Afleveringen
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Last time we spoke about the battle for Dayun Mountain. Chinese forces under Xue Yue, believed they were encircling an exposed Japanese regiment. Acting on that assumption, Chinese units concentrated attacks to crush the "trapped " force, hoping to annihilate an elite enemy formation. Their pressure briefly seemed to succeed: on the 13thâ14th, Chinese assaults compressed the Japanese positions to a small area, and individual fighting around ambush and prepared defenses produced moments where "victory appeared close." But the Chinese command misunderstood the target. The Japanese had layered deception: Dayun Mountain was held to draw attention, then replaced at night with another unit to maintain the appearance of continued occupation. Despite heavy fighting, the Dayun Mountain battle ends in stalemate by Sept. 17, and Chinese attention turns back to the primary offensive around Changsha.
#210 The Miluo River Catastrophe
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
On the morning of September 17, 1941, General Xue Yue, commander of the Ninth War Zone, sat at his desk at the headquarters on Changsha's Yuelu Mountain and fell into deep thought. Spread before him were a series of intelligence telegrams dispatched by the reconnaissance teams of his war zone and by General Yang Sen, commander of the 27th Army Group operating to the north. What they described was unambiguous and alarming. Along the north bank of the Xinqiang River, stretching westward from Yueyang, reconnaissance had identified a massive Japanese build-up: the 3rd, 4th, 6th, and 40th Divisions of the Japanese 11th Army, along with five additional detachments, had taken up positions facing the river. On the afternoon of September 16th, General Kanda, commander of the Japanese 6th Division, had personally toured the north bank accompanied by a retinue of staff officers, training his binoculars across the river for a long and deliberate survey of the Chinese defensive positions on the southern bank. Perhaps most conclusively, Chinese operatives working behind enemy lines had tapped Japanese military telephone lines and intercepted a direct communication from the 11th Army to all of its divisions, ordering them to prepare for an attack on September 18th.
On any reasonable reading, the evidence pointed in one direction: a massive Japanese offensive was imminent. Yet Xue Yue, one of China's most celebrated wartime commanders and a man renowned for the tenacity with which he had defended Changsha, arrived at a different conclusion. He had been studying the record of 11th Army Commander Korechika Anami and came away convinced that Anami was a general who habitually used a mix of truth and deception in his operationsâa man for whom the most obvious sign was precisely the most suspicious one. The scale of the preparations, their openness, the conspicuous presence of senior officers on the riverbankâall of it struck Xue Yue as too theatrical to be real. He concluded that Anami was feigning a frontal attack on the Xinqiang River in order to draw the main force of the war zone forward, leaving the flanks exposed for a surprise breakthrough elsewhere. Once this interpretation took hold in Xue Yue's mind, it became immovable. No subordinate could dislodge it. When intelligence reports then confirmed that the Japanese had transported the equipment for building pontoon bridges to the very banks of the Xinqiang Riverâa detail that left virtually no room for doubt about what was being plannedâXue Yue remained unmoved. He told his chief of staff with quiet certainty: "No rush. Let's see tomorrow." He was unaware that he had already lost his tomorrow.
At dawn on September 18th, after 11th Army Commander Korechika Anami presided over the routine silent prayer ceremony that opened each day of active operations, he drew his gleaming ceremonial sword and pointed it towards northern Hunan. The battle had begun. On the Chinese side of the Xinqiang River, the first indication that this was no ordinary morning came from the sky. Air raids were a familiar occurrence along the front; the veterans of the 4th Army had grown accustomed to Japanese bombing runs. But this time was different. The number of bombs was greater, the density higher, and the bombs themselves heavier than anything the soldiers on the south bank had experienced before. Two successive waves of air attack struck the fortifications with crushing force, destroying positions that had taken months to construct. Then came the infantry. At Xiaotang, Siliufang, Tongxi Bridge, Shanmu Bridge, and a string of other crossing points along the river, dozens of tanks led the assault, pushing forward with unstoppable momentum, their treads churning up the riverbank mud as the infantry followed closely behind, advancing through fire, forcing their way across the water. On the not-so-wide front in Xiangbei, four Japanese divisions had lined up side by sideâlike four ferocious beasts pouncing forward simultaneously. Even the veteran soldiers of the defending Chinese forces, men who had been fighting the Japanese for years, had rarely seen such a terrifying formation.
The troops defending the Xinqiang River were the 4th Army under Ou Zhen, one of the most distinguished units in the Nationalist order of battle. The 4th Army had earned the reputation of "Iron Army" during the Northern Expedition, where it had demonstrated a ferocious capacity for breaching fortified positions and defending strategic points under fire, and it had fought many of the major battles of the War of Resistance. In theory, the army consisted of four divisions: Zhang Deneng's 59th Division, Chen Kan's 90th Division, Bai Huizhang's 102nd Division, and the 60th Division, which had recently been transferred to the army's command. In practice, however, by September 18th the Iron Army had been hollowed out. During the concurrent Battle of Dayun Mountain, the Ninth War Zone and the 27th Army Group had stripped away most of the 59th and 102nd Divisions to commit them elsewhere, while the 60th Division had followed the army group as a reserve force. What remained at the Xinqiang River was the 90th Division and only a remnant of the 102ndâa fragment of what had once been a formidable fighting force.
Xue Yue had planned for the first-line position to hold for three days. It held for two hours. Against a Japanese force that outnumbered the defenders several times over and enjoyed an absolute advantage in artillery and air power, the position could not stand. In just two hours, the Japanese broke through the 102nd Division's defensive line and then swung their forces around to encircle the 90th Division. With no remaining options, Xue Yue ordered both units to retreat to the second line of defense. The Xinqiang River had fallen.
The crisis at the Xinqiang River was compounded by the predicament of Yang Sen, commander-in-chief of the 27th Army Group, who should have been the force most capable of responding to the breakthrough. Instead, Yang Sen found himself trapped far to the east, bogged down in a battle on Dayun Mountain from which he could not extract himself. The situation on Dayun Mountain was one of those military embarrassments that seem almost unbelievable in retrospect. Yang Sen had committed five full divisions to encircle what was supposed to be a single regimentâthe 234th Regiment of the Japanese 40th Division, which had dug into the deep mountain. What followed was a sustained humiliation. Two divisions were ground down until their combined fighting strength equalled that of one. Another division was reduced to a regimental shadow of itself. Yang Sen, who had first served in the army in 1906 and had seen virtually every variety of military difficulty in three and a half decades of Chinese warfare, said afterwards that he had rarely experienced such deception. The Shigematsu Regiment, ensconced in the mountains and dense forest, had proved maddeningly resilient. Yang Sen had committed his forces expecting a quick resolutionâfinish the battle on Dayun Mountain, then redeploy to defend the Xinqiang Riverâbut the regiment would not be finished. He could not advance and he could not retreat. Just as he was preparing to intensify the assault for another day or two, certain that the enemy must finally be near collapse, the news arrived on the morning of September 18th that the Japanese had launched their general offensive across northern Hunan. By nine o'clock that morning, the Xinqiang River's first line of defense was already gone.
Yang Sen immediately ordered the abandonment of the Dayun Mountain operation and commanded all divisions to redeploy back towards the Xinqiang River. But the Japanese had moved too fast. Between the first and second lines of Chinese defense there were only scattered guard units; the main force was simply not in place. The second-line troops, moreover, had been configured according to the defensive setup used during the First Battle of Changsha and were wholly unsuited to withstand such a massive, concentrated enemy thrust. The defending forces were too weak and too thinly spread to mount any gradual, coordinated resistance. The Japanese advanced through the gap as if they were in an empty field. The five divisions of the 58th Army and the 4th Army now found themselves in a desperate race against the Japanese, studying maps as they marched, trying to reach blocking positions before the enemy could. No matter what they did, they could not outrun the 11th Army.
It was not merely the front-line units of the 4th Army that were endangered by the speed of the Japanese advance. Even the army headquarters itself, positioned forward in the proud tradition of the Iron Army, found itself running for its life. Army Commander Ou Zhen had been directing the battle from his headquarters in a small village called Lintang, located on the south bank of the Xinqiang Riverâa mere twenty kilometers behind the front line. The proximity was deliberate and characteristic of the Iron Army's ethos, a visible declaration that its commander would live or die alongside his men. On this day, it nearly proved fatal. Among those at the headquarters was Li Rupin, a native of Jing County in Anhui Province, who served as a sergeant squad leader in the 2nd Company of the 4th Army's Guard Battalion. Years later, reflecting on the events of that day, Li said without hesitation that of all his eight years fighting in the War of Resistance against Japan, that one battle was the most humiliating he had ever experienced. "The army headquarters was located in a small village called Lintang, south of the Xinqiang River, only about 20 kilometers away from the front lines," Li recalled. "The army headquarters was located in the front, which was a tradition of the 'Iron Army' to show that the commander was not afraid of danger and would live and die with his brothers. In that battle, we did not expect the enemy to break through the position so quickly. Not long after the battle started, the army headquarters had to move. Our guard battalion's task was to follow the army headquarters and serve as guards."
Li described how Company Commander Chang Mingli assigned his platoon to help load the army headquarters' equipment onto trucksâhuge, heavy boxes that required real effort to shift. While the loading was underway, Li caught sight of Army Commander Ou Zhen himself, speaking intently on the telephone. Li noted that Ou Zhen was ordinarily a man of few words, always seeming lost in thought, serious with the troops but not given to the kind of arbitrary reprimands that characterized lesser officers. What struck Li most vividly about the Army Commander, even in the midst of that morning's chaos, was a detail almost absurd in its incongruity: a pair of leather shoes that were always so perfectly polished they reflected light. "I heard he had studied abroad," Li added simply.
Before the loading was even complete, the sound of machine gun fire erupted from the southwest of the village. A sentry reported: enemy attack detected, number unknown. Company Commander Chang, still pulling on his leggings, turned to Li and said without breaking stride: "Quickly take your squad and follow the deputy company commander. You must keep the enemy out of the village." Li took evident pride in the character of the guard battalion, comparing it unfavorably to what he saw in later years. "I see that nowadays, officers choose bodyguards who are fair-skinned and delicate, like little girls. I don't know why," he reflected. "Back then, our guard battalion, including the commander's personal bodyguards, were all big, dark-skinned men. Our squad of 12 men were all broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, and carrying a machine gun was like an ordinary person carrying a rifle." The squad carried three light machine guns, and each soldier also carried a pistol. They drilled constantly on marksmanship and physical conditioning. In the tradition of the unit, a guard soldier was expected to be able to carry his officer for dozens of miles without slowing and without fear of death.
Li led his squad to the southwest corner of the village, where the 1st Company of the guard battalion was already engaged with the Japanese in a cemetery just outside the village boundary. The 1st Company commander had just descended from a rooftop when Deputy Company Commander Yan arrived and assessed the situation. "There are about 100 enemy soldiers in this direction," the 1st Company commander reported. "I don't know if there are any more in other directions." Yan replied without hesitation: "I'll take my four squads to outflank them and find out what's going on with the enemy. If it's a good opportunity, we'll wipe them out." He asked and received permission from the deputy battalion commander, who transferred three additional machine guns from the 1st Company to Yan's force. The squad slipped around to the south of the village, entered a nursery grove, and began working their way southwest to flank the enemy. "Before we even emerged from the woods, enemy machine guns opened fire," Li recalled. "The nursery grove was planted too densely, so it was inevitable that we'd bump into tree branches. We crept forward, keeping close to the ground, when the deputy company commander gave the order: 'Prepare grenades.'"
Li looked back and saw that all his men had kept pace. Then Deputy Company Commander Yan's voice rang out clearly: "Charge!" He burst out of the woods at the head of the column. "Deputy Company Commander Yan is a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy," Li said. "People say that Whampoa graduates are always at the forefront of battle. Others may not know, but several of us in our battalion are like that."
The charge was furious and caught the enemy entirely off guard. "We shouted 'Charge! Kill!' and followed the deputy company commander out of the grove," Li recounted. "The enemy was about 40 or 50 meters ahead. Hearing the shouts, they hurriedly turned their guns to fire at us, but it was too late! We threw out our grenades, lay down, and fired back at the enemy. At this moment, the 1st Company also charged out of the village. The enemy could not stop them and retreated in droves. Looking around, there were no fewer than 200 of them. The enemy suffered a loss and left behind more than a dozen dead bodies."
The 2nd Company did not pursue. Led by Deputy Company Commander Yan, they withdrew back to the village, where the deputy battalion commander stood at the crossroads and praised the 2nd Company for their fighting before immediately ordering them to follow the army headquarters and relocate. Li had barely grabbed his backpack and tied it to his body before gunfire erupted again outside the village. The Japanese had returned. Two battalions of the army reserve moved up to engage them, and the army's trucks and cars poured out of the village and accelerated south along the road. The guard battalion ran after them on foot.
In less than half an hour, the enemy caught up. There were cavalrymen and a large truck packed with infantry. Li registered the significance of this with something close to shock: "It seems that the Xinqiang River has really been lost to the enemy, otherwise how could cars still drive across?" The battalion commanderâwhose surname, Li noted with dry humor, was the same as the Generalissimo'sâordered the 2nd Company under the deputy battalion commander to form a rear guard. They had one artillery platoon and two mortars between them. There was no time to prepare fortifications; the soldiers scattered on both sides of the road and found their own firing positions as best they could. When Li looked back south, the army headquarters was already a distant speck on the road. "The enemy was getting closer and closer," he recalled. "First, fifty or sixty cavalrymen charged over, brandishing swords and guns and shouting. The trucks were behind them, and we could already see two machine guns mounted on the front of the trucks."
The deputy battalion commander's voice carried steadily over the noise: "Brothers, stay calm, aim carefully before you fireâwe're going to slaughter a pig and drink tonight!" Nobody laughed, Li noted carefully, but nobody broke either. What followed was a running, desperate firefight. Within the range of 600 to 200 meters, the rear guard inflicted severe casualties on the advancing Japanese. Li watched soldiers toppling from their horses. One horse, shot but not immediately killed, dragged its dead riderâstill entangled in the stirrupsâforward at a gallop until it collapsed only a few steps from Li, the sudden impact startling him badly. The enemy dismounted from the trucks and formed attack waves, pressing the assault in shifts. The Chinese machine guns worked to suppress each wave and prevent the Japanese from closing the distance. The deputy battalion commander directed the two mortars against the densest enemy concentrations.
Then one of the mortars exploded inside its own barrel, killing two gunners instantly. "I still can't figure out why," Li said years later. "The fuse of the mortar shell is on that tip, how could it explode inside the barrel?" There was no answer to be found. The two men were simply dead, and there was no time to grieve them. The rear guard repelled two enemy attacks before the deputy battalion commander ordered a withdrawal while the enemy paused to regroup. It was past two o'clock in the afternoon. "It's all just running," Li said with characteristic bluntness. "How can I not get tired? Even if I'm tired, I still have to keep running!" As they ran, Li overheard the company commander say quietly to the deputy battalion commander: "Actually, we can wipe out these enemies." The deputy battalion commander turned on him with a fierce look: "Eat it all up! Have you forgotten what we're here for again?"
The exchange brought to Li's mind a memory from two years earlier, when he had first been assigned to the guard battalion. He had been transferred from the machine gun company of the 2nd Battalion, 305th Regiment of the 102nd Division at the end of 1939, appointed as deputy squad leader. Company Commander Chang had spoken to him at that time, asking why he had joined the army. "Who else would come here if not to fight the Japanese?" Li had answered. The company commander replied: "Very good, but the guard battalion's primary task is to ensure good security; that's the most important thing."
The assignment had chafed at Li ever sinceâa natural fighter who had been a front-line machine gun squad leader, now consigned to watching other men fight. On one holiday, having drunk rather more than was wise, he had gone to the company commander and announced that he wanted to return to the 102nd Division and "mow down the Japanese with a machine gun." The company commander, who had also been drinking, chuckled and said: "Have you had enough of life? You might as well stay here and squat obediently! What do you know about life? You don't know anything! After we win, go home, get a wife, and live a good life..."
Now, running south along a road contested by Japanese cavalry and infantry, with the army headquarters already out of sight ahead of him, Li perhaps understood the company commander's words in a way he had not before. The pursuit was unrelenting and grew worse before it improved. Over a hundred cavalrymen and four trucks drove after the guard unit without pause. In an attempt to split and divert the enemy, the company dispatched a platoon under Deputy Company Commander Yan himself down a different road, to lure one group of pursuers away. None of the men in that platoon returned alive. The deputy battalion commander led the remaining force in a continuing fighting retreat, engaging another Japanese contingent in a separate encounter that cost more than twenty dead and thirty wounded. Eventually the survivors managed to cross a large river, finally shaking off the pursuers, and caught up with the army headquarters at dusk. They had barely had a moment to catch their breath when night fell and they stumbled into another large Japanese force in the darkness.
The 4th Armyâthe Iron Army, the pride of the Northern Expeditionâseemed to have its commander and headquarters specifically targeted by the enemy. Driven from one position to the next throughout the day, they were eventually pushed up into the hills of Mufu Mountain and did not escape danger until the following morning. "That battle," Li Rupin concluded, "was truly humiliating."
When the scale of the Japanese offensive became undeniable on the evening of September 18th, Xue Yue finally grasped the gravity of what was unfolding. It was too late to adjust his forces meaningfully; the overall numerical superiority he had enjoyed across the theater of operations had dissolved wherever the Japanese chose to strike, becoming a dangerous numerical disadvantage at each critical point. In just one day, even Yuelu Mountainâthe historic height that had dominated Changsha and housed his headquartersâwas no longer safe. He moved the war zone command post south to Zhuting and urgently telegraphed the Military Commission in Chongqing, requesting that Chiang Kai-shek immediately transfer troops from other war zones to provide reinforcements, warning that without them the situation would deteriorate with serious consequences for the national war effort.
The telegram arrived in Chongqing, where Chiang Kai-shek and several senior military advisors sat in silence before the battle map in the Military Commission Operations Room, with the grim concentration of men watching a difficult game of chess they cannot influence. Troop movements take time. While the number of Japanese troops committed to northern Hunan was not enormous in absolute terms, they moved with unstoppable momentum. Xue Yue was requesting three to four combat corpsâa mobilization from outside the Ninth War Zone that could not possibly be accomplished in the available time. Chiang Kai-shek was at a loss for what to do. He paced back and forth in the corridor adjoining the operations room. The only foreigner among the assembled staffâa blond-haired man with a prominent noseâwas the Soviet military advisor Chuikov. He walked up to Chiang and fell into step beside him, pacing with him as he spoke. "Hunan and northern Hunan are in a passive position and we don't have any good solutions for the time being," Chuikov said. "Why don't we think about other things? Isn't there an ancient Chinese story called 'Besieging Wei to Rescue Zhao'?"
Chuikov's specific proposal was this: if the forces of the Sixth War Zone were to attack the Japanese 13th Division at Yichangâa city in Hubei Province that had fallen to Japan in June 1940, and which was garrisoned by a division under the overall command of Anami's 11th ArmyâAnami Korechika would not be able to remain indifferent to the threat. Yichang was no ordinary city. It controlled the crucial choke point on the Yangtze River's waterway, and since its capture it had placed much of the river under Japanese control. More critically for the Chinese, Yichang Airport had become the closest bomber base to Chongqing, and the Japanese aircraft that harassed the wartime capital daily flew from that field. The Military Commission had long been reluctant to authorize a major attack on Yichang for these very reasonsâit would not be easy to retake, and failure would be costly. But why not seize this moment? Chiang Kai-shek stopped walking, considered Chuikov's proposal, and nodded. He thanked the Soviet general for his suggestion, and the two men returned to the operations room together. Chiang instructed Chief of Staff Xu Yongchang to draft an implementation plan for combined operations: the Ninth War Zone would continue engaging the Japanese in northern Hunan, while the Sixth War Zone would simultaneously launch a counterattack against Yichang and ensure its capture.
While Chongqing deliberated over the Yichang gambit, the immediate question facing the Ninth War Zone was how to organize a second line of defense following the fall of the Xinqiang River. The Japanese had also successfully landed forces on both sides of the Xiangjiang River estuary at Shangqingshan, blocking the waterway, which further constrained Chinese options. Xue Yue's solution was straightforward: he proposed deploying the 37th and 26th Armies in a line along the south bank of the Miluo River, using the river as a natural barrier to halt the Japanese advance toward Changsha. His chief of staff, Wu Yizhi, agreed without reservation and immediately instructed the operations section chief, Zhao Zili, to begin drafting the necessary orders.
But Zhao Zili had been turning the strategic problem over in his mind, and he had reached a different conclusion. Zhao was a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy's 6th class, a veteran of the Battles of Nanchang and Shanggao, and a man who had watched this war closely from his position at the center of the war zone's planning operations. At this moment he asked permission to share his thinking with his two superiors. Zhao's argument was systematic and urgent. The combined strength of the two armiesâfive combat divisions in totalâwas clearly insufficient to withstand four intact Japanese divisions in a set-piece defensive battle along the Miluo River. The 10th and 74th Armies were being summoned from elsewhere to reinforce the theater, but by Zhao's calculation they would require another four days to arrive. A static defense of the Miluo River line, therefore, would pit inadequate forces against overwhelming pressure for four days, and those forces would be destroyed long before help arrived. His alternative proposal was as follows: rather than standing and fighting at the Miluo, the two armies should conduct a deliberate fighting withdrawalâusing alternating rear-guard actions and mutual coverâto fall back all the way to the south bank of the Liuyang River, in the hills immediately north of Changsha. The timing, Zhao argued, was almost providential in its precision: if the 26th and 37th Armies arrived at the Liuyang River at roughly the same moment that the 10th and 74th Armies arrived at the same position from the east, the combined force of four armies could then turn and strike the Japanese formationsâwhich by then would have advanced more than a hundred kilometers into hostile territory with supply lines stretched thin and fighting strength degraded by continuous combat. Even if the Chinese could not completely sever the Japanese supply lines, the enemy would be exhausted, and victory under those conditions would be certain.
Zhao Zili finished his presentation in one breath and waited. Xue Yue and Wu Yizhi conferred briefly. Then they decided to proceed with the original plan. Zhao Zili sighed inwardly. He got up, returned to his office, and began drafting the orders that, in his professional judgment, would lead to catastrophe. One hour later, the orders embodying Xue Yue's thinking were converted to radio waves and flew into the night sky. As some poet once asked of fate: "When the curtain rises, you don't know whether it's a comedy or a tragedy."
On the morning of September 20th, in the intelligence section of the Japanese 11th Army's Special Operations headquarters, Lieutenant Colonel HachimĆ rose from his seat feeling dizzy and unsteady on his feet. He had been awake for an extraordinary stretch of hours, hunched over a radio set in a state of almost superhuman concentration. He took a couple of steps before realizing he was still wearing his headset. He pulled it off, tossed it onto the radio equipment, andâholding the handrail for supportâmade his careful way down from the third floor to the second.
HachimĆ was not a professional soldier by background. Before the war, he had been a young designer at the renowned Mitsubishi Corporation. After the outbreak of hostilities, he had enlisted, taught himself the Chinese language and writing system, and dedicated himself entirely to the exacting discipline of cryptanalysis. Given the severe technological limitations of the era, what he accomplished rested on a kind of willpower and intuition that bordered on the extraordinary. His method was laborious and painstaking: he spent long hours with a headset pressed against his ear, listening to the endless stream of radio signals, detecting patterns, discerning differences and similarities among thousands of beeps and pulses. He analyzed signal traffic appearing over time and correlated it against observed enemy troop movements. He used captured battlefield documents to decode fragments of text, then leveraged those fragments to deduce the positions of commonly used characters in Chinese military telegrams. Every time the Chinese side changed their cipher, all of HachimĆ's accumulated work was rendered worthless in an instant, but he would begin againâlistening, thinking, starting over from nothing, with the same unbroken patience.
On the perfectly timed morning of September 20th, Lieutenant Colonel HachimĆ achieved what he had been working toward. He cracked the cipher in use by the Ninth War Zone for communications with its various subordinate armies, and successfully intercepted and decoded the operational deployment order that the Ninth War Zone Command had issued to all its armies on the night of September 18thâthe very orders that Zhao Zili had drafted in quiet despair after his plan was rejected. Those orders told the Japanese exactly where every Chinese unit was going, what it intended to do, and when. HachimĆ made his way downstairs and reported his achievement. Staff officer Kinoshita Isamu read the summary, then stood and walked without a word into the room where 11th Army Commander Anami Korechika was at work. The other officers in the room looked at HachimĆ with confusion, uncertain what had just happened. After a few minutes, Anami and Kinoshita returned together. Anami stepped forward and took HachimĆ's hand. "I, the Commander, congratulate you," Anami said, "on becoming the first officer to receive a certificate of merit in Operation Plus. Now I order you to go and rest immediately."
The intelligence transformed the battle. Anami's original operational plan had been relatively modest in its ambition: a breakthrough along the Changsha-Yueyang highway, advancing toward Jinjing and the Xiangjiang River, with the 3rd and 4th Divisions planned for deployment toward the river. But now that the Japanese held a complete map of Chinese intentionsâthe positions, routes, and assignments of every army in the Ninth War Zoneâa far more ambitious opportunity presented itself. What could be more valuable, or more satisfying, than the direct encirclement and annihilation of the main Chinese forces in the field? Anami immediately revised his entire operational deployment.
As Chinese historical records later documented: "The Japanese intercepted and deciphered the radio telegrams issuing operational orders from the Ninth War Zone, gaining access to the Nationalist Army's operational plans and deployments. This led to a shift in their original strategic concept from a breakthrough to an encirclement of the Nationalist Army's right flank." The trap was set. The Chinese armies, following Xue Yue's orders faithfully, were marching toward positions the Japanese already knew they would occupy. The 26th Army was commanded by Xiao Zhichu, and it comprised three divisions: the 32nd Division under Wang Xiushen, the 41st Division under Ding Zhipan, and the 44th Division under Chen Yong. When Xiao received Xue Yue's orders to move his army to defend the south bank of the Miluo River, the situation was already deeply unfavorable. The Japanese had broken through the Xinqiang River line and were advancing rapidly southward; the 26th Army was positioned in the Liuyang and Yong'an area to the west, at a starting point that was even farther from the Miluo River than the Japanese forces were. The army was engaged in a race against a faster-moving enemy to reach the same objective, running from the farther starting block. The timing was unfavorable. The location was unfavorable. And the personal dimension was unfavorable as well, in a way that would prove deeply consequential, because Xue Yue and Xiao Zhichu harbored a long-standing resentment toward one another with its roots six years in the past.
In 1935, both men had attended the third session of the Lushan Officers Training Corps, each holding the rank of army commander in the army but serving as battalion commanders within the training structure. The corps was nominally commanded by Chiang Kai-shek himself, with Chen Cheng as deputy commander. Xue Yue was a favorite of Chen Chengâa celebrated battle commander who had fought his way across half of Chinaâand he carried himself accordingly, often holding forth at length in seminars and discussions and not infrequently straying off-topic into territory where his assertions were questionable. The other senior officers present were content to listen, taking what was useful and ignoring the rest. Xiao Zhichu, however, was a man of earnest and literal disposition who simply could not let inaccuracies pass without challenge. He disputed Xue Yue's claims on several occasions, insisting on clarifying the facts, and each such correction landed on Xue Yue like a public rebuke. The estrangement that resulted between the two men was severe and lasting. By 1941, Xue had risen to command an entire war zone; Xiao remained an army commander under his authority. In the intervening years, Xiao had learned to be extremely cautious in all his dealings with his superior, acutely aware that any apparent failure or challenge might be held against him.
On the night of September 19th, Xue Yue issued Xiao Zhichu an order to move the 26th Army to the second line of defense on the south bank of the Miluo River. Then, at noon on September 20th, he changed the order entirely: Xiao was to push his troops forward to the first line of defense along the riverbank, a more exposed position further north. At dawn on September 21st, Xiao Zhichu personally led his 44th Divisionâthe division with which he had built his reputationâon a forced march toward the designated position. They were 2.5 kilometers from their destination, at the town of Wengjiang, when they encountered the Japanese 6th Division.
The Japanese already knew they were coming. Having read Xue Yue's intercepted operational orders, they had deployed their forces specifically to intercept the 26th Army on the march. Within just twenty minutes of the initial encounter at Wengjiang, the entire 44th Division was completely surrounded. Xiao Zhichu reported the situation to Xue Yue by telephone. Xue Yue's response from the other end of the line was white-hot fury: "What's going on? We're surrounded before we even arrived! Why aren't we fighting? If we lose the Miluo River position, I'll kill you!"
Xiao Zhichu swallowed his bitterness. Following orders, he threw the 44th Division into battle in terrain that could hardly have been more disadvantageous. They fought for a full day and a night and were unable to break through the encirclement. He ordered Wang Xiushen's 32nd Division to press forward and relieve the siege, but by the time those orders could be executed, the 32nd Division was itself under attackâsurrounded on three sides by the Japanese 3rd Division at Wukou. Wang Xiushen led the entire division in a desperate battle with the river immediately at his back, suffering grievous casualties, and was eventually forced to fight his way clear rather than advance to relieve the 44th.
On September 23rd, General Kanda Masazuka committed a portion of the 6th Division to a fierce assault against the rear of the already-encircled 44th Division. The situation became critical. Xiao Zhichu's army was fighting simultaneously on two fronts, and the lines were beginning to give way. It was only the timely intervention of Ding Zhipan's 41st Division, which arrived on a diagonal axis and struck the enemy threatening the 44th Division's rear, that prevented a complete collapse. When Ding Zhipan came to report to the army commander, the chief of staff of the 44th Division informed him with hollow composure that the entire division had suffered more than half casualties.
The daily reality inside the encircled positions was one of sustained and grinding misery. During brief lulls in the fightingâstolen moments between one Japanese assault and the nextâthe soldiers would stuff a cold rice ball into their mouths and scoop up a mouthful of muddy water from the nearest roadside ditch; that was their meal. Immediately they would put down whatever they had in their hands and rush to reinforce the hastily dug earthworks, knowing another assault was imminent. The wounded lay where they had fallen, unable to be evacuated, their groans a constant sound beneath the work of digging and the distant thunder of artillery. The dead were not buried; there was simply no time. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation.
After Xiao Zhichu's repeated requests, Xue Yue finally authorized a withdrawal. The 26th Army was permitted to pull back to Putang, a position a few kilometers to the south with marginally more defensible terrain. The entire army moved overnight, arriving exhausted, and immediately began constructing new fortifications. They had barely caught their breath when the Japanese 40th and 6th Divisions came on in succession, pressing the pursuit without pause. The 41st and 44th Divisions threw themselves into the fighting and were decimated. After destroying those two divisions, the Japanese turned their full attention on the surviving 32nd Division and the army headquarters. As Xiao Zhichu swept his binoculars across the positions, watching his men lie on the groundâdead, dying, or fighting on sheer willâone phrase repeated itself in his mind: "total annihilation." It was the most despairing phrase in a soldier's vocabulary, and it seemed to be becoming a description of reality.
On the evening of September 25th, as the Japanese ring tightened around the remnants of the 26th Army, a Japanese Chinese-language translator began calling out to the encircled troops in Mandarin, urging them to surrender. The entire army appeared to be at its final moment. Then, in the darkness, reinforcements arrivedâin the most improbable way imaginable. The head of the army's reconnaissance section had slipped through the Japanese encirclement looking for any exit, and in doing so had stumbled upon an entire regiment of the 32nd Army that had completely lost contact with the headquarters days earlier. This regiment had suffered damage to its radio equipment and had simply not received any of the telegrams announcing changes to the army's deployment and assignments. When they arrived at their designated rendezvous point, the area was empty. They had been sending scouts in all directions trying to locate friendly forces and make sense of the situation, when they encountered the reconnaissance section chief who had been doing precisely the same thing from inside the encirclement. The two men compared unit designations and confirmed their identities. Then the section chief remembered something: the regiment's party representative was his own classmate from the Whampoa Military Academy. Old bonds held. The two men exchanged information, assessed the situation together, and without further deliberation the regimental commander led his troops on a forced march straight toward the guns. They found and struck the weakest points in the Japanese encirclement, broke through, and extracted the army headquarters and the surviving remnants of the 32nd Division.
The 26th Army had been saved, but only barely, and at a terrible cost. What had before the battle been a formidable force with numerous victories was now reduced to less than one-fifth of its original strength. Wang Xiushen, commander of the 32nd Division, had previously served as commander of the great warlord Feng Yuxiang's own bodyguard brigadeâa valiant and decorated general of the old Northwest Army. Division commanders Ding Zhipan and Chen Yong were similarly seasoned veterans, known for their courage and resourcefulness throughout years of hard fighting. After the battle, they and Army Commander Xiao Zhichu were utterly dejected. They had fought as hard as men could fight, under conditions as unfavorable as circumstances could devise, and they had been broken.
More than forty kilometers to the west of the 26th Army's ordeal, at the point where the Miluo River flows into Dongting Lake, a second major engagement was being fought at the same time. Here, the Japanese 3rd and 4th Divisions struck at Chen Pei's 37th Army, whose two main fighting formationsâLuo Qi's 95th Division and Li Tang's 140th Divisionâwere deployed across the hills and river-network terrain of the area. The fighting was, by any measure, equally bloody and equally brutal.
Before the battle, with their blood up and their honor committed, the commanders of the 37th Army's divisions had gathered their officers for ceremonies of dedication that spoke to the seriousness with which they understood what was coming. Li Tang, commander of the 140th Division, organized a frontline oath-taking ceremony at which he stood before his assembled officers and men and vowed aloud to annihilate the Japanese invaders and avenge the deaths of fallen compatriots. Luo Qi, commanding the 95th Division, sent written instructions throughout his formation: "The defense of the Shending Mountain line is not only a matter of honor for our division, but also a matter of victory or defeat for the entire battlefield. With this stubborn enemy pressing in, all our officers and soldiers should be even more courageous and loyal, resolutely defend the position, annihilate the Japanese invaders, and achieve extraordinary feats!" Song Ruike, who served at the time as a senior staff officer at the Ninth War Zone Command headquarters, recorded his recollection of the battle's progress in later years with the systematic precision that his professional training demanded.
"On the morning of the 19th," Song recalled, "the enemy's main force successively advanced towards the Miluo River via Yanglin Street, Guanwang Bridge, and the Changhu-Dajing Street highway. Our 37th Army was on high alert on the south bank, while our vanguard troops were also advancing forward on the north bank. That afternoon, the enemy's vanguard encountered our troops north of Changle Street. After a fierce battle, many enemy soldiers were killed. Then, enemy cavalry and artillery, along with several thousand infantry, attacked from three sides. Our defending 1st Company fought a bloody battle, but due to being outnumbered, they suffered almost all casualties. Changle Street was occupied by the enemy. At around 7 p.m., the enemy began to attempt a crossing at Modao Beach. Our troops defending the south bank fought bravely and fought fiercely throughout the night, but the enemy failed."
The first crossing attempt had been beaten back, but the respite was brief. Song continued: "At dawn on the 20th, the enemy, under the cover of aircraft and artillery, launched another forced crossing. At around 7 a.m., fierce fighting broke out between the two sides along the Wugongshi, Guiyi, and Hejiatang line." Those words, whatever courage the oaths and instructions had inspired, could not alter the underlying arithmetic of the battle. From the 21st through the 23rd of September, the 37th Army fought ferocious engagements with the Japanese 4th and 3rd Divisions across the Shending Mountain and Banjunmiao areas, absorbing casualties that could not be replaced. Song recorded the progression: "The main force of the enemy, advancing rapidly southward, captured our positions at Nanyangmiao and Banjunmiao in Wengjiang at noon on the 22nd. Our 140th Division engaged the enemy at Lishan Lane and Daxingling, and fought fiercely for two days and nights..."
After the battle, the 37th Army had effectively ceased to exist as a fighting force. It had gone into the engagement with nearly fifty thousand fully equipped and manned troops. Song Ruike, reflecting on it all in his old age, acknowledged with unusual candor the limitations of his own account: "Since history cannot be reproduced, people summarize events based on memory, striving to retain the most important and valuable aspects while filtering out the unimportant and those that do not reflect the essence." The elderly Song retained the factual architecture of the battleâtimes, places, unit designations, tactical methodsâbut he knew, as any honest chronicler must, that within those facts lay a multitude of individual experiences, individual sufferings, individual deaths, that no record could fully capture. "Then what about every individual in history?" he asked. "How should their emotions, will, beliefs, their flesh and blood, their breath, and everything they sacrificed be expressed and entrusted to us?" It was a question he could not answer, and neither can history.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
After commander Zhao Zili's plan was rejected, he drafted orders anyway, but Lieutenant Colonel HachimĆ of Japan's 11th Army intercepted and decoded the Ninth War Zone's deployment orders on September 20. Meanwhile, the 37th Army fought the Japanese at the Miluo River confluence with Dongting Lake, launching oaths and grim defenses before being effectively destroyed as a combat force.
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Last time we spoke about the road to the second battle of Changsha. After becoming commander of the Eleventh Army in early 1941, Anami studied detailed battle maps and intelligence, then met with General Hata Shunroku, who urged him to destroy the core of Chiang Kai-shek's best troops. At Yueyang, Anami reviewed the existing war game materials left by Okamura but criticized the first Battle of Changsha as failing because attacks were too dispersed and lacked a clearly focused main direction. He therefore designed a radical concentration plan: instead of spreading offensives across Hubei and Jiangxi while attacking Changsha, he would pull forces from southern Hubei and northern Jiangxi and mass them before northern Hunan. Meanwhile, the Chinese commander Xue Yue developed a "lure and annihilate" strategy based on the expectation of repeated Japanese dispersion, an assumption Anami's concentration invalidated, making the Chinese counterattack far harder to execute.
#209 The Battle for Dayun Mountain
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
There are places in the geography of war that acquire a significance out of all proportion to their size. Dayun Mountain was one of them. Rising from the north bank of the Changshui River â the upper reaches of the Xinqiang â it commanded more than thirty square kilometres of densely forested, nearly impenetrable terrain. Its summit reached roughly a thousand metres above sea level and appeared to surge more than eight hundred metres above the surrounding lowlands, so sudden and dramatic was its emergence from the valley floor. In winter, snow lay on its heights for months at a stretch, blanketing the forest in silence and making movement even more treacherous than it already was. Its narrow, rugged tracks made wheeled transport all but impossible, confining any fighting to infantry alone. The mountain was, in the most elemental military sense, easy to defend and difficult to attack.
But Dayun Mountain was more than a topographical obstacle. It was an anchor point. From its northeastern approaches, the road through Hengxi led to Yanglousi; from the southeast, the track through Beigang reached Tongcheng; from the northwest, the route through Taolin approached Yueyang. Whoever held the mountain held a hand on the throat of northern Hunan. For Xue Yue, the formidable commander of the Chinese Ninth War Zone â the general the Japanese would come to call "the Little Warlord" and whose tactical instincts they deeply respected â it was a position that could not be surrendered without consequence. He had long since deployed a portion of Ou Zhen's 4th Army to garrison it, keeping a reliable force on the heights to observe and disrupt Japanese movements in the region.
Yang Sen's 27th Army Group had gone further still, using the mountain as a base from which to launch raids into the Japanese rear. Supply convoys had been ambushed. Patrols had been disrupted. The garrison on Dayun Mountain was not merely passive â it was an irritant, a persistent thorn embedded in the Japanese flank. Every Japanese commander in northern Hunan knew it would eventually have to be extracted. The only question â the question that would define the opening phase of the Second Battle of Changsha â was when, and with what purpose.
At dawn on September 7, 1941, Kanda Masatsuka, commanding officer of the Japanese 6th Division, issued the order to attack. His men stood before a mountain draped in dense forest, its contours barely visible in the early morning light. Aircraft came first, followed by mountain artillery, the shells bursting among the rocks and trees where the Chinese defenders had carved their positions. Then the infantry went up â from the east, from the north, from the west â surging against the slopes like a tide breaking against a cliff face.
Far to the rear, three Chinese commanders received the same alarming intelligence almost simultaneously. Ou Zhen, whose 4th Army held the mountain, Yang Sen of the 27th Army Group, and Xue Yue himself all watched their staff officers move the 6th Division's insignia across the operations map â tracing its advance south from Yueyang to the slopes of Dayun Mountain. Each of them was left with the same quietly unsettled question. What, exactly, did Anami Korechika mean by this?
Anami Korechika commanded the Japanese 11th Army, the formation responsible for operations in central China. He was not a man who committed elite formations to secondary objectives. The 6th Division was one of Japan's most experienced and feared units, a formation with a long and brutal history on the Chinese front. Its soldiers had participated in the occupation of Nanking in 1937 and had fought across the Yangtze basin in the years since. To throw such a division against a mountain garrison â however strategically significant â struck the Chinese generals as disproportionate, and therefore suspicious.
Logically, the removal of the Dayun Mountain thorn made sense at any point. Japanese commanders had always known the mountain would have to be neutralised eventually if their lines of communication in northern Hunan were to be properly secured. But why now? And why with the 6th Division specifically? Was this an isolated operation with limited objectives, or was it the opening move of something larger? The Chinese generals watched and waited, withholding judgment, searching the intelligence reports for a pattern.
For two days â September 7 and 8 â the 4th Army's two defending divisions were hammered by the Japanese offensive. The combination of air support, artillery, and the sheer ferocity of the 6th Division's infantry assault overwhelmed the defenders' prepared positions. Repeated counterattacks were beaten back. Bai Huizhang, commanding the 102nd Division, sent urgent telegrams reporting the deteriorating situation. And yet, across the rest of northern Hunan, reconnaissance reported nothing unusual. There was no large-scale Japanese mobilisation visible elsewhere. No armoured columns massing on the plain. No bridging equipment being brought forward across the Xinqiang.
This absence of corroborating activity was itself a puzzle. It could mean that Dayun Mountain truly was the sole Japanese objective â a limited, self-contained operation to clear a nagging irritant. Or it could mean that the broader preparation was being conducted with unusual skill and secrecy, and that what was visible at Dayun Mountain was intended to consume the attention of the Chinese command precisely while that broader preparation proceeded unseen.
Xue Yue, unwilling to surrender such an important position without a fight, chose to probe the Japanese intention. He ordered Yang Sen to commit two additional divisions to the mountain â partly to reinforce the defenders, partly to test the Japanese reaction. If the 6th Division was operating alone, additional pressure might allow the Chinese to recapture the heights. If it was a screen for something larger, the probe would reveal it.
On the evening of September 8, two divisional commanders received their orders. Lu Daoyuan, commanding the New 10th Division of the 58th Army, and Dong Yu, commanding the 60th Division of the 4th Army, were directed to break away from the main defensive line in northern Hunan and advance rapidly toward Dayun Mountain. It was a significant redeployment â two experienced formations pulled from the primary defensive positions and sent marching into the mountains.
The march had barely begun when the situation changed again.
On the afternoon of September 9, while Lu Daoyuan and Dong Yu were still on the road, the 4th Army headquarters began receiving a succession of urgent telegrams from its two divisions on Dayun Mountain. The news was bleak. The Japanese had achieved simultaneous breakthroughs on the eastern and western faces of the mountain, driving wedges through the Chinese defensive lines and threatening to encircle the entire garrison. The positions were no longer tenable. Ou Zhen, assessing the reports, authorised a withdrawal and informed Xue Yue. The mountain had fallen.
Xue Yue ordered Ou Zhen to monitor the 6th Division's movements carefully now that it had secured the heights. The situation was serious but not yet catastrophic. The Chinese forces had retreated in reasonable order. The two divisions now marching under Lu Daoyuan and Dong Yu could still be used to mount a counterattack once they arrived. What happened next â what intelligence arrived that afternoon â would prove to be one of the most consequential misreadings of the entire battle.
Intelligence agents from the 4th Army, bypassing the normal chain of command, wired the Ninth War Zone Command directly. Their report was specific and, on its surface, entirely reasonable: Japanese troops on Dayun Mountain were felling trees in large quantities and constructing defensive fortifications. Xue Yue read this and drew the logical conclusion. The Japanese had taken the mountain and were now digging in â evidently intending to hold it as a permanent position, to eliminate once and for all the threat it posed to their lines of communication. This was consolidation, not preparation for a new offensive. The mountain had value to both sides; now that the Japanese had taken it, they would fortify it, garrison it, and move on.
It was a reasonable deduction. It was also exactly wrong.
What Xue Yue did not know â what no Chinese commander yet knew â was that on the afternoon of September 9, Anami Korechika had received the telegram he had been waiting for. It arrived at his command post in Yueyang from Kanda Masatsuka: The enemy in the Dayun Mountain area has been cleared, and there will be no large number of enemy troops north of the Shagang River. With those words, the opening phase of Anami's plan had succeeded. Immediately, he issued two orders.
The first went to the 40th Division: move quickly and covertly into the positions on Dayun Mountain just vacated by the 6th Division, and maintain the appearance of continued occupation of the area. The 40th was to keep Chinese attention fixed on the mountain, to look like the 6th Division from a distance, to hold Chinese forces in place while the real operation developed elsewhere.
The second order went to the 6th Division itself: reassemble immediately in the area north of the Xinqiang River and prepare to join the main Japanese offensive. The elite formation that had just spent two brutal days seizing Dayun Mountain was to become the cutting edge of the attack on Changsha.
The fortification work Xue Yue's agents had observed â the felling of trees, the construction of positions â had not been the 6th Division digging in for a long winter. It had been the 6th Division preparing positions for its replacement before handing the mountain over to the 40th and slipping away. The intelligence was accurate in every detail and catastrophically misleading in its implication.
The 40th Division was not an elite formation. It had been established in June 1939, as the manpower available on the Japanese home islands grew steadily thinner and the demands of war across China continued to expand. It was poorly equipped by the standards of the Imperial Japanese Army's front-line divisions, undertrained, and had not been tested in sustained offensive fighting. Anami knew precisely what he had in the 40th. He also knew exactly what he needed from it.
He did not need it to fight. He needed it to be seen.
From a distance, in the broken terrain of Dayun Mountain, four or five Chinese divisions could be kept fully committed to the mountain if they believed the 6th Division was still there. All the 40th needed to do was occupy the positions, maintain radio traffic at the expected volume, keep its campfires burning, and patrol just enough to be observed without being engaged in force. The division's most capable unit, the 234th Regiment under Colonel Kiyoshi Shigematsu, was assigned the primary task of replacing the 6th Division's main force â the 13th Regiment â which quietly withdrew and began its march northward.
The Chinese generals, reading their intelligence summaries and watching their staff officers reposition map pins across the operations board, were tracking a ghost.
Xue Yue, persuaded by the intelligence about Japanese fortification work, issued orders for the two approaching divisions â Lu Daoyuan's New 10th and Dong Yu's 60th â together with the two that had already withdrawn from the mountain, to reverse course and counterattack the Japanese forces now believed to be digging in on Dayun Mountain. Four Chinese divisions, representing a substantial portion of the forces available in northern Hunan, were now committed to a battle for a position that the formation they believed to be holding it had already vacated. The trap was not yet closed, but its jaws were open.
The morning of September 10 brought events that no one on either side had entirely planned.
At noon on September 10, Lu Daoyuan was pushing his New 10th Division rapidly forward from west to east, toward Dayun Mountain. The pace was hard but necessary â the 27th Army Group had set a specific arrival time, and Lu Daoyuan was determined to meet it. He ordered his trailing units to close the gaps between regiments and keep moving. The column was threading its way through a valley north of Gantian when the scouts sent back an urgent report.
A Japanese force of approximately three thousand men was approaching from the front. It was now only one and a half kilometres away.
Lu Daoyuan had been in enough battles to know what was happening before the thought could fully form. An encounter battle. The most violent and least predictable form of engagement â two forces, neither prepared, walking into each other in terrain that offered no warning and no margin for error.
The Shigematsu Regiment had received specific assurances from its division chief of staff before setting out. There would be no large numbers of Chinese troops in the area north of the Shagang River. The 6th Division's sweep had been thorough. The route was clear. When the regiment's advance elements suddenly found themselves looking down the barrels of an entire Chinese division, the reaction â across a force accustomed to the methodical rhythms of planned operations â was one of pure shock.
