Chapter 396: Population Plan

Dangyang, temporary command post.

June 9, 1942, night.

Under the kerosene lamp, Jiang Anguo's fingertips lightly brushed the paper as thin as a cicada wing, its title only three characters: "R Plan".

The inner pages contained no text, only a string of numbers: 1628.

That number was the count of civilians from the Jianghan Plain evacuated in the first wave.

It was also the first spark he sowed for Myanmar's future.

"Commander," Chief of Staff Yan Xing hurried in, his voice pressed to a whisper, "The first wave of 1,628 Jianghan civilians has all arrived safely at Lashu. Deputy Regiment Commander Lin Yi personally received them and, following your orders, assigned them to farms, workshops, and technical schools; the elderly and weak are cared for, the young and strong have work, children attend school, and order is immaculate."

"And also, in Dangyang, more than two thousand people are awaiting transport."

Jiang Anguo gave a slight nod.

He knew that these civilians had just fled the flames of war; if they were displaced again, it would be his fault.

And Lashu, the territory he occupied, using the WarSystem to exchange supplies and build roads and houses, could be called Jiang Anguo's main base, now becoming an ark in chaotic times.

"Very well. Before boarding, have the military doctors give everyone a physical exam, and also issue military coats so they can stay warm at altitude," Jiang Anguo said.

Many of these civilians had never even seen an airplane, let alone ridden one.

Yan Xing nodded, "Yes, Commander."

The temperature at altitude is low; although it is summer, everyone is thinly clothed.

Since the system opened population points, Jiang Anguo has needed a massive number of people; this population naturally cannot be Burmese, though perhaps some from northern Myanmar are also Yunnan's ethnic minorities.

But the whole of Myanmar's population reaches 17 million; within such a vast demographic system, those minorities and those who speak Huaxia languages are exceedingly few.

Jiang Anguo kept pondering how to solve this problem; he knew that one day he would have to reach this point and consider these matters, yet when they were laid before him, he felt at a loss.

Because the ethnic issue is a major problem.

Just this 17 million people makes his head spin.

Among them, the number of Chinese is under 200,000; moreover, since the Myanmar Campaign began, many Chinese either left the country or fled north into the Yunnan border.

Jiang Anguo lifted his head, his gaze like a blade: "Now, it's time to collect some 'interest'."

Yan Xing was startled: "Do you mean…"

"Contact the th War Zone officer Gu Zhutong and the th War Zone officer Xue Yue," Jiang Anguo's mouth twitched slightly, "The weapons, equipment, and medical supplies we previously sent to cooperate with their war zones should now be reciprocated with some items."

Yan Xing also smiled, "Looks like these war zones are all busy!"

The weapons and artillery Jiang Anguo had previously supplied were not given away for free; his plan was a one‑time provision of combat gear, and for subsequent ammunition resupply, you'll have to show sincerity.

Of course, all of this is to be carried out privately, with both sides cooperating and assisting.

Jiang Anguo dispatched Liaison officers in Changsha, Quzhou and other places, then worked with personnel sent from the local war zones to accomplish the task of persuading civilians to go to Lashu.

He also informed the civilians that after arriving at Lashu, they would not only have new houses but also free farmland to cultivate.

Jiang Anguo truly offered free land for cultivation, provided they cleared it themselves; but it doesn't matter— in Myanmar you can farm year‑round, even in triple‑crop regions, which is different.

As for houses, Jiang Anguo had already arranged for Lin Yi's side to begin construction as soon as he left Lashu.

Not only in Lashu, but also the Iron Fist of Dongzhi has already been slated for construction.

Because Jiang Anguo was unsure how many civilians would agree to go to Myanmar; this departure might become a permanent farewell to their homeland.

However, one thing is certain: Jiang Anguo accepts anyone who comes.

Whether old or child, Jiang Anguo takes them; these are points—no, they are population.

Each day they can provide Jiang Anguo with 2 points.

Myanmar civilians can only provide 1 point, and Jiang Anguo also looks down on them.

Gu Zhutong and Xue Yue initially did not understand why so much effort was spent to send civilians to Dangyang.

Because the Liaison officers Jiang Anguo sent merely said that getting people to Dangyang was sufficient.

However, the reputation of the 'Wealth‑Sending Boy' spread; not only civilians but also wounded soldiers were gradually being sent to Dangyang.

This is exactly what Jiang Anguo needs.

All of this is proceeding privately; the Military Commission is unaware.

With the temporary cease‑fire, the Japanese Army is also shrinking its defensive perimeter; Jiang Anguo will no longer supply weapons or artillery, only providing them with appropriate food and ammunition for now.

Zhang Ping, whose left arm was blown off by Japanese infantry artillery during the Zhejiang‑Jiangxi Campaign, is basically done for life; continuing as a soldier is impossible.

He also knows clearly that the field hospital behind the th War Zone would have perished if not for the medical supplies Jiang Anguo sent.

Many soldiers would have died on stretchers; Zhang Ping himself bled heavily then, nearly dying from blood loss.

Saving a single life is already quite good.

"Sir, you say my one arm is in Myanmar—what can I do?" It was Zhang Ping's first time on a plane; in June's weather, a thick military coat was tucked under his arm.

"Why ask so many questions? Don't worry; once you get there, someone will assign you a task," said a Second Lieutenant of the Independent Regiment.

Zhang Ping saw no point in further questioning, so he stopped asking and found a seat.

Around him were fellow wounded soldiers—some missing legs, some blind, some missing an arm like him—all from different war zones.

But this time, their destination was the same.

From the initial excitement of boarding the plane to the later pallor on his face, Zhang Ping tightened his military coat, finally understanding why that heavy coat was issued before boarding.

Zhang Ping looked out from the ship's rail and realized how tiny the ground appeared.

He thought how cold the sky was, and wondered how the immortals could possibly live up there.

After several hours, the C‑47 transport finally arrived at Lashu Airport.

"We've finally landed," Zhang Ping exclaimed.

The air here is hot and humid; Zhang Ping, a Longyou native, finds the climate unlike his hometown.

At the airport, soldiers in uniform could be seen—presumably the forces entering Myanmar for combat; rumors say they fight well and have beaten the Little Devils in Myanmar.

Yet the matter was far from over; as soon as Zhang Ping and his group touched down, they were swiftly hauled away, clearing the runway.

And in one inquiry of Zhang Ping and the others.

"Birthplace, year and month, what did you do before enlisting, what educational background?"

A series of questions.

Zhang Ping's head was a bit big, because this had actually already been asked once before boarding the plane.

Immediately after, Zhang Ping was sent to an elementary school and became a teacher; he had a high school education, and unexpectedly his arm was broken, yet he could still work as a teacher.

However, what followed gave Zhang Ping a headache, because these children were all Myanmar kids, and many of the things they said he did not understand, so teaching them was extremely painful.