rifles, silently praying in his heart: "Old friends, you must come. This Eastern Expedition and Northern Expedition—I can't fight this war alone."

On the distant Pearl River, several warships sounded their steam whistles, as if seeing off the army about to set out. The afterglow of the setting sun spilled onto the river, dyeing the shimmering waves blood-red. The bugle for the Eastern Expedition had already sounded, and the course of this war, because of these few letters, had quietly gained a few more variables.