Encounter battles have their own logic. There is no time to form up, no time to bring forward supporting weapons to optimal positions, no time to reconnoitre the ground. The first unit to react, to go to ground and begin firing, gains an immediate and potentially decisive advantage over an enemy still trying to comprehend what has happened. In the valley north of Gantian, on that September afternoon, both sides were equally surprised, and the fighting that erupted was correspondingly savage.
The Yueyang County Annals record what followed in spare, vivid language: Gunfire and artillery fire continued incessantly from noon until night. More than a hundred enemy soldiers were killed, but the National Revolutionary Army also suffered heavy casualties. The following morning, corpses could be seen everywhere â on the mountains, in the paddy fields, along the riverbanks, and on the roads â and the Shagang River ran red with blood.
At ten o'clock that night, follow-up units from the 40th Division arrived and began enveloping the rear of the New 10th Division. Lu Daoyuan ordered an immediate disengagement and redirected his forces toward Dayun Mountain by a different route. He was pressing forward through country that had just shown him two Japanese formations where one was expected. The scale of the Japanese operation was beginning, slowly, to become legible â though its full dimensions remained unclear.
Xue Yue, updated on the encounter battle at Gantian and the confirmation of a second Japanese division in the area, dispatched the New 11th Division as additional reinforcement. The Chinese commitment to the mountain was deepening.
By September 13, the nature of the engagement appeared to have shifted in the Chinese favour. What had begun as a confused encounter battle in a valley had evolved, over three days of movement and fighting, into what looked from the Chinese side like a genuine opportunity. More than three thousand Japanese troops â believed to be the 13th Regiment of the elite 6th Division â had been cornered near Gantian by more than ten thousand Chinese soldiers drawn from five divisions. Xue Yue, a general who understood the rarity of such moments, was in high spirits. He began directing the battle personally, sending a stream of telegrams to his subordinates, driving them to compress the encirclement and destroy the trapped force before it could escape.
The temptation was understandable, even logical. An elite Japanese regiment, isolated in mountain terrain, outnumbered more than three to one, was an extraordinary prize. If it could be annihilated, the blow to Japanese prestige and operational capability would be substantial. Xue Yue had built his reputation in part on his willingness to press attacks when opportunity offered. He pressed now.
What no one in the Chinese command yet understood was that they were not encircling the 13th Regiment of the 6th Division. They were encircling the 234th Regiment of the 40th Division â the decoy formation that had been placed on the mountain precisely to draw Chinese strength in and hold it in place. The ghost had become substantial enough to be grasped, but grasping it served the Japanese plan rather than the Chinese one.
On the 13th and 14th, the five Chinese divisions compressed the Japanese positions into an area of less than ten kilometres, launching repeated fierce assaults. The fighting was brutal, conducted in the mountains and jungle of terrain that rewarded endurance and intimate local knowledge over firepower. On the afternoon of the 14th, soldiers of the 4th Army's 102nd Division drove hard from west to east, the sound of battle rolling across the ridgelines. The Japanese regiment was fragmented and thrown into disorder. Bugle calls sounded from all directions along the Chinese lines; morale surged. Victory appeared close.
The encircled Japanese began fighting their way out along the route by which they had entered, the only corridor not yet fully sealed. And along that corridor, a Chinese ambush was waiting.
Pang Gufeng was a sergeant and deputy squad leader in the 7th Company, 3rd Regiment, 10th Division of the 58th Army. He was not a senior officer, not a man whose name would appear in official histories or command telegrams. He was one of the thousands of soldiers whose individual experiences â of fear, endurance, and sudden violent action â constituted the actual texture of the battle, the reality beneath the operational abstractions.
His company's mission was straightforward in its conception, demanding in its execution. Pang Gufeng recorded it simply: "Our company's mission is to infiltrate behind enemy lines and control a road leading northwest from a high ground, or hilltop. This is the only way for the enemy to retreat." Control it, and the encirclement became a cage.
The march to that position was itself a trial. Pang Gufeng had been ill for two days before it began: "Two days before the mission, I ate spoiled meat and got an upset stomach, vomiting and having diarrhea. Although I was better when we marched that day, I was still very weak. The medic reported to the deputy company commander, who told me to put my gun and backpack on the wagon that the company headquarters used to transport ammunition. I was sweating profusely and had a dry mouth the whole way."
The company set off at noon, moving at full speed. Twice during the march they were caught in the open by Japanese aircraft â strafing runs and bombing that left three men dead and eight wounded. The company commander conferred with the battalion commander and changed to a side road to reduce exposure. Then orders arrived to return to the main road. The calculation was brutally pragmatic: "The side road was shorter but difficult to walk, while the main road was easier but too exposed. 'Better to walk ten miles on flat ground than five miles on mountains,' so to save time, they decided to take the main road."
They reached their position, and the men immediately set to digging. Pang Gufeng, having ridden the supply wagon, felt obliged to work harder than most: "Upon arriving at the location, we heard gunfire and grenade explosions from the east. We quickly dug some simple shelters and trenches. Having taken advantage of not carrying anything during the march, I dared not slack off while working on the fortifications." He noted the common sayings that circulated through the unit: "'A bunker, a shelter, to protect your body,' and 'If you don't want to die young, make sure your fortifications are well-maintained.' These are common sayings circulating in the unit. The words may be rustic, but the truth is real."
Around 2 p.m., the Japanese came. Company Commander Huang Wei had established the signal clearly: the machine guns would open first, and only then would the rifles fire â the whole company committing simultaneously. The company was arrayed so that the Japanese, funnelled toward Xitang, would run into a prepared killing ground. "With our men on both sides and behind the enemy, the enemy could only break through our defenses towards Xitang, only to run right into our guns."
Pang Gufeng had picked out his target early: "The Japanese soldiers charged in from afar, all running, running very fast. I spotted a Japanese machine gunner who was facing me, shirtless, with a white cloth tied around his head, and I listened to the machine gun fire from the company."
"400 meters, 300 meters, 200 meters, 150 meters, 100 meters! My heart was pounding. I could see the enemy machine gunner clearly; he was as strong as an ox, with a body full of hard muscles. I panicked. It felt like that Japanese soldier was staring into my eyes, like he was about to step on my gun barrel if he ran a few more steps!"
The machine gun did not fire. When the order finally came, it came differently than planned: "At this moment, we heard Company Commander Huang's altered voice shout: 'Fight! Fight! Fight! Damn it!' Only later did we learn that the long-range machine gun was broken."
In order to make the whole company hear the order, Huang Wei stood up from his bunker. He did not make it back down: "In order to make the whole company hear the firing order, the company commander stood up from his bunker. After giving the order, before he could lie down, he was hit twice in the neck by enemy machine gun fire and died on the spot."
"Company Commander Huang Wei is from Henan and graduated from the Whampoa Military Academy. He is said to be a good flute player, but I have never heard him play it."
After Huang Wei fell, his deputy took off his own coat and laid it over the company commander's face, had the stretcher bearers carry him from the field, ordered the whole company to remove their hats, and led three calls of "Avenge Company Commander Huang."
"When the company commander's stretcher passed behind me, I saw blood dripping down my clothes. The messenger cried loudly, and I also shed tears."
The fighting continued. The deputy company commander eventually disappeared â it was never established whether he was killed or had fled â before the battle ended. With the machine gun broken and command structures collapsing one by one, men held their positions through individual will. Pang Gufeng recalled what happened when the next assault came:
"When the company commander gave the order to fire, I involuntarily glanced in the direction of his shout, because the original rule was that the machine gun would be the signal. When I turned back to look for the Japanese machine gunner, he was nowhere to be found. I risked peeking out and saw him run to the left. I quickly set up my sights and aimed at him, about to fire, when I saw him fall headfirst, blood immediately staining the white cloth strip on his head. I cursed under my breath, and as I searched for my target again, the enemy had already charged up. We hurriedly threw grenades. The grenades exploded about twenty or thirty meters from the position, scattering dirt and stones across the ground. I saw a dozen or so Japanese soldiers continuing to run forward, and I could hear them shouting; they were only a dozen or so steps away from the position."
Then the grenades seemed to stop mattering: "My mind went blank for a moment. I thought to myself, how come the Japanese aren't afraid of grenades anymore? We've been doing this for so many years, I don't need to hide it from you anymore. Suddenly, I wanted to throw down my gun and run. But at that moment, Dou Rongren, the squad leader of the 6th squad, picked up the machine gun, shouted, and stepped out of the position to fire. Several of the enemy fell down, and the rest ran back. As they ran back, several more were shot down by the brothers."
The honest confession of a professional soldier â not a coward, not a man without courage, but a human being under a level of pressure that strips away everything except the most basic instinct for survival. What held him in place was not ideology or orders. It was the man next to him. "Dou Rongren was the only one in our entire company to achieve merit in this battle. Based on that alone, no one could help but admire him."
The attack broke. A lull settled over the position: "The enemy temporarily retreated to prepare for another attack. The gunfire subsided, and the stretcher bearers walked continuously behind me. I dared not look back."
Darkness brought fresh disaster: "It got dark very quickly. That day was overcast, and once it got dark, we couldn't see anything. The enemy bypassed our company and the 9th Company's two high points and charged directly onto the main road. I also... I'm lost! Isn't this just suicide? The main road is completely blocked by machine guns, but the enemy is still charging in, probably trying to take advantage of the darkness? In the flash of a mortar explosion, I saw the road littered with corpses, the enemy running, crawling, and rolling over their comrades' bodies. My gun was truly 'firing blindly in the night,' firing in the direction of the Japanese soldiers anyway!"
The enemy had breached the line to either side. The company's position was now flanked. No orders came: "The enemy occupied the small hill that our company was defending, and fired several signal flares, some red and some green, I remember. The enemy in front surged towards that spot like a tide. The loss of our company shook the entire defensive line, and the 8th and 9th companies next to us also withdrew. The enemy moved in that direction, and our friendly forces fired in that direction as well. I crouched in the friendly forces' trench, my mind in turmoil."
"Where is Deputy Company Commander Liu? If he's been killed or wounded, the platoon leader should be acting in his place. Surely all three platoon leaders are present? According to battlefield discipline, anyone could step forward at this moment, because it concerns the overall victory or defeat. But neither the platoon leader nor the squad leader has come forward. If I weren't so weak from diarrhea, would I dare to shout, 'Follow my orders?' It's not that simple. I don't understand who would bear the responsibility for the loss if this happened. Following your orders means taking responsibility. Everyone knows that losing a position and causing serious consequences means losing your head! That's probably why no one dared to come forward."
Around nine or ten o'clock, an enemy force crept up from behind â troops from the Xitang direction, moving to reinforce those surrounded to the east: "An enemy force actually crept up behind us, around 9 or 10 p.m. Time on the battlefield is unpredictable; sometimes you feel like half a day has passed, but the company commander checks his watch and says it's only been a quarter of an hour; other times, several hours pass in the blink of an eye. The enemy was coming from the Xitang direction to reinforce those surrounded by our troops. Before I could even think of anything, someone on the position shouted: 'Deputy Company Commander Liu! Deputy Company Commander Liu!' The voice sounded like a platoon leader, but there was no response. Just then, machine gun fire erupted from behind us. It was a small hill, and we hadn't even constructed any fortifications towards it. The enemy had advanced to within twenty or thirty meters of our position."
There was one consideration, Pang Gufeng noted with bitter clarity, that no one had thought to address before the mission: "We've been forgetting one thing: our battalions were positioned behind enemy lines to intercept the enemy retreating from Dayun Mountain back to the Yueyang area. Whether or not there would be enemy forces behind us was a matter for the officers to worry about."
It had not been worried about. The consequences were immediate: "Worst of all, no one was there to command us. I realized that calling for Deputy Company Commander Liu earlier was to report this dire situation. Without command and surrounded on both sides, many men began to retreat, or rather, flee. In the darkness, no one could see anyone else. Our platoon was scattered. We ran along the defensive line towards the 2nd Battalion's position, shouting as we ran, afraid they would misunderstand and open fire. The 2nd Battalion, unaware of the situation, also ran. In the darkness, we heard their officers yelling: 'No leaving the position, or you will be court-martialed!'"
Of the men from the 7th Company who had set out that noon â at full strength, moving at full speed â only a fraction survived to the end. Pang Gufeng recorded the final accounting flatly: "Saying the battle was over was really just a matter of most of the surrounded enemy escaping. Those of us who were cutting off their retreat, along with the troops in front and on both sides, had no choice but to withdraw. The next day, just as dawn broke, we saw corpses everywhere on the hillsides, roads, and bushes â both enemy and our own men. Of the men from our 7th Company who went to the battalion headquarters to be taken in, only 12 remained, including two platoon leaders and two squad leaders."
While the fighting around the ambush positions ground on through the night, the strategic reality of what Anami Korechika had accomplished was becoming, gradually, visible to the Chinese command â though it was not yet fully understood.
The key fact was the timeline. The 6th Division, which had fought for two days to seize Dayun Mountain, had handed the position to the 40th Division on the evening of September 9 and had been marching northward ever since. By the time Lu Daoyuan's New 10th Division ran into the Shigematsu Regiment on September 10, the 6th Division was no longer on the mountain. By the time Xue Yue was directing his five divisions to encircle what he believed was the 6th Division's 13th Regiment near Gantian on September 13, the real 13th Regiment was already north of the Xinqiang River, taking up its designated position in the main Japanese attack formation. The Second Battle of Changsha was, by then, already beginning to unfold along its primary axis â and the five Chinese divisions that might have been part of the defensive line were tied up in the mountains, chasing a decoy.
This was the operational genius of Anami's plan, and it deserves to be understood clearly. The commitment of the 6th Division to Dayun Mountain was not a secondary operation that happened to coincide with the main offensive. It was the indispensable prerequisite for the main offensive. By taking the mountain with an elite division, Anami created the preconditions for Chinese attention to remain fixed on that location. By replacing the 6th Division with the 40th â quietly, at night, maintaining the external appearance of continued occupation â he ensured that the attention would stay fixed long after the elite formation had moved on. And by allowing Chinese intelligence to observe "fortification work" during the changeover, he gave Xue Yue a plausible explanation for Japanese behaviour that was, in every particular, misleading.
It was deception layered upon deception: the initial attack itself, as a cover for the main offensive preparation; the quiet replacement of one division with another, as a cover for the 6th Division's redeployment; and the fortification activity, as a cover for the handover. Each layer reinforced the last. At every point where a Chinese commander might have drawn the correct conclusion, a carefully arranged fact or report pushed him toward the wrong one.
The cost of this deception was paid in the blood of the Shigematsu Regiment. The 234th Regiment of the 40th Division was never intended to fight a sustained battle. It was a screen, a scarecrow given flesh and made to march. When it unexpectedly walked into Lu Daoyuan's New 10th Division on September 10, and when Xue Yue subsequently committed five divisions to its encirclement, the regiment was placed in exactly the position its commanders had hoped to avoid. It fought â hard, and with the desperate intensity of men who understand they have been put in an impossible situation â but the casualties on both sides in those days of fighting around Gantian were severe.
By September 17, the battle in the Dayun Mountain area had settled into a stalemate along the line of Gangkou, Gantian, and Babaishi. The Chinese had not destroyed the encircled Japanese force. The Japanese had not broken out cleanly. Both sides held ground, and both sides had paid heavily for it. The encounter battle of September 10 alone had left the Shagang River running red and the fields and roadsides around Gantian littered with the dead of two armies.
Yang Sen, surveying the situation with the clear eye of a commander who had watched the battle consume resources he could not replace, sent his assessment to Xue Yue. The time had come to close the Battle of Dayun Mountain. He recommended leaving the 102nd Division in the area to monitor and harass the Japanese, and marching the remaining four divisions south of the Xinqiang River before midnight on September 18 to reinforce the frontal defences. The true battle â the assault on Changsha â could no longer be ignored.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
By September 13th, Chinese forces seemed to have a breakthrough: ten thousand troops cornered a Japanese regiment at Gantian, and Xue Yue urged an encirclement and destruction. Chinese assaults compressed the pocket, yet Japanese fighters broke out through an escape corridor and hit an ambush guarding the retreat road. As night fell, flanking attacks and command confusion unraveled the perimeter. By Sept. 17 the Dayun Mountain fighting stalemated; both sides were depleted, and China shifted back to the battle for Changsha.
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Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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Last time we spoke about the battle of Zhongtiao Mountain. On 7 May 1941, Japan launched a three-front assault on the Zhongtiao Mountains, striking multiple axes and using paratroopers to disrupt Chinese command. On the northeastern front, Wu Shimin's 98th Army scored a success at Wangcun, routing about 2,000 attackers. Elsewhere, three-pronged Japanese forces drove south toward Yuanqu with overwhelming artillery, armor, and coordinated movement. During the first night, paratroopers found the Chinese headquarters already disordered: orders were unclear and communications with most units collapsed. By 8 May, the First War Zone could no longer coordinate; armies fought alone. From mid-May into June, Japanese units swept the mountains, manning river crossings to block retreat and eliminating pockets. Surviving Chinese formations escaped or regrouped south of the Yellow River, but the three-year Zhongtiao defensive system was destroyed in about twenty days, sharply worsening Japan's strategic situation in northern China.
#208 Operation Plus: The Road to the Second Battle of Changsha
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
In the autumn of 1939, Japanese forces under General Yasuji Okamura launched a major offensive aimed at capturing Changsha â the gateway to China's interior and one of the most important cities still under Nationalist control. The First Battle of Changsha ended without a decisive Japanese victory. Chinese forces, anchored by the Ninth War Zone under General Xue Yue, managed to repel the advance, inflicting significant casualties and preserving the city. It was a notable achievement at a time when Japanese arms had swept across vast swathes of Chinese territory, and it reverberated through both the Chinese military establishment and the watching international community.
Following the Japanese withdrawal, Chiang Kai-shek convened the Second Nanyue Military Conference to carry out a thorough assessment of the battle and to plan for the period of relative calm that would follow. The conference sought to answer several pressing questions: What had worked in the defense? Where had coordination broken down? How could the period of Japanese inactivity be used most productively? Chiang made it clear that this respite was not to be wasted. Commanders of all the major war zones were simultaneously expected to serve as governors of their respective provinces, ensuring unity of military and civilian command. Chiang himself set an example by personally assuming the governorship of Sichuan Province and focusing attention on that province's production and reconstruction efforts.
The conference produced broad directives for the reconstruction of war-zone provinces and the intensification of military training. For Hunan, responsibility for implementing these directives fell on the shoulders of General Xue Yue, who had emerged from the First Battle of Changsha with greatly enhanced prestige and authority.
The reason Changsha and Hunan more broadly attracted such persistent Japanese attention was geographical and logistical. The Yuehan Railway â running from Yueyang in northern Hunan down through Changsha and south toward Guangzhou â was one of the most important transportation arteries in China. Whoever controlled it could move troops, equipment, and supplies across vast distances with speed and reliability. Opening up the Yuehan line would, in Japanese strategic thinking, effectively connect their forces in Central China with those in South China, allowing for a gradual tightening of the strategic noose around Chiang Kai-shek's wartime capital at Chongqing in Sichuan Province. Hunan was therefore not merely a defensive problem for the Chinese; it was a strategic prize that Japan would inevitably seek to take. Xue Yue, whose headquarters were in Changsha, was well aware of this logic.
With the First Battle of Changsha behind him and the province in need of recovery, Xue Yue turned his attention to governance. He was not content to wait passively for the next Japanese offensive. He believed that a province that was economically productive, administratively disciplined, and politically stable would provide a far more durable foundation for military resistance than one that was disorganized and demoralized. At the beginning of his tenure as effective governor of Hunan, Xue conducted a thorough survey of the province's situation and then articulated a philosophical framework for his administration in the form of a "three-character policy," consisting of three guiding principles: "Peace" (an), "Convenience" (bian), and "Sufficiency" ( zu).
In Xue's formulation, "Peace" meant that the population should be able to live, work, and conduct their daily affairs free from fear and disruption. "Convenience" meant that policies should benefit the people, the nation, and the war effort simultaneously â eliminating bureaucratic obstacles and inefficiencies. "Sufficiency" meant achieving adequate levels in all essential areas: enough soldiers, enough food, and enough wisdom in leadership. These seemingly simple principles were elaborated into extensive implementation guidelines. The announcement of this framework immediately sparked debate across Hunan's intellectual and administrative community. Veteran officials and scholars were divided. Some praised the policy as a clear and practical framework for wartime governance. Others dismissed it as hollow wordplay, offering nothing new or substantive. A minority was more sharply critical, warning that if such superficial philosophizing was all Xue could offer, the province would decay into warlordism.
Undeterred by the criticism, Xue Yue built upon the three-character framework with a set of "Six Policies" for governing the people of Hunan: "Benefiting the People, Raising the People, Educating the People, Protecting the People, Managing the People, and Utilizing the People." Each of these six principles came with specific implementation targets and performance metrics, designed to be measurable rather than aspirational. This second round of policy announcements generated yet another wave of debate, but Xue pressed forward with implementation regardless.
From the beginning of 1940, Xue vigorously pushed for the expansion of agricultural and industrial production across the province. His approach was comprehensive and at times uncompromising. He approved funds for the reconstruction of the Zhongshan Road National Goods Exhibition Hall in Changsha â which had been destroyed in the catastrophic Changsha Fire of 1938 â and by February 1940, 114 shops had reopened there. In March, he approved the "Eight Measures for the Construction of Sheds in Changsha," drafted by the Changsha Municipal Police Bureau, which relaxed housing regulations and helped address the severe shortage of accommodation for the city's residents, who had largely fled or been displaced during the fire and the Japanese offensive.
One of the more creative initiatives of this period was the Ninth War Zone's order requiring all troops stationed in Hunan to cultivate a certain amount of farmland in their spare time, growing grain to supplement military rations. Local residents came to refer to the plots tended by soldiers as "soldier's fields" (bing tian). This policy served a dual purpose: it reduced the logistical burden of feeding the garrison forces from civilian stocks while keeping soldiers productively occupied during lulls in fighting. It also served to maintain a degree of goodwill between the military and the rural communities on which any prolonged resistance ultimately depended.
One of the most consequential steps Xue Yue took to stabilize Hunan's governance was an aggressive campaign against corruption. On April 15, 1940, he ordered the execution of Tian Weizheng, the county magistrate of Changsha, and Wang Lun, the county magistrate of Xiangtan, both on charges of corruption and abuse of office. The proclamation accompanying the executions was blunt: "This serves as a warning against corruption and establishes the authority of the law in upholding discipline." The message was not lost on officials across the province. In the months that followed, a sweep of investigations led to the punishment of numerous corrupt officials and illegal businessmen. The effect on public confidence in the provincial government was significant. Citizens and soldiers alike perceived that there was now a leadership willing to hold its own accountable â a stark contrast to the corruption and self-dealing that had plagued Chinese provincial governance throughout the war.
Xue was also attentive to the ideological dimension of the war effort. On May Fourth Youth Day â itself laden with nationalist significance, commemorating the great student movement of 1919 â Xue attended the provincial capital's sports meet and delivered a speech before thousands of young people entitled "Iron Youth, Iron Spirit, Sacred Labor, Sacred Survival." The speech was aimed at galvanizing the younger generation, connecting their personal futures to the fate of the nation and the resistance against Japan. That same month, in May 1940, the 110th executive meeting of the Hunan Provincial Government revised and approved the "Hunan Province County Heads Performance Evaluation Method," a document that formalized military service and support for the war effort as the primary criterion in the evaluation of local officials' political performance.
Throughout 1940, the provincial government and the Ninth War Zone organized a series of training courses for officials, including courses specifically designed for guerrilla cadres, women cadres, and village chiefs â an indication that preparations for sustained, decentralized resistance were underway. Xue himself addressed the cadre training group with a speech on "The Conditions That a Well-Rounded Cadre Should Possess."
By the end of 1940, after more than a year of sustained effort, Hunan had broadly recovered to the administrative and economic condition it had enjoyed before the Changsha Fire, when the reformist official Zhang Zhizhong had governed the province. Agriculture, industry, and commerce all showed measurable improvement over their wartime lows. The government's accounts for the year reflected growth across all sectors. This recovery was not merely statistical; it represented a genuine rebuilding of the province's capacity to sustain a prolonged defense. Soldiers were better fed and equipped, local officials were more disciplined, and the civilian population had a functioning, if still imperfect, relationship with the wartime state.
Early in 1941, Xue Yue's reputation had grown to the point where local gentry and public figures jointly petitioned for a bustling street in Changsha to be named after his courtesy name â a mark of genuine popular esteem unusual for a military governor in wartime China.
While Xue Yue was rebuilding Hunan, events at the geopolitical level were reshaping the strategic environment in ways that would directly precipitate the Second Battle of Changsha. On September 27, 1940, Japan signed the Tripartite Pact with Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, formally joining the Axis powers. The pact alarmed the Western democracies and accelerated their support for China. On December 2, 1940, the United States Congress passed a bill approving a one-hundred-million-dollar loan to China. On December 10, 1940, Britain followed suit, approving a ten-million-pound loan. Both measures were explicitly understood â by all parties â as responses to Japanese expansion and Japan's recognition of Wang Jingwei's collaborationist puppet government in Nanjing.
For the Japanese military leadership, these loans signaled that the international community was not prepared to accept Japan's fait accompli in China, and that the war of attrition against the Nationalist government could not be allowed to continue indefinitely. The imperative to resolve the "China Incident" â as Japanese officials euphemistically called the war â before the international situation deteriorated further became more urgent than ever.
On January 16, 1941, the Japanese Army adopted the "Long-Term Operational Guidance Plan for China." The document acknowledged a painful internal contradiction: Japan could only sustain a protracted war in China, yet it simultaneously demanded a swift resolution to the conflict through strong military pressure. The plan's solution to this contradiction was to intensify operations while "taking note of the international situation" â meaning that military actions should be calibrated to avoid triggering direct American or British intervention. The plan called for large-scale offensive operations in the summer and autumn of 1941.
The companion document, the "Annual Plan for Showa 16 (1941)," was more specific. It required Japanese troops stationed in China to conduct a major operation in the summer and autumn of that year with the aim of dealing a heavy blow to the main force of the "Whampoa Military Academy" â the term used by Japanese planners to describe the core of Chiang Kai-shek's professional officer corps, trained at the Whampoa (Huangpu) Military Academy and regarded as the backbone of the Nationalist army. The stated goal was to destroy the Chongqing government's will to continue resistance and thereby force a resolution to the China Incident. Xue Yue himself read translated summaries of both these documents when he traveled to Chongqing to report on his work in early 1941. He returned to Hunan in a reflective, and determined, frame of mind.
For much of the period between the two Battles of Changsha, the Japanese Eleventh Army â the primary force facing Xue Yue's Ninth War Zone â had been commanded by General Yasuji Okamura, a seasoned officer with whom Xue had developed a degree of familiarity through combat. By early 1941, it became known that Okamura was to be transferred to the Military Advisory Council at Imperial General Headquarters in Tokyo â a prestigious but more removed role. Xue Yue reflected on this change with a mixture of relief and characteristic self-confidence, reasoning that whoever replaced Okamura would be a new adversary to be dealt with on the battlefield, and that there was no reason to lose to him regardless.
Korechika Anami received his appointment as commander of the Eleventh Army on February 15, 1941. From the first day of his appointment, he carried a detailed battle map of the three provinces facing his command â Hunan, Hubei, and Jiangxi â along with comprehensive intelligence files on both sides' troop dispositions and strengths. He studied these materials constantly, on trains, in waiting rooms, wherever he had a free moment. By the time he formally took up his post on March 10, 1941, he already had a clear operational vision for the coming campaign.
Before reaching the front, Anami stopped in Nanjing to meet with General Hata Shunroku, the Commander-in-Chief of the China Expeditionary Army. Hata had himself arrived in China in early 1941, having been summoned by the Emperor before his departure and entrusted with what the Emperor called the sacred mission of resolving the China Incident. The two men talked through the night, their conversation returning repeatedly to the planned summer-autumn offensive. Hata urged Anami to annihilate the main force of the Ninth War Zone in the area south of the Miluo River â to destroy, once and for all, the core of Chiang Kai-shek's best troops. "If this battle is fought well," Hata told him, "the entire war situation in China will undergo a huge change." Anami listened and agreed, though he had his own reasons to want the battle to go well. He had voluntarily relinquished the prominent position of Vice Minister of the Army at General Headquarters in Tokyo to take this field command â a significant personal sacrifice that reflected his deep desire for battlefield achievement.
There was a personal dimension to Anami's motivations as well. His second son, a bright and lively boy to whom he was deeply attached, had died in combat in China. Anami carried a photograph of his son wherever he went, and had resolved to transform his grief into a consuming commitment to military excellence, whatever the human cost.
At the Eleventh Army's headquarters in Yueyang, Anami found the war game board and operational plans that Okamura had left behind. He did not immediately begin issuing orders. Instead, for weeks he immersed himself in the problem, traveling between divisional headquarters and subordinate commands to gather ground-level perspectives, or sitting alone for hours before the great map, motionless and in deep concentration. His new chief of staff, Kinoshita Isamu, who had come from a divisional unit and was unfamiliar with his commander's temperament, could only keep silent company during these long sessions.
When Anami eventually convened his headquarters personnel to explain his operational intentions, he made a pointed critique of the First Battle of Changsha. "The reason why the last battle in Changsha did not achieve great results," he said, "was that the troops were too dispersed and the main direction of attack was not highlighted, so they could not form a strong impact and lethality." He named the new operation "Operation Plus" â a deliberate contrast with what he saw as the subtracted, diluted efforts of the previous campaign. His concept was one of radical concentration: rather than dispersing the attack across multiple fronts in Hubei and Jiangxi while simultaneously advancing on Changsha, Anami proposed pulling the forces from southern Hubei and northern Jiangxi and massing them in front of northern Hunan. The effect on his staff officers when he demonstrated this redeployment on the map was electric; one of them involuntarily exclaimed aloud at the sudden clarity of the advantageous position that mass concentration would create.
Anami's personality was, in the judgment of those who worked with him, fundamentally different from Okamura's. A commander's fighting style is shaped by his character, and Anami's character was defined by intensity, focus, and a willingness to commit fully. These traits would shape "Operation Plus" from conception to execution.
On June 22, 1941, five and a half million German troops launched Operation Barbarossa â the largest military invasion in history â against the Soviet Union. The news reached the Japanese military establishment with a degree of surprise, since such a momentous operation should, under the terms of the Tripartite Pact, have been communicated in advance. Beyond the procedural slight, German strategists had placed themselves in the position of fighting a two-front war, something Japanese generals found strategically bewildering.
The outbreak of the Soviet-German War forced a serious debate within the Japanese General Staff. One faction argued for a "northward advance" â seizing the opportunity to strike the Soviet Union from the east while its military was fully committed in the west. Another faction argued for a "southward advance" â moving into Southeast Asia and the Pacific to secure the oil and raw materials that Japan desperately needed. Prime Minister Fumimaro Konoe adopted a wait-and-see compromise, authorizing secret preparations for war in the north known as Operation Kantokuen while continuing to monitor developments.
Now it just so happens I released a Patreon/Youtube Members exclusive episode covering Operation Kantokuen the previous month. I highly recommend it, fascinating what if piece of history. For just a teaser I can briefly summarize it:
Operation Kantokuen â officially designated "Kwantung Army Special Maneuvers" â was Japan's plan for a large-scale invasion of the Soviet Far East, developed in the summer of 1941 following Germany's launch of Operation Barbarossa. When news of the German invasion reached Tokyo, Foreign Minister Yosuke Matsuoka and senior Kwantung Army officers argued Japan should abandon its neutrality pact with the USSR and strike in coordination with Germany. An Army-Navy compromise on June 24th allowed preparations to proceed so long as they did not interfere with Japan's concurrent southern ambitions. On July 5th, Matsuoka and Major General Shin'ichi Tanaka convinced War Minister Hideki Tojo to back a more ambitious scheme, and the two men then bypassed the War Ministry entirely, securing Emperor Hirohito's personal authorization. The plan was structured in two stages â a buildup and readiness phase followed by an offensive phase â during which the Kwantung Army would await an explicit order to attack.
The Army General Staff calculated that any campaign had to conclude by mid-October before Siberian winter conditions made logistics impossible. Their ideal force requirement was 16 to 22 divisions supported by 800,000 tons of shipping, though this assumed the Soviets would first redeploy half their Far Eastern infantry and two-thirds of their armor westward against Germany. The planned order of battle ultimately settled on 24 divisions â 17 committed to the eastern front and 5 concentrated near Mutanchiang.
The opening blow was designed to fall on the Primorye (Maritime Province) front. The 1st Area Army, commanding the 3rd and 20th Armies along with elements of the Korea Army, would cross the border south of Lake Khanka to shatter Soviet defensive lines and menace Vladivostok. Simultaneously, the 5th Army would strike south of Iman to cut the Trans-Siberian Railway and isolate the Maritime Province from northern reinforcements. In the north, the 4th Army would hold the Amur River line before pivoting to attack Blagoveshchensk, while two additional reinforced divisions would invade Northern Sakhalin in a land-and-sea pincer. A second phase envisioned capturing Khabarovsk, Komsomolsk, and Sovetskaya Gavan, with amphibious operations considered against Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky and Kamchatka itself.
The operation was to be supported by a massive air assault â between 1,800 and 2,700 aircraft combining Army and Navy aviation â aimed at annihilating the Soviet Far East Air Force in the opening hours, after which Japanese air power would shift to tactical ground support and interdiction of Soviet supply lines. Armored assets included roughly 800â900 tanks, mostly Type 97 Chi-Has and Type 95 Ha-Gos. Kantokuen was also allocated chemical weapons stockpiled in Manchuria and biological agents produced by Unit 731, intended for deployment against Soviet rear areas and supply lines.
Despite the scale of planning, the operation was already fatally compromised before it could be launched. Japan's industry and logistics could not sustain a two-front war while remaining bogged down in China. On August 1st, 1941, the United States enacted a total oil embargo that cut off 80% of Japan's fuel supply, and the Dutch East Indies followed. With oil reserves sufficient for only 12â18 months of peacetime consumption, a Siberian offensive that would consume an estimated one to two million barrels per month was no longer tenable. By August 9th, the Army General Staff conceded that seizing the oil-rich territories of Southeast Asia was the overriding strategic priority. The Kantokuen buildup was formally terminated, and Japan turned south â setting the course toward Pearl Harbor and the Pacific War.
Now Kantokuen held some practical consequences for the China Expeditionary Army was disruptive. Serious consideration was given to redeploying units of the Eleventh Army away from their positions facing Hunan and northward toward Manchuria, in anticipation of a possible war with the Soviet Union. This threatened to derail Anami's planning entirely. The cloud of uncertainty hung over the Changsha operation for several weeks.
Despite the disruption, Anami refused to let the operation be indefinitely deferred. On June 24, 1941 â just two days after Barbarossa began â he formally approved the operational guidance outline for the Changsha offensive and set a planned launch date of September 15. This was an act of deliberate institutional pressure: by formalizing the plan so quickly in the wake of Barbarossa, Anami made it harder for higher authorities to redirect his forces northward without explicitly cancelling a plan already in motion. The gamble worked. The northward deployment option was ultimately shelved, and the Eleventh Army remained in place to conduct its summer-autumn offensive.
While Anami and his staff at Yueyang bent over their map of Hunan, so too did Xue Yue and his staff at Changsha. Two nearly identical colored military maps were laid out on large tables in two different command centers â one in Chinese, one in Japanese â showing the same terrain of Hunan, southern Hubei, and western Jiangxi. The Xiang River appeared on both as a green ribbon; Dongting Lake as a blue maple leaf. For those responsible for commanding the impending battle, the war game was the battle, played out in simulation before blood was shed.
Xue Yue, his Chief of Staff Wu Yizhi, Chief of Staff Zhao Zili, and the intelligence and operations officers of the Ninth War Zone Command engaged in extensive map exercises throughout the summer of 1941. Wargaming pieces bearing unit designations moved across the terrain as staff officers reported troop strengths, timings, and geographic objectives. The summer heat was intense, and there was nowhere cool in Changsha; Xue and his staff worked in the heat, sweating heavily as they played out scenario after scenario.
It was during these sessions that Xue came to believe he had grasped the essential shape of the Japanese plan. Reasoning from the known Japanese strategic posture and the pattern of the first battle, he concluded that the enemy would again advance roughly the same way. His counter-strategy was as follows: in northern Jiangxi and southern Hubei, the war zone would launch pincer attacks on Japanese forces that were not part of the main offensive, targeting the area north of Chongren and Xingan, east of Yichun, Wanzai, Tonggu, and Xiushui, to defeat them in detail. In northern Hunan â the main theater â the war zone would deliberately allow the Japanese to advance, luring their main force south of the Miluo River into the area north of Jinjing, Fulinpu, and Sanjieqiao, and then launch a devastating counterattack to encircle and annihilate them. After a successful counterattack, Xue imagined pursuing the broken Japanese forces all the way back to Yueyang, and beyond â even, in his more expansive moments, recapturing the great cities of Jiujiang and Wuhan, lost in 1938.
This was the "lure and annihilate" strategy, and it was not merely a hope â it was the formal operational order issued to the forces of the Ninth War Zone. In August 1941, the Ninth Military Front officially assessed that Japan intended to capture Changsha and obtain supplies, and the lure-and-annihilate plan was formalized accordingly.
What Xue Yue did not know â and could not know through his intelligence network alone â was that Anami's operational philosophy was fundamentally different from Okamura's. The critical assumption underlying the lure-and-annihilate plan was that the Japanese would attack in roughly the same dispersed, multi-front pattern as the first battle. Anami's "Operation Plus" invalidated this assumption entirely. By concentrating his forces in front of northern Hunan rather than dispersing them, Anami would strike with an impact Xue's cordon defenses were not designed to absorb. Xue was, unknowingly, planning to fight a replay of the first battle against an opponent who had studied that first battle as a case study in what not to do.
Despite this fundamental intelligence gap, the Chinese were not without information. From mid-August 1941 onward, residents of mountain villages and riverside communities in northern Jiangxi and southern Hubei began reporting unusual nighttime activity. Faint sounds of motor engines and the footsteps of large columns moving on main roads were heard after dark. On moonlit nights, fleets of motorboats were seen moving without lights on the rivers, visible only as dark shadows on the water. The local population was puzzled and unsettled: what kind of unit was this, and what were they doing?
The answer was that Anami's forces were conducting their pre-offensive assembly under cover of darkness and strict light discipline, moving four divisions totaling approximately 120,000 troops into position for the attack on Hunan. Military and civilian intelligence agents operating in these areas crouched in the bushes, enduring insect bites through long nights, watching and recording everything they witnessed. The information was relayed by human chain, passed from one agent to another across a network stretching back to Changsha, until it was collated and placed on Xue Yue's desk by staff officers from the Ninth War Zone Command's Intelligence Department.
Xue studied the reports carefully, comparing them against his map. The evidence of a large Japanese build-up in northern Hunan was unambiguous. But Xue was suspicious of its implications. "Mobilize troops? All the troops are moved to northern Hunan. What about Tongcheng? What about Yueyang? Impossible! Feint? What does that mean? You want me to concentrate my troops in northern Hunan so you can attack from both sides?" His staff officers were similarly uncertain how to read the intelligence. The scale of the Japanese concentration defied the pattern of previous operations, and Xue's trained instincts â calibrated against years of dealing with Okamura â led him to doubt what his intelligence was plainly showing. He concluded, without firm evidence, that the concentration must be a feint or a deception.
On August 26, 1941, Imperial General Headquarters in Tokyo issued Mainland Order No. 538, which authorized the Commander-in-Chief of the China Expeditionary Army to "temporarily conduct operations beyond the designated operational area in Central China during the summer and autumn." This order provided the formal imperial sanction for the Changsha offensive, lifting any remaining bureaucratic constraints on Anami's operational plan. It represented the final piece of institutional authorization, completing a chain that stretched from Anami's June 24 approval of the operational outline through Hata's advocacy at the China Expeditionary Army level to the formal imprimatur of the Imperial General Headquarters.
With Mainland Order No. 538 in hand, the Eleventh Army's final preparations could proceed without ambiguity. The original planned launch date of September 15 would in practice be moved forward, with combat beginning on September 7 â itself a date chosen partly to maximize the advantage of late-summer weather conditions in the Hunan river-crossing terrain.
By the time Anami's forces were assembled, the operational force was formidable. Estimating that the enemy facing them comprised fifteen divisions from the Chinese 4th, 37th, 99th, 74th, and 26th Corps, Japanese planners calculated â somewhat optimistically â that two infantry battalions would suffice to handle one enemy division. To provide a margin for error and to ensure decisive striking power, the Eleventh Army committed forty-one infantry battalions distributed across four full divisions and three specialized task forces, supported by twenty-nine artillery battalions. This represented a massive concentration of firepower and manpower along a relatively narrow axis of advance, precisely as Anami had intended. The objective was clearly stated: "to deal a major blow to the Ninth Military Front in order to thwart the enemy's plan for resistance." Japanese senior leadership reiterated at every briefing that the mission was emphatically not territorial â the army was not to occupy Changsha or secure it for long-term administration, and it was not to forage for supplies. The goal was destruction of Chinese combat power.
On the Chinese side, the Ninth Military Front had not been idle. Since the Battle of Shanggao in March 1941 â a significant Chinese defensive victory in Jiangxi that had inflicted heavy casualties on Japanese forces attempting to advance into the province â the Ninth Military Front had ordered its troops to cooperate with guerrilla units operating in the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border region, conducting harassment operations against Japanese logistics and communications. This cooperation served both to maintain offensive pressure and to train the irregular forces that would prove invaluable in a war of attrition.
By August 1941, Xue Yue had assembled a force of thirty-five divisions organized into thirteen armies across three army groups, totaling 378,307 troops. The headquarters of the Ninth Military Front remained in Changsha. Xue had also assessed his forces' combat readiness with some confidence: in the summer of 1940, the Ninth War Zone had dispatched one corps from each army group and one division from each corps on summer offensive operations against Japanese positions, explicitly testing their readiness in real combat. Although no major victories had been achieved in those operations, the exercise confirmed that troop morale was high and that combat effectiveness had recovered to the level of the First Battle of Changsha. If anything, Xue thought, after another full year of training, they should be better.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
Operation Plus, emphasized concentrating forces and creating a decisive breakthrough rather than dispersing attacks across multiple fronts like in earlier battles. On the Chinese side, commander Xue Yue developed a "lure and annihilate" strategy, expecting the Japanese to fight like before; however, Anami's concentrated approach undermined these assumptions, making a Chinese counteroffensive far harder to execute.
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Last time we spoke about the battle of Shanggao. From late March to early April 1940, Japanese forces attacked Shanggao in Jiangxi with a multiâpronged offensive. Chinese commanders used elastic defense and coordinated counter-moves, trading space for time through layered positions until the Japanese advanced into prepared strongpoints. As the 34th Division moved toward the town, assaults repeatedly hit ridges and bridge lines held by the 74th Corps. Heavy air strikes caused chaos, but timely flank redeployments prevented a decisive breakthrough. During the crisis around March 21â24, Chinese units maneuvered an encirclement and executed a controlled breakout at the critical moment. After intense fighting and bombing, the Japanese were routed and fell back to their original positions. The wider war did not change, yet Shanggao proved that disciplined Chinese planning could reverse Japanese offensives against superior initiative and numbers.
#207 Battle of Zhongtiao Mountain
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
By the spring of 1941, the War of Resistance against Japan had been grinding for nearly four years, and the map of China looked increasingly like a wound. Japan controlled the coastal cities, the major river valleys, and most of the productive lowland plains of the north and east. The Nationalist government had retreated far inland to Chongqing, governing a rump state of mountainous hinterland, foreign sympathies, and diminishing resources. The war had long since ceased to look like a conventional conflict between organized fronts and had settled into something grimmer and more ambiguous â a slow war of attrition fought in the mud and rocks of the Chinese interior, punctuated by Japanese offensives designed not to end the war but to compress it, to squeeze the Nationalists tighter with each season until surrender became a rational calculation rather than a humiliation.
Japan had tried other methods first. In the late 1930s, Tokyo made serious overtures to Chiang Kai-shek's government, proposing a negotiated settlement that would see China aligned with Japan and the puppet Wang Jingwei government elevated as the vehicle for that arrangement. Chiang refused. He had gambled, and would continue to gamble, that the war in Europe would eventually draw in the Western powers, that American patience with Japanese aggression would run out, and that time was ultimately on China's side. The strategy required suffering in the present to buy survival in the future. Germany's invasion of Poland in September 1939 and the subsequent expansion of war across Europe only reinforced Japan's desire to accelerate its operations in China before the international situation made them impossible. By 1940, Japan signaled it intended to resolve the "China Incident" â the bureaucratic euphemism it used to avoid officially acknowledging that it was fighting a full-scale war â once and for all.
The question was where. The front was hundreds of miles long. The Japanese army in China was stretched thin despite its nominal strength. Spectacular victories in the lowlands had failed to produce the political capitulation Tokyo expected. And in the mountains of Shanxi Province, a particular irritant had been festering for three years â one that the Japanese could neither ignore nor seem to dislodge.
The Zhongtiao Mountains rise along the southern edge of Shanxi Province, running roughly east to west for some two hundred miles, forming a natural wall between the loess plateaus of Shanxi and the plains of northern Henan below. The range is not dramatic by Chinese standards â it is not the soaring, cloud-piercing landscape of Sichuan or Yunnan â but it is rugged, deeply ridged, and extraordinarily difficult to move through quickly. For a defending army with knowledge of the terrain, the Zhongtiao range was close to ideal. For an attacker, especially one dependent on mechanized firepower and coordinated logistics, it was a nightmare.
Chinese forces had occupied the Zhongtiao Mountains since 1938, following the fall of Taiyuan and the retreat of Nationalist forces from the broader Shanxi campaign. At a moment when much of northern China was collapsing around them, the garrison there dug in and refused to move. Over the following three years, the Japanese Army mounted thirteen separate offensives against the Zhongtiao position. All thirteen failed. The mountains held. Chinese soldiers would later call it the "Eastern Maginot Line," a nickname that was simultaneously a boast and, in retrospect, a warning â the original Maginot Line, after all, had also been considered impregnable until the enemy simply went around it.
But the strategic importance of Zhongtiao went beyond prestige. The mountains commanded the northern approach to the Yellow River crossings â the great geographic boundary that separated Japanese-controlled northern China from the Nationalist-held central and western regions. From their positions in the mountains, Chinese troops could threaten Japanese supply lines, protect their own river logistics, and maintain at least a symbolic presence north of the Yellow River. As long as the Zhongtiao garrison held, Japan could not claim complete control of northern China. It was also a potential launching point for a Chinese counteroffensive, should one ever become possible. The Japanese understood this perfectly. By 1940, eliminating the Zhongtiao position had become not merely desirable but strategically necessary.
The First War Zone command responsible for the Zhongtiao garrison was, at least on paper, an imposing force. Between 170,000 and 180,000 men were deployed across the mountain range and its approaches, drawn from multiple armies and organized into several large groupings. The 5th Army Group under Zeng Wanzhong held the central area. The 14th Army Group under Liu Maoen operated in the eastern sector. The 4th Army Group, known as the "Iron Pillar of Zhongtiao" for its tenacious defense of the position over three years, was stationed as the backbone of the force. Individual armies were spread across specific nodes: Pei Changhui's 9th Army at Jiyuan in northern Henan; Zhao Shiling's 43rd Army at Yuanqu at the southernmost tip of Shanxi; Tang Huaiyuan's 3rd Army and Kong Lingxun's 80th Army in the Wenxi and Xiaxian areas; Wu Shimin's 98th Army at Dongfeng Town; Wu Tinglin's 15th Army near Gaoping.
