Chapter 67: The Fifth Army's Preparations 4

At the end of 1927 in Berlin, the cold had seeped into the brickwork of Lindenstrasse, and even the air was heavy with the characteristic gloom of the Weimar Republic. Inside Xi Toule's office, the fireplace flame crackled, yet could not warm the chill in any corner. Xi Toule's fingertips brushed the envelope of a letter from the East; the inked signature had long dried, a faint, ambiguous smile curled at their mouth corner, their gaze fell on the creases of the letter, as if weighing some hidden significance.

"Leader, are you reviewing the urgent matters?" the Adjutant entered lightly, placing hot coffee on the table edge; the porcelain cup struck the wooden desk with a soft clink.

Xi Toule looked up, eyes flashing through a complex glint, lifted the letter in hand: "Li wrote to me." The voice was low but carried unmistakable presence, "He wants me to send several military advisors to China to help train his newly formed troops."

"Supreme Leader, should we agree?" the Adjutant could not hide surprise; the organization was now fully pressing the Parliament, already stretched thin, "Moreover, sending advisors far to Huaxia yields no direct benefit for us."

"This is his first request of me," Xi Toule folded the letter and tucked it close, tone containing a hint of resolve, as if after some weighing, "Fine, I'll help him this time. Where is Goering now?"

"Sir, he has just returned from the aircraft company," the Adjutant replied quickly, but inwardly harbored doubt—sending the leader's right‑hand men personally to Huaxia as military advisors? That seems overly grandiose.

"Tell him to prepare, depart for China immediately," Xi Toule's tone allowed no objection.

The Adjutant was stunned: "Leader, do you really intend to send him? Goering is your right‑hand, how can you dispatch him so far away?"

"Well, this is my first time helping him, and it will be the last," the leader said, looking at the falling snow outside, voice tinged with wistfulness, "Let him go. Consider it a foolish romp from my younger days."

At the same moment, in the conference room of the German Defence Force General Staff, the atmosphere was lively, starkly contrasting the bitter cold outside. General Blomberg slammed a telegram onto the table, his gaze sweeping the assembled General Officers: "Huaxia has requested military advisors to assist in training troops. Higher command has authorized us to select candidates; I intend to send Manstein, any objections?"

The conference room fell silent, then a few low murmurs rose. Manstein stood, his crisp uniform making him appear even more steady and capable, and said firmly, "I am willing to go."

In Königsberg, East Prussia, Guderian stared intently at an armored unit simulation map, his fingertip sliding slowly over it. His wife entered, seeing him absorbed by the table full of Tank models, and chided, "Still tinkering with those iron machines? Are they more important than family?"

"My junior colleague wrote," Guderian lifted his head, excitement bursting in his eyes, "He says this time he wants me to go to Huaxia to train armored units— you know, they're finally forming a true Mechanized Forces!"

His wife sighed lightly, "You want to go again? The last time you went to Berlin for exercises, you said you'd bring the Blitzkrieg theory to the battlefield. Do you really intend to go to that distant place?"

"I want to try again," Guderian said with unshakable resolve, "In Germany, there are always those who doubt my theory, calling Tanks merely auxiliary weapons. But my junior trusts me; he says Huaxia's plains are ideal for armored mass assaults. I will go to prove we are right."

Inside the Navy Officer Club at Kiel Harbour, Karl Dönitz was surrounded by comrades raising glasses. Someone patted his shoulder teasingly, "Otto, I hear you're heading to Huaxia again? Are their Submarines more alluring than our U‑boats?"

Dönitz set down his glass, a sharp glint in his eyes, and pulled a letter from his pocket: "My friend wrote," he said evenly, "He says he will support my 'Wolfpack Tactics' theory, and has already ordered a batch of Submarines, awaiting my arrival to oversee training. So I am willing to go again."

"But Huaxia doesn't even have a decent naval base..." someone replied, puzzled.

"Precisely because it lacks one, I want to try," Dönitz looked toward the warships moored outside the window, his gaze distant, "One day, the Eastern seas will bear a legend of my tactics."

In a countryside villa in Württemberg, Rommel was methodically packing his luggage. His wife Lucy stood nearby, eyes reddened, voice choked, "Erwin, haven't you already been to Huaxia once? Why, after his letter, do you need to go again?"

Rommel turned, gently clasping Lucy's hand, his tone gentle yet firm, "My friend wrote that he will fully support my mobile warfare theory and asks me to help train a rapid‑response unit as described in my doctrine." He raised his hand to wipe the tears from her cheek, "Don't worry, I'll be back in a year or two, not delayed long. Then I'll bring you the finest Eastern silk."

Across the ocean in New York, at the Roosevelt Family estate, Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr. was laughing heartily at a letter, his expression smug. The butler approached respectfully, "Young master, whose letter has you so delighted?"

"Li wrote to me," Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr. waved the letter, his tone unable to hide excitement, "He wants me to procure a batch of equipment, from rifles to fighter planes, the list is long enough to circle the estate."

"Young master, will you agree?" the butler hesitated, "Huaxia's situation is volatile; what if the payment doesn't arrive..."

"Of course I will help!" Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr. cut him off, pointing at the payment terms on the letter, his smile widening, "The remuneration is too generous—30% upfront, full payment on delivery; a deal like this is hard to find even under a lantern." He suddenly recalled a meeting years ago in New York with that "subordinate from a dream" from Huaxia, whose eyes held unabashed ambition and vigor.

"I told then he was no mere quartermaster," Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr. laughed more proudly, "See, I was right. Now, arrange for the arms dealers to stock up and ship by the fastest vessels."

"Yes, young master," the butler bowed and withdrew, silently amazed—someone the young master valued so highly from the East could not be an ordinary fellow.

In the final days of 1927, orders flew across oceans—from Berlin to New York, from the Army headquarters to naval bases—converging toward the East. No one could foresee what tumult these overseas military advisors and steel armaments would unleash on Huaxia's battlefields.

Outside Jinling City, at the Fifth Army camp, Li Yuxuan stood on the Training Ground, watching the soldiers' drills, his gaze deep. The Adjutant rushed over, handing a telegram, voice barely containing excitement, "Chairman, Germany and the United States have replied; the advisory team and equipment are already en route!"

Li Yuxuan took the telegram, his fingertips trembling slightly. He knew that from this moment, the Fifth Army would cease to be a paper phantom. The advanced military doctrines from distant lands, the steel torrents forged by industrial civilization, were about to collide on this ancient soil, sparking a history‑rewriting blaze.

A cold wind swept the field, fluttering the military flag with a rustling sound. Li Yuxuan looked toward the pale eastern horizon, a relieved smile curling his mouth. He suddenly felt that atoning for the regrets of later generations was not so far away.