The man responsible for holding all of this together was Wei Lihuang, a gifted commander and one of Chiang Kai-shek's most capable generals. Wei had organized the Zhongtiao defense from the beginning, and his strategic instincts were widely respected. He was, by most accounts, the indispensable figure in the garrison's survival. The problem was that Wei had made powerful enemies. His refusal to participate in anti-Communist friction operations â at a time when the Nationalist government was increasingly focused on neutralizing the Communists even at the cost of Japanese resistance â had alienated him from a circle of powerful rivals, including the influential Hu Zongnan. Outmaneuvered at court, Wei was summoned to Chongqing in early 1941 and, under the pretext of strategic consultations, was effectively detained at Mount Emei. He never returned to his command in the Zhongtiao Mountains. The army he had built was left without its architect.
The garrison that remained was compromised far beyond its missing commander, however. Three years of static defense had created conditions that corroded military discipline in predictable and insidious ways. Supply lines were unreliable, rations were short, and the soldiers garrisoning remote mountain positions had turned, by necessity and then by habit, to the local economy to sustain themselves. A bustling illicit trade in grain and opium had sprung up across the mountain zone, with Chinese troops selling what they could and buying what they needed from merchants who operated equally comfortably on both sides of the Japanese-Chinese frontier. This was not merely a logistical failure. It meant that Japanese intelligence had abundant commercial cover to infiltrate the garrison area, that security was a fiction, and that the defensive posture of the entire force had quietly shifted from warlike readiness to something closer to bureaucratic occupation.
The Japanese had not missed any of this. For months before the offensive, Japanese intelligence agents had worked their way into the garrison's supply networks, trading relationships, and eventually its command structure itself. Japanese special forces had identified key headquarters positions. Informants had mapped the positions of individual units, traced the routes between them, and assessed the readiness of the men holding them. By the spring of 1941, Japanese planners believed, with considerable justification, that they could paralyze the entire Chinese command system within an hour of opening fire. This was not boasting. It was reconnaissance.
Back in Chongqing, the intelligence picture was worse than unclear â it was actively distorted. The Nationalist intelligence apparatus issued warnings about Japanese troop movements near the Zhongtiao perimeter in April 1941, but the warnings were partial, their significance disputed, and the political will to act on them absent. A series of conferences were convened at Luoyang, the regional headquarters. Fortification orders were issued. Additional supplies were promised. Almost none of the follow-through actually materialized. The garrison's most powerful formation, the 4th Army Group, had already been transferred away from the area. Its absence left a hole in the defensive line that no amount of paper orders could fill.
On the Japanese side, the operation that would eliminate the Zhongtiao garrison was carefully and systematically prepared. It was codenamed the "Central Plains Campaign" â a name that reflected its true ambition, which was not merely to take a mountain range but to reshape the strategic geography of the entire region. The operation was assigned to the North China Area Army under Lieutenant General Tada Shun, an experienced commander who had studied the Zhongtiao problem for years and had a clear understanding of why previous offensives had failed.
The core of the attacking force was seven divisions: the 33rd, 35th, 36th, 37th, 41st, and 21st Divisions, along with several independent mixed brigades, puppet Chinese formations, cavalry, and a substantial artillery and air component. The 3rd Air Group, operating from airfields at Yuncheng and Xinxiang, would provide tactical air support throughout the operation. In total, the frontline assault force numbered approximately 100,000 men. This was not a repeat of the previous thirteen offensives, in which the Japanese had probed and pressed at the mountains frontally. This was a comprehensive annihilation plan.
Tada's design exploited the geographic shape of the Zhongtiao position itself. The Chinese garrison occupied a roughly crescent-shaped area, with its back to the Yellow River and its front facing north and east into Japanese-held territory. The obvious previous approach â attacking from the north â had failed repeatedly because the terrain favored the defenders. Tada's solution was to attack from three directions simultaneously, with the town of Yuanqu on the Yellow River as the primary objective. Yuanqu was the hinge of the entire Chinese position: it controlled the main river crossings, served as the central supply point for the garrison, and sat at the narrowest point between the mountains and the water. If Yuanqu fell, the Chinese would be cut off from their supply line and divided into two separate pockets. Then each pocket could be destroyed at leisure.
To execute this, Tada organized his forces into three attack groups. The eastern group, built around Lieutenant General Harada Yukichi's 35th Division with elements of the 21st Division and the 4th Independent Cavalry Brigade â totaling roughly 25,000 men with armor, artillery, and supporting puppet forces â would drive westward along the Daoqing Road, pushing through Jiyuan and Mengxian toward the eastern flank of the Chinese position. The northeastern group, under Lieutenant General Shozo Sakurai commanding the 33rd Division and an Independent Mixed Brigade, would descend from Yangcheng southward, striking at the middle of the Chinese line. The western and northwestern group, the largest, comprising the 36th, 37th, and 41st Divisions along with the 9th and 16th Independent Mixed Brigades, would push southward from multiple points between Sangchi and Zhangdian, driving straight for Yuanqu.
The final element of the plan was the most audacious. Japanese special forces and paratroopers were to land behind Chinese lines on the opening night of the offensive, targeting the Chinese headquarters and communications nodes. If the Chinese command could be blinded and paralyzed in the first hours of the battle, resistance would collapse before it could organize. Given the penetration of the garrison by Japanese intelligence, the paratroopers knew precisely where to go.
From late April, Japanese forces quietly moved into their assault positions. Supply dumps were stocked. Artillery was registered on Chinese positions. The attack was set for the morning of May 7, 1941. Everything was ready.
The battle opened before dawn on May 7, and it opened everywhere at once. On the eastern front, Harada's 35th Division and its attached formations crossed the start line and drove westward in three parallel columns along the Daoqing Road. More than 5,000 infantrymen, 1,000 cavalry, dozens of artillery pieces, over 100 tanks and armored vehicles, and the supporting puppet troops of Zhang Lanfeng and Liu Yanfeng poured into the Chinese-held area around Jiyuan and Mengxian. The assault had an almost mechanical quality â it moved at the pace of its armor and artillery, methodically grinding through whatever lay in its path.
On the northeastern front, Sakurai's 33rd Division descended from Yangcheng with more than 10,000 men, striking at Wu Shimin's 98th Army at Dongfeng Town. Wu was one of the more aggressive Chinese commanders in the garrison, and he did not wait to be overwhelmed. He threw his forces into active resistance on multiple axes, contesting each Japanese advance rather than simply absorbing it. In the fighting around Wangcun, his troops achieved one of the campaign's rare Chinese tactical successes, routing approximately 2,000 Japanese attackers and killing more than 700, including Colonel Hamada, a Japanese regimental commander. It was a genuine local victory, but it could not change the larger picture.
On the western and northwestern front, the main Japanese force pushed south with its eyes fixed on Yuanqu. The coordinated weight of three divisions and two independent brigades, all moving along converging axes, was designed to be overwhelming. Individually, a Chinese unit might hold a ridge or a pass for a day. Collectively, there was no way to stop what was coming.
And that same night, as the Chinese scrambled to respond to attacks on every side, Japanese paratroopers landed near Chinese headquarters positions. They found what intelligence had promised: a command system already in disarray, staffed by officers who had received no coherent orders and had lost communications with most of their subordinate units. The Japanese were not wrong when they predicted they could paralyze the Chinese command within hours. By the morning of May 8, the Chinese First War Zone headquarters had effectively ceased to function as a coordinating body. Individual armies would fight on, but they would fight alone.
The second day of the battle brought the decisive blow. On the afternoon of May 8, the 9th Army under Pei Changhui â already reeling from the pressure of the eastern Japanese columns â abandoned the cities of Ji and Meng and fell back westward. The withdrawal opened a path through the Chinese line, and the Japanese exploited it immediately. That evening, with the assistance of paratroopers who had secured key access routes overnight, Japanese forces reached Yuanqu on the Yellow River's northern bank and took it.
The fall of Yuanqu changed everything. At a single stroke, the Chinese garrison's supply line from the south bank of the Yellow River was severed. The main crossing points were in Japanese hands. The two halves of the Chinese position â those to the east of Yuanqu and those to the west â were now separated, unable to reinforce one another. The double encirclement that Tada had designed on paper became a physical reality on the ground. The trap had closed.
May 9 brought further disaster. Japanese forces captured Wufujian, another significant point in the Chinese rear. And on this day the battle's human cost began to register in the most stark terms possible. Wang Jun, commander of the newly formed 27th Division of Kong Lingxun's 80th Army, was killed in action fighting in the southern Shanxi mountains. Major General Chen Wenqi, deputy commander of the 24th Division, died in fierce combat near Taizhai Village. And Major General Liang Xixian, having retreated with the remnants of his force to Taizhai and found every route blocked â his options reduced to surrender or death â walked into the Yellow River and drowned himself. He was not the last Chinese officer to choose death over capture.
The loss of three generals in a single day was not merely tragic. It reflected something about the nature of the battle that the casualty statistics alone could not capture: the Chinese officers who fought most fiercely and refused to abandon their positions were precisely the men dying, while the broader institutional structure that should have supported them had already failed. The garrison was being consumed from its fighting edge inward.
Over the following two days, the Japanese methodically tightened the ring. The eastern column, having taken Yuanqu, split into two prongs: one drove eastward, capturing Shaoyuan by the morning of May 12 and linking up with the forces that had been pressing westward from Jiyuan; the other drove westward to Wufujian, joining with the troops already there. The inner encirclement was now complete and continuous. The Yellow River crossings along the entire Chinese front were blocked. There was no route south that wasn't already under fire or in Japanese hands.
The fighting in the mountain passes was, by all accounts, ferocious. At Fengmenkou â a critical pass that both sides recognized as a key chokepoint â the Chinese 9th Army committed the main force of its newly formed 24th Division along with elements of the 54th Division, fighting for every ridge and ravine. The Japanese sent reinforcements and simply absorbed the punishment, pressing forward until numbers and artillery told. By May 12, the position at Jianshan had been surrounded as well, and the outer ring of encirclement had sealed. The Chinese armies in the Zhongtiao Mountains were now divided into isolated pockets, each fighting separately, each trying to find a gap in the Japanese lines that simply wasn't there.
Beyond the mountains, the Chinese high command in Luoyang was issuing desperate orders. Units that had already been overrun were instructed to hold positions they no longer occupied. Army commanders who had lost contact with their corps were told to coordinate with formations they couldn't reach. The gap between the orders flowing from headquarters and the reality on the ground had become absolute. The First War Zone command was, in practical terms, a spectator to the destruction of its own army.
Of all the days in the three-week battle, May 13 was perhaps the most devastating for Chinese morale. At Cunbu, in the western sector, the 3rd Army under Lieutenant General Tang Huaiyuan had been surrounded and cut off. Tang was among the finest officers in the Nationalist army â a career soldier of exceptional ability, admired by subordinates and superiors alike, the kind of commander who by his personal presence could steady troops on the edge of breaking. He had led the 3rd Army in continuous fighting since May 7, conducting a fighting retreat that had preserved more of his force than most.
But there was nowhere left to retreat to. Cunbu was surrounded on all sides. The Yellow River was behind him. The Japanese were in front. Tang Huaiyuan sat with his surviving officers and told them that he would not surrender. Then he shot himself. He was fifty-seven years old.
On the same day, Cun Xingqi, commander of the 12th Division, was hit eight times during close combat and died on the field. The tally of dead general officers had now reached five in the space of a week. Tang Huaiyuan's death, unlike the others, resonated as something more than a military loss. He was a symbol of what the Zhongtiao defense had once represented: the possibility that courage and skill could compensate for disadvantages in firepower and logistics. His death seemed to say, loudly, that that possibility was exhausted.
Chiang Kai-shek, when news reached him in Chongqing, personally ordered that Tang Huaiyuan be posthumously promoted and honored. The gesture was well-intentioned and entirely beside the point. Tang was dead. His army was destroyed. The gesture could not undo either fact.
With the double encirclement complete and the primary Chinese resistance broken, the Japanese Army entered the second and less dramatic but equally brutal phase of its operation: the systematic clearance of what remained. Beginning around May 15, Japanese units shifted from the headlong offensive drives of the first week to methodical sweep operations, moving through the mountain terrain in organized formations, pressing into each remaining pocket and eliminating whatever resistance they found.
The Yellow River's northern bank was secured by Japanese forces who established posts at the crossing points, blocking retreat and interdicting any resupply attempt. From the western front, sweep operations continued in a series of movements that lasted until well into June, each one driving Chinese remnants further into smaller and more untenable positions. Japanese after-action reports from this period read with the clinical detachment of men doing carpentry rather than fighting: so many positions cleared, so many prisoners taken, so many bodies counted.
For the surviving Chinese forces, this period was one of desperate improvisation. With coordinated resistance impossible and every organized position either taken or surrounded, the remnant armies broke up into smaller columns and attempted to find their own routes out of the encirclement. Their experiences varied enormously depending on their starting position, the initiative of their commanders, and fortune.
The remnants of the 3rd Army and 15th Army, under Zeng Wanzhong of the 5th Army Group, managed to push through to Yellow River crossings in the west and get their men across to the south bank, eventually reorganizing at Luoyang and Xin'an. The 93rd Army, which had occupied positions in the northeast, shook off the Japanese pursuit with sufficient speed and organization to cross at Yumenkou and escape into Hancheng County in Shaanxi Province, preserving more of its fighting strength than most.
Wu Shimin's 98th Army â whose fighting at Wangcun had been one of the campaign's genuine bright spots â was pushed northward into the Taiyue Mountains, conducting guerrilla operations as it went. Wu himself was wounded during the withdrawal and would spend months recovering; he never fully recovered his health, and would die by suicide the following year. The 43rd Army under Zhao Shiling, which had held Yuanqu before its fall, managed a fighting withdrawal toward Fushan and Yicheng in the north. Pei Changhui's 9th Army conducted several days of guerrilla operations along the Daoqing Road before finding crossings at Xiaodukou and Guanyangdukou and getting across the Yellow River to safety.
By May 27, the great majority of the Zhongtiao Mountain garrison had either been destroyed, captured, or withdrawn. The mountains that had held for three years were in Japanese hands. The battle, for all practical purposes, was over. The two sides emerged from the battle with starkly different accounts of what had happened, and the gap between those accounts is itself revealing. Japanese operational records claimed that their forces had killed approximately 42,000 Chinese soldiers on the battlefield, taken around 35,000 prisoners, captured enormous quantities of weapons and supplies, and inflicted total Chinese casualties exceeding 100,000. Against this, Japanese headquarters reported their own losses as 673 killed and 2,292 wounded â a ratio so lopsided that it seemed to describe a completely different kind of warfare. Whether or not the precise numbers are accurate, Japanese sources were consistent in portraying the battle as a catastrophic one-sided rout.
The Chinese government's official figures, presented to the public and to allied nations, told a very different story. Nationalist records acknowledged approximately 13,751 officers and soldiers killed, wounded, gassed, or missing, while claiming Japanese casualties of around 9,900. These numbers, by the standards of the actual fighting and the geographic scale of the defeat, strained credulity. They were the numbers of a government that needed, for political and morale reasons, to minimize a disaster it could not afford to fully acknowledge.
What is beyond dispute is the strategic result. The Zhongtiao garrison, which had held for three years against thirteen prior offensives, had been destroyed in twenty days. The last significant Nationalist Chinese presence north of the Yellow River in the region had been eliminated. Japan now controlled the northern bank of the river for a substantial stretch, had secured its supply lines through southern Shanxi, and had opened the door for future pressure on Luoyang and ultimately Xi'an. The mountain barrier that had allowed Chinese forces to threaten Japanese logistics was gone. It would not be rebuilt.
Six senior Chinese generals had died in the battle: Wang Jun, Chen Wenqi, Liang Xixian, Tang Huaiyuan, Cun Xingqi, and others in the fighting. Their deaths were individually remarkable â men choosing death over surrender at rate that reflected both the desperate conditions of the battle and a code of honor that many of them explicitly invoked in their final moments. They were also, in aggregate, a measure of how completely the officer corps had been consumed.
In the decades since the battle, historians have returned repeatedly to the question of why a position held for three years collapsed so completely in three weeks. The answers are neither simple nor flattering to the Nationalist government, and they were debated with bitter intensity in Chongqing even while the battle was still being fought.
The most immediate cause was the removal of Wei Lihuang. This was not merely the loss of a capable general â it was the destruction of the institutional knowledge and personal relationships that had made the defense function. The Zhongtiao garrison was not simply a collection of soldiers in mountain positions; it was a system, carefully constructed over three years, that depended on specific command relationships, established logistics arrangements, and particular allocation of resources. Wei had built that system. Without him, and without any adequate replacement, it became something far more brittle than it appeared.
Below the level of high command, the garrison's gradual corruption was an equally powerful factor. The trading networks, the opium commerce, the penetration by Japanese intelligence â these were not incidental problems but symptoms of a deeper institutional failure. An army that has spent three years in static defensive positions, chronically undersupplied and without a meaningful offensive mission, tends toward exactly this kind of decay. The Nationalist government's decision to prioritize anti-Communist friction operations over Zhongtiao's fighting readiness had removed the 4th Army Group â the backbone of the defense â and had consumed Wei Lihuang's attention and political capital at the worst possible moment.
The Japanese plan, too, deserves credit it rarely receives in Chinese accounts of the battle. The three-pronged converging attack on Yuanqu was not simply overwhelming force applied to an obvious target. It was an elegant solution to the genuine tactical puzzle that the Zhongtiao mountains presented, exploiting the garrison's geographic vulnerability with a precision that turned the defenders' mountain terrain from an asset into a trap. The use of paratroopers to decapitate the Chinese command in the opening hours was a sophisticated operational concept that worked almost exactly as designed. Tada Shun was not lucky. He was thorough.
Finally, there is the question of Chiang Kai-shek's own priorities. His reported weeping upon receiving news of the defeat was genuine, in the sense that the loss clearly shocked and grieved him. But the decisions that led to the defeat â Wei Lihuang's removal, the transfer of the 4th Army Group, the neglect of fortification and resupply in the months preceding the battle â had been made in Chongqing, not in the mountains. The Zhongtiao garrison had been strategically sacrificed, piece by piece, for political calculations in the internal factional struggle between Nationalists and Communists. Whether Chiang understood the cost of those choices before May 7, 1941, is debatable. After that date, it was difficult to pretend otherwise.
The fall of the Zhongtiao Mountains did not end the War of Resistance, but it substantially worsened China's strategic position in the north. Over the following months, Japan used its consolidated control of southern Shanxi to increase pressure on the Yellow River line and probe toward Luoyang. The surviving Chinese armies, reorganized south of the river, were in no position to counterattack. The mountains themselves, stripped of their garrison and secured by Japanese occupation troops, became part of the extended Japanese occupation zone â a territory to be administered and exploited rather than contested.
For the men who had fought there, the battle left wounds that went beyond the physical. Entire armies had to be rebuilt from remnants. Officers who had retreated, whether under orders or on their own initiative, faced boards of inquiry in an atmosphere of recrimination and blame-seeking. Some were cashiered. Some faced criminal proceedings. The search for culpability â which was genuine enough, since the failure was genuine â tended to fall on those least able to defend themselves rather than on the senior commanders and political figures whose decisions had created the conditions for defeat.
The posthumous honors awarded to Tang Huaiyuan, Liang Xixian, Wang Jun, and the other officers who died in battle were heartfelt, and they were also convenient. The heroic dead could be elevated without requiring the living to answer uncomfortable questions. Their sacrifice was real. The system that wasted it was also real.
In the broader history of the Second Sino-Japanese War, the Battle of Zhongtiao Mountain tends to be overshadowed by more famous engagements â Shanghai, Nanjing, Taierzhuang, the later battles along the Salween. This is partly because the Chinese side lost comprehensively and had little interest in memorializing the loss, and partly because the battle's significance was more strategic than dramatic. There was no great last stand, no single moment of heroism sufficient to redeem the catastrophe. There were only men dying in mountain passes, generals walking into rivers, and an entire defensive system disintegrating under the weight of its own contradictions.
What the Battle of Zhongtiao Mountain represents, in the end, is a case study in how military positions are really lost. They are rarely lost on the battlefield alone. They are lost in the staff meetings where capable commanders are removed for political reasons. They are lost in the supply depots that never get restocked. They are lost in the informal economies that grow up when institutions stop functioning. They are lost in the intelligence assessments that are written and ignored. They are lost, finally and irreversibly, in the early morning hours when the guns open simultaneously on three sides and the men at the radios discover that no one is answering.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
On May 7, 1941, Japan opened a three-front assault on Zhongtiao Mountains; paratroopers disrupted command night. With the 9th Army withdrawing, Yuanqu fell on May 8, severing supply and trapping the garrison. Fighting raged through May 13, costing generals, until Japanese sweeps cleared pockets; survivors escaped south of Yellow River.
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Last time we spoke about the Hubei-Henan Campaign of 1940-1941. In November 1940, a Central Hubei operation using multiple task forces aimed to exploit Chinese dispersal, achieving only local successes and no lasting territorial gains. The Japanese then tried again in late January 1941 with a major offensive into southern Henan. Despite concentrating a large force, the campaign failed strategically. After the Henan failure, Japan attempted to regain momentum in spring 1941 by attacking western Hubei around Yichang on the Yangtze. Despite an initial barrage and rapid early gains, Japanese forces became exposed in a narrow salient. The Chinese reorganized their river defenses and launched a converging counteroffensive, driving the invaders back and ending the engagement where it began, with the Japanese suffering heavy casualties and their westward push thwarted.
#206 The Battle of Shanggao
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
The year 1940 had brought a particular humiliation. In August of that year, Communist General Peng Dehuai had launched the Hundred Regiments Offensive â a massive, coordinated assault across North China that shattered Japanese rail and supply lines, embarrassed Imperial General Headquarters, and demonstrated that the Chinese were far from finished. Japan's response had been brutal, the infamous "Three Alls" campaign of reprisals across the countryside. But the damage had been done, and the attention of Imperial General Headquarters shifted northward. The autumn of 1940 had also seen the First Battle of Changsha, where the Japanese 11th Army under General Sonobe YahachirĆ pushed south into Hunan Province expecting to overwhelm the Chinese defenders and finally deal a decisive blow to Chiang Kai-shek's armies. Instead, General Xue Yue â the "Tiger of Changsha" â had allowed the Japanese to advance deep into his prepared killing ground before counterattacking from multiple directions. The Japanese had been forced to retreat in disorder, and the front in Hunan and Jiangxi settled once again into sullen stalemate. It was in this atmosphere of frustrated ambition and strategic inertia that the seeds of Shanggao were sown.
By February 1941, Imperial General Headquarters had decided to redeploy the 33rd Division â then garrisoned in the town of Anyi, in northwestern Jiangxi â to North China. The transfer was scheduled to begin in early April, and it made strategic sense: the north required reinforcement, and the front in Jiangxi had been quiet enough that one division could be spared. The problem was that the 33rd Division's departure would leave a gap in Japanese dispositions, and no significant offensive operation had yet been conducted to weaken the Chinese forces that would be left facing a thinned-out Japanese line.
Lieutenant General Ćga Shigeru, the energetic commander of the Japanese 34th Division, saw opportunity in the window that existed before the 33rd departed. His division was concentrated around Xishan and Wanshou Palace, astride the XiangâGan Highway â the main road running westward through Jiangxi â and across that highway lay the town of Shanggao and the Chinese forces defending it. Ćga proposed exploiting the presence of both divisions for a coordinated strike: a sharp, limited offensive to crush Chinese field forces around Nanchang and the Jiangxi interior before the 33rd Division's train north.
The 11th Army headquarters, now commanded by General Marube, endorsed a cautious concept â a "quick strike" with limited objectives. But the 34th Division's staff, energized by Ćga's ambition, had already run well ahead of this guidance. Large-scale requisitioning of coolies for logistics was underway; training exercises aimed at the specific terrain around Shanggao had been conducted; planning had progressed in far more detail than a "limited" operation warranted.
This eagerness would prove to be the Japanese undoing before the first shot was fired. Chinese intelligence networks, always attentive to the movement of porters and the telltale preparations that preceded a Japanese offensive, quickly detected the scale of these preparations and reported them to General Luo Zhuoying, commander of the Chinese 19th Army Group. By the time the Japanese columns were forming up to march, Luo had already hardened his defenses and laid the groundwork for a trap.
General Luo Zhuoying was not a passive commander. He served simultaneously as commander of the 19th Army Group and as Deputy Commander of the 9th War Zone â the latter post placing him directly under General Xue Yue, the victor of Changsha. Luo had spent the lull after Changsha doing what Chinese commanders across the theater had learned was essential: reorganizing, retraining, and above all improving the defensive architecture of his sector.
The plan Luo devised for meeting the anticipated Japanese offensive was elegant in its simplicity and demanding in its execution. Rather than contesting the Japanese advance at the frontier, he would allow the enemy to push westward, yielding ground through three successive defensive lines while bleeding the attackers at every step. The first and second lines would slow the Japanese, exact casualties, and stretch their logistics. The third line â anchored at Shanggao itself â would be the killing ground. There, the Chinese forces would hold fast while other formations swung around the Japanese flanks and rear to close the encirclement. The Japanese, having marched deep into Chinese-held territory with their supply lines thinning and their flanks exposed, would find themselves surrounded rather than victorious.
For this plan to work, each Chinese formation had to perform its role with discipline. The 70th Corps, deployed in the north along the arc from Shitou Street through Fengxin to Jing'an, would have to conduct a controlled fighting retreat â yielding ground but making the Japanese pay for it, never breaking and running. The 49th Corps would hold the southern flank and create conditions for flanking action. And the 74th Corps â General Wang Yaowu's elite formation, comprising the 51st, 57th, and 58th Divisions â would hold the final line at Shanggao and serve as the anvil upon which the Japanese advance would shatter.
The 74th Corps was by 1941 one of the most battle-hardened formations in the Nationalist Army. It had fought at Shanghai in 1937, at Wuhan in 1938, and in the hills and valleys of Jiangxi through the years since. Its men knew the terrain around Shanggao. They had prepared positions in depth, studied the approaches, and rehearsed the defensive plan Luo had designed. When the Japanese came, they would be ready.
Against the Chinese 70,000 â distributed across eleven divisions in four corps, with additional provincial security forces for local coverage â the Japanese would throw roughly 20,000 men: three major formations advancing in coordinated columns. The disparity in numbers was stark, but the Japanese had the advantages of offensive initiative, air superiority, and the formidable fighting quality that the Imperial Army had demonstrated throughout the war in China. The question was whether those advantages would be enough to overcome a prepared defense wielded by a commander who had invited the attack.
The operational plan devised by the Japanese 11th Army called for three columns to converge simultaneously on Shanggao from north, center, and south â a classic encirclement concept that, if executed with precision, would catch the Chinese defenders in a tightening vice. In the north, the main force of the 33rd Division under Lieutenant General Sakurai ShĆzĆ would drive westward from its bases around Anyi and Ganzhoujie, descending the Liao River valley to threaten the Chinese right flank and prevent the 70th Corps from interfering with operations in the center.In the center, Ćga's 34th Division would advance along the XiangâGan Highway â the direct route from Nanchang toward Shanggao â capturing the town of Gao'an along the way and pressing relentlessly westward until it reached the main defensive positions. This was the principal striking force, the column designed to crack open the Chinese defenses and seize the objective.In the south, the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade under Major General Ikeda would cross the Jin River and advance along its south bank, eventually swinging north to link up with the 34th Division and complete the encirclement of whatever Chinese forces remained in the Shanggao area.
The plan was coherent on paper. But it contained a structural flaw so serious that, in retrospect, it is difficult to understand how the 11th Army's staff allowed it to proceed uncorrected. The success of any converging operation depends on synchronization â on each column hitting its objectives on schedule and maintaining communication with the others so that each can react to developments on the other prongs. Yet the 11th Army headquarters made no recorded effort to coordinate the 33rd and 34th Divisions before the battle began. There was no forward command post established to oversee the operation. General Marube remained at Hankou, hundreds of miles to the north, throughout the battle â as remote from the fighting as a Tokyo bureaucrat. Operational decisions were left entirely to the individual divisions, with no mechanism to coordinate their actions if something went wrong. Something was going to go wrong. Luo Zhuoying had seen to that.
On the morning of March 15, 1941, all three Japanese columns stepped off simultaneously, advancing into the misty hills and rice paddies of northwestern Jiangxi.
In the north, Sakurai's 33rd Division moved briskly from Anyi toward Fengxin. The town fell by noon, and the division pressed westward in good order. The Japanese infantry moved confidently along the Liao River valley, experienced soldiers who had fought across China and had no particular reason to expect what was coming. The Chinese 70th Corps gave ground â as it had been ordered to â but did so on its own terms, occupying and then abandoning successive pieces of high ground along both banks of the river, making the Japanese advance uncomfortable and costly. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the 33rd Division was being drawn forward into terrain that favored the defender.
By March 18 and 19, the 33rd Division had pushed all the way to Guzhu'ao and Huamenlo â a considerable advance, but one that had taken the division far from its base at Anyi. And it was here, far from support and with flanks increasingly exposed, that the Chinese blocking forces closed in. Chinese infantry, who had been waiting in prepared positions in the high ground overlooking the river valley, launched coordinated counter-attacks that struck the 33rd Division from multiple directions. The fighting was fierce and costly. In two days of close combat, the division suffered more than 2,500 casualties â a grievous toll that represented a significant fraction of its effective strength. The northern column had been stopped dead. On March 19, Sakurai ordered the 33rd Division to reverse course. By March 23, after four days of painful withdrawal under pressure, it had pulled back to Anyi â the same place it had started. The northern prong of the Japanese offensive had accomplished nothing except the loss of thousands of men.
In the south, the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade had a rougher start. Its initial attempt to cross the Gan-Jin river junction at noon on March 15 was repulsed by Chinese defenders, and it was only under cover of darkness that the brigade managed to force a crossing. Once across, it moved westward along the south bank of the Jin River, but progress was slow and contested. A detachment â the Gan River Detachment â ran into fierce resistance from the 26th Division of the Chinese 49th Corps on March 19. The brigade's main body meanwhile fought its way through the 51st Division of the 74th Corps, but the 107th Division and elements of the 51st managed to contain the advance at the LaichunlingâZhutoushan line. On the night of March 20, the main body of the 20th Brigade crossed the Jin River at Huifu to link up with the 34th Division â but a portion of its troops, cut off on the south bank, was destroyed by Chinese forces.
The southern column was across the Jin River, but it had taken losses and was already engaged in ways its planners had not anticipated.
In the center, the 34th Division fared best in the early going. Ćga's division moved westward from Xishan along the XiangâGan Highway on March 16, and by the 17th had captured Gao'an â a meaningful early success. The Chinese 74th Corps, executing Luo's plan faithfully, dispatched only screening forces east of the Tangpu River to slow the Japanese advance rather than contesting it decisively. The main body of the 74th Corps fell back to the third-line positions at Sixi, Guanqiao, and Tangpu, preparing the killing ground that Luo had designated. Simultaneously, the 26th Division and most of the 105th Division from the 49th Corps were shifted across the Gan River to operate south of the Jin River on the Japanese left flank, and the 72nd Corps was ordered to maneuver on a wide envelopment around Daxia and south of Ganfang.
By March 20â21, the 34th Division had pressed forward to attack the Chinese positions at Sixi and Guanqiao. Ćga's men were confident â they had taken Gao'an, they were moving, and the objective of Shanggao lay within reach. But as the division pushed toward Shangjijia, it ran squarely into the 57th and 58th Divisions of the 74th Corps, fighting with a tenacity that told the Japanese plainly enough: this was where the Chinese intended to stand.
The week of March 21â24 brought the battle to its crisis. The 34th Division hammered at the Chinese positions defending Shanggao itself, while on the flanks, the fighting took on a character that neither side had entirely anticipated.
On March 21, General Wang Yaowu â commanding the 74th Corps from his headquarters in Shanggao â decided it was time to do more than absorb Japanese blows. He ordered General Li Tianxia to clear Japanese forces from the south bank of the Jin River and advance on Gao'an, with the aim of cutting the 34th Division's supply line and threatening its rear. It was an aggressive move, and if it had worked, it might have produced a decisive result earlier than history would record.
It did not work â at least not immediately. That very evening, the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade, which had been reorganizing after the chaos of the river crossing, launched a powerful offensive at dawn on the 22nd.
Li Tianxia's lead elements had barely set out from Shitou Street when they collided head-on with the main force of the 20th Brigade, which had crossed back from the north bank of the Jin River. The Japanese thrust was coordinated and aggressive: one column circled wide to attack Lazhu Mountain; another swung south of Hu Family west of Shitou Street to strike Li's division in the flank and rear; and nine aircraft with four artillery pieces bombarded the Chinese positions from north to south. Li's division could not hold against this convergent assault and fell back to the high ground southwest of Shitou Street.
Wang Yaowu reacted quickly. He ordered Li's main body to wheel left to face the new threat and simultaneously dispatched the Army's Field Supplementary Regiment â held in reserve near Yintang â on a forced march to Huayang to block the Japanese westward drive. This regiment, racing down roads strafed by nine enemy aircraft, covered 15 li per hour and seized Huayang and the high ground to its northeast by around seven in the morning. By nine, the 20th Brigade arrived in strength and â supported by more than ten aircraft â launched a fierce assault on the regiment's positions. The regiment's officers and men held firm, taking heavy casualties but refusing to break.
Frustrated at Huayang, the 20th Brigade shifted its effort to the Kuang Family area, linking up with over a thousand men who had crossed from Baichetou to the south bank and pushing along the river toward Xiongfang in an attempt to outflank the Chinese left wing. The Supplementary Regiment sent its 1st Battalion with a mortar company to meet this threat, and the two forces met in a fierce engagement. When the Japanese reinforced their assault and deployed incendiary bombs and poison gas, Xiongfang fell by early afternoon â but Li Tianxia immediately sent two regiments from his right flank to take it back, and by midnight the position was in Chinese hands again. Shitou Street and Jigong Ridge were simultaneously recaptured.
The Independent Mixed 20th Brigade now found itself in an increasingly uncomfortable position, fighting with the Jin River at its back and the initiative slipping away.
Meanwhile, the main event was being fought in the rubble and ridgelines around Shanggao itself. From March 22 to 25, the 34th Division and whatever remnants of the 20th Brigade could contribute threw themselves repeatedly at the defensive line anchored on Stone Arch Bridge, Xia Po Bridge, Xu Lou, Pan Family Bridge, Cloud Head Mountain, and Lei Family Mountain. This was not the fluid, mobile warfare that the Japanese had envisioned but brutal, grinding attritional combat for individual strongpoints and ridgelines, with positions changing hands multiple times in a single day.
The Japanese air arm was deeply involved. Ćga's division had close air support that could operate even in poor weather, and Group 3 of the Japanese Air Force hammered the Chinese positions with sustained effort. On the morning of March 24, after the 34th Division fed in more than 3,000 additional troops transferred across the Jin River, the Air Force dispatched over seventy aircraft that dropped more than 1,700 bombs, largely destroying the defensive positions of Liao Lingqi's division. The Japanese exploited the resulting chaos and twice broke through gaps in the line â but were driven out each time by Chinese counterattacks.
At noon, enemy aircraft bombarded in relays and Japanese infantry broke through at Xia Po Bridge. It was at this moment that Li Hanqing, commanding the Chinese infantry defense in that sector, did what officers throughout history have done when systems fail and only personal example can stem the tide: he personally led his officer cadre in repeated counter-attacks, hand-to-hand fighting in the rubble until the Japanese were finally expelled. By this point, the 34th Division's offensive capacity was nearly spent.
At the same time â and this was the critical shift that would determine the battle's outcome â General Luo Zhuoying recognized that the moment to spring the trap had arrived. The northern column had already been broken and sent reeling back toward Anyi. The southern column was pinned against the Jin River with its back to the water. The central column was bled white against the defenses of Shanggao. Luo now ordered all his armies to close in from multiple directions.
On the morning of March 22, he had already begun revising his orders; by noon on the 23rd, the forces of Liu Duoquan and Li Jue had occupied Shitou Street, Guanqiao Street, and Yanggong Market, pressing on Huifu and Gaoyao. The encirclement of the 34th Division was not yet complete, but its shape was unmistakably forming.
By March 25, the 34th Division knew it was in mortal danger. Surrounded on three sides, its ammunition running low and its casualty lists growing by the hour, the division urgently appealed to the 11th Army for rescue. The message that arrived in Hankou was a shock. General Marube and his staff, who had remained at their distant headquarters throughout the battle without establishing a forward command post, had not properly grasped the scale of the disaster unfolding in Jiangxi. The lack of coordination between the 33rd and 34th Divisions â the structural flaw that had been built into the operation from its conception â had allowed Luo Zhuoying to defeat each column separately, and now the central column faced annihilation.
The 11th Army responded in a scramble. Chief of Staff Kinoshita was dispatched by aircraft to Nanchang with Operations Staff Officer Lieutenant Colonel Yamaguchi and Captain Ćne to organize a relief operation. The 33rd Division â barely recovered from its own battering in the north â was ordered to sortie immediately and fight its way to the 34th Division's relief.
Sakurai organized his battered 33rd Division into three rescue columns. Infantry Brigade Commander Araki ShĆji took the right column, leading Infantry Regiment 215 with one mountain artillery battalion. Infantry Regiment 214 formed the left column. The divisional commander himself led the central column with the main divisional force. On March 24 and 25, all three columns sortied from strongpoints at Niuxing, Fengxin, and other positions, attacking across the Wuqiao River and through Cunqian Street toward Tangpu and Guanqiao.
The relief operation brought the battle to its most complicated moment. On the morning of March 25, the 33rd Division launched a fierce assault on the forces that Luo Zhuoying had positioned to tighten the encirclement from the north â striking Zhang Yanchuan's division at Kengkou Leng, Jiezipo, and Nancha Luo. Zhang's division, struck simultaneously from the front and rear, withdrew at dusk to near Tu Di Wang Temple, where it linked up with Tang Boyin's division.
What happened next became one of the most controversial decisions of the entire battle. Zhang Yanchuan was serving as deputy army commander in the absence of Li Jue from the front. Surveying the situation â his own division under heavy pressure, the 33rd Division's relief columns pushing aggressively â Zhang concluded that the position was untenable. On his own authority, without authorization from Luo Zhuoying or any superior commander, he withdrew both his own and Tang Boyin's divisions to Fenghuang Market and Zhuangfang.
The consequence was immediate and severe. The withdrawal opened a corridor through which the 33rd Division entered Guanqiao and linked up with the encircled 34th Division. An encirclement that had taken days of blood and sacrifice to construct was torn open by a single unauthorized decision. Luo Zhuoying, when he received word of Zhang's withdrawal the following morning, was furious â but he could not change what had already happened. He could only adapt.
The breakout itself was an ordeal. A portion of the 34th Division that attempted to escape to the east was intercepted near Huifu by a division of the 49th Corps and lost roughly half its strength before being compelled to turn back. The main body ultimately broke out on March 27, withdrawing in march order that told its own story of disaster: headquarters, baggage, artillery, casualties, field hospital, rear guard â all moving in what the records describe as "a wretched state."
On the night of March 27, Japanese troops escorting the 34th Division's field hospital â a field artillery company of the 8th Battery â were completely annihilated in a Chinese night attack. When the division reached Longtuan Xu on March 28, the stretcher-bearer column carrying the wounded stretched some seven to eight kilometers along the road. That same day, the 33rd Division's Infantry Regiment 214 finally made contact with the 34th Division's headquarters, completing what amounted to a rescue of men who had already endured their defeat. The 33rd Division's mountain artillery batteries exhausted their entire ammunition supply covering the retreat and required emergency aerial resupply drops to continue. The 34th Division limped back to its original garrison on April 2.
Despite the setback caused by Zhang Yanchuan's unauthorized withdrawal, Luo Zhuoying did not abandon his design. Assessing his situation on the morning of March 26, he found reason for cautious optimism: Wang Yaowu's army was still making progress at Shanggao; the Japanese south of the Jin River had largely been cleared; and Sichuan Army and Northeastern Army units that had been moving to reinforce the battle had now reached the field, meaning Chinese forces retained significant numerical superiority. He resolved to execute a second encirclement.
At nine in the morning of March 26, Luo issued strict orders: Zhang Yanchuan's and Tang Boyin's divisions were to immediately comply with their original orders and block the enemy near Guanqiao; Yu Chengwan's division was to attack northward via Pan Family Bridge; Liao Lingqi's and Song Yingzhong's divisions were to press toward Guanqiao with full force; Wang Kejun's division was to strike the enemy's flank and rear east of Guanqiao; Fu Yi's division was to advance south of Jiang Family Isle; and Chen Liangji's division was to swing southeast via Changpu to complete the enemy's destruction. The second ring was being drawn.
On March 28, as the 34th Division's battered column trudged eastward toward survival, Wang Kejun's division advancing from Yanggong Market moved to intercept it. The Chinese occupied high ground north and south of Yanggong Market and along Mozi Ridge, and what followed was a grinding all-day battle that fixed the Japanese column at the Xiama BeiâHuxing Ridge line. Part of the 20th Brigade, moving up from Gao'an to assist the withdrawing 34th Division, was blocked near Long Tu Market.
Liao Lingqi's division pursued the enemy rear guard to the ChanglingâManmei high ground, where the fighting erupted with renewed intensity. At noon, part of Li Tianxia's division arrived and deployed along the ShangluoxiangâShanyuanâFangtounao line to harass the Japanese right flank; part of Yu Chengwan's division reached Longxing Mountain and outflanked Guanqiao Street from the south. The surviving Japanese defenders in Guanqiao withdrew into the town for a last stand, and after Liao's division pressed the assault, street fighting raged until five in the afternoon, when over 600 defenders were annihilated.
Over 2,000 troops of the Independent Mixed 20th Brigade conducted a fighting withdrawal from Long Tu Market and Yanggong Market, covered by Japanese aircraft bombing to shield the 34th Division's retreat. By noon on March 30, the Japanese had abandoned both strongpoints and scattered northeastward. One group of over 600 men fled directly into the main positions of Zhang Yanchuan's division â an ironic fate, given Zhang's earlier withdrawal â and were largely annihilated. The encircling forces had been essentially dispersed, and the two pursuit columns now pressed forward under the overall direction of General Xue Yue, who had assumed personal coordination of the chase.
On March 27, Luo Zhuoying â confident that victory was secured â issued a general order for a final offensive and announced substantial cash rewards to his troops: prizes offered for the capture of Japanese officers, artillery pieces, regimental colors, and other materiel. The rewards were both a practical incentive and a mark of how far the battle had tipped.
By midnight on March 31, Chen Hongshi's advance column had recovered Gao'an; Wang Tiehan's division had recovered Xiangfu Guan. On April 2, the divisions of Zhang Yanchuan and Song Yingzhong recovered Fengxin; that afternoon Wang Tiehan's division took back Xishan and Wanshou Palace â the very base from which the 34th Division had launched its offensive. By April 3, the pursuing armies had reached the vicinity of Dacheng and Ganzhoujie. On April 8 and 9, the 70th Corps recovered the outpost strongpoints around Anyi before halting operations. The Japanese had retreated into their original positions and were defending from prepared terrain. The pursuit was over. The Battle of Shanggao had lasted nineteen days and nights.
No battle of the Second Sino-Japanese War was ever free of the fog of competing claims, and Shanggao was no exception.
On March 29, before the pursuit had even concluded, Luo Zhuoying telegraphed Chiang Kai-shek with his accounting of the victory. His numbers were dramatic: Major General Iwanaga, the Japanese infantry commander, killed; regimental commander Colonel Hamada, killed; over 15,000 Japanese killed or wounded in total. Chinese losses, Luo reported, exceeded 20,000. Ten guns, over a thousand rifles, and numerous machine guns had been captured.
His superior, General Xue Yue, was skeptical. In a telegram to Chiang Kai-shek on April 5, Xue reduced Luo's numbers by twenty percent, reporting 12,520 Japanese killed or wounded and 14 prisoners captured. The discrepancy between two Chinese commanders reporting on the same battle speaks to the difficulty of battlefield accounting in any era, and suggests something of the competitive pressures that shaped how Chinese commanders reported their victories to Chongqing.
The official Chinese histories, compiled after the war in the History of the War of Resistance, reported approximately 15,000 Japanese killed or wounded, 17 prisoners taken, and significant quantities of captured materiel: 6 mountain guns, 1 mortar, 24 light machine guns, 408 rifles, 24 grenade launchers, and over 111,717 rounds of various ammunition. Chinese casualties, by the same records, were 17,119 killed or wounded and 2,814 missing.
Japanese records for the battle do not survive â a consequence of the wholesale destruction of Imperial Army documentation at the war's end. Contemporary scholars, working from other sources, estimate actual Japanese combat losses at approximately 5,500 killed and wounded. This is substantially lower than the Chinese claims, as was nearly always the case in the war, but represents a significant defeat by any measure: roughly a quarter of the force committed, many of them veterans impossible to replace.
Chiang Kai-shek subsequently awarded the victorious Chinese units a commendation prize of 150,000 yuan â a substantial sum that marked the battle's significance in Nationalist eyes. The outcome at Shanggao was not accidental. Several interlocking factors combined to produce a Chinese victory, and each deserves consideration.
The most fundamental was Luo Zhuoying's defensive plan. The decision to trade space for time â to absorb the Japanese advance through three successive defensive lines rather than contest the frontier â required both tactical confidence and a willingness to accept initial setbacks that could easily be misread as defeat. Chinese forces had to give ground, and they did. They had to suffer through the early days of Japanese advance without breaking and running, drawing the enemy forward and allowing the encirclement to take shape. That they largely succeeded in executing this plan reflects the improving quality of the Nationalist Army by 1941: better trained, better led at the operational level, and â critically â equipped with a strategic design that matched the actual balance of forces.
The defeat in detail of the Japanese columns was equally important. By neutralizing the 33rd Division in the north before it could contribute to the central effort, and by pinning the 20th Brigade against the Jin River with its back to the water, Luo's forces ensured that the 34th Division faced the third-line defenses essentially alone â outnumbered, overextended, and unsupported. The Japanese operational concept had been a three-pronged convergence; what actually materialized was a single exhausted division hammering at a prepared defense while two other columns were rendered ineffective.
The absence of coordination within the Japanese 11th Army was a gift that kept giving throughout the battle. No forward command post. No mechanism for the divisions to adjust their operations in response to each other's situations. No ability to recognize, in real time, that the northern column was being destroyed and redirect resources accordingly. General Marube's decision to remain at Hankou while his men died in Jiangxi was not merely an administrative failure; it was an operational catastrophe. Japanese commanders acknowledged this failing explicitly after the battle, but the acknowledgment changed nothing for the dead.
Zhang Yanchuan's unauthorized withdrawal â the single most consequential individual decision of the battle â ultimately prevented a complete annihilation of the 34th Division rather than affecting the battle's outcome. The 34th Division escaped; but it did so in a "wretched state," having lost enormous numbers of men and equipment. It broke out, not triumphed. The encirclement Luo had constructed was torn open, but the Japanese paid dearly for the breach. The consequences of Shanggao rippled outward in ways that shaped the subsequent course of the war in central China.
The transfer of the 33rd Division to North China â the original logistical rationale for the entire operation â was delayed by the division's involvement and subsequent losses at Shanggao. When it finally arrived at the Battle of Central Plains the following month, it did so on the eve of battle with no time for preparation or orientation, entering combat under severely disadvantaged conditions. The operation that was supposed to facilitate a smooth redeployment had instead damaged one of the two units involved and delayed the other.
For the Chinese 74th Corps, Shanggao had an ironic consequence. The Japanese 11th Army, following the battle, formally designated the 74th Corps as a priority target â a "standing enemy" and directed its forces to seek out and destroy it in future operations. At the First Battle of Changsha that September, the 11th Army specifically oriented its forces against the 74th Corps, a testament to the lasting impression that corps's fierce resistance at Shanggao had made on its adversaries. The compliment of being specifically targeted by the enemy was one the 74th Corps had earned in blood at Shanggao's ridgelines and shattered bridges.
More broadly, the battle was widely regarded at the time, and has been regarded since, as one of the most significant Chinese tactical victories of the first four years of the War of Resistance. Its significance lay not only in the casualties inflicted â those were contested and probably inflated in the Chinese records â but in what it demonstrated. The improving tactical and operational competence of the Nationalist Army was on display. The deliberate defense, the layered withdrawal, the coordinated encirclement â these were not the operations of an army that had been fighting desperately for survival since 1937 and had learned nothing. They were the operations of an army that had studied its defeats and adapted.
Shanggao did not change the strategic situation in China. The front in Jiangxi remained where it had been; the Japanese still occupied Nanchang and the major cities; Chiang Kai-shek was still in Chongqing and the war was still far from over. But it demonstrated something important: that the Chinese Army, given capable commanders, a sound plan, and the discipline to execute it, could do more than survive Japanese offensives. It could reverse them, encircle them, and pursue them back to where they came from.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
In MarchâApril 1940, Japanese forces attacked Shanggao with a limited, multi-pronged plan. Chinese troops used elastic defense and coordinated counter-moves, turning initial advantages into a trap. After intense fighting and air strikes, a coordinated encirclement and timely breakout routed the Japanese, forcing retreat despite their numbers in a costly battle.
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Last time we spoke about the One Hundred Regiment Offensive. During Phase Three of the One Hundred Regiment Offensive, CCP forces in the Taihang/Jizhong area emphasized strongpoint attacks and transportation warfare. Rather than trying to defeat Japanese units head-on, they used tactics such as night raids and ambushes to disrupt Japanese supply routes and communications. The underlying goal was to make Japanese logistics unstable, weakening their ability to maintain control and conduct effective operations. After CCP successes, the Japanese responded with large-scale "mopping-up" operations beginning October 6. As the Eighth Route Army continued resisting, it adopted flexible methods to counter the Japanese sweeps, especially rapid repositioning and targeted ambushes. One notable action described involves an ambush of a Japanese convoy that caused substantial enemy losses, demonstrating how disrupting enemy mobility could blunt the effectiveness of larger Japanese operations. Overall, the situation remained fluid, with both sides continually adapting their tactics in an ongoing contest for control across occupied North China.
#205 The Hubei-Henan Campaign of 1940-1941
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
By 1940, the war had settled into a grueling stalemate, with Japanese troops occupying vast swathes of central China, including parts of Hubei, but facing persistent Chinese guerrilla and conventional resistance that prevented total consolidation. In the aftermath of the Battle of Zaoyang in the summer of 1940, Japanese forces had secured the key cities of Yichang and Shashi along the middle reaches of the Yangtze River. Yet Chinese Nationalist troops of the Fifth War Area retained firm control over the vital territories east and west of the Xiang River. Their defensive lines formed a broad arc stretching from the southwest of Yuan'an through Jingmen, north of Zhongxiang, and the rugged foothills of the Dahong Mountains, extending northwest to Suixian. These positions straddled both banks of the Xiang River, anchored on the right by the Wudang Mountains and on the left by the Tongbai range. Working in close coordination with guerrilla detachments operating in the southeast, Chinese units repeatedly harassed the Japanese garrisons that had pushed into Yichang. The constant pressure on the enemy's flanks left the Japanese forces in Yichang and Shashi dangerously exposed and hemmed in, unable to expand or consolidate their gains. To the Japanese high command, this situation had become an intolerable thorn that demanded immediate removal.
Under Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, the Chinese Nationalist government faced severe strains as the war with Japan escalated. Its problems were not only military, but also political and economic. Deep ideological and territorial rivalries with the CCP meant that efforts to present a single front were constantly undermined. Although the two sides officially formed a United Front in 1937, earlier violence and competition, such as the 1927 Shanghai Massacre and the CCP's Long March of 1934 â 1935 had left distrust and strategic differences in place. As a result, Nationalist resistance was harder to coordinate than it would have been under full unity. Meanwhile, the CCP strengthened its position in northern China by expanding rural strongholds. Through land reforms and the use of guerrilla warfare, the communists were able to win local support and apply pressure to Japanese forces in ways that often did not require large, conventional armies. This strategy also drew influence and manpower away from the Nationalists' more traditional, state-centered military structure.
Economically, the Nationalists were squeezed from multiple directions. The loss of China's coastal industrial regions to Japanese occupation forced the government to rely heavily on the interior, with Chongqing becoming a key base. That geographic shift left the administration more vulnerable to shortages of critical supplies, especially raw materials, fuel, and modern weapons. On top of wartime disruption, the global Great Depression intensified fiscal and logistical difficulties, limiting how quickly and effectively the Nationalists could mobilize resources for large-scale operations. By late November 1940, these weaknesses intersected with renewed Japanese pressure. Japanese commanders were also concerned about the possibility of a major Nationalist push, particularly fears of a counteroffensive by the Thirty-first Army Group under General Tang Enbo.
Determined to break the stalemate, the Japanese launched a major offensive in late November 1940. Preparations had begun in earnest early that month. Engineers repaired and expanded highways and bridges, constructed new defensive works and airfields, and stockpiled vast quantities of rations, ammunition, steel-hulled boats, and rubber rafts in the Zhongxiang area. Five regiments were concentrated near Zhongxiang, while additional troops east and west of the Xiang River brought the total strength to more than three divisions. Along the SuixianâXiangyang Highway, Japanese forces were reinforced to divisional strength, supported by increased artillery and tank detachments. These meticulous measures left no doubt that the enemy was ready for a large-scale operation.
By 23 November the Japanese had completed their deployments and moved into assault positions. The Japanese forces assigned to the Central Hubei Operation were placed under the overall command of Lieutenant General WaichirĆ Sonobe, who directed the campaign from his headquarters in Wuhan. Sonobe's 11th Army drew on a broad mix of formations, combining units from the 3rd, 4th, 15th, 17th, 39th, and 40th Divisions. The offensive backbone for the thrust into central Hubei province was reinforced by the 18th Independent Mixed Brigade, which helped supply the infantry strength needed for sustained fighting across difficult ground. In practice, this multi-division structure reflected the 11th Army's key mission in the region, acting as the main Japanese formation after the earlier Battle of Zaoyang and it emphasized coordinated divisional advances supported by attached brigades and specialized elements, including limited armored capabilities.
In terms of manpower, the Japanese force is commonly estimated at roughly 40,000 to 50,000 troops. This strength included several infantry regiments and artillery batteries, along with only limited armored elements rather than a fully armored formation. Because the operation depended on finding and exploiting opportunities quickly, it was supported by aerial reconnaissance and bombing carried out by the 3rd Air Brigade operating in central China. Infantry units formed the majority of the fighting power, while artillery was used to provide suppressive fire during advances. Air support, meanwhile, was intended to help identify and target Chinese positionsâparticularly along important riverine and rail corridors, where disruptions could slow resistance and complicate Chinese reinforcement or retreat.
To manage the operation across varied terrain and combat tasks, Sonobe's command used smaller combined formation often described as task forces, that could operate with some flexibility. Among them were the Kayashima Force, commanded by Major General Koichi Kayashima of the 18th Independent Mixed Brigade, consisting of the entire brigade reinforced by elements of the 40th Division. The Muragami Force, under Lieutenant General Keisaku Muragami, commander of the 39th Division, which included the full division plus supporting non-infantry units. The Hirabayashi Force, led by Lieutenant General Morito Hirabayashi of the 17th Division, formed from detachments of the 17th and 15th Divisions.The Kitana Force, commanded by Lieutenant General Kenzo Kitana of the 4th Division, incorporating portions of the 4th Division and the Kususe Armored Force. These four groups were deployed in parallel around Tangyang, Jingmen, Zhongxiang, and north of Jingshan. The Hanjima Force, commanded by Lieutenant General Fusataro Hanjima of the 3rd Division, positioned near Suixian along the XiangyangâHua Highway. This task-force approach helped tailor combat power to specific mission profilesâsuch as flanking movements, raids, or pressure on Chinese defensive linesâwhile keeping the overall campaign plan under a unified command.
Equipment choices also reflected the tactical environment of Hubei. The Japanese units made use of Type 95 Ha-Go light tanks for reconnaissance and for anti-infantry roles, typically best suited to the reconnaissance, pursuit, and screening functions that were available even with constrained armor numbers. For fire support, the force relied on conventional artillery, including 75mm Type 90 guns for field engagements and 105mm howitzers for heavier bombardment where stronger explosive impact was needed. Together, these assets were intended to allow Japanese formations to maneuver around Chinese positions and apply pressure in rugged landscapes where rivers, roads, and rail lines often determined the rhythm of battle.
Logistics were a decisive factor in whether the operation could sustain momentum. Sonobe's army depended heavily on existing transportation infrastructure, particularly rail lines radiating from the Wuhan hub toward forward areas such as Suizhou and Zaoyang. These routes were critical for moving ammunition, replacements, and other supplies closer to the front as the Japanese advanced. The campaign also used river transport along the Yangtze River, including motorized barges and steamers, to deliver supplies to units operating near waterways. However, reliance on these corridors came with risks: Chinese interdiction raids could disrupt shipments, forcing convoys to be escorted and increasing the time and resources required to keep the forward units supplied. Overall, this dependence on both rail and fluvial networks highlighted a central operational challenge, maintaining secure access to transportation arteries in contested territory so that the Japanese could keep fighting effectively rather than stalling as supplies dwindled.
The Central Hubei Operation was driven by an intelligence assessment that Chinese troop movements were signaling preparations for a Nationalist counteroffensive. Acting on that interpretation, the Japanese began tightening plans and positioning forces early in the final days of November 1940. On 23 November 1940, the Japanese 11th Army under Lieutenant General WaichirĆ Sonobe began organizing for the offensive in central Hubei. In order to conduct a coordinated advance across the Han River, the army arranged its forces into five groups, each tasked with moving in a way that supported the broader pincer-style pressure on Chinese positions. The approach also reflected lessons drawn from the earlier ZaoyangâYichang campaign earlier in 1940, when Japanese divisions had been able to cross the Han River at multiple points, such as Dangyang, Jiukouzhen, and Shayangzhenâto help secure access toward Yichang and the Yangtze route. Logistics were built around infrastructure the Japanese had already established during prior operations. The Hankou hub supported the 11th Army through arrangements that included munitions storage, medical facilities, and transport coordination. Supplies and reinforcements were moved using truck convoys and river crossings, while forward depotsâsuch as those at Shayangzhen northwest of Hankouâprovided additional capacity, including freight handling and field hospitals. Because the area was not secure, these supply points were also guarded against threats from guerrilla activity, which could disrupt communications and threaten personnel and equipment.
Operationally, the offensive used limited artillery and air support, reflecting Japanese constraints and directives aimed at keeping the campaign short and avoiding commitments that could stretch units beyond their logistical reach. Instead of trying to grind down Chinese defenses through prolonged bombardment, the plan prioritized speed, reconnaissance, and focused disruption. Japanese intelligence preparation relied heavily on aerial reconnaissance over the Han River valley to locate Chinese positions and infer where resistance would likely concentrate. That information enabled Japanese units to coordinate select maneuvers, including converging pressure from different directions. Where river transport mattered, coordination with naval or riverine elements supported movement and resupply, with overall oversight connected to the China Expeditionary Army.
Anticipating the coming assault, the Chinese Fifth War Area headquarters acted swiftly on instructions from the National Military Council. Orders were issued to the River West Army Group (30th and 77th Corps), the Right Army Group (44th and 67th Corps), and the Central Army Group (41st and 45th Corps) to employ a flexible defensive strategy: hold key positions firmly while committing the main strength to strike the enemy's outer flanks at the decisive moment. The 59th Corps was directed to advance toward the Xiangfan area, ready to reinforce operations on either bank of the river as the situation developed.
As commander of the Fifth War Area, Li Zongren arranged the defense to meet a likely Japanese thrust along the Han River, particularly in the approaches to Wuhan and Yichang, following the wider stalemate that settled in after the 1938 fall of Wuhan. The Fifth War Area could draw on roughly 300,000 troops, though many units were understrength, and the overall readiness varied by locality. Among the formations Li Zongren placed in the most sensitive sectors was the 31st Army Group under General Tang Enbo, which Japanese planners had identified as a potential threat to Japanese intentions in the region. In keeping with the terrain and the limits on manpower, Li's defensive design relied heavily on natural barriersâmost importantly the Han River itselfâand on the defensibility of rugged ground. Forces were arrayed to hold or contest riverbank positions, supported by fortifications, trenches, and smaller auxiliary elements. Divisions such as the 44th were positioned with an eye toward slowing an enemy crossing and forcing the Japanese to fight for difficult approaches rather than moving rapidly. At the same time, irregular forces and prepared defensive works were used to complicate Japanese reconnaissance and to make it harder for the attacker to coordinate a clean operational flow. Strategically, Li Zongren leaned on elastic defense rather than attempting to win decisive battles at fixed lines. Regular units were supported by guerrilla-style harassment intended to strike Japanese vulnerabilities, especially supply and transportation, between forward bases and the front. Local operations, including actions coming from areas such as Xinyang, were designed to disrupt Japanese logistics in periods when the Nationalists were still managing shortages of ammunition and medical supplies. Militias in the inter-mountainous regions further reinforced this approach: instead of seeking costly frontal engagements, they concentrated on disruption, delaying movements, and making Japanese operations slower and more expensive.
At dawn on 25 November the Japanese offensive began, with columns advancing along multiple axes. On the western Xiangyang front, more than 1,000 troops from Tangyang and over 3,000 from Jingmen struck Hengdian and Yanzhimiao, shattering the positions of the Chinese 30th Corps. Simultaneously, a column moving from Zhujiafu toward Tunglinling split into several detachments and drove deep northward into Liangshuijing, Xiajiazi, and Kuaihuopu. By nightfall the River West Army Group had regrouped along the line from Hengdian through Yanzhimiao to Kuaihuopu. On 26 November the Japanese reached Xianzhu. The following day they assaulted Liuhouji and Lijiatang in a day-long battle that ended in stalemate. At dusk the 30th Corps launched a powerful counterattack; the 27th and 31st Divisions dispatched raiding parties into the enemy's rear. Unable to withstand the pressure, the Japanese fell back toward Jingmen and Zhongxiang, pursued by Chinese forces that inflicted heavy losses.
Along the JingmenâZhongxiang Highway the Japanese massed more than 3,000 troops to attack Changshoutian and Wangjiatian, encircling Changjiachi and Shahetian. The Chinese 149th Division withdrew in good order to the stronger WangjiaheâWulongguan line. On 26 November enemy strength grew to 4,000â5,000. One column advanced on Sanligang while the main body assaulted Peizhai, Wangjiahe, and Yunanmen. Fighting continued until dark without decisive result. On 27 November the main force of the 44th Corps counterattacked from Wangjiahe, converging with the 67th Corps advancing from the northwest. The coordinated assault inflicted severe casualties, yet the Japanese continued to fight stubbornly. On the Suixian front, more than 2,000 Japanese troops reached Liangshuikou on the morning of 25 November and launched a violent attack against the 123rd Division at Lishan. Two additional columns, each exceeding 1,000 men, pushed westward toward Hoyuantian and Qingmingpu; their numbers swelled steadily as darkness fell. On 26 November fierce combat raged against the 124th and 127th Divisions at Jinjishan and Qingmingpu. A separate force of 700â800 men advanced from Xihe via Langhetian to Tangjiafan. After clashing with the 41st Corps, the Japanese near Qingmingpu linked up with those at Jinjishan and moved toward Hoyuantian on 27 November. That night the detachment at Tangjiafan reached the vicinity of Huantan Zhen, confronting the 125th Division.
Recognizing that the enemy had become dangerously dispersed, the War Area Command ordered its units to hold critical localities while the main forces exploited the mountainous terrain for ambushes. The tactic proved effective. Heavy fighting continued until 28 November, when the Japanese, unable to achieve their objectives, began a general withdrawal. Chinese forces west of Xiangyang immediately took up the pursuit. The enemy opposing the Right Army Group was routed and retreated along several routes. In the Suixian sector, Japanese units at Hoyuantian and Huantan Zhen were caught in converging attacks by the Central Army Group, driven back to high ground, and encircled. In a desperate attempt to relieve the trapped forces, the Japanese rushed 1,500â1,600 infantry and cavalry troops from Suixian and Yingshan through Shangshitian and Shatian in a flanking maneuverâonly to be ambushed once more. Covered by aircraft and armor, the enemy withdrew toward Suixian and Xihe as Chinese troops pressed forward along the line from Chunchuan to Anchu, Lishan, and Gaocheng. By 30 November all Chinese Army Groups had restored their original positions.
The Central Hubei Operation produced uneven battlefield outcomes, particularly in reported casualties. Japanese accounts describe relatively limited losses, just 132 killed and 445 wounded attributed to advantages in air superiority, artillery, and armored support, even though the advance was complicated by difficult terrain. At the same time, Japanese forces faced persistent Chinese counterattacks along the Han River, which contributed to localized pressure and eventual withdrawal. The Japanese reported 6,439 Chinese killed and 474 captured, but the evidence base is uncertain and the language of reporting suggests possible exaggeration or propaganda. Conversely, Chinese-era estimates reportedly placed Japanese losses at roughly 5,000 killed and 7,000â8,000 wounded, illustrating a substantial gap between competing narratives. Some alternate reconstructions suggest total Chinese casualties in the range of 20,000â30,000, depending on whether wounded and missing personnel are included. However, because wartime reporting was fragmented and inconsistent, there is no fully verifiable casualty ledger for all units involved.
Despite these tolls, the operation did not appear to achieve a decisive Chinese destruction of Japan's intended target force. The Chinese Fifth War Area, including elements associated with the 31st Army Group under Tang Enbo, suffered attrition but generally avoided annihilation. No major command-level losses are indicated in the surviving accounts, and unit formations were not described as collapsing permanently. On the material side, Japan reportedly seized rifles and supplies from positions that Chinese forces had encircled or abandoned in the short term, but overall equipment losses for either side were described as limited, consistent with the operation's restricted intensity.
Strategically, the operation offered Japan short-term tactical advantagesânotably through localized envelopments and the temporary pressure of combined-arms supportâbut it failed to translate these gains into a sustained strategic result. The fighting also strained Japanese logistics in central China, especially given that the offensive was not followed by major reinforcements. At the same time, it exposed continuing vulnerabilities in rugged terrain where Chinese guerrilla activity and organized counteraction could offset superior firepower.
Ultimately, the Central Hubei Operation produced no net territorial gains. By the end of the week, Japanese troops had returned to positions that did not fundamentally alter control in central Hubei. Local clashes may have disturbed formations and disrupted movement temporarily, but the campaign did not create durable forward bases, did not change administrative control meaningfully, and did not permanently disrupt key supply corridors. The territorial status quo largely persisted: Chinese Fifth War Area forces maintained positions north of the Yangtze River, and there was no widespread abandonment of strongholds sufficient to indicate a strategic collapse.
In the months following the Japanese repulse in central Hubei in November 1940, enemy forces remained largely immobilized across the Jing-Xiang plains, their earlier ambitions checked by determined Chinese resistance. Seeking to regain momentum and draw Chinese strength away from other theaters, the Japanese high command prepared a massive offensive into southern Henan in late January 1941. By the end of the month they had concentrated an imposing array of seven infantry divisions, one independent cavalry brigade, three independent armored regiments, and one independent artillery regiment. In all, more than 150,000 infantrymen, over 8,000 cavalry, 550 artillery pieces, 300 tanks, and 200 armored cars stood ready. Over a hundred aircraft were massed at forward bases in Anyang, Xinxiang, Huaiyang, and Xinyang. From early January onward, ammunition and equipment had been laboriously shipped up the Yangtze and moved inland to Xinyang, while Japanese reconnaissance planes repeatedly overflew Chinese rear areas. Additional troops were concentrated in southern Henan itself.
On 20 January, as a preliminary move to pin down Chinese forces and facilitate the main effort in central Henan, the Japanese 18th Independent Mixed Brigade, together with elements of the 39th and 4th Divisions, launched a limited attack against the Chinese 29th and 33rd Army Groups. The principal assault, however, began on 24 January under the overall command of Lieutenant General Katsuichiro Enbu. The Japanese organized their southern Henan forces into three powerful columns: The Left Flank Force, built around the entire 3rd Division reinforced by the 8th Regiment of the 4th Division and the Mizuno Armored Unit, commanded by Lieutenant General Fusataro Hanjima of the 3rd Division. The Central Force, centered on the 17th Division (less one regiment) and strengthened by the 67th Regiment of the 15th Division and the Yoshimatsu Armored Unit, commanded by Lieutenant General Amaya of the 40th Division. The Right Flank Force, formed around the main body of the 40th Division, also under Lieutenant General Amaya.
In support of this main thrust, Japanese forces in northern Anhui and eastern Henanâprincipally the 4th Cavalry Brigade with the Hirabayashi Tank Regimentâadvanced westward from Haozhou toward Woyang. The Ouda Regiment of the 21st Division pushed west from Suzhou, while the Uguchi and Kobayashi Regiments of the 35th Division, accompanied by engineer, cavalry, artillery, and tank units, moved from Kaifeng, Tongxu, and Zhuxian Zhen along the north bank of the Yellow River and through the flooded areas toward Zhengzhou. These supporting columns were intended to tie down Chinese reserves and prevent reinforcement of the southern front.
The National Military Council in Chongqing correctly assessed the enemy's intention: to drive north along the Beiping-Hankou Railway with their main strength, force a decisive battle against the Chinese field armies, and rely on the northern Anhuiâeastern Henan forces to strike westward in coordination. Accordingly, the Council instructed the Fifth War Area to avoid a costly frontal engagement. Instead, a small portion of its troops would offer delaying resistance along the railway, while the main force would maneuver to the enemy's flanks and rear, severing communications and launching devastating counterattacks. In compliance, the Fifth War Area left only a single division near Xiping on the Beiping-Hankou line. The bulk of its strengthâcarefully concealed in depth on both sides of the enemy's expected axis of advanceâremained highly mobile, ready to strike the Japanese flanks or rear the moment the enemy divided his forces or pushed toward Runan, Yancheng, or Wuyang. This elastic strategy proved decisive.
At dawn on 25 January the Japanese southern Henan forces advanced in three columns. The Left Flank Force moved along the line from Xiaolindian to Gucheng and Chashan. The Central Force struck northward from the Minggang area. The Right Flank Force crossed the Huai River between Huaijiao Zhen and Chengyang under heavy air support. Japanese planes bombed Chinese positions relentlessly. True to plan, Chinese units employed only light screening forces to harass the enemy with ambushes and flank attacks, preserving their main strength for the decisive moment.
By 26 January the Japanese had reached the line from Piyang to Gaoyi, Xingtian, and Queshan. On the 27th they pressed on to Chunshui, Shahetian, and Zhumadian. At this point Chinese mobile forces sprang into action. The 13th Corps of the 31st Army Group swung northward toward Xiangheguan, while the main body of the 85th Corps moved toward Shangcai to begin an enveloping maneuver. The 68th Corps of the 11th Army Group struck the enemy rear south of Xiangheguan; the 55th Corps advanced from Tanghe to Piyang; and the 59th Corps of the 33rd Army Group pushed toward Nanyang. On 29 January the 13th Corps attacked the Japanese Left Flank Force near Jieguanting and Xiaoshidian south of Wuyang, while the 85th Corps struck the Right Flank Force around Runan, southeast of Shangcai. The enemy's Central Force, advancing along and west of the railway, found the Chinese positions already evacuated and failed to trap any major units. The Japanese columns on the extreme flanks suffered over 3,000 casualties and lost six tanks in the fighting around Jieguanting.
By 31 January the enemy, desperate to rescue his exposed flank columns, reordered his forces. The Central Force executed turning movements on both sides: elements of the 15th Division swung right from Suiping through Shangcai to converge with troops moving north from Runan against the 85th Corps, while the main body of the 17th Division split into two columns and advanced from Suiping through Xiping toward Wuyang. Simultaneously, the main force of the 3rd Division and part of the 4th Division also converged on Wuyang, hoping to link with the 17th Division and crush the 13th Corps near Jieguanting and Xiaoshidian. Before the trap could close, however, the Chinese 13th and 85th Corps withdrew in good order to the area north of Ye Xian, between Yancheng and Shangshui, and north of the Sha River. When the Japanese broke through at Wuyang and Shangcai they found no major Chinese forces to destroy.
Meanwhile, Chinese troops from western Henan, the 59th, 55th, and 68th Corps, advanced from Tanghe, Piyang, and points north to strike the enemy rear at Wuyang. On 29 January the 84th Corps and local guerrillas in western Anhui recaptured Chengyang and continued the pursuit. The Japanese, having failed to concentrate superior strength or control the battlefield, now found themselves isolated. Their rear communications were severed, and they were under constant pressure from the 68th, 55th, and 59th Corps. After days of exhausting combat the enemy began to withdraw southward on the night of 2 February. Leaving only rear guards at Wuyang and Baoanzhai to tie down the 13th Corps, the main body of the 3rd Division moved from Fangcheng toward Nanyang and Zhenping. The 13th Corps immediately counterattacked, recaptured Baoanzhai and Wuyang, and pursued the enemy toward Fangcheng.
On the night of 2 February, as the Japanese main force approached Nanyang, the 17th Division together with elements of the 15th and 4th Divisions had already pushed south from Wuyang via Xiangheguan toward Piyang, hoping to link with forces moving east from Nanyang and trap the Chinese 68th, 55th, and 29th Corps. Fierce resistance by the 68th Corps near Xiangheguan inflicted heavy losses and forced the enemy to abandon large quantities of supplies. Further south, the 29th Corps exacted still greater casualties around Piyang. On the night of 7 February the trapped Japanese column split: part retreated along the TangheâPiyang highway, while the main body withdrew along the TongboâXinyang highway toward Xinyang, leaving many dead behind. The Chinese 85th Corps pursued southeastward, while elements of the 13th, 29th, 55th, and 59th Corps harried the enemy toward Xinyang. By the time the fighting ended, all Chinese units had regained their original positions.
In coordination with the southern Henan offensive, the Japanese forces in northern Anhui and eastern Henan advanced westward in four columns on the morning of 25 January. The Ouda Regiment of the 21st Division struck west from Suzhou. The 4th Cavalry Brigade, reinforced by the Hirabayashi Tank Regiment, split into three routes from Bozhou to attack Woyang, Shanheji, and Shuangqiao, clashing bitterly with a Chinese cavalry division near Shizihe and Niqiuji. The Uguchi Regiment of the 35th Division advanced through the flooded areas from Tongxu and Zhuxian Zhen, while the Kobayashi Regiment moved westward along the north bank of the Yellow River near Zhengzhou. Japanese aircraft intensified their bombing of Chinese cities and front-line positions, including Zhoujiakou, Zhengzhou, Yancheng, Ye Xian, Xiangcheng, Wuyang, and Luoyang. On 29 January one enemy column reached Santaiji and suffered heavy losses under Chinese attack. Threatened on the left by forces near Huaiyang, two Chinese corps withdrew temporarily to the line from Fuyang to Taihe and Jieshou. On 5 February the Japanese captured Taihe and Jieshou, but a Chinese counterattack on the morning of 6 February regained both towns, forcing the enemy to retreat northeastward.
The Battle of Southern Henan, which opened on 25 January and concluded on 10 February after seventeen days of continuous fighting, ended in a clear Chinese victory. Japanese casualties exceeded 9,000; when the enemy withdrew from Nanyang more than 300 military vehicles were left burning on the battlefield. Large quantities of arms, ammunition, and supplies fell into Chinese hands. Chinese losses were significantly lighter. The enemy had hoped to force a decisive battle along the railway and shatter the Chinese armies of the Fifth War Area. Instead, skillful Chinese maneuver, timely flank attacks, and relentless pressure on the enemy's rear and communications had turned the Japanese offensive into a costly failure. The victory not only preserved the integrity of the central Chinese front but also demonstrated once again the effectiveness of elastic defense and mobile counteroffensive tactics against a numerically superior but overextended foe.
In the wake of their costly repulse in central Hubei the previous November and the even more humiliating defeat in Southern Henan between late January and early February 1941, the Japanese sought once more to regain the initiative in the spring of 1941. Their target was western Hubei, where Chinese forces continued to deny them freedom of movement along the middle Yangtze. The entire Japanese 13th Division garrisoned the Yichang salient. Its regiments were deployed in a defensive arc: the 65th Regiment and the 19th Artillery Regiment held positions east of the city at Longchuanpu, Tumenya, and Yaqueling; the 104th Regiment guarded the northwest approaches; and the 17th Cavalry Regiment patrolled the YangchaluâBaishanao sector. On the west bank of the Yangtze, the 58th Regiment had constructed strong bridgehead fortifications between Chaojialing and Shangwulongkou, ready to support any renewed thrust westward.
Facing this entrenched enemy was the Chinese 26th Corps, entrusted with the critical mission of river defense on the west bank of the Yangtze opposite Yichang. The corps commander had organized his forces into three sectors. The 41st Division held the right zone, anchoring its line from Mujiatian and Tanjiataizi northward to the vicinity of Fanjiah u. The 32nd Division defended the left zone, stretching from Mujiatian through Ceyang to Xiangzikou. The 44th Division remained in corps reserve near Caojiafan, poised to reinforce either flank or exploit opportunities for counterattack.
On 6 March 1941 the Japanese struck. Having quietly reinforced their forces west of Yichang to more than three regiments, supported by cavalry and artillery, they opened the assault at 5:30 a.m. with a violent artillery barrage, followed immediately by infantry advances under cover of air strikes. Chinese security positions at Tanjiataizi and Chaojiadian were overrun. The enemy then hurled itself against the main line at Changgangling. Simultaneously, 600 to 700 Japanese troops, backed by planes and guns, assaulted Fanjiah u. After hours of bitter fighting both localities fell. On the morning of 7 March, Japanese aircraft again spearheaded the attack, enabling the capture of positions at Qianjiatai and Wujiaba. The enemy pressed on toward Qianjiachong and Yutaishan but was thrown back. Meanwhile, the force that had taken Fanjiah u clashed fiercely with the Chinese 44th Division around Taipingqiao; although the division was eventually compelled to withdraw to the eastern end of the bridge under relentless air attack, it continued to resist stubbornly. When the enemy seized Hut zeye from the direction of Fanjiah u, the 32nd Division fell back in good order to the line from Tunziqiao to Tuyanzhong, where it beat off further assaults. By this stage the Japanese had driven themselves into a dangerously narrow salient, exposed on both flanks.
Seizing the moment, the River Defense Force reorganized its lines. The 103rd Division of the 8th Corps relieved the sector from Mujiatang through Yingzishan to Chaotianguan, while the 26th Corps consolidated new positions at Yutaishan, Pijiashan, Qingshuiba, Guangongling, and Xiaopingshanba. The plan was clear: hold the enemy east of this line, then launch a converging counterstroke to destroy the invaders and restore the original front. On 8 March two guerrilla columns from the 41st Division struck at Changgangling and Fanjiayuan, while another detachment hit the enemy east of Pifengjian. More than 2,000 Japanese troops assaulted the 44th Division's positions from Gaolingpo and Dajiaobian toward Wanghuzizhong; determined resistance by the 44th Division, supported by elements of the 41st, brought the attack to a standstill. Later that day the enemy managed to penetrate the 32nd Division's line at Tianwangshi, forcing Chinese troops to fight a delaying action along the outskirts of the Shibai Fortress from Mingjiachong to Heitangou.
Dawn on 9 March brought renewed Chinese initiative. The 103rd Division occupied the line from Tutiling to Shizinao and advanced in several columns against the enemy. A portion of the 44th Division waged a grim holding action on the high ground flanking Guojiaba, suffering heavy losses but buying time for the main body to launch a powerful flank attack against the Japanese at Taipingqiao and Xianglingkou. By dusk Chinese forces had captured the enemy strongpoints at Dujiaoba and Dajiaobian along the highway, annihilating numerous enemy troops. The 32nd Division threw its main strength against the area northwest of Dajiaobian; heavy fighting raged around Wanghuzizhong into the afternoon until enemy reinforcements were driven off. The 41st Division, meanwhile, executed effective flank attacks that yielded significant gains. On 10 March the 103rd Division recaptured the high ground at Xiawulongkou and north of Tianzipo, while guerrillas of the 41st Division continued to harass the enemy through every gap in his lines. When positions at Hongshipo and Lungtanping held by the 44th Division were breached, the division withdrew to the western heights of Bomuping and faced the enemy anew.
At dawn on 11 March, after suffering severe casualties, the Japanese resorted to smoke screens and began withdrawing eastward along several routes. Chinese pursuit forces swiftly retook Xianglingkou, Guojiaba, Guangongling, Tianwangshi, and Dajiaobian. By 12 March the enemy had fallen back to a defensive line running from east of Taipingqiao to Hu z'ai and Huangnikeng. On 13 March Chinese units launched general counterattacks. Unable to withstand the pressure, the Japanese retreated to their original positions. The eight-day engagement thus ended exactly where it had begun.
The battle had been fought with only a portion of the available Chinese forces, yet it proved decisive. The Japanese, who had hoped to crack the river defenses and resume their westward drive, instead suffered 4,000 to 5,000 casualties. The swift and skillful Chinese counteroffensive not only restored the front but left the enemy shaken and apprehensive. Their design to push deeper into western Hubei was decisively thwarted, buying precious time for the broader Chinese war effort in the Yangtze theater and demonstrating once again that determined defense, timely reinforcement, and aggressive counteraction could blunt even the most carefully prepared Japanese offensive.
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In November 1940, a Central Hubei Operation using five task forces attempted to exploit Chinese dispersal but achieved no territorial gains despite local successes. A larger January 1941 offensive into southern Henan deployed 150,000+ troops but again failed strategically. Despite Japanese tactical advantages and superior firepower, logistical constraints and rugged terrain favored mobile Chinese resistance. Both campaigns ended with Japanese withdrawals and restored Chinese positions, demonstrating that determined defense and timely counteraction could blunt large-scale Japanese operations.
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Last time we spoke about the second phase of the One Hundred Regiment Offensive. During the second phase of the Hundred Regiments offensive, CCP forces emphasized strongpoint and transportation warfare across the Taihang/Jizhong area. Units were organized with wings containing Japanese positions while a central force struck deeper, as in the Renhe Dasu fighting in early October 1940. Night raids seized strongholds, while engineers and sabotage teams disrupted roads, bridges, and mobility, and ambushes targeted Japanese foraging and supply routes. Across these theaters, the strategy was consistent: make Japanese control porous by destroying or capturing local nodes and forcing constant repairs, re-routing, escorts, and slowed reinforcement, so occupation logistics and strongpoint networks could not function reliably. This approach supported wider offensives by isolating strongpoints, draining enemy strength, and giving Communist base areas room to endure and expand.
#204 The One Hundred Regiment Offensive Phase Three
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
After the two large-scale offensives carried out over wide areas of North China, the Japanese army did what it always did when control started to slip: it tried to turn mobile pressure back into something it could "manage" again. The Eighth Route Army's continued fighting had shown that Japanese-occupied space was not secure, and that base areas could still resist, strike, and persist even while under counterpressure. That was dangerous for occupation. If the enemy could keep operations going, Japanese lines of movement stayed uncertain and "stabilization" became a temporary illusion.
To prevent the situation from worsening and to re-stabilize the occupied areas as quickly as possible, the Japanese mobilized heavy forces and launched retaliatory counterâ"mopping-up" operations against anti-Japanese base areas in North China beginning October 6. The Japanese attempt wasn't only to punish; it was designed to take advantage of an asymmetry: the Eighth Route Army was striking and fighting continuously, and it did not have the luxury of resting, replenishing, and re-cohering as neatly as a garrison army might. Japanese commanders hoped that if they struck hard enough in enough places, the Communist main forces could be isolated, destroyed, or at least forced into a defensive posture that would break their operational tempo.
At Liaodong and Yulin, Japanese reinforcements also created a second political-military stake. After the Yuliao Campaign ended, the Eighth Route Army headquarters issued instructions on October 1 to major regions, warning that enemy reinforcements in Liaodong and Yulin might use the opening to "sweep" the Taibei region. In the Communist operational mind, this wasn't just one threat; it was a pattern. A "sweep" could come as a wave that pushed inward, burned villages, destroyed supplies, and tried to force Communist forces out of their protected networks. Even if the offensive couldn't win a conventional decisive battle, it could aim to strip the base areas of people, food, and mobilityâthings that make guerrilla and strongpoint warfare possible.
By October 19, 1940, the Eighth Route Army headquarters issued a counterâ"mopping-up" operation plan, and civilian and military authorities in various regions launched counter-"mopping-up" operations accordingly. This is important background: in these campaigns, "mopping-up" was not only an army activity. The Japanese were attempting to break the base system itselfâits logistics, its local administration, and the relationship between armed units and civilians who hid, moved, fed, and replaced them. So the counter-operations had to be just as systemic. The Communists needed to keep people alive, keep movement possible, and keep the enemy from consolidating inside a cleared space.
In southeastern Shanxi's Taihang and Taiyue regions, the Japanese 1st Army aimed to strike the main force of the 129th Division and destroy anti-Japanese base areas by running a series of mopping operations from October 6 to December 5. The plan had a typical occupation logic: push through strongholds gradually, clear pockets methodically, and rely on local superiorityâespecially in manpower, logistics, and the ability to reinforce by road. And because the Communist main force had been operating without meaningful rest after the earlier offensives, the Japanese believed they could catch formations while they were still "in between battles."
On October 6, in the Taihang region, more than 800 enemy troops from Wu'an in western Hebei began a "mopping-up" operation in the Yangyi area. By October 11, the Japanese posture escalated. Part of the Japanese Independent Mixed 4th Brigade departed from Liaoxian and Wuxiang, while part of the 36th Division departed from Lucheng and Xiangyuan; together they totaled over 3,000 troops. Coordinating from north and south, they carried out operations to "mop up" both banks of the Zhuozhang River between Yulin, Liaoxian, and Wuxiang, encircling and clearing the south side of the YulinâLiaoxian highway. This emphasis on riverbanks and highway corridors reveals the Japanese method: move along terrain that controls movement, then compress enemy options until the defenders have to fight inside a narrowing space.
The counter to that method required more than bravery. The Eighth Route Army's 385th and 386th Brigades, along with the 1st Column of the Decisive Battle, fought on inner linesâwhere they could move more rapidly between known local positions and threaten the enemy's flanks or supply behavior. Meanwhile the New 10th Brigade fought on outer lines, where it could intercept, delay, and force the enemy to spend time reacting instead of clearing.
By the morning of October 15, the New 10th Brigade delivered a concrete example of that interception strategy. Two regiments ambushed an enemy motor-transport convoy at Gongjiagou on the Heliao Highway, destroying more than 40 vehicles and annihilating more than 100 Japanese soldiers escorting the convoy. The meaning of a convoy ambush is strategic even when the numbers are modest: vehicles represent speed, logistics, and reinforcement. If the enemy loses vehicles repeatedly, "mopping" becomes slower, and slower clearing creates openings for the defenders to reorganize, disperse, or shift main effort.
After that, on October 17, the enemy forces that had been mopping up the convoy withdrew in different directions. Withdrawal in multiple directions is a sign that the Japanese clearing operation, meant to compress a space, had instead been forced into a reactive mode. It also hints at a recurring pattern in these years: Japanese units could clear what was already weak, but when defenders hit their movement corridors, the occupiers had to spend time and combat power simply to recover mobility.
The next major sweep began October 20, 1940, and it was much larger. Nearly 10,000 troopsâfrom the 36th Division and Independent Mixed Brigade No. 4âset off from multiple locations, including Wu'an, Liaoxian, Wuxiang, and Lucheng, to sweep the area east and west of the Qingzhang River, focusing on land between Matian and Zuohui. Crucially, that was not random ground. The Japanese sought to strike the CCP Central Committee Northern Bureau, the Eighth Route Army headquarters, and the 129th Division headquarters, along with party and government organs of the Jin-Ji-Yu Border Region, located together with Shexian and Piancheng. In other words, the Japanese targeted not just armed units but the political-administrative heart that makes base areas function.
Once in the attack area, the Japanese carried out "mopping-up" operations paired with burning and killing for several days. That brutality wasn't only cruelty; it served a purpose. Burning villages, destroying crops, and killing civilians could deny the base area food and shelter while making local cooperation more difficult. Then, on October 26, the Japanese began to withdraw and carried out mopping-up in different areas on the way back. The base area was "severely damaged and destroyed," indicating that even when the Japanese didn't annihilate the main Communist force, they could still achieve degradationâhurting the system they needed to keep operating.
But the Communists were not simply absorbing damage. On October 29, a force of over 500 men from the 36th Division, plus over 400 supply and laborers, was mopping up Huangyandong and advanced through Zuohui to Guanjia'nao east of Panlong, preparing to return to Wuxiang. This is where counter-mopping becomes operationally dangerous for the occupier. Supply and labor detachments move differently from combat formations, and they represent an enemy's assumption that the base area is being "cleared." The Eighth Route Army headquarters ordered, at 1:00 p.m., for the 129th Division to concentrate its main force to annihilate the enemy.
That night, the 129th Divisionâuniting the main forces of the 385th and 386th Brigades, parts of the New 10th Brigade, and the First Column of the Death Squadâsurrounded the enemy at Guanjia'nao with a plan to launch a general offensive at 4:00 a.m. The besieged enemy, besides quickly building fortifications, seized Fengkengding high ground southwest of Guanjia'nao under cover of darkness. The two high points helped defenders support one another and resist stubbornly. The battle lasted until dawn on October 31, when most of the enemy had been annihilated, leaving only more than 60 men to hold positions.
Then reinforcements arrivedâover 1,500 from Huangyandongâsupported by more than 10 aircraft. The 129th Division withdrew, and the remaining enemy fled toward the flood, leaving behind more than 280 corpses. By then, most Japanese troops had withdrawn from the central base area. The background stake is clear: "mopping-up" could damage and burn, but if defenders could convert the Japanese attempt into a trapâespecially when enemy units had become separated from their core and committed to clearingâthey could turn a destructive operation into a costly one for the occupier.
In early November, the Japanese continued. In Licheng south of Taihang, Japanese forces invaded Nanweiquan and Beiweiquan and then Xijing. Elsewhere, Japanese forces in Xiangyuan invaded Panlong via Xiying, attempting to attack Dongtian and the area around Zhuanbi, where the Eighth Route Army headquarters was located. In that moment, the 386th Brigade was ordered to rush to the northâsouth line of Damocun, east of Panlong, block the invading enemy, and cover the transfer of the Eighth Route Army headquarters.
At 9:00 a.m. on November 3, 1940, fierce fighting broke out as the troops finished deploying near Damocun. The Japanese launched continuous attacks and captured some positions. The 386th Brigade held until 4:00 a.m. on November 4, then withdrew after the headquarters successfully moved. The Japanese attempt to launch a pincer attack failed, and they retreated to the Baijin Line on November 5. Even when Japanese action couldn't be fully blocked, the counter's aim was not only tactical survival but prevention of strategic encirclementâprotecting the central institutions and preserving the ability to fight again.
In the northern Taihang region, more than 2,500 enemy troops from Heshun arrived in Yushe on November 3 via Hanwang Town and Changcheng Town, reinforcing Japanese forces in the Yu, Liao, and Wu areas. Then they carried out repeated mopping operations south of the Yuliao Highway, including Jiangtang, Lingshang, Songjiazhuang, Guojiao, and Dayouyi. Harassment and attacks by military and civilians forced Japanese troops back into their strongholds by the 13th. A "40-day" counter-mopping operation in Taihang came to an end. The term "40-day" isn't only calendar time; it suggests that these were not one-off battles but sustained campaigns of movement, dispersal, and repeated harassment meant to drain the enemy's capacity.
Starting November 17, the Japanese launched a multi-pronged attack on Qinyuan and the area north of Guodao Town. The attack involved part of the 37th Division from Qin County and Nanguan Town, part of the Independent Mixed Brigade from Pingyao, Jiexiu, and Huo County, and a battalion of the 41st Division from Hongdongâmore than 7,000 troops deployed to attack Qinyuan and the north area. But the Taiyue Military Region response shows how the Communist counter-mopping wasn't always to meet force with force. To avoid the enemy's "sharp edge," the Taiyue Military Region formed two detachmentsâQin East and Qin Westâwith leadership and main force moving to both sides of the Qin River outside the Japanese attack zone, targeting scattered Japanese troops instead of being fixed into a single killing field.
By November 23, due to harassment by local armed forces, the Japanese reached the attack zone and then carried out dispersed mopping operations. Qinyuan County was the most severely damaged, with more than 5,000 people killed (about one-tenth of its population), nearly 10,000 livestock killed and over 7,000 stolen, and 30,000 to 40,000 houses destroyed. Those details are brutal, but they explain why background stakes mattered: "mopping-up" was meant to break the social base. If civilians died or fled, the guerrilla system became harder to sustain.
The response from the Dayue Military Region seized the opportunity created by Japanese dispersal. On November 23, the 42nd Regiment of the Qinxi Detachment annihilated more than 100 Japanese soldiers in Guantan. On November 27, parts of the 42nd and 59th Regiments killed or wounded more than 160 in Huhanping and Mabei. The Qindong Detachment's 17th and 57th Regiments inflicted serious damage in a series of placesâGuang'ao, Chenjiagou, Longfosi, Wuyuanzhen, Nanweicun, Nanli, and more. The 17th Regiment's battle at Longfosi annihilated more than 100 Japanese. Additional heavy losses were inflicted by the 212th Brigade in Jiaokou. By December 5, the Japanese were forced to withdraw from the Taiyue area in separate routes. Strategically, dispersal punished the occupier because scattered units are harder to protect and easier to ambush.
Across the Jin-Cha-Ji Border Region, anti-"mopping-up" operations unfolded gradually, beginning with the Pingxi area, the first target of the Japanese on the path toward the Japanese-held headquarters and rail lines. Pingxi mattered because it directly threatened the headquarters of the Japanese North China Area Army and Beipingâthe puppet regime's centerâand also threatened the Pinghan and Pingsui railways, North China's main transportation lines. So Pingxi became an operational priority: if the occupier couldn't keep the rail network secure, their ability to reinforce and supply their own strongpoints suffered.
On October 13, 1940, more than 10,000 Japanese and puppet troops attacked Sanpo, the central area of the Pingxi base area, in 10 routes. This attack used a methodical, steady approach: advance gradually, rely on strongholds, and cover 5 to 10 kilometers each day. In response, the Pingxi Military Sub-district countered using timely maneuvers of its main forces and extensive guerrilla warfare. Over more than a week of fighting, the enemy was constantly harassed and attacked, wearing them down. Although Japanese troops penetrated deep, they failed to identify the main force's movements. By November 21, when the encirclement tightened further, the Pingxi main force jumped out from the Sanpo area and moved southwest. Encountering the enemy at Pengtou, it then moved to the Yegu and Datai line east of Bancheng.
After the Japanese entered the Sanpo area, they conducted widespread burning and killing and looted grain. Starting from the 23rd, the Japanese retreated in different routes. By the end of October, the main force had withdrawn from Pingxi, but more than 2,000 troops remained in the Pingxi anti-Japanese base area to build strongholds and roads. Strongholds were added in places like Changping and Wanpingâ14 strongholds aloneâand villages such as Dongzhaitang and Dujiazhuang came under their control. The base area began to shrink and shrink. That shrinkage is the other background stake: even when guerrilla forces avoid annihilation, the occupier may still carve away space through fortification.
On October 19, 1940, the Eighth Route Army headquarters instructed that enemy attacks in Pingxi and Taihang might turn around and attack the Beiyue area. The Jin-Cha-Ji Border Region needed to prepare quickly to crush these "mopping-up" operations, coordinating Party, government, military, and civilians and conducting in-depth combat mobilization. The main force should assemble in appropriate positions and prepare to annihilate one or two enemy forces decisively. The headquarters also instructed the 129th and 120th Divisions to cooperate actively.
By November 9, 1940, the Japanese struck again in a massive sweep. The 110th Division, along with other units and more than 14,000 puppet troops, launched a "mopping-up" operation in the jurisdiction of the 1st Military Sub-district. The Japanese and puppet troops moved in coordinated lines: along the line of Yi County, Dalonghua, Wang'an Town, Laiyuan, and Chajianling from north to south, while those in Baoding and Mancheng moved east to west. The intent was to squeeze Communist sub-district forces into a narrow area for a decisive battle.
On November 10, the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region issued operational guidelines and deployments for countering "mopping-up" operations. By the 12th, in response to Japanese widespread burning and killing, it further instructed that without hindering mobility, the main force could disperse a portion of troopsâno more than one-thirdâto strike resolutely at attempts to burn and kill. That instruction captures the balance commanders tried to strike: disperse too much and you lose power; disperse too little and you become trapped by the occupier's brutality.
The Japanese then attempted to pressure multiple places. On November 9, more than 6,000 enemy troops from Laiyuan, Yixian, and Baoding attacked Guantou, Yinfang, Huangtuling, and Shenbei. On the 12th, their attack failed; they burned and killed people before retreating in different routes. At that time, the 1st Military Sub-district assembled the 1st and 25th Regiments to intercept them. One enemy force of more than 800 was intercepted on the 14th as it retreated from Wujiazhuang to Yuangang; some were killed or wounded. Even so, the enemy broke through under aircraft cover and retreated to Guantou. On the way, it was intercepted again by the 20th Regiment, suffering heavy casualties, and it fled back to Mancheng.
Then on November 13, more than 2,700 Japanese and puppet troops attacked the 3rd Military Sub-district; on November 14, about 2,600 advanced from Dingxiang, Dongye, and Wutai toward Fuping and its southwest area in two routes. The Japanese attacked with east-west coordination, launching joint attacks on Taiyu north of Fuping. The Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region headquarters and the command organs of the 3rd and 5th military sub-districts, along with the 2nd, 3rd, and 6th regiments and other troops, transferred to the outer line before the enemy encirclement formed. On the 16th, the Japanese launched a joint attack again on Taiyu and Zhangjiayu, and the guerrillas who failed to transfer fought hard. Commander Wang Pu and Deputy Director of the Political Department Hao Yuming were killed, and troops suffered more than 100 casualties.
On November 18, the enemy from Taiyu quickly occupied Hanping City. By the 21st, enemy forces from Daying via Shentangbao and Wuwangkou, and from Wutai via Taihuai, Shizui, Longquanguan, and Xiaguan, also gathered in Fuping City. After occupying Fuping, the Japanese launched repeated attacks "sweeping" areas under the jurisdiction of the 3rd Military Sub-district from both inward and outward strongholds, conducting brutal burning and killing and destruction. On the night of November 21, the 2nd Regiment dispatched more than 30 men to raid Dangcheng and attack Japanese barracks with grenades. The Japanese panicked and fired guns and cannons all night. On the 26th, four plainclothes officers infiltrated Baoding and attacked a theater where the Japanese army was holding a meeting, causing panic among the Japanese. The enemy that had invaded the base area withdrew in different routes on the 25th.
By December 3, 1940, most Japanese troops had withdrawn from the Beiyue area, but more than 1,000 remained along lines including Fuping, Wangkuai, Dangcheng, and Quyang to continue building points and roads in an attempt to occupy the area long-term. To force the enemy back, eliminate occupied points, and completely crush Japanese and puppet "mopping-up," the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region organized the FupingâWangkuai Campaign starting December 9, with the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 6th regiments participating.
At 21:00 on December 14, the 6th Regiment attacked enemy forces in Dongzhuang. The 1st Battalion captured three fortified positions on the north mountain of Dongzhuang and rushed into the village, only for Japanese counterattacks to recapture fortified positions and kill or wound more than 170 Japanese during the counterfight. The 4th Regiment attacked the enemy in Fuping; the 2nd Regiment and guerrilla forces entered Dangcheng and Lingshan. On the 21st, more than 130 enemy soldiers escorting more than 100 pack animals carrying military supplies reached Wangkuai and were completely annihilated when they reached Wanglinkou.
By December 26, an ambush in the Xuancun area of the Pinghan Railway destroyed 14 Japanese trains and their vehicles as well as three heavy artillery pieces. On the 27th, more than 1,200 enemy troops advancing from Dongzhuang in Fuping were attacked in Luoyu and Tumen, suffering more than 140 casualties. The remaining Japanese withdrew from Fuping, Dongzhuang, and Wangkuai starting New Year's Day 1941. By January 4, the 55-day anti-"mopping-up" campaign had basically ended, with the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region killing and wounding more than 2,000 Japanese and puppet troops while suffering 1,382 casualties itself. These numbers and dates show why background and stakes matter: the counter-mopping effort wasn't short. It was sustained, operationally demanding, and required continued offensive action even while facing superior Japanese resources.
The pressure didn't end there. From October 25 to early November, about 4,000 Japanese troops, including the 16th Independent Mixed Brigade, launched a mopping operation in the Miyu and Loufan areas of the 8th and 3rd military sub-districts in northwestern Shanxi, but they were attacked by local soldiers and civilians. In mid-December, Japanese forces transferred additional strength: parts of the 37th Division from southern Shanxi and the 41st Division from southeastern Shanxi, along with parts of the 3rd, 9th, and 16th Independent Mixed Brigades and the 26th Division from northwestern Shanxiâtotaling more than 20,000 troopsâto prepare for a full-scale mopping operation in northwestern Shanxi.
After the second phase of the Hundred Regiments Offensive ended, the 120th Division anticipated retaliation and actively prepared for counter-mopping. On October 30, the division was ordered to establish the Jin-Northwest Military Region, and on November 7, the military region was established in Lijiawan, Xing County. The Jin-Northwest Military Region had direct military sub-districts and six military sub-districts: the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 8th, and Yanbei. Then the occupier escalated.
Starting December 14, 1940, the Japanese launched a full-scale mopping operation against the Jin-Northwest region. More than 5,000 enemy troops invaded the Mi-Yu Town area of the 8th Military Sub-district, more than 4,000 invaded Lin-Xian, and more than 6,000 attacked Xing-Xian and the area south of Bao-De from strongholds such as Lan-Xian and Qi-Lan. By December 23, Japanese forces had occupied all county towns, most market towns, and Yellow River crossings in the Jin-Northwest region except for Bao-De and He-Qu counties, and began to implement a systematic policy commonly described as the "Three Alls" policy.
The "Three Alls" emphasis is the clearest expression of stakes turning lethal. Japanese troops and traitors disguised themselves as the Eighth Route Army to lure and kill masses. They sent out core detachments to attack and repeatedly sweep the area, seeking to annihilate party, government, and military leadership organsâfocusing on destroying the rear organs and facilities that made Communist endurance possible. According to incomplete statistics, more than 5,000 people were brutally killed during these sweeps. In Xingxian County alone, 150,000 catties of grain were looted and burned; in the 4th Military Sub-district, more than 5,000 head of livestock were looted and killed; and more than 19,000 houses and cave dwellings were burned down.
In the early stage of this anti-mopping campaign, the Jin-Sui Military Region mainly used a portion of its forces to cooperate with local troops and guerrillas in widespread guerrilla warfare. They harassed and contained the attacking enemy, disrupted enemy transportation, and covered the transfer of the masses. The main force avoided the enemy's sharp edge and moved to the outer line to seek opportunities to attack the Japanese army. This describes the classic guerrilla operational pattern: avoid being fixed into a single decisive trap, but create enough friction that enemy operations degrade into a struggle they can't sustain.
repeated attacks and ambushes during the mopping period across Miyu Town and other areasâunits striking repeatedly, destroying roads, cutting off enemy transportation, and attacking enemy strongholds north of Dawu. To thwart the Japanese army's plans to build roads and fortificationsâplans that would make future sweeps easierâthe Jin-Sui Military Region instructed, on December 27, all sub-districts to mobilize forces to disrupt Japanese road construction and fortification. The 358th Brigade attacked enemy road construction from Lanxian to Dashetou and from Puming to Chijianling; the Independent 1st Brigade sabotaged the DawuâLinxian highway; and the 4th Column of the Death Squad sabotaged the DawuâFangshan highway.
Part of the Independent 1st Brigade's 2nd Regiment organized over 2,000 civilians to sabotage the DawuâSanjiao highway twice, forcing the enemy in Linxian to detour through Fangshan to contact Lishi. The Lishi guerrillas led civilians in two sabotage attacks on the LishiâJundu highway, destroying over 30 "li" of road. Other units attacked strongholds along key highways and destroyed or disrupted the "maintenance committees" that surrounded newly built enemy strongholds. There were also direct raidsâstorming into Linxian County and capturing representatives of enemy maintenance organizations. Meanwhile, the Workers' and Patriots' Brigade carried out continuous sabotage on the Taifen Highway.
As the enemy plans ran into persistent disruption, Japanese and puppet forces began to retreat in different routes starting January 2, 1941, and by January 24 they returned to their original strongholds. The Jin-Sui winter counter-mopping operation lasted 40 days, annihilated more than 2,500 enemy troops, destroyed 125 kilometers of roads and 23 bridges, and recovered all towns occupied by the enemy during the campaign. Here the stakes show through most clearly: the campaign was not merely about killing enemy troops. It was about preventing the occupier from building a durable, road-connected grid that would allow future sweeps to be faster, larger, and more decisive.
At the wider campaign level, the Eighth Route Army also recorded its total effects from August 20 to December 5, covering roughly three and a half months. During that period, the Eighth Route Army fought 1,824 battles of varying sizes, killing or wounding 20,645 Japanese soldiers (including senior officers), killing or wounding 5,155 puppet troops, and capturing 281 Japanese soldiers and 18,407 puppet troops. 47 Japanese soldiers surrendered voluntarily, and 1,845 puppet troops defected, totaling 46,380 people. The Communists captured 5,942 guns and 53 artillery pieces, and destroyed extensive transportation infrastructure: 474 kilometers of railway, 1,502 kilometers of highway, 213 bridges, 37 railway stations, 11 tunnels, more than 217,000 rails, more than 1,549,000 sleepers, more than 109,000 telephone poles, and more than 424,000 kilograms of telephone wire. Five coal mines and 11 warehouses were destroyed. The narrative further adds that when including casualties of Japanese and puppet forces across related engagementsâsuch as Fuwang and the antiâmopping operations in northwest Shanxiâthe total number of casualties reached more than 50,880.
Japanese statistics were also cited for damage assessment, noting destruction of track and bridges across key railways (Zhengtai, Tongpu, Pinghan), telegraph pole damage, power line cuts, and effects on coal productionâsuch as the Jingxing New Mine being unable to produce coal for at least six months. These details underline a broader background stake: infrastructure damage was meant to weaken the occupier's ability to keep its occupation apparatus working, even after the direct battles ended.
The price of that multi-month struggle was high for the Eighth Route Army as well. Over the three and a half months leading up to the Hundred Regiments Offensive, the Eighth Route Army suffered 17,000 casualties, and more than 20,000 were poisoned. During the Hundred Regiments Offensive itself, post-war statistics state that the 129th Division suffered 7,362 casualties and 450 missing persons, and the entire division suffered 7,812 casualties. When you connect these linesâoffensive sabotage, counter-offensives, Japanese mopping-ups, and anti-mopping resistanceâyou see why this second wave of fighting mattered. It wasn't only about whether the Japanese could respond to the offensive. It was about whether both sides could sustain their operational logic: the Japanese trying to stabilize occupation through "mopping," and the Communists trying to preserve base systems through dispersal, harassment, and counter-moves that convert the occupier's clearing effort into something too costly to maintain.
The background of the Hundred Regiments offensive, who authorized it, who planned it, and why, remains unclear. The Japanese response was so severe that, in retrospect, it appeared to some as if the offensive had been a mistake. Some leaders, especially Mao, may have wanted to disavow it. Indirect hints in Mao's writings in subsequent months and years suggest he may have viewed it critically or harbored misgivings from the start. It was not the kind of strategy Mao preferred. More than twenty years later, during the Cultural Revolution, Red Guards charged that Mao had not even known of the plan in advance because of Peng Dehuai's alleged duplicity, at the time, Peng was being denounced.
While this seems unlikely, it may contain some substance. In his own defense against these charges, Peng stated that after the 8RA headquartersâlocated not in Yan'an but in Jin-Cha-Jiâplanned the operation, it sent mobilization orders downward to each regional command and also notified the Central Military Affairs Commission headed by Mao. In the original plan, the action would begin in early September. But, Peng wrote, to prevent enemy discovery and to ensure simultaneous surprise assaultsâthereby inflicting an even greater blow to the enemy and the puppetsâthey began about ten days earlier than scheduled, during the last week of August. "So we did not wait for approval from the Military Affairs Commission (this was wrong), but went right into combat earlier than planned."
There is also the issue of the "spontaneous" participation of more than eighty regiments without authorization from the Eighth Route Army headquarters, and not from Yan'an as well. If Peng Dehuai's account is accepted (written in 1970, shortly before his death), then Mao and Party Central had no role in conceiving or planning the Hundred Regiments campaign. In that case, the "grand strategy" motivations for undertaking it largely vanishâexcept perhaps insofar as they were considered by Peng and his colleagues. One alleged motive was to counter any tendency toward capitulation by Chiang Kai-shek and the Chongqing regime: if the war heated up and the CCP threw itself into fighting, any accommodation between Chiang and Japan would look like cowardly surrender. A related consideration was the Communist leadership's sensitivity to the charge that they were simply exploiting the war to expand their influenceâavoiding Japanese combat while letting KMT armies bear the real burden of fighting. The Nationalists gave major publicity to the accusation that CCP policy devoted 70 percent of effort to expansion, 20 percent to coping with the KMT, and only 10 percent to opposing Japan.
A third suggested motive was to divert attention from the New Fourth Army's offensives against Nationalist forces in Central China, which were peaking around the same time.
Peng Dehuai acknowledged the campaign was "too protracted," yet he defended its importance in maintaining the CCP's anti-Japanese image in the wake of anti-friction conflicts, in demonstrating the failure of the cage-and-silkworm policy, in returning at least twenty-six county seats to base control, and in keeping "wavering" elements in line. Even if these reasons mattered less than regional and tactical calculations in launching the campaign, they could always be used for propaganda afterward. Whatever misgivings Mao and Party Central may have had, the Party kept them to itself. Mao radioed congratulations to Peng after his victory, and in public statements the Hundred Regiments were turned into legend.
Even if the Hundred Regiments campaign aimed to defeat Japanese pacification efforts, it did not succeed in a decisive way. Shocked and stung by the 8RA's action, the North China Area Army intensified its efforts to bring North China under tighter control. Under General Tada and then his successor, General Okamura Yasuji (July 1941âNovember 1944), the Japanese inflicted brutal, sustained violence against all North China bases. Between 1941 and 1944, about 150,000 Japanese troops were assigned full-time to pacification duty, supported by roughly 100,000 Chinese auxiliaries of widely varying description and effectiveness. The remainder of the NCAA (about 150,000â200,000 men) was assigned to other tasks such as garrisoning major cities and containing Nationalist forces. Communist regulars were estimated at around 250,000 within base areas and 40,000 in SKN.
The Japanese and their Chinese auxiliaries invested even more heavily than before in constructing moats, ditches, palisades, and blockhouses. Japanese sources claimed that by 1942 their forces had built 11,860 kilometers of blockade line and 7,700 fortified posts, mostly in the Hebei plains and the foothills of the Taihang mountains. A massive trench ran for 500 kilometers along the western side of the Pinghan railway line, with a depopulated and constantly patrolled zone on either side. The 250 Japanese outposts established in southern Hebei by December 1940 were more than quadrupled by mid-1942. These became the key means of controlling plains areas; by the end of 1941, all Communist bases in such terrain had been reduced to guerrilla status. Many main force unitsâsuch as those under Liu Cheng'ao and Yang Xiufengâwere compelled to move westward into mountains to survive.
What distinguished the new TadaâOkamura approach from earlier tactics was the much larger and more protracted search-and-destroy thrust into the core mountain-base areas. They also replaced selective repression with indiscriminate, generalized violence. These infamous "Three-All" mop-up campaigns meant: kill all, burn all, loot all. Unable to distinguish ordinary peasants from Communists, the Japanese waged war on everyone. After attempting to seal off major consolidated regions in the base areas, they sent in very large detachments to search for Communist forces, civilian cadres, and activists. They also tried to destroy base facilities and war material stockpiles; to disrupt agriculture by burning crops or interfering with planting and harvesting; and to seize grain stores. Entire villages were razed, and everything alive found there was killed.
Unlike earlier mop-ups that swept through an area and then departed, these campaigns left troops in the targeted zones for extended periods, "combing" the area back and forth and building at least temporary strongpoints in more accessible parts of mountain bases. These mop-up operations took a heavy and painful toll on rural populations. No doubt the harsh tactics and atrocities frequently committed during these actions did cause many peasants, rich and poor alike, to harbor deep hatred of the Japanese and to commit more fully to the Communist side. But intra-party sources also portray cases in which repression worked even more effectively than earlier attempts to drive a wedge between party and peasantry. As one internal assessment put it:
If we only stress concealment⊠we are bound to be divorced from the masses.
The morale of the masses cannot be sustained for long either.
On the other hand, if we only seek fleeting gratification in careless fighting, we may also invite still more cruel enemy suppression. That will also alienate the masses.Communist spokesmen acknowledged that, in North China base areas, the population under Party control fell from 44 million to 25 million, while the Eighth Route Army declined from 400,000 to 300,000. Local records present an even grimmer picture. By 1942, 90 percent of the plains bases had been reduced to guerrilla zones or outright enemy control. In the mountainous Taiyue district within the Jin-Cha-Lu-Yi base, one cadre admitted that "not a single county was kept intact and the government offices of all its twelve counties were exiled in Jin-yuan." All twenty-six county seats occupied following the Hundred Regiments fighting were lost.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
Japan tried to regain control through retaliatory "mopping-up" operations starting in October 1940. In response, the Eighth Route Army and its commanders issued counter-measures: coordinate party, government, military, and civilians; keep mobility while dispersing forces when possible; and focus on annihilating incoming enemy units decisively. Counter-sweeps and anti-pacification actions continued through December, involving repeated ambushes and sabotage of roads, highways, and fortification efforts.
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Last time we spoke about the first phase of the One Hundred Regiment Offensive. On 20 August 1940, forces launched the Zhengtai Campaign, part of the "Hundred Regiments Offensive," aiming to disrupt Japan's transport network and thus weaken its "cage-and-strongpoint" defense. Orders from the Eighth Route Army split tasks: the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region attacked the eastern ZhengâTai line, the 129th Division struck the western section , and the 120th Division hit the Tongpu Railway and the FenâLi Highway. Success was to be judged by the damage inflicted on the ZhengâTai line. Preparations were conducted under strict secrecy: reconnaissance teams mapped Japanese strongholds with help from villagers; communities stockpiled grain, ammunition, and tools, and trained for demolition, including heating and bending rails. At night, units infiltrated stations and villages, seized positions, and destroyed bridges, power lines, roads, and mines across multiple columns; rain slowed movement and shaped the fighting. By early September, the ZhengâTai line and related transport routes were severed, isolating strongpoints and hindering reinforcement.
#203 The One Hundred Regiment Offensive Phase Two
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
During the second phase, the Hundred Regiments Offensive stopped being a single burst of action and became a sustained attempt to keep the Japanese occupation system off-balance. More regiments entered the fighting until, by the scale of commitment on the map, 104 regiments were involved. This matters because it changes what the campaign was: not merely a set of raids, but an effort to broaden pressure so that the enemy could not concentrate everything in one place at one time.
Years later, Peng Dehuaiâthe commander closely associated with the Hundred Regiments offensiveâdescribed how the entry of these units felt as "spontaneous." That word can sound mysterious, so it helps to interpret it in operational terms. "Spontaneous" here does not mean unplanned chaos; it means that once the offensive logic took holdâonce units saw that Japanese movement and control were being disruptedâlocal commanders and regiments felt empowered to join the fight without always waiting for the Eighth Route Army headquarters to issue fresh, detailed instructions for each smaller step. In other words, the campaign became something like an expanding network: local success and shared strategic perception fed into more participation across regions.
Strategically, the campaign was guided by political and military guidance issued on September 10, 1940 by the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party. That instruction tied current operations to the earlier political-military framework of the July 7 Declaration and the July 7 Decision. The instruction argued that the moment mattered: it called for focusing "main efforts" on striking the Japanese army during a period when unity was being strengthened. It specifically urged that, based on the experience of the North China Hundred Regiments Offensive, Communist forces should organize one or more planned large-scale offensive operations in Shandong and Central China. In North China, the instruction pushed for expansion into Japanese army areas that had not yet been attackedâbecause the battlefield effect of the campaign was not only measured in immediate battlefield outcomes, but in reducing enemy-occupied space, enlarging base areas, breaking through blockade lines, and improving combat effectiveness.
That last phraseâ"Striking the enemy and attacking our allies is the general policy of military operations at present"âwas the harsh shorthand for the operational reality: the campaign had to prevent Japanese occupation from appearing stable and manageable. If the occupation system could treat insurgency as "localized trouble," it would recover quickly. If, instead, occupation became dangerous in multiple places at onceârequiring constant defense, constant movement, constant reinforcementâthen the Japanese would be forced into a defensive posture that undermined their ability to exploit control.
On September 16, 1940, the headquarters issued the second phase plan with a clear aim: expand results from the first phase. The headquarters explained the second phase would continue with an emphasis on disrupting Japanese transportation and destroying some strongholds that had penetrated deep into the base areas. This reveals the campaign's real "background and stakes": the offensive wasn't built around capturing territory in the traditional sense alone. It was built around breaking the system that makes occupation work.
In the enemy's logic, occupation relies on movement: soldiers need to move, supplies need to be shipped, and reinforcement must be routed quickly to where trouble appears. Transportation infrastructureâroads, railways, bridges, power linesâforms the skeleton of control. Strongholds and outposts are the organs that occupy space, but they depend on that skeleton. If transportation becomes unreliable, strongholds become isolated islands. If strongholds become isolated, the Japanese must decide between (1) defending each island and spreading themselves thin, or (2) leaving some islands to contain the restâeither way, control weakens.
Strongpointsâwhether forts, fortified villages, gatehouses, or road blocksâalso function as a "cage-and-silkworm" system: they are placed so Japanese forces can consolidate inside them, while routes outside are controlled or denied. In that model, even a small disruption can trigger a major ripple effect. When highways or key segments of rail are repeatedly broken, Japanese units cannot move "cleanly." They must detour, slow down, repair under threat, or escort repairs with larger forces than they prefer. Every extra hour spent repairing is an hour not spent consolidating. Every detour is a chance for ambush or for further sabotage. The second phase sought to exploit that dependency deliberately.
That strategic framing explains why, even as the campaign broadened, different regions emphasized different battles. The Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region mainly fought the Lai-Ling Campaign, the 129th Division mainly fought the Yu-Liao Campaign, and the 120th Division focused on attacking the Tong-Pu Railway. They were not separate stories. They were different methods of attacking the same underlying vulnerability: the occupier's ability to move, reinforce, and coordinate.
In Jin-Cha-Ji's sector, the stakes were especially sharp around Laiyuan and Lingqiu. The Japanese forces stationed in Mongolia had occupied those areas and penetrated deeply into the northwestern parts of the Jin-Cha-Ji Border Region. Japanese strength around these positions included elements of the 2nd Independent Mixed Brigade and the 26th Division, totaling more than 1,500 men, plus more than 1,000 puppet troops. The presence of puppet forces mattered not only for manpower, but because puppet troops supported the occupier's local control apparatus: they served as locally sourced enforcers, scouts, guards, and "administration-adjacent" security. Removing or weakening them was part of disrupting occupation credibility and local stability.
Because the Japanese had been attacked in the first phase, they did not respond by retreating into passivity. They increased troops at each stronghold. Laiyuan City alone was reinforced to around 500 men, and the Japanese strengthened fortifications and stockpiled food and ammunition. This meant the defenders were preparing for a second round: not a sudden surprise raid, but a sustained threat that would test their ability to endure isolation and keep their network intact.
Under these conditions, the Jin-Cha-Ji leadership decided to mobilize forces for the Lai-Ling Campaign, beginning at 22:00 on September 22, 1940. Here the background and stakes show up in the campaign's timing and tactics. The objective was not to "beat the defenders in open battle" only; it was to attack in ways that would prevent consolidation. By pushing on county areas and surrounding strongholds immediately, the attackers aimed to force the defenders into reactive modeâclosing gates, shifting forces into defensive positions, and preparing for fights that would consume time and ammunition.
The right wing launched a fierce attack on Laiyuan County and surrounding strongholds. After a night of hard fighting, the east, west, and south gates were taken, and the Japanese troops retreated into the city. Taking gates matters because it compresses space. It turns a wider defensive perimeter into a narrower, more concentrated posture. It also creates a psychological and operational trap: defenders who retreat into the city may survive longer as a fortified concentration, but their ability to conduct aggressive movement outside their wallsâand their ability to receive reinforcements through many approachesâbecomes more limited.
In the night of September 23, the 2nd Regiment, supported by a battalion of the 1st Regiment and artillery, attacked Sanjia Village, described as an important enemy stronghold on the LaiyuanâYixian highway, roughly 10 kilometers east of Laiyuan City. Highways are not just routes; they are corridors that connect strongholds to each other and to supply lines. By capturing a stronghold on a highway, the campaign attempted to break a portion of the corridor network feeding the city. The attackers annihilated most of the enemy and captured the village. At the same time, the 3rd Regiment attacked Dongtuanbao, northeast of Laiyuan City, and by the night of September 24, they had taken surrounding fortifications and forced remaining enemies into only a few houses inside the village.
Then, on September 25, the enemy burned weapons, supplies, and food stored at the stronghold, preparing for a breakout. That detail reveals a key stake of stronghold warfare: if defenders believe they cannot hold and cannot escape, they may destroy supplies rather than let attackers seize them intact. It's a grim tactical psychologyâdestroying stores can deny the enemy immediate benefit, even if it reduces defenders' chances of future endurance. When the attackers launched another fierce assault and the remaining defenders, with no hope of escape, threw themselves into the flames and perished, the event underscored the "closed-options" nature of the battle: the stronghold system was being compressed until breakout became impossible.
On September 26, other right-wing units, together with the 9th Regiment of the Pingxi Military Sub-district, captured 13 strongholds including Taohuabao, Bailebao, Jijiazhuang, Xinzhuang, Beikou, Xiabeitou, Baishikou, Zhongzhuang, Wangxidong, Liujiazui, Zhangjiayu, Beishifo, and Jinjiajing. Capturing strongholds in clusters has a strategic function. It doesn't just remove personnel; it interrupts local control geography. It makes it harder for defenders inside the city to extend influence outward and harder for them to create new safe points for movement.
But the Japanese did what well-prepared occupiers can do: reinforce at the most important time and the most important place. On the second day after the start, Japanese reinforcement began from Zhangjiakou and other locations. Roads had not been completely destroyed, so the Japanese could advance rapidly. This becomes a major background lesson of the second phase. The first phase had demonstrated the power of sabotage to disrupt Japanese movement. But by the time second-phase campaigns began, the Japanese were not ignorantâthey were learning. Where sabotage had fully severed roads, reinforcement could be delayed or routed into danger. Where sabotage remained incomplete, reinforcement could arrive quickly, changing the battle's character from attack-dominant to defense-dominant.
By noon on September 28, over 3,000 Japanese and puppet troops arrived in Laiyuan City by car, supported by 20 tanks and 4 aircraft. This mechanized support was not just "extra firepower." It was a statement about how the Japanese aimed to retain control: tanks and aircraft increase defenders' ability to resist assault and keep morale from collapsing. Under these conditions, the right wing found it difficult to launch a favorable offensive.
So the Jin-Cha-Ji leadership shifted offensive focus to the Lingqiu area, rather than forcing the original plan to continue against reinforced mechanized defense. The first step was to eliminate enemy strongholds between Lingqiu and Hunyuan. The second step was to seize enemy strongholds along a line from southeast of Daying to Shentangbao, and in mountainous areas north of Daying and Shahe. This shift highlights a core strategic principle: when a target becomes too fortified, the offensive can still succeed by moving the pressure elsewhereâaiming to break the enemy's network of strongpoints and keep forcing them to respond across space.
On October 2, the headquarters ordered the main force of the right wing to concentrate in the area east and southeast of Laiyuan. Part of the force was assigned to monitor and contain the enemy in Laiyuan, while the 1st and 2nd Regiments were placed under the left wing's command and joined the left wing in combat. This reallocation reflects operational adaptability. If a city becomes a fortress, smaller units may be better employed as containmentâtying down defendersâwhile the main effort moves to seize other stronghold lines where the Japanese might still be vulnerable.
The fighting continued with tactical attacks that show how strongpoint warfare unfolded in the field. On the night of October 8, the 1st Battalion of the 1st Regiment launched an attack on the 2nd Regiment while a portion of the Japanese army in Nanpotou was attacking it. The attackers broke into enemy lines, annihilated most of the enemy, and drove the rest off. At the same time, the 1st Battalion of the 6th Regiment captured Qiangfengling, and the Japanese forces in Qingciyao fled in panic. The campaign also included actions such as attacks on Jinfengdian by the 3rd Battalion of the 6th Regiment on the night of September 9, and mention that the 26th Regiment entered Huangtai Temple on the night of October 8 while attacking between Lingqiu and Guangling.
By understanding the background and stakes, you can see what these actions were really doing. They weren't random. They were repeated attempts to keep dismantling the enemy's ability to maintain a functioning strongpoint chain. Each captured stronghold reduces the enemy's ability to create secure corridors. Each panic-driven retreat increases their time burden and may cause breakdown in communication between local nodes. Even when the battle remains fierce and deadly, these changes in tempo can accumulate into operational outcomes.
The Lai-Ling Campaign lasted 18 days, producing concrete results: killing and wounding over 1,000 Japanese and puppet troops, capturing 49 Japanese and 237 puppet troops, and leaving 1,419 casualties for the Eighth Route Army. The losses show the campaign was not a "clean victory." It was expensive. But the operational logicâdisrupting a strengthened occupation zone, capturing strongholds, and forcing enemy reinforcements to concentrateâwas consistent with the second phase's broader mission.
Support for Lai-Ling came from the Jizhong Military Region through the RenqiuâHejianâDachengâSuning Campaign from October 1 to October 20, simultaneously sabotaging the Cangshi, Deshi, Beining, and Jinpu railways. This is where "background and stakes" become especially clear. The Japanese, even when they defend in one area, have to move elsewhere to respond. When you attack multiple transportation lines and strongpoint zones at once, you prevent the enemy from solving one problem cleanly before moving to the next. You make the enemy chase multiple fires.
After the Hundred Regiments Offensive began, Japanese forces in Jizhong moved west to reinforce in some cases, but most were tied down on important transportation lines. That relative weakening meant defenses in Jizhong's interior became weakerâcreating space where a larger contest could occur. Jizhong decided to deploy 10 battalions totaling more than 8,500 men from the 18th, 23rd, and 30th Regiments across left wing, center, and right wing roles, fighting in the area. The plan was not only to attack; it was to manipulate where the Japanese had to respond. The two wing units would contain and draw Japanese forces away from the central Renhe Dasu zone, and then the central unit would break into that central area to open the situation. In other words: wings would pull; center would punch.
The Renhe Dasu battle began on October 1, 1940. On the left wing, the 18th Regiment entered an area east of the Zhulong River and west of Hejian and Renqiu, capturing Lianjiazhuang, Dongguxian, and Liangcun between October 2 and October 6. By the night of October 7, Japanese troops at strongholds including Yuhuangmiao, Fenglebao, and Liushansi fled in panicâanother reminder that once stronghold cohesion fractures, the enemy's ability to endure a second phase of pressure drops.
On the right wing, the 30th Regiment operated with four battalions east of Dacheng and east of the Ziya River, capturing a series of strongholds including Liminju, Dengzhuangzi, Shigeju, Xiliuzhuang, Zangzhuangzi, and Chencun, while engaging in road-breaking and ditch digging. These actions show the campaign's "method," not just its target. Even when the opponent could be fought directly, sabotage and engineering measures could amplify the damage by reducing mobility and forcing time-consuming repairs.
The central unit, the 23rd Regiment, had two battalions crossing the Hutuo River northward. On October 1, it ambushed more than 100 Japanese troops coming from Shangjialin to seize grain, killing more than 90 and capturing all their weapons. On October 9, it ambushed the enemy from Liugezhuang to Litan at Baimatang, annihilating 20 Japanese and puppet troops. These ambushes illustrate a second background principle: occupiers need sustenance and extraction operations, and those operations follow routes and patterns. By striking troops during foraging or supply-related movement, the offensive attacks not only the army but also the logic that keeps occupation armies fed and maintained.
From October 15 to October 20, the second stage of those operations targeted the east and west banks of the Ziya River, leaving only a small force in the central Renhe River Great Suppression area. On the night of October 19, the central force captured Banjiehe and destroyed a bridge over the nearby Guyang River. On the night of October 16, the left wing captured Daqudi and the Renqiu Shimen Bridge, and on October 18 it captured the stronghold at Wangpan. A note in the operational description also indicates that the right wing faced a serious enemy situation and could not take major action during one segmentâanother reminder that even a planned operation cannot control all battlefield variables. What matters is whether the operation still meets its strategic purpose, not whether every segment goes perfectly.
In the Battle of Renhe Dasu, Japanese and puppet losses were heavy: 805 killed or wounded, and 3 Japanese and 326 puppet troops captured. The campaign took 29 strongholds. The Jizhong Military Region suffered 573 casualties. Strategically, this battle contained enemy forces and effectively supported the Battle of Lai-Ling. Again, support here is not just "help in the same region," but redistribution of pressure: by forcing the enemy to allocate troops to Jizhong, Japanese defenders around Lai-Ling face more difficulty maintaining overall operational coherence.
While Jin-Cha-Ji and Jizhong fought around Laiyuan and Lingqiu, a deeper pressure developed in the Taihang base regionâthrough the Yuliao (Yu-Liao) Campaign, fought mainly by the 129th Division. The background stakes in the Yu-Liao theater were the highway route from Yangquan through Pingding, Heshun, Liaoxian to Yushe, described as the deepest penetration route through which the Japanese penetrated the Taihang base area. The Japanese tried to extend this road southwestward and connect it with the Baijin Railway through Wuxiang, aiming to split the Dahang area and deploy forces flexibly along the Zhengtai and Baijin lines. This was about strategic mobility and operational geometry. A road connection isn't only "transport"; it reshapes where the enemy can exert pressure and how quickly they can shift forces from one axis to another.
The Yuliao section measured 45 kilometers and included eight strongholds: Yushe, Yanbi, Wangjing, Guantou, Pushang, Xiaolingdi, Shixia, and Liaoxian. These were guarded by the 13th Battalion of the Japanese 4th Independent Mixed Brigade. A line of strongholds along a highway is the occupier's version of a corridor defense: it enables them to keep movement inside a protected chain. If that chain is cut, movement becomes vulnerable and the "deep penetration route" turns into a dangerous liability.
On September 22, 1940, the 129th Division issued basic orders: launch a surprise attack to eliminate the enemy from Yushe to Xiaolingdi, recapture strongholds, destroy the highway, and then press forward toward Liaoxian to recapture it when the opportunity arose. This is a textbook example of how the offensive combined surprise, seizure, and destruction. Surprise prevents the defenders from organizing a coordinated response. Seizure eliminates their nodes. Highway destruction prevents them from restoring their corridor quickly, forcing time and laborâexactly what the second phase wanted.
The assault began on the night of September 23. On September 24, the left wing captured Yanbi and Wangjing, while the right wing captured Pushang and Xiaolingdi. By September 25, Yushe and Jucheng had also fallen, leaving only the enemy at Guantou on the XiaolingdiâYushe line still resisting. Concurrently, detachments attacked on related axes: the Pingliao Detachment captured Hanwang Town north of Liaoxian; the Qinbei Detachment sabotaged roads and attacked frequently, pinning Japanese forces on the Wuxiang and Baijin routes.
On September 26, the 129th Division ordered part of the right wing to continue besieging the enemy at Guantou, while the main force and the left wing moved east to recapture Liaoxian and eliminate reinforcements. At dawn on September 27, the right wing attacked Shixia west of Liaoxian and captured it that night. On September 28, the left wing reached near Majiu in preparation for an attack on Liaoxian that night.
Then battlefield logic reasserted itself: the Japanese did not sit idle once their corridor was threatened. Troops from Heshun and Wuxiang reinforced Liaoxian and Guantou respectively. The Eighth Route Army headquarters ordered the Liaoxian attack halted. Some forces were to contain the enemy advancing south from Heshun, while the main force moved to the Hongyatou and Guandinao areas to prepare to annihilate enemy reinforcements arriving from Wuxiang. This decision reveals a deeper stake: even if an army can seize targets, it must avoid exhaustion and must avoid allowing the enemy to convert a partial tactical loss into a larger opportunity. Headquarters essentially chose the operation's "survival path": shift from capturing more nodes to annihilating the reinforcements that would otherwise restore the corridor.
Following these orders, the 129th Division attacked Guantou and took it at 24:00 on September 29. In the narrative description that follows, the enemy reinforcements moving through ambush terrain clashed with Communist formations in an engagement where aircraft coverage and terrain allowed the enemy to seize high ground and resist stubbornly. The battle lasted two days and one night, with heavy casualties on both sides. That is an important background lesson: the offensive could still destroy corridor nodes, but the enemy's ability to bring aircraft support and seize terrain meant that the "destroy and move on" approach wasn't always enough. Sometimes, momentum had to be re-channeled into another kind of contestâone closer to a blocking ambush and a battle of endurance.
By the evening of October 1, more than 500 Japanese troops from Liaoxian broke through the right wing's blockade and approached near the left wing's command post. The left wing was ordered to withdraw from the battle. Headquarters then assessed that Japanese troops from Liaoxian and Wuxiang had joined and that more than 1,000 Japanese troops from Yangquan had reached Hanwang Town north of Liaoxian. Combined with the 129th Division's exhaustion and heavy casualties, headquarters decided to end the YulinâLiaoxian Campaignânot because the offensive had no value, but because the risk of allowing the enemy to "sweep" the Taibei area could outweigh further gains.
This termination decision illustrates a stake that is often overlooked: in insurgency-style campaigns, operational survival is part of success. The second phase did not merely chase targets; it sought to transform conditions so that the enemy would have to spend strength defending a failing network. If continuing a battle risks letting the enemy regroup into a larger counter-offensive that clears base zones, then ending becomes strategic.
While the 129th Division wrestled with corridor defense around Liaoxian and Guantou, the 120th Division pursued a transport-centered strategy against the Tong-Pu Railwayâbecause rail disruption was not a supporting detail; it was a main axis of pressure.
On September 12, 1940, the 120th Division issued an action plan for the northern section of the Tongpu Railway, deciding to attack the Ningwu and Xinxian sections (with emphasis on the section between Ningwu and Daniudian) starting September 20. This timing shows planning designed to synchronize with broader operational pressure. Rail sabotage required engineering preparation and coordination across units, and the campaign sought to create disruption when the enemy would be most vulnerable to delayed reinforcement.
On September 14, the 358th Brigade left its base west of Loufan and crossed the JingleâLanxian Highway to the north. It assembled at Majiagou on the 16th, then launched an attack on Toumaying using its 3rd Detachment (comprising the 7th and 8th Regiments and the special service battalion). At 24:00 on September 18, that detachment attacked Touma Camp, while the 7th and 8th Regiments attacked reinforcements. Fighting continued until the following morning when more than 40 Japanese soldiers from Ninghuabao reinforced Touma Camp. Once reinforcements reached Shanzhai Village, they were surrounded and annihilated. On September 20, around 200 Japanese soldiers from Yangquanling went to Liyan Village to counterattack. The 716th Regiment attacked at 14:00, and by dawn the next day, the enemy fled back to Yangquanling.
These battles are more than local clashes. They serve the background logic of sabotage campaigns: before destroying rail infrastructure, you need to reduce the enemy's ability to respond instantly. Fighting reinforcements and counterattacks clears windows of time. Those windows can then be used to sabotage tracks, bridges, and related installations. If sabotage occurs under active reinforcement pressure, the enemy can repair quickly or trap the sabotage teams. If sabotage occurs after the enemy's response capacity is disrupted, repair becomes slower and the operational effects last longer.
Parallel operations reinforced this logic. On the night of September 16, the Independent 1st Brigade crossed the Fen River east. On September 18, it was learned that more than 400 Japanese troops had attacked the Yanbei Detachment at Yangquanling but returned to Shangzhuang after failing to find them. The brigade then chose to encircle and annihilate the enemy rather than chase endlessly. The attack began at 13:00 on September 18 and lasted until early morning on September 19. The main force withdrew to sabotage the railway, while the remaining enemy retreated to Yangquanling. The engagement inflicted 105 casualties on the Independent 1st Brigade, while killing or wounding about 200 Japanese. Once the blocking threat was removed, units quickly moved into sabotage actions on the Tongpu Railway.
Then sabotage itself proceeded systematically. On the night of September 22, the 4th Regiment of the 358th Brigadeâattached to the division's engineering companyâand the division's special service regiment advanced to the area between Duanjialing and Xuangang to sabotage several sections of the Tongpu Railway. At the same time, the 2nd Regiment attacked Qicun, and the 715th Regiment attacked Xinkou and Loubanzhai. On the night of September 23, the 2nd Regiment sabotaged the railway south of Xinkou while the 715th Regiment sabotaged it north of Xinkou. On the night of September 25, the 715th Regiment sabotaged between Daniudian and Xuangang. The Independent 2nd Brigade also sabotaged several railway sections between Shuoxian and Ningwu. After six days of sabotage operations, the 120th Division again caused the Tongpu Railway to be interrupted.
The background stakes here are straightforward but huge: a rail interruption forces the occupier into repair work, escorts, and re-routing. During the second phaseâwhen the Japanese were already under pressure across multiple theatersâthe need to continuously handle repair reduces the capacity for offensive operations and for rapid reinforcement to any single contested point. It also slows their ability to respond to new threats as quickly as they would like.
By connecting all these threadsâLaiyuan and Lingqiu strongholds, Renhe Dasu containment and roadbreaking, the Yuliao highway corridor fight, and repeated Tongpu railway sabotageâyou can see the deeper logic of the second phase. The campaign aimed to create a battlefield environment where Japanese forces could not enjoy stable mobility and where strongpoints could not function as a reliable cage. Transportation disruption isolated strongholds. Stronghold destruction and capture shrank the enemy's local control points. Highway and rail sabotage forced the Japanese to defend not only troops and walls, but also the infrastructure that enabled their coordination.
That's why the second phase emphasizes disrupting transportation and destroying some strongholds penetrated deep into base areas. It wasn't simply "hit more places." It was a deliberate attempt to force the Japanese to abandon their preferred operational pattern: a networked system of strongpoints supported by transportation reliability. If that reliability breaks down, the occupier's "cage" becomes porous and unstable, and Communist base areas gain room to expand and persist.
By early October, the second phase was winding down, while a third phase was developing: reinforced Japanese columns sought to engage and destroy 8RA units. Over the next two months, several fierce counterattacks occurred, and after that the Hundred Regiments campaign was considered to be finished.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
After earlier setbacks in the 1930s, the CCP sought national leadership in resistance while maintaining political room to maneuver within an uneasy arrangement with the KMT. By early 1940â1941, the strategy shifted toward "strongpoint" and transportation warfare: guerrilla actions were used to fracture Japanese defensive networks and sabotage logistics. Japanese attempts to consolidate territory, through local administration and security practicesâoften provoked the CCP's dual struggle, militarily and politically. As Japanese sweeps temporarily gave the CCP advantages, the situation forced rapid adaptation.
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Last time we spoke about the New Fourth Army Incident. Across the Second Sino-Japanese War, the CCP entered after the setbacks of the 1930s, seeking to become a national leader in resistance while remaining cautious toward the Nationalist government. The 1936 Xi'an Incident reshaped politics, and by August 1937 KMTâCCP agreements defined a working arrangement: the CCP acknowledged KMT leadership and integrated its forces, while still pursuing political space and autonomy. As the war progressed, the CCP focused on defining its relationship with the KMT and keeping operational independence during cooperation. Mao Zedong managed this alliance by promoting a united front against Japan, yet protecting CCP revolutionary goals and internal control. The establishment of the Eighth Route Army and New Fourth Army marked this military reorganization. Throughout, the CCP feared that KMT collaboration with Japan could enable a peace settlement that would undermine communist legitimacy and restrict the party's future authority thereafter.
#202 The One Hundred Regiment Offensive Phase One
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
Simultaneously with the friction between the Kuomintang (KMT) and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), the Japanese were also working to take control ofâand extract value fromâmost of the territory they had nominally conquered. Treating these two processes separatelyâ"friction" on the one hand and "consolidation" on the otherâdoes violence to the real difficulty of the CCP's dilemma: the Party often had to confront both problems at the same time. At certain moments, the CCP was effectively forced to wage a two-front struggle. Even so, if the worst of the KMTâCCP friction had already eased by 1941, the most serious and painful challenges posed by Japanese consolidation were still ahead. To recover anything close to reality, the two timelines have to be read together and placed on top of one another.
The Japanese understood that consolidation could not be postponed, because much of the land behind the furthest reaches of their army was still only weakly under their actual control. In some places, order could be restored by relatively direct methods: rebuilding local administration and policy authority; repairing transportation and communications; enrolling Chinese personnelâusually, as it turned out, people of dubious reliabilityâas police or militia under puppet regimes; registering the local population; and requiring identity cards. In true old-style Chinese fashion, collective security practices were used widely. One form was the familiar bao-jia system, in one variant or another. Another was the so-called "railway-cherishing village": a village would be assigned a nearby stretch of track, and if residents failed to "cherish" it, they were held collectively responsible.
Yet early Japanese weakness in northern China is vividly illustrated by an incident in the summer of 1938. Three young foreignersâvacationing from teaching in Peiping (Beijing)âwere curious about events and about what people were doing. They loaded their bicycles on a southbound train, got off at Baoding, and rode west until they ran into Eighth Route Army detachments.
In the early period of the war, commanders generally wanted to rely on more mobile forms of warfare. Mao, however, insisted on a strategy of de-escalation and dispersion: breaking the 8RA and New Fourth Army into small units as nuclei for combat, recruitment, political work, and base-area construction. Under this approach, few engagements could be truly dramatic in scale, and most were constrained by the need to survive. Each skirmish had to be carefully planned. The CCP would use local intelligence and the element of surprise so that a detachment could strike and withdraw before its limited ammunition ran out or before enemy reinforcements arrived. Small Japanese patrols and puppet units could be ambushed not only to seize weapons and other material, but also to inflict casualties. Active collaborators, or Japanese-sponsored administrative personnel, could be assassinated.
Above all, Communist action aimed to disrupt transportation: mining roads; cutting down telegraph poles, stealing wire, and cutting rail lines; sabotaging rolling stock; and, at times, carrying off steel rails so that primitive arsenals could be supplied. Attempting derailments was also part of the effort. Destroying a bridge or a locomotive counted as a major achievement. Both the Communists and the Japanese understood that these tactics did not decisively shift the overall strategic balance. Still, they worked at other levels. For the Japanese, the result was a constant series of small woundsâpainful, bleeding, and potentially infectious. Few areas in the countryside felt truly safe. Japanese field commanders documented growing frustration as they tried to eliminate resistance, restore administration, collect taxes, and prepare for more systematic and effective economic exploitation of conquered territory.
Guerrilla warfare against the Japanese cannot be judged only in conventional battle termsânumbers of engagements, casualties, or territory occupied. It had to be evaluated politically and psychologically as well, exactly as Mao repeatedly emphasized. Since the CCP's wartime legitimacy depended on its patriotic claims, enough fighting had to be carried out to maintain credibility. Moreover, military success mattered for mobilizing the "basic masses," persuading wavering people to keep an open mind, and neutralizing opposition. As the logic put it, it was not that people always chose the side that was winning, but that few would ever join a side they believed was losing.
One experienced cadre described the effect this way:
Among the guerrilla units⊠there is a saying that "victory decides everything."
No matter how hard it has been to recruit troops, supply the army, raise the masses' anti-Japanese fervor or win over the masses' sympathy, after a victory in battle the masses fall all over themselves to send us flour, steamed bread, meat, and vegetables. The masses' pessimistic and defeatist psychology is broken down, and many new guerrilla soldiers swarm in.
But once the Japanese began to demand a heavy price for every engagementâwhether the Communists won or notâthis attitude began to change.
In North and Central China, the Japanese earliest pacification sweeps created comparatively little trouble for the CCP. At first, the Japanese made few distinctions among Chinese forces. They simply tried to mop up or disperse them without regard to character. Over time, however, they realized that these sweeps actually made it easier for the CCP to expand. By the second half of 1939, Japanese methods became more discriminating. Chinese non-Communist forces would step aside while the Japanese hunted specifically for the 8RA, the N4A, and their local affiliates. The Japanese also made more direct appeals to non-Communist forces. According to Japanese army statistics, during the eighteen months from mid-1939 to late 1940, around 70,000 men from more or less regular Nationalist units in North China alone went over to the Japanese. The Japanese also reached informal "understandings" with several regional commanders whose forces together might have totaled as many as 300,000 men.
This, of course, corresponded to what the CCP denounced as "crooked-line patriotism"âthe "crooked-line" collaboration that preserved certain units so they could be used in future anti-Communist operations.
When pacification efforts were intensified from late 1939 and throughout 1940, differences also appeared in the strategies Japanese armies used in North versus Central China. In North China, the approach relied heavily on military means, with political tactics limited largely to recruiting collaborators. In Central China, Japanese authorities did not hesitate to use military force, but they also attempted to supplement it with more comprehensive political and economic solutions by setting up tightly controlled "model peace zones." Although both approaches ultimately failed, they created enormous difficulties for Chinese Communistsâuntil, in 1943, the Japanese were forced to ease off because the Pacific War against the United States became too burdensome.
Careful reading of detailed intra-party documents suggests that repression also demobilized peasant support and terrorized populations into apathy, grudging acquiescence, or even active collaboration with the Japanese. In a locality already reduced from consolidated base status to guerrilla status, capacity and will were often too weak to administer complex reforms in systematic fashion. In other words, passive survivalâdefensive survivalâwas at least as important as what lay behind the heroic public images the Party projected.
Systematic pacification in North China in late 1939 and 1940 radiated outward. It moved from areas held more or less firmly by the Japanese and their puppets into guerrilla and contested zones. The ultimate objective was to crush resistance or render it ineffective. The method was first to sweep the area clear of anti-Japanese elements, and then to establish a chain of interconnected strongpoints that could quickly reinforce one another. After that, puppet government would be expanded so it could take increasing responsibility for civil administration and "pacification maintenance," while Japanese forces repeated the initial steps further outward into contested territory. Violence was used selectively against individuals, groups, or villages accused of acts of resistance. This selective violence aimed to deter active participation in CCP-led programs, deprive Communist forces of a population willing to shelter them, and persuade informers to come forward. That was, at least, the theory of the strategy.
In practice, the basic framework of the strategy depended on the main transport lines. Railways and roadsâif properly fortified and protectedâcould separate resistance forces from one another and deny them one of their most effective weapons: mobility. These "cage" tactics (chiyu-lung, "jiu-lung") made it possible to enlarge pacified areas by "nibbling" outward, "as a silkworm feeds on mulberry leaves" (ts'an-shih). At the same time, the approach aimed to exploit North China's economy more effectively. To this end, the Japanese worked to improve and extend both railway and road networks.
When the war began, in Shanxi the Cheng-Tai (ShijiazhuangâTaiyuan) and Tong-Pu (DatongâTongguan) lines were metre-gauge, incompatible with the standard-gauge lines elsewhere in Chinaâpart of Yan Xishan's design to prevent deeper penetration into his province. By the end of 1939, the Japanese used forced labor to convert both lines to standard gauge. One benefit was the easier transportation of high-quality anthracite coal from the Qingxing mines (on the Cheng-Tai line) to industrial users in North China and Manchukuo.
Of the newly constructed roads and railway lines, the most important was the Te-Shih lineâfrom Dezhou in northeastern Shandong to Shijiazhuang. Construction began in June 1940 and finished in November, connecting the TianjinâPukou, BeipingâHankou, and Cheng-Tai lines. This made it easier to move troops and transport raw cotton. Once the TeâShih link was completed, the Japanese had direct connections between the point of their furthest advance at the elbow of the Yellow River and all major cities of North China, and beyond to Manchukuo. Communist sources began to speak of a "transportation war," noting with concern the moats and ditches, the blockhouses, and the frequent patrols protecting the lines.
Both militarily and economically, these measures weighed heavily on forces led by the Communists in North China and on the populations under their controlâespecially the plains of central and eastern Hebei. One indicator of effectiveness was the rapid decline in "acts of sabotage" against North China railways in 1939 and the first half of 1940. A cadre in Jin-Cha-Ji reported in mid-1940: "The enemy has adopted a blockhouse policy, like that of the Jiangxi Soviet. They are spread like a constellation. In central Hebei alone, there are about 500, separated by one to three miles."
Normal trading patterns were disrupted as Japanese or puppet occupiers took over administrative and commercial centers, and peasants found themselves caught between regulations imposed by the Communists on one side and those enforced by the other side. Finally, landlords, moneylenders, loafers, banditsâeveryone who felt damaged by the new order inside base areasâcould use pacification programs to try to recover influence or simply take revenge. Some became informers. After 8RA and local units were driven away, they could kill remaining cadres or activists and settle scores with the peasants who had supported them. Until the "first anti-Communist upsurge" was defeated, local elites and other disaffected elements might also seek support from Nationalists. It was even possible for an armed band to operate for several months inside consolidated regions of the CCP base, killing cadres as it went.
Peng Dehuai later recalled this period in a way that underscored how pressure translated into wavering and collapse. Under the enemy's brutal pressure, in some districts the masses even hesitated or capitulated. From March to July 1940, large areas of the North China base were reduced to guerrilla regions. Before the "Cage-bursting battle",, they controlled only two county seats: Pingxun in the Taihang mountains and Pien-kuan in northwest Shanxi. Masses who previously had one set of obligations now had twoâone toward the anti-Japanese regime and one toward the puppet regime. The situation in North China had not yet become a full crisis, but it was certainly serious. Action was needed to regain initiative.
On 22 July 1940, Zhu De, Commander-in-Chief of the Eighth Route Army, Peng Dehuai Deputy Commander-in-Chief, and Zuo Quan Deputy Chief of Staff jointly issued the Preliminary Battle Order, laying out the strategic goals for the coming operation. The order stated: "To respond to the enemy's 'prison cage policy,' obstruct its advance toward Xi'an, create favorable conditions in the North China theater, and strike at the national resistance initiative, we have decided to take advantage of the concealment provided by tall summer millet and the rainy season to carry out a large-scale sabotage operation on the ShijiazhuangâTaiyuan railway (ZhengâTai Line)." It required the participation of at least 22 regiments from the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region, the 129th Division, and the 120th Division. The main objective was to "completely destroy key points along the ZhengâTai Line" and to "cut the railway for a prolonged period."
On 8 August, the headquarters of the Eighth Route Army issued the Operational Battle Order, further clarifying how forces would be deployed. The Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region was assigned to attack the eastern section of the ZhengâTai Railway (from Niangzi Pass to Shijiazhuang). The 129th Division was assigned the western section (from Niangzi Pass to Yuci). The 120th Division was tasked with targeting the northern segment of the Tongpu Railway and the FenâLi Highway. The order also required all troops to begin combat operations on 20 August, and emphasized that "the success of the campaign should be assessed primarily by the extent of damage inflicted on the ZhengâTai Line."
The operation was prepared under strict secrecy. Various elements of the Eighth Route Army conducted thorough preparations before the campaign. Reconnaissance teams, hidden and protected with the help of local villagers, penetrated deep into areas near the ShijiazhuangâTaiyuan railway to carefully map Japanese strongholds, enemy troop dispositions, and local terrain. At the same time, both military and civilian communities mobilized to stockpile grain, ammunition, and tools needed for railway sabotage; blacksmiths were organized to manufacture crowbars, pickaxes, and other essential equipment. Specialized military training covered demolition methods and techniques for dismantling railways, including tactics such as heating and bending steel rails. Civilian mobilization played a crucial role: militia and support teams took on tasks such as transport, medical aid, and coordination with military units. In Central Shanxi alone, more than 10,000 militia members were mobilized. The Eighth Route Army headquarters repeatedly stressed the need for operational confidentiality, stating: "Before the battle begins, the plan must remain strictly classified; until preparations are completed, the campaign objective may be disclosed only to brigade-level commanders." With the cover of dense summer millet, troops secretly assembled within their designated operational areas.
Before the battle, the Japanese North China Area Army estimated the strength of the communist regular forces at about 88,000 men in December 1939. Two years later, they revised the estimate to 140,000. On the eve of the battle, communist forces had grown to between 200,000 and 400,000 men, organized in 105 regiments. By 1940, the growth had become so significant that Zhu De ordered a coordinated offensive by most of the communist regular unitsâ46 regiments from the 115th Division, 47 from the 129th, and 22 from the 120thâagainst Japanese-held cities and the railway lines that connected them. According to the Communist Party's official statement, the battle began on 20 August.
On August 20, 1940, the rain didn't stop the campaignâit changed the battlefield. It slowed movement, blurred distance, and turned rivers and muddy roads into obstacles that could just as easily trap your own men as your enemy's. Along the districts bordering the Zhengtai Railway, the Eighth Route Army still moved, slipping through valleys and river crossings, bypassing Japanese posts, and positioning forces on both sides of the line as night settled in. By dark, the plan became a coordinated strike meant to hit the enemy before they could properly react. Across the entire Zhengtai Railway, attacks went out with timing designed to disorient Japanese defendersâso that their "first realization" arrived only after the railway itself was already being attacked and the window to respond effectively had slipped away.
A key portion of that strike fell to the right column of the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region, centered on the 5th and 19th Regiments, with the mission of sabotaging the Niangziguan to Luanliu section. At 20:00 on August 20, part of the 5th Regiment infiltrated Niangziguan Village for the first time, overwhelmed the puppet troops stationed there, and seized the village by dawn. After that opening cut, the main force moved in to cover the engineers, destroy enemy fortifications, and blow up the Guandong Railway Bridge. When the sabotage was done, they withdrew from Niangziguan on their own initiative, leaving the enemy to deal with the destruction rather than being pulled into a long, grinding engagement.
That same night, at Mohe Beach along the Zhengtai line, another action unfolded. The 1st Company of the 1st Battalion of the 5th Regiment attacked the station and was immediately met with a counterattack by Japanese forces. By dawn on August 21, the company withdrewâan adjustment, not defeatâand then attacked again the same night after crossing the Mian River. This time the enemy retreated into barracks to resist more stubbornly, with nearly 1,000 Japanese troops holding Mohe Beach. Heavy rain had swollen the river and made foot crossing nearly impossible, but the attackers seized the village west of the station and held it. On August 22 afternoon, more than 400 Japanese troops counterattacked; the main force of the 5th Regiment hit from the north bank of the Mian River in a fire assault, killing more than 50 before withdrawing the 1st Company out of the fighting. The 19th Regiment, meanwhile, took Jucheng and Irrang stations, tightening the pressure on the railway corridor.
On August 23, 1940, the 5th Regiment recaptured Niangziguan and blew up the stone bridge east of the village, destroying the railway segment between Chengjialongdi and Mohetan. That night the 19th Regiment stormed Yirang Station and blew up the water tower and the railway, ensuring the disruption would not be temporary. From August 24 to 27, bridges near Yanhuiâstone and woodenâwere destroyed again and again. Under that continuous pressure, beginning on August 25, Japanese transportation along the Niangziguan to Luanliu section of the Zhengtai Road was cut off completely. Strongholds were left to fight more or less alone, unable to coordinate or move supplies the way they normally would.
While the right column worked the railway, other forces hit the system from different angles. The Central Column of the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Regionâcomprised of the 2nd, 3rd, and 16th Regimentsâtook responsibility for sabotaging the Zhengtai Road segment from Niangziguan to Weishui and for striking the Jingxing Coal Mine area. On the night of August 20, the 3rd Regiment launched coordinated attacks on the Gangtou old mine and the Dongwangshe new mine of Jingxing, and with miners assisting, the 1st Battalion quickly stormed the new mine and annihilated part of the enemy garrison. The rest withdrew into bunkers, resisting as best they could. By the afternoon of the next day, the entire enemy force had been wiped out. Afterward, major buildings in the mining area were destroyed and most materials were removed so that the mine could not resume production for more than six months. The 3rd Regiment also captured Jiazhuang, reinforcing the idea that sabotage here meant disabling not just lines of movement, but also the flow of resources.
Elsewhere, Japanese positions were disrupted in smaller, targeted strikes that still added up. After the Japanese stronghold at Nanzheng destroyed the railway between Nanzheng and Weishui, the 2nd Regiment took the eastern end fortress of the Faluling Railway Bridge, covered the engineers as they blew up a section of the bridge, and briefly occupied Caizhuang. The 2nd Battalion of the 16th Regiment attacked Beiyu on the night of August 20, annihilating most defenders, and on August 21 it covered the engineers to destroy the Beiyu Stone Bridge. Other units struck Didu and annihilated most defenders in Nanyu. By August 24, the Central Column had learned that more than 1,000 Japanese troops were stationed in Jingxing County, with additional reinforcements moving toward Nanyu and Didu. Their response was practical: detachments were assigned to watch and harass along the railway while the main force gathered in mobile positionsâwaiting for the next opening rather than charging blindly into concentrated strength.
Meanwhile, the left column of the Jin-Cha-Ji effortâfrom the 2nd Regiment of the Jizhong Garrison Brigade, the Military Region Special Service Regiment, and the Pingjinghuo Detachmentâfocused on sabotage from Weishui to Shijiazhuang. On the night of August 20, the Pingjinghuo Detachment attacked Yanfeng and blew up the railway. The Special Service Regiment moved with massed efforts as they destroyed power lines and highways from Yanfeng to Weizhou. On the night of August 22, the Special Service Regiment attacked Shang'an Station. On August 23, the 2nd Regiment stormed Touquan Station, captured two fortresses, then withdrew from the railway line; from August 25 to 27, they destroyed the highway connecting Pingshan, Huolu, Weishui, and Yanfeng.
While the main blow was falling along the Zhengtai Railway, the 129th Division was assigned raids on the western section. That area included the Japanese Independent Mixed Brigade No. 4 headquarters, a coal mine base at Yangquan, and support from Independent Mixed Brigade No. 9 from Yuci. These raids weren't only about destructionâthey were meant to disorient, to create confusion over where the main pressure truly was. After the general offensive began at 20:00 on August 20, five companies of the 16th Regiment attacked Lujiazhuang Station and captured bunkers. Two guerrilla-operating companies in Yuci worked with engineers to destroy bridges between Lujiazhuang and Duanting. The 38th Regiment surprised Shanghu and Heshangzu stations, while the 25th Regiment captured Mashou Station and pushed Japanese troops toward Shouyang. The division's right-wing sabotage unitâ28th and 30th Regiments of the newly formed 10th Brigadeâtook on sabotage on the YangquanâShouyang section, splitting routes on the night of August 20 to attack stations like Langyu, Zhangjing, Qinquan, and then striking additional positions with the 30th Regiment. Across that window, stations and strongholds such as Sangzhang, Yanzigou, Langyu, and Qinquan were taken, iron bridges were destroyed, and additional stations including Potou, Xinzhuang, Saiyu, Tielugou, Xiaozhuang, and Zhangzhuang were seized or disrupted.
As the western sabotage deepened, Japanese response hardenedâbut the ability to coordinate weakened. With the Zhengtai line sabotaged, the western section came under the 129th Division's control except for a few places such as Shouyang. Fierce assaults forced Japanese forces to lose contact with each other within days. Strongholds were attacked, besieged, and then annihilated as communication and coordination broke down. The 129th Division mobilized local people to destroy railway facilities, stations, and installations using demolition, burning, and flooding, moving materials so the railway and related infrastructure were effectively erased rather than merely damaged.
To cover these operations, the division occupied Shinaoshan with the 14th Regiment of the general reserve. Starting the morning of August 21, Japanese forces concentrated in Yangquan and attacked Shinaoshan daily. Enemy strength reportedly rose from more than 200 to more than 600, supported by bombing and strafing and the release of poison. The 14th Regiment held out until August 25, repelling repeated attacks, and by August 26 additional pressure came again as reinforcements increased. After six days and nightsâand the annihilation of more than 400 enemy soldiersâthe 14th Regiment withdrew from the main peak of Shinaoshan, continuing to contain the Japanese with smaller detachments while the main force shifted to another mission.
The first phase of sabotage had succeeded, but the campaign did not allow complacency. The Japanese strengthened their presence along the railway and launched frequent counterattacks, and Japanese divisions in southern Shanxiâincluding the 36th, 37th, and 41stâprepared to reinforce from the north. On August 26, the Eighth Route Army Headquarters issued instructions for a second phase: continue breaking through the road, concentrate superior forces, and annihilate Japanese units smaller than a battalion that were attacking or reinforcing. In line with that guidance, the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region ordered the Jin-You Column to keep breaking through the road on August 27 for one or two days, while the 129th Division alternated daily in breaking through. Under sustained pressure, the western section of the Zhengtai Road was basically destroyed; transportation was effectively cut off except for a few towns such as Shouyang and Yangquan.
On September 2, orders were issued to conclude the Zhengtai Campaign starting from the 3rd and shift forces according to the second-step plan. As the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region launched the Mengbei Campaign, the 129th Division shifted toward attacking invading Japanese forces, while other tasksâsuch as attacking the He-Liao Highway and recovering cities of He and Liaoâwere left for later. Beginning September 2, the Military Region deployed the 2nd, 5th, 16th, and 19th Regiments toward areas north of Meng County and Shouyang to recapture enemy strongholds. With the railway sabotaged, the Japanese main force north of Meng County shifted south to reinforce, weakening garrisons and spreading panic among the strongholds. As fierce offensives intensified, garrison troops began to waver. By the afternoon of September 5, Japanese troops at Xiashe, supported by troops from Shangshe, retreated to Shangshe and fled toward Meng County overnight. That night, the 19th Regiment arrived near Shangshe and, together with the Special Service Battalion of the 2nd Military Sub-district, pursued. The 1st Battalion of the 19th Regiment advanced into Shenquan and Putian to cut off the retreat route. By 9:00 AM on September 6 the enemy was surrounded in Xingdao Village, and after five hours of intense fighting most forces were annihilated. Survivors fled east to Luolizhang Mountain, only to be surrounded again by the 19th, 5th, and 16th Regiments. By the night of September 9, most Japanese forces had been wiped out, though more than 40 men broke through in dense fog and escaped into Meng County.
The siege continued through bitter episodes involving attacks and withdrawals under poison, with both sides paying heavily for every moment of progress. Eventually, on September 11, Japanese troops in Xiyan escaped back to Meng County, helped by more than 200 Japanese already present there. Meanwhile, the Japanese attempted to counter the pressure: on September 4 they sent more than 2,000 troops to reinforce Meng County and began a counterattack. On September 10, the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region ordered the 19th and 5th Regiments to remain east and north of Meng County to coordinate with the 129th and 120th Divisions, while the rest prepared for new missions.
As fighting intensified around Zhengtai and Meng County, a parallel pressure campaign unfolded. To contain Eighth Route Army sabotage along Zhengtai, the Japanese assembled battalions from Independent Mixed 4th and 9th Brigades to strike the 129th Division. In response, the 120th Division began large-scale sabotage against the Tongpu Railway and major highways in northwestern Shanxi starting 20:00 on August 20. They captured enemy strongholds along rail and road lines, striking major bases such as Kangjiahui on the Xinjing Highway, where more than 50 Japanese and puppet troops were stationed, and also attacking other areas like Shishen, Lizhen, and Jingle. Ambushes were set to annihilate reinforcements arriving from different directions, and at 00:30 on August 21 the 2nd Battalion of the 4th Regiment attacked Kangjiahui and annihilated the defenders by dawn. Reinforcements arriving in cars were destroyed, and subsequent actions continued to expand the disruption.
Over more than 180 battles in northwestern Shanxi, the 120th Division annihilated more than 800 Japanese and puppet troops and captured or destroyed stations and strongholds including Kangjiahui, Yangfangkou, Pingshe, and Longquan. By disrupting the Tongpu Railway and transportation along the Xinjing, Taifen, and Fenli highways, they tied down Japanese forces and made it harder to reinforce Zhengtai. In practical terms, this meant the first phase of the Hundred Regiments Offensiveâlasting about three weeksâended on September 10 with major railway lines and motor roads attacked repeatedly. Roadbeds, bridges, switching yards, and installations were hit heavily; at the Qingxing coal mines, facilities were destroyed and production was halted for nearly a year.
By the end of that first phase, the campaign's logic had become clearer: once the Japanese leaned more heavily on a "cage-and-strongpoint" defense system, the same transport network that had supported their defense became less secure. When rail and road were repeatedly disrupted, strongpoints became more vulnerableâespecially if Japanese units pulled out nearby detachments to respond to sabotage. So the campaign shifted from breaking transportation to attacking blockhouses and other strongpoints in contested areas, aiming to force Japanese forces back into well-defended garrisons and leave the countryside again contested by Communist forces.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
From 20 August 1940, under secrecy and rain, units of the 8th Route Army infiltrated stations, captured villages, destroyed bridges, power lines, roads, mines, and stations across multiple columns. By early September the Zhengtai and related Tongpu transport routes were repeatedly severed, forcing Japanese troops to fight isolated strongpoints and hindering reinforcement.
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Last time we spoke about the battle Yaoyi. Japan pushed hard into Hubei with a plan: surround the main Chinese forces and seize Yichang, hoping to use it to strike at Chongqing. At first, the fighting was chaotic and punishing. The Chinese side tried to hold the line and disrupt the advance, and they even managed setbacks for the Japanese, pushing back, retaking key ground, and hitting supply and positioning weaknesses. But victory came with a cost: commanders were lost, and every gain was hard-won. Still, the battle didn't unfold as a clean Chinese retreat or a simple Japanese win. As Japanese units shifted and tested for openings, the Chinese forces adjustedâdelaying, regrouping, and fighting to keep their formations from being completely trapped. Eventually, Japan managed to break through at critical moments, especially through crossings and maneuvers that the Chinese had not fully sealed off. In the end, Japan succeeded in taking Yichang, but it didn't achieve the decisive annihilation it wanted.
#201 The New Fourth Army Incident and the Strained United Front
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
After the catastrophe of the early 1930s, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) entered the war against Japan in a political mood that was both hopeful and wary: it wanted to be seen as a genuine national leader of resistance, yet it also feared being absorbedâor destroyedâby the Guomindang (KMT) state it had spent years battling. That tension became the organizing principle of the war's early years.
The turning point came from the Xi'an Incident in December 1936, which forced a new calculation in Nationalist politics. In the months that followed, agreements between KMT and CCP representatives were publicly proclaimed in August and September 1937, after the Shanghai fighting began. Under these arrangements, the CCP accepted constraints that in peacetime would have looked like surrender: it pledged to strive for Sun Yixian's "Three People's Principles," to end its former policies of armed revolt and sovietization, to abolish the soviet government, and to discontinue both the term "Red Army" and the expectation that its forces would operate outside central control. Communist troops would be treated as part of the national military under KMT command, and the revolution's old administrative structures were to be formally dismantled.
In return, the KMT offered the CCP something just as important: space to exist publicly and politically. Liaison offices were permitted in key cities; the CCP was allowed to publish the New China Daily; and it could nominate representatives to KMT advisory bodies. Civil rights were extendedâpolitical prisoners were releasedâand subsidies were established to help cover administrative and military expenses in "reintegrated" areas and territories. The war thus transformed the tactical reality on the ground: the CCP could not treat the KMT as an immediate enemy, but it also could not afford to become politically passive. It had to learn how to fight Japan while building legitimacy fast enough to survive the next phase.
In the first year and a half, the Party Center focused on three problems that kept returning in different forms: how the "united front" would be definedâespecially what the CCP's relationship to the National government should be; how to coordinate military strategy and tactics with Nationalist units without losing control of its own operations; and how leadership should be consolidated, particularly for Mao Zedong in a party that still contained rival centers of authority. These disputes mattered not just for doctrine but for survival, because the CCP's autonomy was constantly being tested by the very alliance that was supposed to protect it.
Mao's own approach to the united front combined cooperation with a refusal to surrender independence. Publicly, the CCP praised Jiang Jieshi and the KMT and promised unity, but it did so in language that was deliberately broad. In private (and in internal party debates), Mao treated unity as conditional: the CCP must not split the united front, but it also must not be "bound hand and foot." The strategic idea that emerged was political initiative under constraintsâfighting when it could plausibly claim justification, keeping enough restraint that the CCP would not appear self-interested or anti-national, and deciding for itself when to engage and when to withdraw.
This balance was reinforced through military reorganization. In AugustâSeptember 1937, CCP forces were reorganized as the Eighth Route Army (8RA), with roughly 30,000 men drawn from Long March survivors, local forces, and new recruits. The 8RA was divided into three divisions: the 115th, 120th, and 129th, commanded by Lin Biao, He Long, and Liu Bocheng respectively. Shortly after the war began, the National government also authorized a second major Communist force: the New Fourth Army (N4A), to operate in central China. Its core came from those left behind when the Long March began in 1934âsmall groups surviving in difficult conditions against continuing KMT pressure. Officially authorized at 12,000, it took months to reach that strength. Nominally commanded by Ye Ting, actual military and political control rested with Xiang Ying and Chen Yi. From the start, then, the CCP's wartime "integration" with the National system coexisted with a clear effort to preserve internal control.
Ideologically, the CCP worked to make its revolutionary program compatibleâat least in appearanceâwith a national resistance coalition. On the New Democracy demonstrated how this strategy operated on two levels. In KMT-controlled spaces, its language could be read as aligning with liberal-democratic expectations: public participation, multi-party governance, legally protected civil rights. But in CCP-controlled areas, the same text could carry sharper class-based and authoritarian implications. The Party wanted a united front that broadened support without becoming committed to Nationalist limits on how society itself might be reorganized after victory.
Meanwhile, even as the rhetoric of unity rose, the CCP worried about something more dangerous than military setbacks: the possibility that the KMT might accommodate Japan. Late 1939 and early 1940 made this fear harder to dismiss. Japan pursued collaboration with Wang Jingwei, culminating in the establishment of a "reorganized" government at Nanjing in March 1940. At the same time, Japanese intermediaries sought approaches to Chiang Kai-shek himselfâan effort that the CCP tracked closely as a sign that peace negotiations might be possible even when battlefield conditions looked grim. Propaganda was involved, but the anxiety was real: if Japan and the Nationalists reached an arrangement, the CCP's whole wartime legitimacy-building effort could collapse overnight.
As a result, the united front was interpreted inside the CCP not as a permanent coalition with the KMT, but as a flexible strategy with a cardinal purpose: to prevent peace between Japan and the Nationalists. Mao's position on the united front reflected this. For him, the alliance was meant to suspend the possibility of a ChinaâJapan settlement, not to end the CCP's separate identity. The CCP could participate in a reconstituted national frameworkâpossibly even a "democratic republic"âto gain legality and influence, but it should remain politically and, where possible, physically separate from the KMT.
By 1939, however, the practical meaning of "flexibility" collided with reality. What had seemed, to some observers, like an unusually cordial entente began to fade. The KMT Central Committee adopted measures early in 1939 aimed at restricting Communist expansion, and armed clashes increased through the summer and continued into autumn and winterâespecially around North China Communist bases. The period of rising conflict was later labeled by the CCP as the "first anti-Communist upsurge" (roughly spanning December 1939 into March 1940), but the crucial point was that both sides viewed each confrontation as a test of legal rights, moral legitimacy, and control over territory.
Strategically, the CCP understood the KMT's effort as an attempt to check unauthorized growth of Communist armed power and to recover areas where influence had already slipped awayâeither to the Communists or, by indirect effect, to Japan. The KMT emphasized its traditional legal authority; the CCP countered with its claim to an "evolutionary" moral right to challenge the government's legitimacy. In practice, the conflict took the form of increasingly systematic military pressure, including a blockade around the ShenâGanâNing region. By this point, the blockade involved large numbers of troops (on the order of hundreds of thousands), halting Communist expansion and disrupting direct contact with other Communist forces farther afield, even as fighting flared along border zones and around vulnerable points in the Communist defensive perimeter.
So, by the edge of the "middle years," the wartime alliance had not broken into open civil warâbut it had also stopped being secure. The united front survived, yet it operated under strain: its language of cooperation continued, while "friction" between partners hardened into a central feature of the resistance struggle.
Transition into the war's second phase began in early 1939, shaped by the stalemate Mao had already anticipated at the sixth plenum in late 1938. Mao argued that during this prolonged "new stage" the forces of resistanceâabove all, Communist-led forcesâwould strengthen. The overall result, however, was mixed. In Shandong and Central China, new Communist bases did take shape. But across much of North China, Japanese consolidation cost the resistance heavily in manpower and population. Base-area economies suffered serious strain, and the peasantry endured hardships more severe than at any earlier point.
This stalemate had two main dimensions. The first was the growing resentment of the Nationalists toward Communist expansionâresentment made especially sharp by their own losses. As the Nationalists were driven out of regions that had previously provided them their greatest wealth and power in the central and lower Yangtze basin, they also lost the "cream" of their armies. In contrast, the CCP was spreading through the wider countryside behind Japanese lines, extending its influence and winning broader popular support.
The second dimension was Japan's desireâand needâto consolidate territories it had only nominally conquered and to extract economic value from them. After all, the logic of the "China Incident" was to draw on China's labor and resources to strengthen Japan, not to bleed Japan's gains away by draining wealth into China's vast interior.
A Japanese colonel, lamenting the situation, captured the frustration of this drift into deeper entanglement: he regretted that Japan had not ended the "China Incident" once its initial objectives were reached. Instead, Japan was drawn into the hinterland and became bogged down in endless attritionâleaving it with little more than "real estate" rather than the popular support it believed it would secure from those it claimed to "liberate."
To improve their position, Japanese authoritiesâstill fragmented by internal rivalryâpursued several strategies. One was a new peace offensive aimed simultaneously at Jiang Jieshi, alongside efforts to establish a "reformed" Nationalist government under Wang Jingwei, who had fled Chongqing in December 1938. Japan also recruited more collaborators and puppet officials. Finally, it carried out forceful military, political, and economic measures intended to establish effective territorial control and eliminate opposition.
During the middle years of the war, the Communists described their conflicts with the Nationalists using the euphemism "friction". By 1939, what many observersâpossibly incorrectlyâhad viewed as an unusually warm alliance began to break down. In early 1939, the KMT Central Committee adopted measures meant to restrict the CCP. From the summer onward, military clashes began and continued into autumn and winter with increasing frequency and intensity, most of them concentrated around and within the North China base areas.
The Communists later labeled the period from December 1939 to March 1940 the "first anti-Communist upsurge." Naturally, each side accused the other of aggression and claimed self-defense against unjust attacks. Strategically, though, the North China "upsurge" functioned as a Nationalist attempt to limit the CCP's expansion beyond the areas assigned to it and to regain influence in regions the Communistsâor the Japaneseâhad already taken from the KMT. Jiang Jieshi framed the matter as a defense of legal rights grounded in tradition, while the Communists asserted an "evolutionary" right to challenge the moral legitimacy of those legal claims.
During 1939, the Nationalists began to blockade ShenâGanâNing around its southern and western perimeter. Within a year, this blockade grew to nearly 400,000 troops, including some of the last remaining Central Army units under the command of Hu Zongnan. The blockade stopped further Communist expansion, especially into Gansu and Suiyuan, and severed direct contact between SKN and Communists operating in Xinjiang (Chinese Turkestan) adjacent to Soviet Central Asia. The Xinjiang Communistsâincluding Mao Zedong's brotherâwere eliminated in 1942. Meanwhile, fierce fighting erupted along the GansuâShaanxi border and in the north-eastern corner of SKN near the Great Wall at Suide, as the blockading forces probed for weak points. Elements of He Long's 120th Division were even pulled back from the JinâSui base across the Yellow River to strengthen SKN's regular defenses.
Economically, the blockade was even more damaging. During 1939, central government subsidies to the Border Region budget were cut off. Trade between the Border Region and other parts of China nearly stopped, a devastating blow to a region unable to supply itself with many basic commodities.
At the same time, Nationalist and regional forces also attempted to expand their military and administrative authority into Hebei, Shanxi, Henan, and Shandongâareas the CCP now considered its base zones. In resisting these efforts, the CCP predictable accused its rivals of harming resistance work and damaging the people's interests. The "experts in dissension" were said to cooperate with the Japanese and their puppets. Based on increasing collaboration by regional units with Japan, the CCP implied that this was a deliberate and cynical strategyâdescribed as "crooked-line patriotism"âintended to preserve those units for future anti-Communist operations.
Even so, the CCP tried to avoid an open break with the Nationalist regime in Chongqing. In public, it consistently portrayed these clashes as being initiated by local commanders acting beyond orders from higher authorityâdespite knowing this depiction was false. Jiang Jieshi, unable to refute the claim outright, effectively permitted it to serve as the justification for a firm Communist response.
Mao Zedong outlined the general resistance policy as "justification, expedience, and restraint". The CCP was to fight when it could claim justification and when it could gain advantage, but not to press attacks beyond what the Nationalists would tolerate or in ways that could damage its image as selfless patriots. Communist forces were expected to keep initiative as much as possible in their own handsâdeciding when to engage, whether to engage, and when to disengage.
The most striking episode of the "first anti-Communist upsurge" was the rupture with Yan Xishan in December 1939. Tensions in Shanxi had been rising throughout the summer and autumn, as Yan and his conservative supportersâassociated with the "Old Army"âlinked the Sacrifice League and the Dare-to-die Corps of the "New Army" with Communist forces. When base areas and Japanese occupation eventually took over much of his province, Yan was forced into exile at Qiulin across the Yellow River in Shaanxi. In November, Yan ordered his Old Army to disarm the Dare-to-die forces with help from central units dispatched by Hu Zongnan. In the bloody fighting that followed, these elements gradually broke free of even nominal provincial control and fully completed their connection with Communist forces. More than 30,000 people went over to the Communists.
One KMT intelligence agent described the process with bitterness and a sense of inevitability: the Communists were first "full of sweet words," flattery, and distortions designed to open things up and conceal their actions. But once they had fully entrenched themselves, and once the low-level base had been established, they turned and bit. The agent suggested they had suspected things might end this way, but were not aware how quickly events would moveâor that it could happen precisely while Communist calls for "united front" and "maintenance of unity for resistance" filled the air.
About a month later, in February and March 1940, elements of the 8RA beat back this so-called upsurge. Zhang Yinwu's forces were disarmed and dispersed across the plains of north Hebei. To the south, Chu Huaiping and Shi Yusan were pushed out of the base area, as was the KMT-appointed provincial governor Lu Zhonglin. Although some non-Communist forces remained in the region, the CCP's and CCLY bases were never again seriously threatened by forces affiliated with the central government. Reinforcing the CCP's accusations, Shi Yusan was later executed in 1940 by the central government for collaboration with the Japanese.
By late 1939, CCP central authorities maintained that the areas where the CCP could expand its armed strength were mainly limited to Shandong and Central China. In those regions, the CCP continued trying to carve out bases where they could operate.
The situation in Shandong was complicated. After the Japanese invasion, most Nationalist-affiliated forces stayed in the province, while Communist forces and bases were weaker and more scattered than further west. Only in late 1938 did major 8RA units from the 115th and 129th Divisionsâled by Xu Xiangqian and Luo Ronghuanâenter Shandong to link up with the Shandong column and local guerrillas, including survivors of a large band recently decimated by the Japanese. Even with these efforts, Communist actions led to clashes not only with Japanese forces but also with various Nationalist-affiliated groupsâgroups that were stronger than the Communists at the time.
Until late 1940, the CCP's clashes with Nationalist forces in Shandong were actually bloodier than clashes with the Japanese. The CCP understood that its Chinese rivals mistrusted one another, and that their attitudes toward the CCP varied widely. The main Nationalist forces were often not tightly affiliated with Chiang Kai-shek or the central government. Instead, they operated under independentâand at times disgruntledâregional commanders. Communist tactics were expressed through slogans emphasizing ways to win support and isolate hardliners: develop progressive forces and win over fence-sitters while isolating "die-hards"; flatter top echelons, enlist the middle ranks, and hit the rank and file; and win over Yi Xuezhong, isolate Shen Honglie, and eliminate Qin Qirong.
Still, unlike other North China base areas, the Communists were unable for several years to neutralize Nationalist forces in Shandong. Even if Japanese mop-up campaigns had not weakened those Nationalists, the text suggests the Communists may still have struggled to do so. By November 1940, Xu Xiangqian claimed meaningful progress while admitting Shandong had not yet become a fully consolidated base. CCP successes were greatest along parts of the ShandongâHebei border, around the Taishan massif in central Shandong, and near the tip of the peninsula far to the east. Elsewhere, "progressive forces" remained weak.
Communist regular troops numbered about 70,000, which was far below the party center's goals of 150,000 regulars and between 1.5 and 2 million self-defense forces. Moreover, systematic economic reforms had barely begun. The CCP relied on familiar practicesâconfiscations, collections of "national salvation grain," contributions, and loansâalongside a conventional taxation system adjusted to favor poorer peasants.
Communist expansion in Central China was even riskier, with a greater likelihood of large-scale conflict with central government forces than in the north. In much of North China, "friction" came primarily from rapid Communist expansion into areas with partial vacuums. In Central China, however, base-building required displacing an existing Nationalist military-administrative presence closely tied to Jiang Kai-shek and the Chongqing government.
The burden of this expansion was carried mainly by the 6th Detachment (northern Anhui and Jiangsu) and the 5th Detachment, which was reinforced by 15,000 to 20,000 8RA troops under Huang K'o-ch'eng. As Chen Yi's 1st Detachment crossed from south to north through the corridor provided by Guan Wenwei's local forces, it became actively involved as well. This expansionâdriven by increasingly urgent directives from Mao and Liu during the latter part of 1939 and into 1940âbrought the N4A north of the river into ever more frequent and sharper clashes with Nationalist authorities in Anhui and Jiangsu, especially with units under Jiangsu governor Han Deqin.
South of the river, though, Xiang Ying did not directly challenge Chongqing's commanders. Mao later charged that Xiang Ying may have been influenced by Wang Ming, or else he may simply have seen no realistic alternative. His forcesâthree detachments plus a headquarters unitâwere heavily outnumbered by Qu Chutong's Nationalist units, not to mention Japanese forces and their puppets. Even if Mao insisted bases could be built "anywhere," the ShanghaiâHangzhouâNanjing triangle was especially difficult terrain. Xiang Ying and his followers had survived with extraordinary tenacity in the mountains of South China between 1934 and 1937, enduring brutal search-and-destroy operations that were not lifted until the war began. It therefore seems unlikely that such survivors would suddenly become "right-wing capitulationists."
Yet by spring 1940, Mao was pressing Xiang Ying more intensely. The Central Committee's message was explicit: expansion was necessary in all cases. It meant reaching into all enemy-occupied areas rather than being bound by the Kuomintang's restrictionsâgoing beyond Kuomintang limits, not waiting for official appointments, not depending on higher-ups for financing, and instead expanding armed forces freely and independently. It also meant setting up base areas without hesitation, independently mobilizing the masses in those areas, and building united front organs of political power under Communist Party leadership.
The struggle between Nationalists and Communists involved more than contests for control of territory behind Japanese lines. It also involved national-level politics, ideology, and leadership. One worrying development for the CCP was the campaign throughout 1939 to expand Jiang Kai-shek's prestige and formal powerâadding more titles for him across major party, government, and military positions. In early 1939, the Central Executive Committee appointed him "director-general" of the Kuomintang, a title reminiscent of the one previously held by Sun Yat-sen. In addition, during the summer and autumn of 1939 there was talk of constitutional rule. In November, the KMT announced plans to convene a constitutional assembly the following year. If Jiang could fulfill these promises, he and his government could gain new legitimacy and wider popularity.
Mao and his colleagues could not allow this to go unchallenged. If the Nationalists were to have a paramount leader and authoritative spokesperson, the CCP needed one as well. The timing of Mao's famous "On the new democracy"âwritten in late 1939 and published the next Januaryâwas therefore no accident. Its substance had been anticipated earlier, but its final timing and full development were shaped by the KMT's constitutional movement. The CCP's entry into this competition served as both a bid for support away from the KMT and a statement of the multi-class united front that the CCP wanted to lead.
Although "On the new democracy" was written in a tone that seemed moderate, it persuaded many Chinese readers that the CCP had either diluted its revolutionary objectives or postponed them to a distant future. In Kuomintang-controlled areas, the work could be read through the liberal values associated with Anglo-American democracyâpopular participation, multi-party government, legally protected civil rights. In CCP-controlled territories, the same language carried stronger authoritarian, class-based meanings. In internal documents meant for party audiences rather than public consumption, the ambiguity was removed, showing a tough but patient and flexible commitment not only to resistance but also to social control and social change.
During this same period, the Communists expressed deep concern about Nationalist capitulation to Japanânot only on the battlefield behind Japanese lines but also at the highest levels. Some of this concern was propaganda, but beneath propaganda lay genuine anxiety. In late 1939 and early 1940, politically aware Chinese already knew that Japan was negotiating with the unpredictable Wang Jingwei, who had fled Chongqing a year earlier. A "reorganized national government" in Nanjing was finally established in March 1940, representing the most formidable collaboration with Japan to date.
Less well known, but equally important, was that Japan was also seeking an understanding directly with Jiang Kai-shek through intermediaries in Hong Kong. This effort, called "Operation Kiri"âdescribed as spreading a "feast for Chiang"âcombined intrigue with a kind of dark comedy. Reports suggested Chiang's reported interest in peace could have been a stratagem designed to discredit Wang Jingwei by keeping him waiting. But even if Chiang had no intention of coming to terms with Japan, the Communists could not be sure what the outcome would be until after the multi-pronged peace offensive had failed.
By the middle of 1940, China had never been so isolated. In Europe, the "phony war" ended in the spring when Germany launched a blitz across the Low Countries. France fell soon after, and England appeared likely to be next. Japan used this moment to press China to sever its last tenuous connections to the outside world: cutting the Burma Road, trade with neutral Hong Kong, and the rail link running from Hanoi to Kunming. At the same time, Russia was engaged in a difficult and embarrassing war with Finland and reduced military aid to the Nationalists. The United States was only gradually moving away from isolationism and clearly regarded England as more important than China.
In Chongqing and elsewhere in "Free China," signs of war weariness, despair, and demoralization were visible.
Under these circumstances, Mao's insistence on aggressive expansion was a calculated riskâeither it would deter any Japanese advance, or it would place the Communists in the strongest possible position in case a split between the KMT and the CCP became unavoidable. In Central China, the size and pace of the fighting kept increasing, starting in the final months of 1939. One flashpoint was the clash between Luo Pinghui's 5th Detachment and units of Han Deqin's Jiangsu force near Lake Gaoyou. In the following months, Guan Wenwei's forces ranged along the left bank of the Yangtze, repeatedly running into Luo's troops as they operated farther north. Luo also began receiving some 8RA reinforcements, moving them south through areas controlled by the 6th Detachment. Clearly, a major showdown was taking shape across north and central Jiangsu.
At the same time, the South Yangtze Command was doing poorly. Nationalist commanders Leng Xin and Qu Chutong restricted its activities so severely that Mao and Liu gradually abandoned the idea of building a unified, consolidated base in that region. During late spring and early summer, Chen Yi moved most of his 1st and 2nd Detachments north of the Yangtze. In September, the 3rd Detachment followed suit, crossing the river into the area around Lake Chaohu, where the 4th Detachment was already stationed. After these moves, only the Headquarters Detachmentâunder Ye Ting and Xiang Yingâremained south of the Yangtze, positioned at Qingxian in southern Anhui.
As the military situation edged toward an open confrontation, negotiations began in June 1940 between representatives of the KMT and the CCP. The core issues were Communist operating zones and the authorized strength of the armies led by the CCP. Proposals were exchanged, followed by equally sharp and hostile counter-proposals, but no agreement was reached. The KMT viewed it as a concession to permit the CCP "free rein" north of the pre-1938 course of the Yellow River, with the exception of southern Shanxi, which was to remain under the influence of Yan Xishan. In exchange, the KMT demanded that all 8RA and N4A units evacuate Central China.
In effect, the KMT was offering the CCP something it was already prepared to allow, in return for the CCP giving up what it might soon be able to obtain by force of arms. Nationalist authorities then issued a set of deadlines, but without clearly stating what would happen if those deadlines were violated.
On the surface, the CCP appeared to be complying in part. The movements of Chen Yi and the South Yangtze Command could look like obedience, but in reality they were responses to orders coming from their own superior leadership rather than instructions issued by the Nationalists. Even so, Xiang Ying's continued delays and evasions during the autumn and winter of 1940 remained puzzling. One possibility is that he feltâquite reasonablyâthat Mao had already lost confidence in him and that once he crossed to the north bank of the river he would lose his command. Another complication was that directives from Yan'an were sometimes ambiguous and even contradictory. He may also have been trying to reach secure understandings with KMT commanders about evacuation routes and guaranteed safe conduct out of the area.
For a period, Han Teqin kept most of his forcesâestimated at about 70,000 men, far outnumbering the N4Aâin north Jiangsu, thereby blocking the expansion of the 6th Detachment and slowing further southern intrusions by 8RA troops. But by mid-summer he realized he would have to counter the N4A build-up in central Jiangsu, or else risk writing that region off to the Communists.
A confusing sequence of engagements then unfolded, culminating in a decisive battle in early October 1940 near the central Jiangsu town of Huangjiao. Over the course of four days, several of Han's main-force units belonging to the 89th Army were destroyed, while others were scattered. That battle also served as a signal for the 6th Detachment to advance more aggressively in the north. In the aftermath, one of Han's principal commanders entered collaboration with the CCP, while another defected to the Nanjing government under Wang Jingwei. Although Han Teqin managed to maintain a foothold in Jiangsu until 1943, his real power had been broken.
Relatively little attention was paid to the battle of Huangjiao in the Chinese press. The KMT did not want to publicize what it considered a disastrous defeat, while the Communists were satisfied to stay silent about an episode that conflicted with their proclaimed policy of a united front. As could be expected, during the autumnâafter Han Teqin's defeatâKMT-CCP negotiations deteriorated further. In early December, Jiang Kai-shek personally ordered that all N4A forces withdraw from southern Anhui and southern Jiangsu by 31 December. He also ordered that the entire 8RA be positioned north of the Yellow River by the same deadline, followed one month later by the N4A.
Discussions then followed between Ye Ting and Qu Chutong's deputies concerning the route to be taken, safe conduct, andâastonishinglyâthe money and supplies that were to be provided to the N4A to help it move. On 25 December, Mao Zedong ordered Xiang Ying to begin evacuating immediately. Yet it was not until 4 January 1941 that Ye and Xiang actually started moving. Almost immediately, Qu Chutong's forces harassed and dispersed the N4A Headquarters Group, which included administrative personnel, wounded soldiers and dependents, as well as combat-ready troops.
In an attempt to reorganize, they moved southwest toward Maolin, where they were surrounded by Nationalists and, over the next several days, were cut to pieces. Losses were heavy on both sides. The CCP suffered an estimated 9,000 casualties. Xiang Ying tried twice to break out of the blockade on his own, but failed. He was then denounced as a deserter by Ye Ting, who took over full command of the doomed forces. Xiang Ying eventually escaped, but he was killed a couple of months later by one of his own bodyguards, motivated by the N4A gold reserves that he had taken with him. Up to the very end, Xiang either failed or refused to seek refuge in Liu Shaoqi's domain north of the Yangtze.
The unfortunate Ye Ting was arrested and spent the rest of the war in prison. He was finally released in 1946, only to die one month later in a plane crash, along with several other high-ranking party members. On 17 January, Jiang Kai-shek declared that the New Fourth Army was dissolved for insubordination. Direct contacts between Yan'an and Chongqing nearly came to an end, and CCP military liaison offices in several cities held by the Nationalists were closed.
This is what became known as the New Fourth Army incident, also referred to as the South Anhui incident. Clearly, it functioned as an act of retaliation for the defeats suffered by Han Teqin in north and central Jiangsu. It ended any realistic prospect of establishing a consolidated Communist base south of the Yangtze. Still, from a strategic perspective, these losses were ultimately more than offset by the gains achieved farther north. In fact, only a few months later, the reorganized N4A quietly began reintroducing some units into this region, where they carried out guerrilla activities without possessing a secure territorial base.
Unlike the relative silence surrounding the fighting at Huangjiao, the New Fourth Army incident sparked bitter, prolonged controversy. The CCP argued that it was a second "anti-Communist upsurge," even more serious than the first. Presenting themselves as martyred patriots, they depicted their opponents as people who wanted to end the War of Resistance through what they called "Sino-Japanese cooperation" aimed at "suppressing the Communists." In their account, the Nationalists wanted to replace the war of resistance with civil war, substitute capitulation for independence, trade unity for a split, and replace light with darkness. People were telling each other the news and were horrified. Indeed, they claimed that the situation had never been as critical as it was at that moment.
The Nationalist response, of course, was that provocations had been numerous and serious, and that violations of military discipline could not be tolerated. But the KMT's unwillingness to describe in detail its own defeats at the CCP's hands left it speaking in broad generalities. In the propaganda battle, the CCP clearly gained the better position and won more political capital. If it was politically valuable to be regarded as a national hero, it was even more valuable to be seen as a national martyr.
Many Chineseâand some outsideâobservers were genuinely alarmed and feared that civil war might openly resume. Yet, with a few exceptions, the events that culminated in the New Fourth Army incident have generally been interpreted as marking the breakdown of the second united front. That interpretation, however, is described as being wrong in two respects. First, the CCP understood the united front not as a narrow arrangement limited to a few major partners, but as a strategy that could be applied flexibly to all political, military, and social forces in Chinaâfrom the highest levels of the central government down to the smallest village. Relations with Jiang Jieshi and the Guomindang regime mattered, but they did not, by themselves, constitute the whole of the united front. Even regarding Jiang and the Nationalists specifically, the common reading is said to be misguided.
Throughout the war, a cardinal objective of the united front was to prevent peace between Japan and the Nationalists. Therefore, if clashes between CCP forces and those of the central government on such a large scale as at Huangjiao and Maolin could occur without leading to peace with Japan and without triggering a full-scale resumption of civil war, then this should not be understood as the end of the united frontâit should be seen as its fundamental vindication. If friction at that scale could nevertheless be tolerated by Jiang Jieshi, then fears about his future accommodation with Japan were greatly reduced.
Following the New Fourth Army incident, the CCP reorganized its political and military presence in Central China. The Central Plains and South-east China Bureaus were merged and renamed the Central China Bureau, with Liu Shaoqi placed in charge, reflecting the area's importance to Party Central. The New Fourth Army was also reorganized completely and substantially regularized. Chen Yi became its new acting commander, since Ye Ting was imprisoned. He directed the force, now divided into seven divisions. Each division had territorial responsibilities, and in each region the CCP claimed the establishment of a base. Indeed, base construction proceeded in earnest only after the friction of 1940 and the New Fourth Army incident. In the years that followed, the operating areas of the First through Fourth Divisions contained expanding enclaves of consolidated territory, where military dominance was joined with open party work: administrative control, the development of mass organizations, local elections, and socio-economic reforms. The other three areas fluctuated between semi-consolidated and guerrilla status.
With the incident, the worst phase of the KMT-CCP conflict was now over. When CCP documents later speak of a third upsurge in 1943, they refer to something openly political. With the exception of Shandongâwhere a fairly strong Nationalist presence persisted for a longer timeâthe overall balance of power among Chinese forces behind Japanese lines had shifted in favor of the CCP by mid-1941. In subsequent years the CCP's predominance became even more pronounced, until by the end of 1943 the Communists were virtually beyond challenge by Chinese rivals.
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After the CCP and KMT entered the united front, cooperation felt conditional from the start. Mao pushed the New Fourth Army to reorganize and preserve Communist autonomy, even as the 1937 agreements publicly pledged obedience to KMT leadership. In 1939â40 the Communists worried that Chiang might negotiate peace with Japan; so they expanded bases and military presence, triggering repeated clashes. The pressure intensified when KMT orders forced the New Fourth Army to evacuate south Anhui in late 1940.
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Last time we spoke about the battle of West Suiyuan. The Ma Clique, Muslim warlords controlling Northwest China, led by Ma Hongkui and Ma Hongbin, rebuffed Japanese overtures to ally, citing historical grievances like the 1900 invasion. Driven by patriotism, they aligned with the Nationalists, reorganizing forces into the 17th Army Group. In 1938, Ma Hongbin commanded West Suiyuan defenses, building fortifications in harsh desert and mountain terrain, blending cavalry tactics with modern training despite equipment shortages. In January 1940, Japanese and puppet troops advanced from Baotou, occupying Wuyuan and Linhe. Chinese forces, including Fu Zuoyi's 35th Army and Ma's 81st Army, employed guerrilla and mobile warfare. A major counterattack in March recaptured Wuyuan, killing Lt. Gen. Mizukawa and thousands, forcing Japanese retreat. Through ambushes and night raids, the Chinese recovered territories, securing Soviet aid routes and the Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia region. Over 2,000 Ningxia soldiers perished, their sacrifices underscoring peripheral fronts' role in national resistance.
#200 The battle of Yaoyi
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
After capturing Wuhan, the Japanese army had already stretched itself dangerously thin. Most regular and Class A reserve divisions were committed to the front, yet they failed to annihilate the main Chinese force. Despite losing its core industrial and resource regions, the Nationalist government in Chongqing refused Japan's peace terms. Japan now found itself trapped in the very protracted war it had desperately sought to avoid.The logical Japanese response was to halt major advances, consolidate control over occupied areas, and conduct limited offensives to pressure Chiang Kai-shek into negotiationsâessentially repeating the post-Nanjing strategy of late 1937. But the situation had deteriorated sharply: occupied territory had at least doubled, Japanese garrisons were inadequate, and strategic reserves were nearly exhausted. What might have been prudent a year earlier had become plainly unwise by late 1938.
To stabilize the front, Japan reorganized its China Expeditionary Army at the end of 1938. Large numbers of newly raised independent mixed brigades and lower-quality Class B reserve divisions were sent to relieve veteran regular and Class A divisions. The relieved units were either demobilized back to Japan or shifted north to reinforce the Kwantung Army against the Soviet threat.
By early 1940 Japan maintained roughly 24 divisions, 21 independent mixed brigades, and 2 cavalry brigades in China proper (excluding Manchuria), totaling nearly 800,000 ground troops. The enormous scale and expense strained the home economy severely. Even so, the vast occupied zones could not be effectively controlled: divisions often held only a single mobile battalion while dispersing the rest into scattered platoon- and squad-sized outposts. Guerrilla activity by both Nationalist and Communist forces not only persisted but intensified, occasionally clashing with each other in "friction" incidents.
Beyond mere occupation, Japan sought to wear down Chinese strength. With most elite Central Army units held in reserve in the southwest or around Wuhan, Japanese local offensives targeted the Fifth and Ninth War Zones, aiming to methodically destroy Chiang's best troops.
Thus, while other Japanese armies focused on garrison relief and brigade substitution, the 11th Armyâstill holding Wuhan with seven divisions and three brigadesâremained the main offensive instrument. In 1939 it captured Nanchang, then mounted major operations against the Fifth War Zone (Suizao Campaign) and Ninth War Zone (First Battle of Changsha). Except for the seizure of Nanchang, however, these offensives inflicted only limited and temporary damage on Chinese forces.
Japan's domestic economy was in even worse shape. In early 1937, it had approved a massive 2.4 billion yen naval and army rebuilding program aimed at countering the United States and Russia, but implementation had barely started when the Sino-Japanese War erupted. The conflict generated enormous war costs while military expansion continued unabated, rapidly draining the Bank of Japan's gold reserves. By the end of 1938, those reserves (valued at just 1.35 billion yen) had shrunk by more than two-thirds. To fund the Battle of Wuhan that year, Japan postponed key elements of the rebuilding plan. After Wuhan fell, the Army revised its wartime reorganization: the original target of forty divisions grew to fifty-five by early 1938, then to sixty-five divisions plus 164 Army Air Force squadrons by 1942. The funding required to equip and stockpile for this expansion escalated steadily; the 1939 expansion budget alone demanded 1.8 billion yen, pushing Japanese finances to the breaking point.
Japan repeatedly sought a way out of China, but its peace terms remained far beyond what Chongqing would accept, leaving negotiations stalled. Efforts to install puppet regimes in North and Central Chinaâculminating in the Wang Jingwei government in 1940âaimed to "use Chinese to control Chinese" and undermine Nationalist influence, yet produced disappointing results.
The 11th Army's 1939 campaigns yielded only mediocre outcomes, hampered by chronic troop shortages. Even its divisions were tied down in occupation duties; mounting a serious offensive required pulling garrison forces, leaving no reserves to hold the line unless new units arrived. Sustained large-scale operations to seriously weaken Chinese strength demanded a major troop increaseâotherwise, Japan was limited to shallow, localized attacks.
Lt. Gen. Yasuji Okamura, commanding the 11th Army, recognized this clearly. In a December 1939 report, he argued that diplomacy and small offensives were futile and urged a large-scale operation backed by substantial reinforcements. His superiors, however, were preoccupied with funding the broader military buildup and could offer no extra men. The post-Wuhan "defensiveization" of operations was largely a cost-saving measure to support that expansion.
Japanese ground strength in China, which peaked near 850,000 after Wuhan, had already dropped by about 50,000. Full-strength regular or Class A divisions numbered roughly 22,000 men (four regiments), while newer garrison divisions had only about 15,000 (three regiments), and independent mixed brigades just 6,000. Okamura's proposal was sensible but politically impossible; high command was even contemplating slashing China troop levels to 400,000.
The Chinese Winter Offensive of December 1939, together with counterattacks at Nanning and Kunlun Pass, inflicted serious losses and exposed the limited damage done to Chinese forces in 1939 operations. The recapture of Wuyuan in March 1940 signaled the start of a new phase.
Shortly afterward, intensified Chinese guerrilla raids deep into Japanese rear areas prompted large Japanese "mop-up" operations in southern Shanxi, central Hubei, southern Jiangxi, and northern Hunan. In the Wuhan sector, repeated blows from the Winter Offensive heightened fears of Chinese forces in the Dahong and Tongbai Mountains, which threatened control over the vital Jianghan Plains rice-producing region. In mid-April 1940, the Japanese abandoned outposts at Macheng (eastern Hubei), Fengxin, and Jing'an (northern Jiangxi), withdrew elements of the 6th Division (northern Hunan), 40th Division (northern Jiangxi), and the 3rd, 13th, and 39th Divisions (Hubei), and concentrated them around Zhongxiang, Suixian, and Xinyang for a maximum-effort push.
These setbacks finally forced Tokyo to abandon deep troop reductions in China and approve reinforcements of two regular divisions for a major 1940 offensive. The revised end-1940 target became 740,000 troops in China. In spring 1940, the 11th Armyâbacked fully by Imperial General Headquarters and the China Expeditionary Armyâbegan detailed preparations for a large-scale assault on China's Fifth War Zone.
On February 25, 1940, the 11th Army issued its "Guiding Strategy for the Campaign." The operational goal was to defeat the main force of China's Fifth War Zone along both banks of the Han River before the rainy season, inflict further heavy losses on Chiang Kai-shek's army through decisive victory, and thereby advance Japan's overall political and strategic position vis-Ă -vis China. The guiding principle called for the quickest possible preparations, with the offensive to begin around early May: first destroy Chinese forces on the left (east) bank south of the Baihe River, then completely annihilate the core units on the right (west) bank near Yichang.
On April 7, under the new commander Lt. Gen. Sonobe Kazuo (who replaced Okamura Yasuji), the 11th Army produced a more detailed plan. On April 10, Imperial General Headquarters Order No. 426 ("Continental Order") authorized the China Expeditionary Army to conduct operations in central and southern China during MayâJune, even beyond established boundaries, to fulfill current objectives.
Japanese planners viewed the Fifth War Zoneâroughly 50 divisions encircling Wuhanâwith its main strength concentrated along the Han (Xiang) River in northwestern Hubei. Striking Yichang would deliver a severe blow to the zone. As the gateway to Sichuan, only 480 km from Chongqing, Yichang held immense strategic value: an inland port, Three Gorges logistics hub, and key base for air raids on Chongqing. Capturing it would directly threaten the Nationalist wartime capital and southwestern rear, advancing political leverage. Still, long-term occupation was not pre-decided; initial plans stressed inflicting maximum damage followed by withdrawal, in line with the post-Wuhan policy of avoiding permanent overextension.
China, aware that holding the Jianghan Plain's rice-producing areas enabled sustained attrition against Japan, deployed guerrilla units to harass Japanese rear areas (increasing occupier losses) while tasking the River Defense Force to hold key front-line points: Jingmen, Shashi, and Yichang.
To achieve these aims, the 11th Army committed as much as possible of its seven divisions and four brigades (88 battalions total). Core units included the 3rd Division (Maj. Gen. Yamakoshi Masataka; regiments 6, 18, 34, 68), 13th Division (Maj. Gen. Tanaka Shioichi; 58, 65, 104, 116), 39th Division (Maj. Gen. Murakami Keisaku; 231â233), elements of the 40th Division, detachments from the 33rd and 34th Divisions, and others. Reinforcements comprised the Ikeda Detachment (three battalions from 6th Division), Ishimoto Detachment (fourâfive from 40th), Ogawa Detachment (two from 34th), and Provisional Mixed Brigade 101. Supporting assets included the 6th Field Heavy Artillery Regiment, 7th and 13th Tank Regiments, 3rd Air Group, Navy 1st China Dispatch Fleet, and 2nd Combined Air Team. The China Expeditionary Army transferred seven battalions from the 15th and 22nd Divisions (13th Army, lower Yangtze).
The main effort north of the river involved roughly 48â54 battalions, or 80,000â110,000 men, making the Zaoyi (ZaoyangâYichang) Campaign the largest Japanese operation on the central front since Wuhan.
Sonobe's staff structured the offensive in two phases. Phase One targeted the Fifth War Zone's main force around Zaoyang (east of the Han River) through converging pincer movements: right flank from Xinyang (reinforced 3rd Division), left flank from Zhongxiang (reinforced 13th Division), and central thrust by the reinforced 39th Division from Suixian. The plan exploited terrainâDahong and Tongbai Mountainsâfor encirclement. After seizing Minggang (right flank) and advancing from Zhongxiang (left), the pincers would close on Zaoyang, with the center (along the Xianghua Highway from Suixian) drawing Chinese forces into the trap for envelopment. Diversionary attacks south of the Yangtze, propaganda hinting at limited scope, and planted false orders helped mask intentions. Japanese radio intelligenceâintercepts and direction-finding of Chinese headquarters signalsâprovided critical advantages, especially in later stages.
By March 1940, Chinese intelligence had already detected the 11th Army's intent to mount a major offensive from Xinyang and Wuhan into northwestern Hubei. On April 10, Chiang Kai-shek telegraphed Li Zongren and other Fifth War Zone commanders, urging immediate preparations for a preemptive strike against any push toward Shapingba and Yichang. He emphasized proactive flanking attacks on Japanese rear areas via Wusheng Pass and threats to the Pinghan Railway, while keeping main forces east of the Han River for decisive engagement once the enemy committed.
Following Military Commission directives, the Fifth War Zone devised a plan that used part of its strength for forward advances and deep raids into Japanese rear areas to harass and divert. The bulk of forces would hold the rear, seizing chances for preemptive strikes and a decisive battle east of Zaoyang or south of JingmenâDangyang. Deployments included: the 33rd Army Group garrisoning the Xiang River; in the center, the 45th Corps (22nd Army Group) west of LuoyangdianâSuixian and the 84th Corps (11th Army Group) north of Suixianâsouth of Gaocheng; in southern Henan, the 30th Corps east of Tongbai and the 68th Corps north of PingchangguanâMinggang; the 41st Corps in reserve near Xiangyang; the 29th Army Group (with part garrisoning north of Tongqiao ZhenâSanyangtien) concentrated in the Dahong Mountains; and the 31st Army Group positioned between Queshan and Ye Hsien as the mobile force to strike invaders. River Defense Army commander Guo Chan controlled the 26th, 75th, and 94th Armies, the 128th Division, and the 6th and 7th Guerrilla Columns. Total Chinese strength approximated 350,000â380,000 men across roughly 50â54 divisions.
To mask preparations and mislead, the Japanese conducted a late-April "mop-up" near Jiujiang, staged naval feints on Poyang and Dongting Lakes, and bombed key points in Hunan and Jiangxi, simulating an imminent Ninth War Zone operation.
With forces assembled, the Japanese offensive began May 1, 1940, from Xinyang, Suixian, and Zhongxiang. The advance split into five routes: (1) ChangtaiguanâMinggangâBiyangâTanghe; (2) XinyangâTongbai; (3) SuixianâZaoyang; (4) SuixianâWujiadien; (5) ZhongxiangâShuangkou. Employing flanking with central breakthrough, the reinforced 3rd Division (right flank, including Ishimoto Detachment from 40th Division with tanks and engineers) spearheaded from Xinyang toward Biyang, breaching the Chinese Second Army front on day one. By May 1, elements of the 3rd and 40th Divisions captured Minggang, Lion's Bridge, and Xiaolintien; on May 5 they took Biyang and Tongbai. The Chinese 31st Army Group (northeast of Biyang) linked with the 68th and 92nd Corps to hit Japanese flanks and rear. Leaving some forces west of Tongbai to press the enemy, the main 30th Corps struck Japanese flanks. After seizing Tanghe on May 7, the Japanese pushed south toward Zaoyang. On May 8â9, the 31st Army Group retook Tanghe and Xinye, pursuing vigorously. On May 8, the Japanese left flank (13th Division) attacked from Zhongxiang, breaking through the 33rd Army front the same day.
On May 3, the Japanese 13th Divisionâsupported by over 20 tanks, 40 aircraft, artillery, and cavalryâadvanced north from Zhongxiang, capturing Changshoudian and Tianjiachi. It seized Fengyao and Changjiachi by May 6. Chinese 33rd Army Group forces used favorable terrain to intercept, while the 29th Army Group struck Japanese flanks and rear at Changjiachi and Wangjiadian, and the 41st Corps fought tenaciously to halt the advance. By May 7, Japanese spearheads reached Changjiachi on the ZaoyangâXiangyang Highway, with elements entering Shuangkou; their rear cavalry took Xinye on May 8. Fifth War Zone commander Zhang Zizhong personally led attacks along TianjiachiâHuanglongtang, supported by fierce 29th Army Group assaults on Japanese rear.
The Japanese 39th Division and a 6th Division brigade delayed their assault on the Chinese 11th Army Group until May 4 from Suixian. After overrunning Gaocheng and Anchu on May 5, Chinese forces withdrew to HuantanâTang Hsienânorth of Gaocheng. As the 33rd Army Group faltered, part of the 11th Army Group reinforced it; the 175th Division held at Tang Hsien while the main body fell back toward Zaoyang. During the maneuver, Japanese tanks enveloped at Tang Hsien, cutting the ZaoyangâXiangyang Highway and forcing bitter fighting by the 174th Division. To break out, Chinese abandoned Zaoyang, using the 173rd Division for rearguard resistance while the bulk shifted west of the Tang and Bai Rivers. Japanese captured Suiyangdian and Wujiadien on May 7, Zaoyang on May 8; the 173rd Division suffered heavy losses, including the death of its commander, Gen. Zhong Yi.
On May 10, Japanese completed an encirclement east of Xiangdong along the Tang and Bai Riversâbut it collapsed as Chinese exterior forces outflanked both Japanese wings and compressed the center, trapping much of the Japanese in the Xiangdong Plains. The Chinese 2nd and 31st Army Groups plus 92nd Corps pressed south, 39th and 75th Corps east, and 33rd and 29th Army Groups north against the pocket. The 94th Corps advanced along the HanâYichang Highway deep into Jingshan, Zaoshi, Yingcheng, and Yunmeng to sever Japanese rear communications. Meanwhile, the 7th Corps and eastern Hubei guerrillas seized Jigong Shan, Lijiachai, and Liulin station on the BeijingâHankou Railway.
The 92nd and 68th Corps retook Zaoyang, Tongbai, and Minggang, encircling four Japanese divisions in the Xiangdong Plains. By May 11, battered Japanese retreated eastward under pursuit, Chinese flanking and rear attacks leaving many dead on the field. The 31st Army Group recovered Zaoyang on May 16. Chinese reports claimed 45,000 Japanese casualties, plus capture of over 60 guns, 2,000+ horses, 70+ tanks, and 400+ trucks. The 33rd Army Group fought fiercely to intercept retreating columns, driving large Japanese remnants toward Nanguadian.
Tragically, on May 16 noon, Gen. Zhang Zizhongâpersonally commanding his Guard Battalion and main 74th Divisionâwas killed in action. With pressure eased on the Japanese left, they counterattacked and retook Zaoyang on May 17. Chinese forces withdrew to Xinye on the Tangbai River's west bank and north of the Tang River, regrouping for a renewed counteroffensive.
The Military Commission anticipated a Japanese withdrawal to original lines, likely along the rain-impassable Xianghua Road. Exploiting the enemy's supply shortages, exhaustion, and retreat difficulties, it ordered Fifth War Zone units to encircle and annihilate Japanese forces near the battlefield, then pursue toward YingchengâHuayuan. The zone promptly launched a counteroffensive. By nightfall on May 8, Japanese pincers neared junction, having inflicted serious damage on the Chinese 84th Army but achieved little else. Nonetheless, the 11th Army ordered frontline divisions to withdraw to the TangheâBaihe line after reaching it, preparatory to encircling Chinese forces west of the Han River. Chongqing issued general offensive orders at 8 PM and 11 PM that night. By then, six divisions of the 31st Army Group advanced south from Nanyang in the north, five from the 33rd Army Group pressed from the south, and five from the 45th and 94th Armies pursued in the southeastânearly completing the Japanese encirclement. Intense combat erupted.
On May 10, retreating Japanese first clashed with the advancing 33rd Army Group from the south. Seizing the moment, they ordered the 13th and 39th Divisions plus Ikeda Detachment south to smash it, with the 3rd Division covering the northern flank. Full-scale battle broke out on May 12: two Japanese divisions assaulted five Chinese divisions of the 33rd Army Group, plunging them into desperate fighting. Japanese radio interceptsâincluding telegrams between the Military Commission and Fifth War Zone, plus Zhang Zizhong's report to Chiang on his five divisions' movementsârevealed exact positions and plans. Sonobe Kazuo concentrated the 13th and 39th Divisions to strike south along the Han's east bank against Zhang's army group, while ordering the 3rd Division (south of Xinye) back to Zaoyang to guard the rear. Direction-finding had long pinpointed the 33rd Army Group headquarters radio (call signs and bearings) about 10 km northeast of Yicheng. With air support, the Japanese encircled it. On the night of May 15, the 39th Division advanced from Fangjiaji and Nanying toward Nanguadian, completing tactical encirclement by dawn on May 16. Artillery-supported four-sided assaults followed. The defending 74th Division resisted fiercely with repeated counterattacks.
Fighting raged into the afternoon, with the Special Service Battalion joining. Japanese attackers swelled to over 5,000, backed by concentrated artillery and 20+ aircraft for a final push. Zhang Zizhong, wounded multiple times, continued commanding calmly until a severe chest wound killed him heroically. The exhausted, isolated 74th Division and battalion suffered devastating losses. That day, the 13th Division also routed the main 33rd Army Group force, breaking the southern encirclement. Japanese then redeployed, concentrating around Zaoyang.
In the north, 17 divisions (including six from the 31st Army Group) attacked the isolated Japanese 3rd Division from east, south, and north, severing its supply lines. With limited ammunition and no resupply, the division faced crisis; its 29th Brigade telegram pleaded: "Enemy fighting spirit extremely high... safe return very difficult; request battalion reinforcements." Yet southern Chinese forces remained undestroyed amid chaos. Japanese choices narrowed to independent 3rd Division retreat or holding for relief. They opted to lure pursuers: ordering the division southeast toward Zaoyang to draw Chinese into pursuit. From May 16â18, the 3rd Division fought a delaying retreat; relentless Chinese pursuit inflicted limited damage due to insufficient firepower, allowing escape. By evening May 18, it reached northeast of Zaoyang and prepared offensives. The 13th and 39th Divisions, after defeating the 33rd Army Group, also advanced north to the Zaoyang line.
The 3rd Division's retreat shortened Japanese lines and hastened convergence. Unsuspecting Chinese pursued to Zaoyang. After a successful counterattack northeast of Yicheng, the 13th and 39th Divisions rejoined the 3rd Division there. On May 19 morning, three Japanese divisions attacked abreast, forcing decisive battle along the Tang River. Chinese divisions collapsed within hours; the 75th Army took heavy losses, others significant casualties. Fifth War Zone ordered hasty retreat. Japanese pursued vigorously. By May 21, the 3rd Division reached Dengxian, 13th east of Laohekou, 39th Fancheng. Early that day, the 39th Divisionâcrossing the Baiheâmet fierce west-bank fire, losing Regiment Commander Kanzaki Tetsujiro and over 300 men. That evening, the 11th Army halted pursuit, ending east-bank (Xiang River) fighting.
The 20+ day operation east of the Han inflicted heavy Japanese losses, far exceeding the planned duration, leaving troops exhausted. After halting, units withdrew to Zaoyang vicinity for rest and reorganization rather than immediate return to base positions. Commanders debated proceeding to Yichang west of the Han: abandoning the plan would signal Phase One failure, eroding authority and imperial trust. Most argued troop fatigue and casualties should not deter continuation. Over 1,000 tons of supplies rushed forward via six motor companies. Following east-bank termination, Japanese consolidated for the next phase targeting Yichang. Reinforcements arrived: the 4th Division from Manchuria and 18th Independent Brigade from Wuning. The 4th Division assumed ShayangâZhongxiang positions east of the Xiang River.
The Japanese bombarded the west bank of the Han River for ninety minutes before forcing a crossing at Wangji north of Yicheng. That midnight, the 3rd Division also crossed southeast of Xiangyang. Both met little resistance and completed crossings before dawn. The 11th Army left the 40th Division at Dahongshan for rear-area mopping-up and assigned the Xiaochuan and Cangqiao Detachments to guard mobile supply depots. On May 31 night, the 3rd and 39th Divisions crossed the Xiang River at Yicheng and Oujiamiao. After seizing Xiangyang on June 1 night, the main force split into columns crossing westward. By June 3, Japanese captured Nanzhang and Yicheng. The Chinese 41st Corps fiercely counterattacked, retaking part of Xiangyang while its main body battled around Nanzhang; the 77th Corps also struck hard. On June 4, Chinese recovered Nanzhang, forcing Japanese retreat southward.
Meanwhile, the 13th Division and elements of the 6th Division forced a crossing on the HanâYichang Highway near Jiukou and Shayang to link with southern columns for a joint push. The Chinese River Defense Force shifted its main strength to key positions, using terrain to block southward advances. The 2nd and 31st Army Groups pursued south separately. Chinese abandoned Shayang on June 5; Japanese took Jingmen, Shilipu, and Shihujiao on June 6. The 77th Corps and river defense units resisted stubbornly from Jingmen to Jiangling. After retaking Yicheng, the 2nd Army Group continued pursuit. Japanese concentrated around JingmenâShilipu as Jiangling fell.
On June 9 morning, Japanese launched joint air-ground assaults from Dongshi to Dangyang and Yuanan. By afternoon, penetrating the Chinese right flank forced a night withdrawal to GulaobeiâShuanlianshiâDangyang along the Zu River to Yuanan. June 10 saw Japanese capture Gulaobei and Dangyang, pushing Chinese to Yichang outskirts. After days of heavy fighting and prohibitive losses, Chinese abandoned Yichang on their own initiative.
The 2nd and 31st Army Groups then reached Dangyang north of Jingmen. On June 16, they mounted a general offensive. By June 17, Chinese briefly retook Yichang; the 2nd Army Group linked with the 77th Corps against Dangyang, while the 31st Army Group severed DangyangâJingmen communications and assaulted Jingmen violently. South of the Yangtze, the 5th and 32nd Divisions crossed to hit Shayang and Shilipu. By June 18, Japanese main force held stubbornly from Dangyang to the Xiang River with superior equipment. Chinese, fighting on exterior lines, formed an encirclement from JianglingâYichangâDangyangâZhongxiangâSuixianânorth of Xinyang while maintaining surveillance. Thus, the Zaoyi (ZaoyangâYichang) Campaign ended.
No prior decision existed on holding Yichang long-term. Per post-Wuhan Imperial General Headquarters policy, even extended operations aimed only to inflict severe blows and erode Chinese resistance, not expand occupation. On capture day, the 11th Army declared objectives achieved, ordering reorganization, destruction of Yichang military facilities, and dumping irremovable captured supplies into the Yangtze preparatory to withdrawal. At 10 PM June 15, formal orders withdrew to the Han's east bank: 3rd and 39th Divisions first to DangyangâJingmen to cover, then the 13th Division. The 13th began retreating from Yichang at midnight June 16, reaching Tumenya (10 km east) by 7 AM June 17. Chinese counterattacked along the route; the 18th Army pursued and retook Yichang morning of June 17. Japanese held Yichang only four days.
Intense debate erupted between frontline commanders and Imperial General Headquarters over retaining Yichang. With Nazi Germany's Western Europe offensive underwayâParis fell June 12, the day Yichang was takenâglobal upheaval intensified Japanese urgency to resolve China swiftly and free resources for wider competition. Many in high command and China Expeditionary Army argued long-term occupation would threaten Chongqing more directly, aid political maneuvers, and hasten settlement, offering immense strategic value. This swayed the Emperor, who inquired at the June 15 Imperial Conference about securing it. Backed by imperial support, high command ordered temporary retention (one month) on June 16. By transmission through Expeditionary Army and 11th Army channels, the rearguard 13th Division had withdrawn 52 km. With 3rd Division cooperation, it reversed, broke Chinese resistance, and retook Yichang afternoon June 17. On July 1, to offset expanded 11th Army responsibilities, General Headquarters transferred the 4th Division from Kwantung Army (Jiamusi, Heilongjiang) to 11th Army control. July 13 orders confirmed long-term Yichang retention, redefining Wuhan-region operations to AnqingâXinyangâYichangâYueyangâNanchang. The 11th Army assigned: 13th Division to Yichang, 4th Division to Anlu, 18th Independent Mixed Brigade east/west of Dangyang; remaining units returned to original defenses.
Post-recapture, Chinese continued counterattacks on Yichang and rear lines until ordered to halt: "To adapt to international changes, preserve National Army combat strength, and facilitate reorganization, Fifth War Zone cease attacks on Yichang immediately." A stalemate followed along lines encircling Yichang, Dangyang, Jiangling, Jingmen, Zhongxiang, Suixian, and Xinyang. To shield Chongqing and Sichuan, Nationalists re-established the Sixth War Zone (briefly created post-First Changsha, abolished April 1940), appointing Chen Cheng commander-in-chief with 33rd and 29th Army Groups, River Defense Army, and 18th Army covering western Hubei, western Hunan, eastern Sichuan. The Zaoyi campaign thus concluded.
Japanese combat power again proved markedly superior. Official Japanese records (11th Army/China Expeditionary Army) reported 2,700 killed, ~7,800 wounded (total ~10,500; some phases ~1,403 killed/4,639 wounded). Chinese admitted heavy losses: 36,983 killed, 50,509 wounded, 23,000 missing (total >110,000 in some accounts). Wartime Nationalist claims inflated Japanese casualties to 45,000 killed/wounded with major captures (60+ guns, 70+ tanks, 400+ trucks), likely propagandistic; Japanese sources show far lower equipment losses. With 56 battalions deployed, Japanese suffered 12â15% combat casualties; Chinese (54 divisions, ~380,000 men) incurred 25â30% or higherâunderscoring firepower/equipment disparity.
Japan achieved tactical success by securing Yichang long-term (as a Chongqing bombing base) but failed to annihilate the main Chinese force or compel peace. Chinese resistance thwarted full encirclement and imposed attrition, albeit at crippling cost to the Fifth War Zoneâseverely weakened and never fully recovering until war's end. Japanese aims were realized to a significant, though not decisive, degree.
The Fifth War Zone's operational plan was fundamentally sound. Chinese intelligence detected Japanese intentions early, accurately predicted the attack axis, and deployed accordingly. The plan included preemptive strikes at Wusheng Pass and the Guangshui section of the Pinghan Railway to harass Japanese rear areas, threaten Wuhan, gather reconnaissance, and disrupt enemy preparations. Though well conceived, these actions never materialized.
In the first phase (Xiangdong operations), Chinese forces resisted while shifting the main body to outer lines, securing mobile flanking positions. This frustrated Japanese encirclement efforts in the Xiangdong Plains. Exploiting the enemy's retreat, China launched a timely counteroffensive that encircled the Japanese 3rd Division. Despite breakout support from over 100 aircraft and 200 tanks, the poorly equipped Chinese inflicted heavy casualties during the three-day siege, blunting the division's momentum.
On the southern front, the 33rd Army Group's intercepting deployment was appropriate, but insufficient strength and compromised communications allowed the Japanese 13th and 39th Divisions to counterattack decisively, inflicting major losses and claiming the heroic death of Commander-in-Chief Zhang Zizhongâwhose steadfast patriotism remains a lasting source of national pride.
Overall, Chinese assessments and deployments in Phase One were largely correct. The battlefield showed China retained initiative and was not wholly dominated by Japanese plans. The core issue was overestimation of Chinese combat power amid severe shortages of heavy weapons. At least three corps suffered heavy attrition, yet Japanese captured only twenty-three mountain/field guns. Relying on manpower for brute force left Chinese units critically undergunned, enabling repeated encirclement attempts but preventing decisive destruction or severe damage to encircled enemies like the 3rd Division.
Phase Two, by contrast, was entirely passive. The initial Japanese Han River crossings were largely feints, yet the west bank received scant attention in overall planningâleaving Yichang virtually undefended as main forces deployed east of the river. Post-Phase One, Japan reinforced the 11th Army with three infantry battalions and one mountain artillery battalion from the 13th Army (lower Yangtze), plus six motor transport companies rushing massive supplies forward. Chinese intelligence missed these moves, remaining complacent in expectation of Japanese withdrawal eastward. After regrouping, Japan abruptly pivoted west with rapid advances. The Military Commission and Fifth War Zone, caught unprepared, made frantic, chaotic adjustments that failed to mount effective defense. The loss of strategically vital Yichang was inevitable, complicating the resistance both militarily and psychologically. This stemmed directly from command misjudgment of Japanese strategic and operational aims. Had plans anticipated a westward thrust and retained strong reservesâor detected the 10-day regrouping window to readjust deploymentsâChina could have retained greater initiative, inflicted more damage, and reduced its own losses.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
Japan's 11th Army launched an offensive in Hubei to encircle Chinese forces in the Fifth War Zone and seize Yichang for bombing Chongqing. Chinese troops countered effectively, encircling Japanese divisions and inflicting heavy losses, though General Zhang Zizhong was killed in action. After intense fighting east of the Han River, Japanese crossed west, captured Yichang, briefly withdrew, then retook and held it long-term.
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Last time we spoke about the battle of south Guangxi. In late 1939, amid the Sino-Japanese War stalemate, Japan aimed to sever China's vital supply lines from French Indochina by invading southern Guangxi. The 21st Army, including the 5th Division and Taiwan Mixed Brigade landed at Qinzhou Bay on November 15, capturing Nanning by November 24 after feinting at Beihai and overcoming scattered Chinese defenses under the 16th Army Group. Chinese forces, commanded by Bai Chongxi and reinforced by the elite 5th Army launched a counteroffensive in December. The brutal Battle of Kunlun Pass saw repeated assaults. However, Japanese counterattacks in January 1940, bolstered by the 18th Division and Konoye Brigade, recaptured Kunlun Pass and Binyang by February, inflicting over 10,000 Chinese losses and forcing retreats. A stalemate ensued until September 1940, when Japan pressured Indochina. Overextended Japanese forces withdrew south, allowing Chinese to recapture Nanning on October 30 and clear Guangxi by November 17.
#199 The battle of West Suiyuan
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
Back in 1936, the Xi'an Incident had forced a fragile alliance between the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek and the Communists, forming a united front against Japan. This front extended to regional warlords like the Ma Clique, who controlled Ningxia, Gansu, and Qinghai. The Ma family, descendants of Muslim generals loyal to the Qing Dynasty, navigated complex loyalties but ultimately aligned with the Nationalist cause, driven by patriotism and self-preservation.
The stakes in West Suiyuan were high. Control of the region meant access to the Suiyuan-Xinjiang Highway, a lifeline for Soviet aid to China. Japanese occupation could threaten the Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia Border Region, a Communist stronghold, and open paths to Lanzhou and beyond. The battles here, though overshadowed by larger theaters like Shanghai or Wuhan, demonstrated how peripheral fronts contributed to the national resistance. Over 70 years later, the sacrifices of more than 2,000 Ningxia soldiers remain a poignant reminder of the human cost of resistance, their anti-Japanese merits etched forever in the annals of Chinese history.
The seeds of the Battle of West Suiyuan were sown in the turbulent years following the Xi'an Incident. This event in December 1936 led to the initial formation of a national united front against Japanese aggression. The Communist Party of China (CPC) mobilized masses in the Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia Border Region, strengthening anti-Japanese forces and exerting pressure on the Ma Clique. Chiang Kai-shek's Nationalist government also influenced the Mas, solidifying their resolve to resist Japan.
The Ma Clique, a powerful Muslim warlord faction in Northwest China, was led by figures like Ma Hongkui (governor of Ningxia) and his cousin Ma Hongbin. They controlled a semi-autonomous region with a mix of Hui, Han, and Mongolian populations. Japan, seeking to exploit ethnic divisions, attempted to woo the Mas. Even after the July 7, 1937, outbreak of war, Japan persisted. On October 17, 1937, after occupying Baotou, the Japanese established the "Baotou Hui Muslim Branch" and appointed Jiang Wenhuan, a former Hui commander, to court Ma Hongkui. They sent envoys, including an imam from Northeast China, and even airdropped letters from "Manchukuo." In a dramatic move, Japanese commander Itagaki Seishiro flew to Alashan Banner to invite Ma Hongkui for talks. Ma sent Zhou Baihuang, who rebuffed Itagaki by invoking historical grievances: the Japanese role in the Eight-Nation Alliance's 1900 invasion, where Ma family members died at Zhengyang Gate. "The family feud remains unresolved, and the national humiliation is yet to be avenged; they are irreconcilable enemies," Zhou declared.
Japan's plot to persuade surrender failed, leading to a major offensive against Suiyuan and Ningxia. Large numbers of troops reinforced Baotou, and bombings targeted Ningxia. In response, Ma Hongkui began building fortifications in places like Shizuishan and Dengkou. Starting in the winter of 1937, he constructed defense fortifications in the Shizuishan area in four phases. In the Shizuishan Weizha area, trenches several meters wide and deep were dug, covered with branches, straw, and loose soil for camouflage, to prevent the passage of Japanese armored vehicles and heavy weapons. Within a hundred li north of Dengkou and Sanshenggong, all major roads were cut off, and deep trenches were dug to destroy the Japanese army's access to Ningxia. The banks of the Yellow River ferry crossings in northern Ningxia and the Helan Mountain passages were all cut into steep cliffs. Important passageways were fortified with blocking positions and hidden artillery to repel invading Japanese troops.
Among the various military commanders in Northwest China, Ma Hongbin possessed the strongest anti-Japanese spirit. Having joined the army at a young age, Ma Hongbin placed great emphasis on cultural learning and the cultivation of his personal character. Outside of military service, he was always seen with a book in hand, resembling a scholar. His long-term study fostered his upright character and patriotism. After the Japanese invasion of China, deeply moved by the nation's peril, he resolved to lead his troops to the battlefield to save the country from its crisis. In the spring of 1938, at the opening ceremony of an officer training course held in Wanghongbao, Yongning, Ma Hongbin addressed his subordinates from the podium: "Always remember that the nation comes first, the people come first, defend the land and country, and fulfill your duties. On the battlefield, you must be able to both attack and defend, and be prepared to live and die with the position, with the determination to fight to the end."
The Ma forces were reorganized into the Nationalist structure. Ma Hongkui's 15th Route Army and Ma Hongbin's 35th Division (later expanded to the 81st Army) formed the 17th Army Group, with Ma Hongkui as Commander-in-Chief and Ma Hongbin as Deputy Commander-in-Chief and Commander of the 81st Army. The officer training of the 81st Army improved the anti-Japanese consciousness and combat quality of the entire army, preparing for the counterattack against the Japanese invasion. In May 1938, due to the weakened defenses of Suiyuan (at that time, the troops of Fu Zuoyi, the chairman of Suiyuan Province, had retreated to Shanxi), most of the area was occupied by Japanese and puppet troops. The Kuomintang Central Committee appointed Ma Hongbin as the commander of the Suiyuan West Defense Command. Ma Hongbin led his 81st Army and two cavalry brigades and one infantry brigade of Ma Hongkui's troops to Wuyuan (now Wuyuan County, Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region) to unify the command of the various anti-Japanese forces that had retreated into Suiyuan West. His mission was to prevent the Japanese army from advancing westward.
After arriving in Wuyuan, Ma Hongbin convened a meeting of commanders from various forces to discuss the defense against the Japanese. The various armies in western Suiyuan were of different factions and not affiliated with each other, and most adopted a policy of seeking safety and avoiding danger in their defenses. Ma Hongbin deployed the main force of his 81st Army, the 35th Division, at key passes in the Wubu Langshan area northeast of Wuyuan to serve as the first line of defense, while deploying three brigades of Ma Hongkui's troops along the line from Wuyuan to Langshan as reinforcements.
The terrain was challenging: vast deserts, mountains like Yinshan and Langshan, and the Yellow River's bends. Wubulangkou, a narrow pass between Erlang and Chashitai Mountains, was strategically vital. Defenses included anti-tank trenches and mines. These preparations reflected the Ningxia Army's blend of traditional cavalry tactics and modern training. The troops, many Hui Muslims, brought cultural cohesion and resilience, but faced equipment shortagesâoutdated mortars and rifles versus Japanese mechanization.
In May 1938, Ma Hongbin arrived in Linhe (now part of Bayannur, Inner Mongolia) to establish his command post. After inspecting the situation of the friendly forces in the defense zone and designating the defense zone of his subordinate 81st Army, he ordered Ma Tengjiao, commander of the 35th Division, to lead four infantry regiments, namely the 103rd and 104th Brigades, to Suiyuan Western Defense Command to fight against the Japanese. Ma Hongbin established a command post in Linhe, where he and his son, Ma Dunjing, the chief of staff of the 81st Army, deployed their troops in areas such as Wuzhen and Siyitang. Ma Dunjing directed his troops to conduct exercises in the Wuzhen and Siyitang area, and invited Soviet military advisors to provide guidance, preparing for combat with an extremely serious attitude.
To show his support for Ma Hongbin's leadership of the Suiyuan Western Defense Command, Ma Hongkui dispatched two cavalry brigades to Suiyuan Western Defense Command. The main reason why the Ma Clique army from Ningxia went to Suiyuan to fight against the Japanese was that the defense of Suiyuan was directly related to the safety of Ningxia. At the same time, after the Ma Clique army was incorporated into the anti-Japanese army, its primary task was to fight against the Japanese invaders and defend the country. In addition, the anti-Japanese enthusiasm of the people in the Northwest continued to rise. Under the impetus of the situation, it was inevitable that the Ningxia army would join the anti-Japanese war in Suiyuan.
The initial engagement came in the late summer and early autumn of 1939, as Japanese troops, driving cars, armored vehicles, and tanks, advanced from Baotou towards the defenses of the 81st Army in western Suiyuan, attempting to annihilate the main force of the 81st Army. Ma Dunjing (the third son of Ma Hongbin), Chief of Staff of the 81st Army, personally commanded the operation at the front line in Wuda Town. The Japanese advanced to the defensive positions of the 35th Division and bombarded Ma's position with heavy artillery fire. The 35th Division returned fire with 82mm mortars. Because Ma's mortars were old-fashioned, they emitted smoke upon firing, revealing their positions. The Japanese immediately unleashed over 200 shells on the 35th Division's artillery positions, silencing them and rendering them incapable of retaliating. Taking advantage of this, the Japanese, under the powerful cover of artillery and machine gun fire, swarmed in by car, tank, and armored vehicle. The 35th Division held their ground, waiting for the Japanese troops to enter effective firing range and disembark from their vehicles. Suddenly, soldiers of the 1st Battalion of the 206th Regiment jumped out of their fortifications and charged into the enemy lines, engaging the Japanese in hand-to-hand combat. The Japanese were thrown into disarray, some killed before they could even disembark. Those who did disembark suffered heavy casualties, with the remaining soldiers turning back to their vehicles and fleeing in panic. Forced to retreat after suffering a decisive blow, the 35th Division captured two Japanese vehicles, over a hundred artillery shells, dozens of boxes of ammunition, as well as firearms and officer's swords. This marked the first victory in the Suiyuan-Western Anti-Japanese War. This victory boosted morale and public spirit. When the captured vehicles entered Wuyuan County, the people cheered enthusiastically, plastering the vehicles with various celebratory slogans. An elderly local artist even composed a song to celebrate the victory and sang it on the street: "Our old Western Army (referring to Ma Hongbin's 81st Army) is really good at fighting. We drove away the Japanese soldiers, captured cars and brought them into Wuyuan City, where the whole city celebrated and welcomed them. Relying on our old Western Army, we defeated the Japanese soldiers, and the people have peace."
The campaign's defining battle occurred at Wubulangkou in early 1940, following the Chinese raid on Baotou in December 1939. In the autumn of 1939, the situation in Shanxi stabilized, and Fu Zuoyi, the chairman of Suiyuan Province who had retreated to Shanxi, led his troops back to western Suiyuan, establishing the Deputy Commander's Headquarters of the Eighth War Zone to unify command of military and political affairs in western Suiyuan and actively preparing for a counter-offensive. To coordinate with the nationwide winter offensive, Fu Zuoyi decided to attack Baotou, a key Japanese stronghold, to contain the Japanese forces in North China. The Battle of Baotou was spearheaded by the newly formed 31st Division of Fu Zuoyi's 35th Army, with the 35th Division of Ma Hongbin's 81st Army providing support. Under meticulous planning, on December 20th, Sun Lanfeng's newly formed 31st Division of Fu Zuoyi's army stormed into Baotou. The Japanese army, caught off guard, panicked and suffered over a thousand casualties, scattering in all directions, losing all their supplies within the city. Fu Zuoyi then directed his troops to withdraw to the rear of western Suiyuan, luring the enemy deeper into the territory for a later battle.
The Battle of Baotou greatly angered the Japanese army. Therefore, more than 30,000 Japanese troops were mobilized from Zhangjiakou, Taiyuan, Datong, and other places, along with more than 1,500 military vehicles, armored vehicles, tanks, dozens of aircraft, and six divisions of puppet Mongolian troops, totaling more than 40,000 men. Under the command of Division Commander Kuroda, they launched a major offensive into western Suiyuan in early 1940, attempting to seize western and southern Inner Mongolia in one fell swoop. Facing the superior Japanese forces, the people and soldiers of western Suiyuan adopted a scorched-earth policy and mobile warfare to maneuver against the enemy. The specific deployment was as follows: the 7th Cavalry Division of Men Bingyue's troops blocked the Japanese troops in the Xishanzui and Maqidukou areas, and then turned to the right bank of the Yellow River to threaten the enemy's left flank; the 35th Division of Ma Hongbin's troops and the 1st Cavalry Brigade of Ma Hongkui's troops constructed positions in the Wubulangkou and Wuzhen areas, blocked the enemy, and then moved into Langshan to threaten the Japanese right flank; the 35th Army of Fu Zuoyi's troops assembled northwest of Wuyuan to launch mobile attacks on the enemy; other units chose favorable terrain to harass the exhausted enemy at any time; and the logistics personnel were transferred to the Dengkou and Shizuishan areas. Before Langshan Mountain, where the Yang family generals once fought against the Jin dynasty, a thousand-mile-long battlefield against the Japanese was set up.
Wubulangkou is located in the western part of the Yinshan Mountains. Nestled between the eastern and western ends of the rugged and precipitous Erlang Mountain and Chashitai Mountain, it forms a strategically vital location. After Fu Zuoyi returned to western Suiyuan in 1939 to serve as deputy commander of the Eighth War Zone, the Ningxia army was placed under his command. At the end of December, Fu Zuoyi's troops stormed Baotou, inflicting over a thousand casualties on the Japanese. Okabe, commander of the Japanese Mengjiang Garrison, considered the defeat at Baotou a great humiliation and declared, "We must sweep through the Hetao region and completely annihilate Fu Zuoyi's army." To eliminate future troubles, the Japanese, "determined to decisively crush the enemy's base in the Hetao region with their main force," began in January 1940, mobilizing over 30,000 Japanese and puppet troops from Zhangjiakou, Datong, and other places, along with over a thousand vehicles, aircraft, artillery, and tanks. Under the command of Division Commander Kuroda Shigetoku, they launched a three-pronged, menacing invasion of western Suiyuan.
On January 31, Kuroda led the main force of the Japanese central route, consisting of over 780 vehicles, armored vehicles, and tanks, and launched an attack at 4:30 PM on the positions of the 35th Division of the 81st Army in the area of Wubulangkou, Siyitang, and Wuzhen.
Ubulangkou, where Ma Hongbin's 35th Division was stationed, is a transliteration of the Mongolian word "Ubulak," meaning "mouth of large and small springs." Located in the southern part of present-day Urad Middle Banner, it lies at the junction of Wuliangsutai, Delingshan Township, and Wengeng Sumu, a strategically important location nestled between two mountains. When the Battle of Ubulangkou began, Ma Hongbin was in Chongqing attending a high-level military conference convened by Chiang Kai-shek, and his troops were commanded by Ma Tengjiao, commander of the 35th Division. At approximately 8:00 AM on January 31, 1940, the Japanese army amassed its forces in the Zaoshulinzi desert area, directly north of Siyitang and directly east of Ubulangkou. Their vanguard first used three aircraft to circling and bombard the positions of Ma's 205th Regiment, followed by artillery bombardment. Under the cover of aircraft and artillery, Japanese tanks, armored vehicles, and hundreds of military vehicles carrying Japanese troops launched an attack on the Siyitang and Ubulangkou positions. Following Ma Hongbin's orders, a defensive trench, 3 meters wide and 3 meters deep, had been dug in front of the 81st Army's position, stretching approximately 10 kilometers from the foot of Wubulang Pass to the north bank of the Yellow River. A 50-meter-wide pit zone preceded the trench. The two sides fought fiercely until nightfall, suffering heavy casualties and remaining evenly matched. At the Siyitang position, Ding Liangyu, the company commander of the 1st Company, 1st Battalion, 205th Regiment, was wounded and died the following day; more than 30 platoon leaders, squad leaders, and soldiers were killed. Xue Wanyou, the battalion clerk, was hit by an artillery shell, his body torn apart and his head severed. Although the officers and soldiers of Ma's 35th Division suffered heavy casualties, they held their ground. Unable to break through, the Japanese used aircraft to continuously release poison gas with the wind at their backs. Although Ma's troops had prepared simple gas masks made of gauze wrapped in sawdust, the concentration of the gas was too high, causing many to experience headaches, chest tightness, and vomiting, greatly weakening their fighting capacity and making the situation increasingly critical. Around 10 PM, Division Commander Ma Tengjiao ordered Ma Jiangong, deputy battalion commander of the 2nd Battalion of the 206th Regiment, to lead two companies from Wulanaobao to reinforce the 208th Regiment via Siyitang. Ma Jiangong was killed by a grenade in the fierce fighting. The two companies fought desperately to break free from the enemy and finally joined up with the 208th Regiment. The enemy, realizing this, reinforced their forces and intensified their attack. At 11:30 PM, the 208th Regiment's position was breached, but the enemy dared not advance rashly. The battle resumed at dawn the next day, and the fighting at the Siyitang position remained extremely fierce. Ma Tengjiao ordered the 1st Battalion of the 206th Regiment to reinforce the Siyitang position. While traversing a seven- or eight-mile stretch of open land, the reinforcements were subjected to heavy artillery fire from the Japanese, suffering heavy casualties. However, the troops braved the artillery fire, bullets, and thick smoke, breaking through the enemy's fire blockade and reaching the position. The combined forces of the Wubulangkou and Siyitang positions continued to inflict powerful blows on the Japanese army. The 205th Regiment, holding the fortified Siyitang, engaged in bayonet fighting with the Japanese army. When their bayonets bent, the soldiers would grab the enemy and bite them, or detonate grenades to die alongside them. The troops had gone two days and two nights without food or water, and coupled with the bitter cold, they were exhausted and suffering heavy casualties. The battle was exceptionally fierce, tragic, and arduous. Ma Hongbin later recalled this battle, saying, "Even the world-famous battles of Taierzhuang and Changsha, where the National Revolutionary Army fought with such heroic spirit, were no more than this."
In the early morning of February 1st, the Japanese army first bombarded the defensive positions at Wubulangkou and Siyitang with heavy artillery, and then used aircraft to dive-bomb the open area in front of Wubulangkou. Under the attack of enemy artillery and tanks combined with infantry, the 208th Regiment suffered heavy casualties, and the front-line positions at Wubulangkou were breached by the enemy. The 205th and 206th Regiments sent reinforcements, using bunkers and high ground fortifications to stubbornly resist the enemy, resulting in heavy casualties on both sides. Seeing that they could not capture the positions defended by the Ningxia army, the Japanese army released tear gas and sneezing gas. While attacking from the front, the Japanese army sent puppet Mongolian troops to flank and attack Wubulangkou from the rear of the mountain. Although the Ma troops resisted bravely, they were ultimately outnumbered, and their positions were successively breached by the enemy, forcing the remaining defenders to withdraw. In this battle, more than 1,000 officers and soldiers of the Ningxia Ma troops shed their blood in western Suiyuan, using their lives to block the enemy's advance.
Ma's troops retreated, pursued by Japanese ground forces and strafed by aircraft, suffering over a thousand casualties and forced to retreat into the desert. They continued to fight the Japanese in the quicksand, killing another 200 enemy soldiers. After a grueling six-day, six-night march, the troops successfully returned to their Dengkou base for rest. Post-war statistics show that Ma's 35th Division originally had over 5,000 men; in the battle of Wubulangkou, over 1,000 were killed and 2,000 wounded, including 700 suffering from frostbite. This battle exemplified sacrificial defense, buying time for counteroffensives.
Upon learning of the defeat of his troops in Chongqing, Ma Hongbin immediately flew back to Ningxia and rushed to Dengkou. After regrouping the troops and investigating officers who had failed in their command, he reorganized two regiments, replenished their equipment, and after a brief rest, led by Brigade Commander Ma Peiqing, returned to western Suiyuan. To cooperate with Fu Zuoyi's troops in continuing the fight against the Japanese invaders, the Ningxia army, mainly composed of the 35th Division, entered the Dala Banner area of Yimeng to fight the enemy. After occupying Wuyuan, the Japanese army believed that the Chinese army in western Suiyuan was in disarray and would be unable to recover its fighting capacity in a short time. Furthermore, due to its overextended battle lines and supply difficulties, the Japanese army had no spare troops to expand the war. Therefore, they centered their forces on Wuyuan, leaving a Japanese regiment and four divisions of puppet Mongolian troops, totaling over 15,000 men, to garrison the Hetao region, while the rest of their forces retreated eastward. After the main Japanese force withdrew, Fu Zuoyi decided to organize a campaign to recapture Wuyuan. In March 1940, he ordered his 35th Army to lead the attack on Wuyuan, while Ma's 81st Army moved from western Suiyuan to the Dalad Banner area on the south bank of the Yellow River in the Ordos League to construct fortifications and block Japanese reinforcements from Baotou. At midnight on March 20, Fu's 35th Army simultaneously launched attacks on Japanese strongholds in Wuyuan, Meilingmiao, and Xingongzhong. After two days of fierce fighting, our army finally recaptured Linhe and Wuyuan, killing Lieutenant General Mizukawa, the division commander of the Japanese army, and several thousand of his puppet troops.
Upon hearing the news, the Japanese troops in Baotou crossed the Yellow River, attempting to outflank the 35th Army from the south. However, their westward advance was met with resistance from the positions of Ma's 81st Army. During the defensive battle, Ma's troops were bombarded by more than 30 Japanese artillery pieces. Due to outdated weaponry and lack of artillery counterattack, Ma's right flank was destroyed, allowing the enemy to encircle them from the rear. To avoid being outflanked, Ma's troops retreated north to the Shawo area to regroup. Ma Hongbin ordered each regiment to exploit the enemy's difficulty in vehicular movement in the desert, employing mobile warfare tactics, advancing when the enemy advanced and retreating when the enemy retreated, maintaining a distance of five or six li from the enemy, and choosing opportune moments to attack and exhaust them. Ma's troops also frequently formed assault teams to harass the enemy at night, keeping them constantly on edge. After maneuvering with the Japanese in the desert for several days using mobile warfare, Ma Hongbin's troops occupied a hilltop southwest of Xinminbao and laid an ambush. When the enemy approached, they unleashed a sudden barrage of fire, inflicting hundreds of casualties. This blow forced the Japanese army to abandon its southern reinforcement plan and retreat north across the Yellow River near Zhaojunfen. After the Japanese retreat, the 81st Army immediately launched an attack on the puppet Mongolian cavalry south of the Yellow River. After more than a month of battles, large and small, except for Chaidengtai, which was captured by Fu Zuoyi's troops, all other puppet strongholds were wiped out by Ma Hongbin's troops, and "the entire Damian Beach area in the northeast of the Ih Ju League was recovered."
During the Qingming Festival in 1940, the 35th Division, returning to western Suiyuan, buried the officers and soldiers who died in the battle at Wubulangkou. With tears in their eyes, people buried the remains of 148 officers and soldiers at the Cemetery for Fallen Soldiers on the west side of Wubulangkou, and erected brick monuments in front of the graves according to the names on the surviving shoulder insignia of the fallen officers and soldiers' uniforms.
Casualties on all sides were significant, reflecting the intensity of the fighting. For the Japanese, two brigades and the 72nd Cavalry Regiment took heavy hits, though official reports admitted only about 1,000 losses. Given that these units were sidelined from combat for an extended period afterward, the true figure was likely far higher. Battle reports from the 26th Division alone recorded over 3,000 casualties, nearly 20% of its strength,pushing the total Japanese toll, including other units, to between 4,000 and 5,000. Puppet forces fared even worse. The "Suiyuan-Western Autonomous Allied Army" proved utterly ineffective, collapsing almost immediately against the superior Ma Clique cavalry of the Nationalist 81st Army. While the puppet Mongolian cavalry had some combat capability, their reluctance to fight for the Japaneseâoften against their own kin, led to half-hearted engagements and quick retreats. Combined puppet casualties and prisoners numbered around 5,000 to 6,000, bringing the overall Japanese and puppet losses to 10,000â12,000 killed or wounded. The Chinese forces, vastly outmatched in equipment and relying on brave but undertrained local security units, endured heavy sacrifices. Domestic sources estimate their casualties at 15,000â20,000.
This campaign marked the only major anti-Japanese engagement involving people from Ningxia, where over 10,000 Hui and Han fighters, under Ma Hongbin and Ma Hongkui, battled fiercely in what is now Linhe and Wuyuan in Inner Mongolia. Thousands perished, buried far from home, embodying the unyielding spirit of the Chinese nation. It stood as Northwest China's sole battlefield in the war, a point of pride for its people. Victory was hard-won, despite the Chinese having slightly more troops but far inferior weaponry. Success stemmed from the soldiers' bravery, tactical use of cavalry mobility, and crucially, the puppet Mongolians' unwillingness to fully commit. The campaign not only repelled the Japanese westward and southward advances, securing Northwest China's northern gateway and blocking incursions into Ningxia, Shaanxi, and Gansu, but also safeguarded key supply routes like the Suiyuan-Xinjiang Highway and connections to Lanzhou. This ensured a steady influx of Soviet aid, bolstering the national resistance and indirectly supporting efforts in Southwest China.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
After a Chinese raid seized Baotou, Japan launched a major 1940 offensive with tens of thousands of troops, vehicles, armor, aircraft, and puppet Mongolian forces. Chinese defenders used scorched earth, fortifications at Wubulangkou, and mobile cavalry/desert tactics, ambushes, and night harassment. Fu Zuoyi later recaptured Wuyuan/Linhe. Casualties were heavyâChinese estimates 15,000â20,000; Japanese/puppet losses possibly 10,000â12,000.
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Last time we spoke about the first battle of Changsha. Japanese forces under General Okamura Yasuji, including the 6th, 13th, and 33rd Divisions, launched a multi-pronged offensive, crossing the Xin Qiang River and capturing Yingtian amid brutal fighting. Chinese defenses, commanded by Xue Yue in the Ninth War Zone, employed gradual resistance strategies, with units like the 195th Division under Qin Yizhi holding key positions such as Bijia Mountain and Fulinpu, inflicting heavy losses. Battalion Commander Luo Wenlang recaptured Dongtang in a midnight assault, grieving his fallen brother amid Mid-Autumn moonlight. Chiang Kai-shek, from Chongqing, oversaw operations while hosting a festive banquet, buoyed by international support like U.S. loans. By October, Japanese advances stalled; Okamura ordered a retreat on October 2, exposed by a downed plane yielding critical documents. Chinese forces pursued, reclaiming lines by October 8, annihilating over half the invaders per Chiang's commendation.
#198 The Battle of South Guangxi
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
In January 1939, the Japanese General Headquarters, responding to naval needs, ordered the 21st Corps to seize Hainan Island. The goal was to establish a base for air operations against southwestern China and to enforce blockade measures. Supported by the Japanese Navy, the Corps deployed the Taiwan Brigade, which landed at Haikou on February 10. After initial defeats, Chinese peace preservation units withdrew to the island's interior and conducted harassment operations. Japanese troops soon occupied northern counties including Qiongshan, Wenchang, Ding'an, Qionghai, and Chengmai, followed by the port of Yulin, which positioned them for southward advances toward Guangxi.
This invasion was part of a broader strategy to disrupt Chinese supply lines and secure a foothold in southern China. Although Chinese resistance on Hainan ultimately failed to repel the invaders, it highlighted the resilience that would define regional fighting.
After the costly Battle of Wuhan, the Sino-Japanese War reached a stalemate in central China, despite ongoing large-scale conflicts and Japanese strategic bombings that caused heavy casualties without breaking the deadlock. Politically, Japan's alignment with the Axis powers and the start of World War II in Western Europe led European nations to bolster ties with China. With major coastal ports under Japanese control, the Nationalist government's main overseas supply route became the Haiphong-Kunming railway in French Indochina, which transported four times more war materials in 1938 than in 1937, including heavy equipment purchased abroad.
The Hainan occupation negatively impacted Japan's war efforts, though diplomatic pressure on Britain and France proved ineffective. Meanwhile, the Imperial Japanese Navy proposed a southward advance: invading from Nanning to Longzhou County in Guangxi by sea to establish an airfield for strategic bombing. An April 15, 1939, Navy Department assessment deemed large-scale inland army operations challenging, recommending instead that the army and navy collaborate to occupy Shantouâthe largest trading port on the South China coastâbefore pushing into Guangxi to seize Nanning and sever China's vital Indochina supply line.
In June, the Japanese General Staff's "Military Geography" emphasized that occupying Nanning would provide convenient transportation in all directions, reaching Guangdong, Hunan, Guizhou, and Yunnan. The Nanning-Lang Son road had become a major artery for Chiang Kai-shek's regime to connect with the southwest. To cut it off directly, Nanning must be captured first. Once occupied, heavy troops near Tokyo Bay would not be needed to achieve the operation's purpose. This idea gained considerable support both politically and tactically. The Army's northward policy had been defeated by the Soviet Union in the Battle of Khalkhin Gol in September 1939. Major General Tominaga Kyoji, the newly appointed head of the First Department of the General Staff, sought to avoid further embarrassments. Supporting the proposal involved transferring the 5th Division of the Kwantung Army, originally intended for Khalkhin Gol, to the south. This prevented front-line units from misjudging higher-ups' positions and allowed implementation without affecting existing troops.
In September, the European war broke out. The Japanese General Headquarters ordered the 21st Army to capture the vicinity of Nanning, cut off the international passage between Guangxi and Vietnam, and obtain a base for air operations in southwest China. Japan aimed to completely sever China's most important supply route. According to Japanese intelligence, the French Indochina line accounted for 85% of China's foreign aid in late 1939, with 12,500 tons transported in September alone.
On September 1, 1939, Germany attacked Poland; on September 3, Britain and France declared war on Germany, igniting World War II. Japan, eager to resolve the China issue and free up troops to seize Western colonies in Asia and the Pacific, stated through Prime Minister Nobuyuki Abe on September 4: "At the outbreak of the European war, the Empire will not intervene and has decided to focus on resolving the China Incident." In Nanjing, the China Expeditionary Army Headquarters was established, with General Nishio Hisazo as Commander-in-Chief and Lieutenant General Itagaki Seishiro as Chief of Staff, overseeing the North China Area Army, the 11th Army, the 13th Army, and the 21st Army.
On September 23, the Japanese General Headquarters issued an order to prepare for a swift response to the China Incident. On October 16, "Continental Order No. 375" directed the Commander-in-Chief of the China Expeditionary Army to swiftly cut off enemy supply routes from Nanning to Longzhou with a portion of the navy. Also on October 16, "Continental Order No. 582," a central Army-Navy agreement, aimed to cut off enemy routes along the Nanning-Longzhou line and strengthen naval air operations against the Yunnan-Vietnam Railway and the Burma Road. The operation was scheduled for mid-November. On October 19, Nishio Juzo issued orders for the Guangxi operation, involving the 5th Division, Taiwan Mixed Brigade, supporting units, the 5th Fleet (renamed the 2nd Expeditionary Fleet in mid-November), and the 3rd Combined Naval Air Group. Total strength: about 30,000 men, over 70 warships, 2 aircraft carriers, and about 100 aircraft. Tominaga Kyoji announced: "This is the last battle of the China Incident."
Politically, the Guangxi Army was a key pillar of the National Government after retreating to Sichuan. Attacking Guangxi could impact the Guangxi clique's stance on continuing the war. Cutting off the Nanning-Longzhou line would affect Vietnam-China transportation security and allow actions against French Indochina amid Europe's distractions. With tactical and political alignment, the plan was approved.
In September 1939, the Chinese repelled the Japanese attack on Changsha. In October, the National Government held the Second Nanyue Military Conference in Hengshan, summarizing the First Changsha Campaign and deciding on a new offensive. On October 29, Chiang Kai-shek announced: "Our future strategic application and the mentality of officers and soldiers must be completely transformed. We must start to turn defense into offense, turn stillness into movement, and actively take offensive measures." On November 5, after the meeting, intelligence indicated Japan's intention to invade the south. U.S. and British agencies reported the Japanese fleet gathering in Tokyo Bay, signaling an imminent operation against Nanning. Chiang flew from Hengshan to Guilin to arrange defenses.
At this time, coastal defense was guarded by the 16th Army Group under Xia Wei (transferred, with Cai Tingkai taking over), a Guangxi clique force comprising the 46th and 31st Armies. Bai Chongxi, director of the Guilin Headquarters, was in Chongqing for the Sixth Plenary Session of the Fifth National Congress of the Kuomintang, while Chief of Staff Lin Wei was in Rong County mourning Xia Wei's mother. The headquarters was essentially deserted. Zhang Fakui, commander of the Fourth War Zone, and Chief of Staff Wu Shiyuan were in Shaoguan, Guangdong. The three-tiered command structureâheadquarters, war zone, army groupâwas practically non-existent.
The Chinese forces north of the pass were commanded by Bai Chongxi's Guilin Headquarters, with Lin Wei as Chief of Staff; they included the Fourth War Zone under Zhang Fakui and the 16th Army Group under Xia Wei. They commanded: the 31st Army (Commander Wei Yunsong; 131st Division under He Weizhen; 135th Division under Su Zuxin; 188th Division under Wei Zhen); the 46th Army (Commander He Xuan; 170th Division under Li Xingshu; 175th Division under Feng Huang; New 19th Division under Huang Gu); and a portion of the 200th Division of the 5th Army (Commander Dai Anlan). Together with the 1st-4th Independent Infantry Regiments of the Guangxi Training Corps, total strength was approximately 60,000 men.
After the Japanese landing, Bai Chongxi was stationed in Qianjiang, while the 16th Army Group headquarters in Xiawei was at Heishiyan near Binyang.
In early November 1939, the Japanese 5th Fleet and the aircraft carrier Kaga escorted the 5th Division and the Taiwan Brigade to concentrate in Haikou. Japanese aircraft bombed important cities in Guangxi. At that time, the Chinese army defended the coast from Nanning to Qinzhou Bay and Fangcheng with part of the 16th Army Group of the Fourth War Zone. The 46th Army was responsible for the coastline of Fangcheng, Qinxian, Hepu, and Liankou, and the 31st Army for key points along the Xijiang River.
On November 9, Japanese troops assembled at Sanya Bay on Hainan Island. Lieutenant General Ando Rikichi, commander of the 21st Army, personally commanded from Sanya. On the 13th, the fleet set sail. On the 14th, vanguard ships feinted at Beihai with over ten ships. A battalion of the 175th Division retaliated and was ordered to destroy Beihai, but Commander Chao Wei of the 524th Regiment believed no landing was intended, avoiding complete destruction. That night, Japanese ships turned toward Qinzhou.
To safeguard the international communications link between Guangxi and Indochina, the Chinese Generalissimo's Headquarters in Guilin assigned defensive missions. The 46th Corps of the 16th Army Group was tasked with defending the coastline from Fangcheng to Qinzhou, Hepu, and Lianjiang. The 31st Corps was responsible for key positions along the Xi River. Defensive positions were prepared in advance, and communications infrastructure was sabotaged to facilitate gradual resistance, aiming to attrition Japanese forces before a decisive engagement along the Yong River.
On November 15, under air and naval fire support, the Japanese 5th Division and Taiwan Brigade executed a forced landing on the west coast of Qinzhou Bay. Following intense resistance, the Chinese New 19th Division withdrew to Pancheng and Shangsi. After capturing Qinzhou, the Japanese 5th Division advanced north along the Yong-Qin Highway, while the Taiwan Brigade moved along XiaodongâBaijiâBujin Road. On November 17, the Japanese army captured Qinzhou and Fangcheng. The 5th Division immediately split into three routes along the Yongqin Highway, while the Taiwan Brigade advanced north along Xiaodong-Baekje-Pujin. On the 18th, they attacked Xiaodong, the headquarters of the New 19th Division. Division Commander Huang Gu fled alone in the face of battle. His troops were routed, and the Japanese continued northward. Meanwhile, bandits from the Shiwan Mountains formed numerous plainclothes teams to lead the Japanese advance, accelerating their northward movement. By November 21, they approached the south bank of the Yu River. On December 1, they occupied Gaofeng Pass. On December 4, they occupied Kunlun Pass and then adopted a defensive posture.
On November 16, Chiang Kai-shek summoned Bai Chongxi in Chongqing, ordering him to return to Guilin immediately to command the battle, without attending the plenary session. Bai requested full command without intervention from Zhang Fakui, and that all armies obey the Headquarters directly. Chiang approved and transferred his elite Fifth Army and other units to Bai's command. Bai telegraphed Du Yuming to lead troops by train from Hengyang to southern Guilin and reinstated Xia Wei as commander of the 16th Army Group, with Cai Tingkai awaiting orders. The 16th Army Group assembled, and Deputy Commander-in-Chief Wei Yunsong arrived in Nanning on the 19th. Units rushed to block Japanese advances. Bai flew to Guilin on the 19th and Qianjiang on the 21st, establishing the command post. Thus, as Japanese arrived in Nanning, Chinese reinforcements like the 170th Division reached Yongning on the 22nd, two regiments of the 135th Division entered Nanning on the 23rd, and the 600th Regiment of the 200th Division arrived at Ertang on the afternoon of the 24th. Other armies assembled in Liuzhou and Binyang.
On November 21, Japanese troops approached the south bank of the Yu River. Wu Zongjun, commander of the 405th Regiment of the 135th Division, arbitrarily ordered his regiments to abandon positions and retreat. Wei Yunsong ordered Su Zuxin to intercept, but Wu disobeyed. No troops defended Nanning's front lines. At dawn on the 24th, the 170th Division fought fiercely in Yongning. In the morning, the Japanese 21st Regiment crossed the river. By afternoon, Nanning had fallen. Over the next two days, they swept surrounding positions. On the morning of the 25th, the 600th Regiment of the 200th Division fought alone against Japanese regiments at Ertang. Under air cover, Japanese attacked, but Chinese resisted stubbornly. Regiment Commander Shao Yizhi and Adjutant Wu Qisheng were killed. Given the situation, Division Commanders Li Xingshu and Dai Anlan retreated to Gaofeng Pass after dusk. Though they failed to stop the advance, this was the fiercest resistance since the landing, lasting two days and nights. On November 25, Japanese attacked the 175th Division near Luwu from Xiaodong and the highway. The division moved to Nalong, assembling in villages there. The 175th attacked key points along the Yongqin Highway, including Datang, Naxiao, Dongya, Nabian, Xincheng, Xiaodong, Dadong, and Bancheng.
On November 20, the 21st Army opened its headquarters in Qinzhou. On November 26, Ando Rikichi announced the formation of the Yongqin Corps under Imamura Hitoshi. Ando left for Guangzhou on the 27th. Starting on the 26th, Japanese attacked Gaofeng Pass with aircraft cover. Despite fierce resistance, Chinese lost Gaofeng Pass on December 1. On the 4th, Japanese occupied Kunlun Pass, then adjusted deployment. The two sides confronted each other along the Kunlun Pass mountainous boundary. According to statistics up to December 1, Japanese suffered 145 dead and 315 wounded; Chinese had 6,125 dead bodies and 664 prisoners (but Japanese casualties were underreported; the 41st Infantry Regiment received 727 replacements on January 19, likely matching killed and wounded sent back). Seized in Nanning: 300 tons lead, 200 tons coal, 500 bundles cotton, 321 tons cotton thread, 30 tons iron, 60 tons tin. On December 2, the Japanese 5th Cavalry Regiment and Morimoto Battalion were attacked by about 1,500 Chinese with four tanks at Batang. Japanese dispatched the 21st Brigade (Nakamura Detachment), repelling a mixed force of the 200th and 188th Divisions. Japanese occupied Kunlun Pass but left only a battalion to defend it, withdrawing the rest to Nanning.
Bai Chongxi, director of the Guilin Headquarters and deputy chief of staff, proposed a counter-offensive plan, which was approved by Chiang Kai-shek.
On November 24, when Japanese had just occupied Nanning, Bai Chongxi demanded an immediate counterattack while Japanese were unstable and weak. After failing to gain approval, Bai asked Du Yuming to submit a request. Du sent a telegram on December 1: "The enemy occupying Nanning is less than two divisions. They succeeded by exploiting our dispersed forces, but lack heavy weapons and supplies. Our army should gather superior forces and launch a counter-offensive quickly (before December 10) to defeat them and restore international transportation." Chiang decided on a counter-offensive on December 7. On the 8th, Bai conveyed the objective: "capturing Kunlun Pass and then recovering Nanning." By mid-December, assembly was complete. Chiang dispatched Chen Cheng and Li Jishen to supervise, and Zhang Fakui arrived in Qianjiang.
In the early stages, Guangxi lacked heavy armored forces for counterattacking beyond Guangxi clique troops. The fall of Kunlun Pass prompted Chongqing to deploy the reorganized Fifth Army and its armored corps for a strong attack. The Fifth Army was the main force at Kunlun Pass, with the National Revolutionary Army providing cover while launching a full-scale counterattack in Nanning.
To recapture Kunlun Pass and Nanning, Bai Chongxi dispatched approximately nine armies and twenty-seven divisions, totaling 300,000 troops: Xia Wei of the 16th Army Group, Ye Zhao of the 37th Army Group, Deng Longguang of the 35th Army Group, and Cai Tingkai of the 26th Army Group (31st, 5th, 64th, 46th, and 43rd Armies, etc.) to attack Kunlun Pass. The Japanese, with the Nakamura Brigade as main force and special forces, had strong fortifications. Xu Tingyao of the 38th Army Group, with Li Yannian of the 2nd Army, Gan Lichu of the 6th Army, Yao Chun of the 36th Army, and Fu Zhongfang of the 99th Army. The 5th Army, plus the 1st Honorary Division (Zheng Dongguo), New 22nd Division (Qiu Qingquan), and all armored, cavalry, artillery, and engineer regiments, arrived.
The Japanese forces consisted of the 5th Division (Lieutenant General Hitoshi Imamura; 9th Brigade under Major General Genichiro Ogawa; 21st Brigade under Major General Masao Nakamura; Taiwan Mixed Brigade under Major General Sadashiro Shiota), Marine Corps (over 70 warships), and Air Force (100 aircraft), totaling about 30,000. Later reinforcements: Imperial Guard Division and a brigade from the 18th Division. Total about 100,000, but only 45,000 fought. After a traitor reported over 100,000 Nationalist troops north of Kunlun Pass, Imamura dismissed it as "impossible." Higher Japanese ranks hoped to instigate rebellion by the Guangxi clique. On December 10, Imamura issued a telegram "Letter to Generals Li and Bai," expressing respect and stating the attack on Nanning was to cut off Chiang's lines, hoping for Japan-China cooperation. If insisted, the Japanese garrison would win. Finally: "The more than 4,200 brave soldiers who died in Nanning have been buried in Zhongshan Park and solemnly offered sacrifices. Please rest assured."
On December 15, Bai Chongxi took a decisive step in the escalating conflict by issuing the first counter-offensive order, setting the stage for a coordinated push against enemy positions. He organized the forces into three main route armies, with additional reserves held back for support.
The Northern Route Army, under Xu Tingyao's command, focused its efforts on Kunlun Pass. The 5th Army led the direct assault there, while the 92nd Division from the 99th Army skirted around Lingliwei to strike at Qitang, effectively flanking the pass and adding pressure from the side.
Meanwhile, the Western Route Army, led by Xia Wei, split into two columns to cover multiple fronts. The First Column, commanded by Zhou Zuhuang, targeted Gaofeng Pass in a bold advance. The Second Column, under Wei Yunsong, positioned itself at Suwei to block any reinforcements heading toward Nanning, cutting off potential enemy supply lines.
On the eastern flank, Cai Tingkai's Eastern Route Army aimed to disrupt key logistics. The 46th Army moved against Luwu and Lingshan, intent on severing the vital Yongqin Highway. At the same time, the 66th Army joined the assault on Kunlun Pass before pushing onward to Gula and Gantang. To bolster these efforts, the remaining two divisions of the 99th Army were kept in reserve, ready to reinforce wherever needed.
The very next day, on December 16, Du Yumingânow serving as army commanderâgathered his officers for a critical conference within the 5th Army. There, they crafted a clever encirclement strategy dubbed "close the gate and fight the tiger," designed to trap and overwhelm the opposition. The plan's core involved the 200th Division, led by Dai Anlan, and the 1st Honorary Division under Zheng Dongguo launching the primary attack on Kunlun Pass. Flanking from the right, Qiu Qingquan's New 22nd Division would seize Wutang and Liutang, then turn to intercept any incoming reinforcements. On the left wing, Peng Bisheng commanded two regiments in a daring bypass of Gantang and Chang'an, aiming to strike at Qitang and Batang and seal off the enemy's retreat routes.
The enemy at Kunlun Pass was the Matsumoto Sozaburo Battalion of the 21st Brigade. Its 42nd and 21st Regiments were along Jiutang-Nanning. On December 16, Imamura ordered Major General Kawai Genshichi of the 9th Brigade to lead thousands in a surprise attack on Longzhou and Zhennan Pass, departing on the 17th.
At 8 p.m. on December 17, the Battle of Kunlun Pass began.
On December 18, Chinese forces began their attack and captured Kunlun Pass and Jiutang on the same day. On December 19, it captured Gaofeng Pass. On December 20, Gaofeng Pass, Jiutang, and Kunlun Pass fell into the hands of the Japanese army again. At dawn on December 18, the artillery of the 5th Army opened fire. After extension, the 200th and 1st Honorary Divisions attacked. Hundreds of Japanese planes bombed. By night, the 1st Honorary captured Fairy Mountain, Laomaoling, Wanfu Village, Luotang, and Hill 411; 200th captured Hills 653 and 600, taking Kunlun Pass. At noon on the 19th, massive Japanese air raid. Imamura dispatched the 21st Regiment under Colonel Miki Yoshinosuke, recapturing it. Positions were contested repeatedly. The New 22nd occupied Wutang and Liutang; Wutang recaptured by Japanese, but Liutang held, blocking reinforcements. When Imamura ordered Taiwan Mixed Brigade reinforcement, they were blocked at Liutang by Qiu Qingquan. Du Yuming ordered Zheng Dongguo to send Zheng Tingji's 3rd Regiment to encircle Jiutang from the right. They captured high ground west of Jiutang at night. On December 20, enemy at Kunlun Pass weakened, sending urgent reports. Imamura ordered Nakamura Masao with 42nd Regiment to reinforce, but blocked at Wutang for two days, reaching Qitang on the 22nd, blocked again. Nakamura was wounded on the 23rd morning. At 1:30 pm, Miki reported: "If the brigade cannot arrive before dusk, the front line will be difficult to secure."
Imamura ordered Colonel Lin Yixiong's 1st Regiment and Colonel Watanabe Nobuyoshi's 2nd Regiment of the Taiwan Mixed Brigade to reinforce, but blocked by 175th Division on Yongqin Road. Watanabe's regiment blocked at Luwu by 524th Regiment (Chao Wei), and after three days, couldn't pass. Watanabe was killed, remnants fled to Qin County. On the 20th, Imamura ordered the 9th Brigade's 3rd Battalion of Ito's unit back in 105 vehicles to reinforce.
The Japanese confirmed the attack and Imamura ordered Nakamura Detachment rescue. Over two weeks, encirclement and breakout battles occurred on the Nanning-Kunlun Pass highway.
On the 18th, the 170th Division launched the Battle of Gaofeng Pass, capturing a hill on the 19th but ambushed that night. On the 20th, the pass fell, retreating to Gewei. Bai inspected but no improvement; failed to capture Gaofeng Pass or block reinforcements. Ito's unit on Yonglong Road intercepted by 131st at Xichangwei. On the 22nd, Imamura sent two companies from Nanning, intercepted by 188th near Suwei. Ito's battalion besieged in Xichangwei for three days, spared because 131st avoided close combat. Under air cover, both broke through to Nanning on the 26th.
On November 21, Chiang was dissatisfied with Kunlun Pass progress, ordering: "If front-line troops and artillery fail to attack or complete tasks, they shall be punished for cowardice."
By the 23rd, two divisions of 5th Army had over 2,000 casualties; Japanese over 1,000. Six days yielded no results, with reinforcements arriving. Du changed tactics to concentrate forces, tightening encirclement.
On the 24th, Oikawa Detachment ordered back to Nanning, destroying captured materials and withdrawing from Longzhou and Zhennanguan. Bai learned some escaped, telegraphing Wei Yunsong: "If the second batch escapes, it affects the main force. The deputy commander-in-chief should be punished." Main force still escaped; local troops preserved strength, benefiting Japanese.
On the main position, Zheng Tingji spotted Japanese officers meeting and ordered fire, inflicting heavy casualties, requiring airdropped officers.
On the 25th, Second Regiment of First Division captured Luotang South Heights, annihilating over 200. From December 25, Fifth Army and 159th and 92nd Divisions occupied key high grounds. Fierce battle until December 31, capturing Kunlun Pass and Tianyin, killing Nakamura Masao, annihilating over 5,000.
Following the intense clashes at Kunlun Pass, the battle's toll on the Japanese forces became starkly evident in the weeks that followed. On January 19, just a month after the fighting peaked, the Japanese rushed in 3,389 fresh replacements to replenish their battered 5th Division. This influx was distributed unevenly: 1,848 went to the 21st Infantry Regiment and 814 to the 42nd, figures that likely corresponded directly to the number of dead and seriously wounded who had been evacuated back homeâthough those with minor injuries weren't factored into these counts. The ferocity of the engagement was further underscored by the capture of numerous Japanese strongholds, where Chinese forces found that every defender had been killed, leaving no survivors behind.
In many ways, this outcome represented a stunning annihilation for the Japanese, particularly the 21st Brigade, which was effectively wiped out. Key figures fell in the fray, including Brigade Commander Masao Nakamura, Acting Commander Sakata Genichi, Miki Yoshinosuke, along with various deputies and battalion commanders. The leadership losses were catastrophic: over 85% of officers above the squad leader level were killed. Japanese records themselves acknowledged more than 4,000 soldiers dead, painting a grim picture that their own war histories later described as "the darkest era for the army." On the Chinese side, the victory came at a heavy price, with over 10,000 casualties suffered, yet remarkably, the core officer corps remained largely intact, preserving command structure for future operations.
Zooming out to the broader theater in December 1939, the Japanese 5th Division and the Taiwan Mixed Brigade found themselves holding the line against an overwhelming force of more than 150,000 Nationalist troops. At the same time, the Japanese 21st Army was shifting its focus to Guangdong Province in preparation for Operation Weng Ying, while the Oikawa Detachmentâprimarily composed of the 11th Infantry Regimentâpushed forward to Longzhou. They captured Zhennanguan on November 21, securing valuable stocks of fuel and arms in the process. However, these stretched deployments and insufficient troop numbers left the Japanese without adequate reserves when encirclement loomed at Kunlun Pass. Ultimately, they were forced to abandon their offensive plans in Guangdong, pulling back to consolidate defenses around Nanning. Meanwhile, from their base in Chongqing, Chinese commanders had meticulously planned the recapture, turning the tide through careful strategy and sheer determination. Shocked, Japanese dispatched Vice Chief of Staff Sawada Shigeru to Guangzhou. On December 29, 21st Army sent staff to Nanning. Failed to change 21st Brigade's defeat. Imamura planned personal charge for revenge on January 1, but Ando ordered holding Nanning for reinforcements: "The 21st Army is transferring powerful force to annihilate enemy. 5th Division secure Nanning and key locations."
After capturing Kunlun Pass and annihilating two regiments of 21st Brigade, 5th Army thought to recapture Nanning. Remaining 21st Brigade and Taiwan regiments between Jiutang and Batang. At noon January 1, 1940, Oikawa's thousands arrived at Batang; Imamura ordered Oikawa replace killed Sakata. First battle on Hill 441. 1st Division held north side; Japanese south. On January 1, Japanese bombed and attacked; 1st Division reduced to hundred but held. At dawn 2nd, counterattack all day, no progress. On 3rd, Du mobilized 200th and part New 22nd; brutal fighting, heavy casualties. At nightfall, Japanese retreated to Jiutang. On 4th, Japanese abandoned Jiutang to Batang. New 22nd moved into Jiutang. 5th Army attacked Batang; by 12th, no progress. Exhausted with heavy casualties, 5th Army ordered to Silong for rest. Mission transferred to 36th Army. 5th Army withdrew.
On January 7, Chiang flew to Guilin, visiting Qianjiang on 10th to discuss plans with Bai, Chen, Zhang, Xu, Lin. Bai proposed offensive with new armies to recapture Nanning. Chiang approved. On 11th, as Bai issued orders, Chiang overturned, changing to defensive. Japanese gained time for counter-offensive.
To salvage defeat, Japanese transferred 18th Division and Konoye Brigade from Guangdong. Combined with existing, formed 22nd Corps under Seiichi Kuno, under South China Front Army commanded by Reikichi Ando, preparing counteroffensive.
On January 25, a brigade from the Japanese 18th Division and elements of the 15th Division attacked frontally along Yongbin Road, while Konoye Brigade flanked toward Guizhou via Yongyong Road, in Binyang Campaign. Konoye crossed at Tingziwei, then Yongchun County, via Gantang, Luwei, Gula, Wuling to Binyang, cutting rear. Bai Chongxi rushed 175th Division of 46th Army north to tail Konoye. After reinforcements, 21st Army launched offensive to drive and encircle south of Binyang; accumulated supplies in Nanning. On January 22, 18th and Konoye reached attack points. 38th Army Group HQ in Binyang bombed, communications cut, independent combat.
On January 28, Japanese launched offensive (Binyang Operation). On February 3, 41st Infantry of 5th Division occupied Kunlun Pass. On February 4, Ando reached captured Binyang. Nationalists lost Kunlun Pass, lines collapsed, many encircled. Battle ended with withdrawal; February 13, Japanese withdrew to Nanning, lines stalemated.
In the wake of the Binyang clashes, the 18th Division was indeed shifted to Guangzhou. Japanese records from January 28 to February 13 painted a picture of their spoils: they claimed to have captured 19 tanks, 5 light armored vehicles, 30 automobiles, 20 field or mountain guns, 13 rapid-fire guns, and 41 mortars. Additionally, they reported counting 27,041 Chinese bodies on the battlefield and taking 1,167 prisoners. The Chinese forces, for their part, regrouped with their main strength positioned east of the Yongqin Highway, while some elements maneuvered west to harass Japanese rear lines and coordinate actions from the north bank.
On February 21, 1940, Chiang arrived in Liuzhou, residing at Yangjiao Mountain. From February 22, he convened over 100 generals for a four-day Liuzhou Military Conference to review Guinan operations. Chiang demoted Bai Chongxi for poor supervision and Chen Cheng for poor guidance from first- to second-class generals. He also punished and rewarded other senior officers. The 46th Army and 175th Division were commended for discipline. On February 26, Fourth War Zone Commander Zhang Fakui announced: "No need for counterattack on Nanning currently." The entire Guinan Campaign ended.
The defeat embarrassed Chongqing; not only disrupted Guangxi-Vietnam traffic, but massive effort ended in rout. Pre-battle, Guilin Headquarters misjudged Japanese intentions; during, both Guangxi and Huangpu clique leaders showed poor performance, infuriating Chiang. Post-battle punishments were unprecedented in the war.
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In November 1939, Japanese forces, including the 5th Division and Taiwan Brigade, landed at Qinzhou Bay, captured Nanning, and advanced to Kunlun Pass. Chinese troops, under Bai Chongxi and reinforced by the elite 5th Army, launched fierce counteroffensives, recapturing Kunlun Pass in December with heavy casualties.
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Last time we spoke about the beginning of the first battle of Changsha. From Chongqing, Chiang debated defensive strategies for Hunan, ultimately adopting Plan B after Xue Yue's pleas, focusing on successive resistance north of Changsha to thwart Japanese advances. Japanese forces, under Okamura Yasuji, launched assaults in Jiangxi and Hunan. In Jiangxi, the 106th and 101st Divisions attacked Huibu and Gao'an, where Chinese troops under Luo Zhuoying and Song Kentang fiercely resisted. Gao'an fell briefly but was recaptured by the 32nd Army and the elite 74th Army, with heavy casualties on both sides, as recounted by soldier Liu Qihuai. In Hunan, Japanese units crossed the Xin Qiang River and landed at Yingtian, facing brutal opposition. At Bijia Mountain, Qin Yizhi's 195th Division held for four days; Battalion Commander Shi Enhua's reinforced unit perished entirely, their fragmented remains mourned by locals. Along the Miluo River, Chen Pei's 37th Army fortified positions, repelling waves of Japanese attacks, including suicide squads disguised as civilians. Recruit Yang Peyao's unit endured bombardments, inflicting significant enemy losses before withdrawing at dusk.
#197 The First Battle of Changsha
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
Major Luo Wenlang, battalion commander of the 3rd Battalion, 55th Regiment, 19th Division of the 28th Army, harbored a peculiar quirk: he couldn't sleep soundly without unwrapping his leg bindings, a small ritual that anchored him in the chaos of war. Since the war's eruption, such luxuries were rare, and unwrapping his bindings every night became an impossibility, leaving him to endure restless slumbers. Tonight, however, sleep eluded him entirely; he tossed and turned on his makeshift bed, his mind a whirlwind of unrest. Two days after the northern Hunan battle ignited like a powder keg, the 55th Regiment received urgent orders from Division Commander Tang Boyin to race to Wukou in Pingjiang County. Their path wound through Luo Wenlang's hometown of Fulinpu, a twist of fate that stirred conflicting emotions. Entering the village under the cover of night, the entire battalion encamped in the commander's modest family village, with battalion headquarters naturally established in his ancestral home.
Luo yearned to step across that familiar threshold but dreaded it, for his parents remained oblivious to a devastating truth. They slaughtered chickens and prepared meat, hosting the battalion staff with drinks and hospitality, after all, this was their son's unit gracing their home. Luo orchestrated door planks and straw for bedding, posted sentries, and deftly evaded his parents until they retired. Before dawn broke, he mustered the troops, ensured they were fed, and led them onward, slipping away like a shadow. By noon on the 22nd, they reached Wukou, only to receive fresh directives: rush to Yingtian to bolster the 95th Division against the enemy's audacious landings. The 3rd Battalion spearheaded the division's reinforcements, marching relentlessly through day and night, arriving at Dongtang, over 30 kilometers southeast of Yingtianâon the 23rd, hearts sinking upon learning Yingtian had already fallen into enemy clutches.
Luo Wenlang sought out the retreating 95th Division Commander Luo Qi to beg for a mission, his resolve unyielding. Luo Qi, anticipating his arrival, relayed Commander Guan Linzheng's ironclad instructions: The 19th Division's reinforcements would assume Dongtang's defenses. With the main force still en route, Luo Qi tasked Luo's battalion with relieving a segment held by a replacement regiment. He handed over a map, sketching a line with a pencil, a simple stroke that thrust Luo Wenlang and his men onto the front lines of fate. An operations staff was dispatched to guide them to the position and oversee the handover.
As the troops advanced, they encountered scattered soldiers fleeing like startled rabbits; seizing a platoon leader revealed they were indeed from the replacement regiment. Mere minutes from division HQ, the enemy was already closing in, a predator's breath hot on their necks. Luo Wenlang and Deputy Battalion Commander Wu Yacui split the battalion, launching a counterattack on Dongtang from dual routes. Fortune favored them; the Japanese held only an exhausted company, crumbling under a single, ferocious charge. They swiftly deployed two companies to the positions, reserving one as a bulwark. By dusk, the full 55th Regiment arrived, accompanied by the rest of the 19th Division's reinforcements, allowing the battered 95th Division, ravaged at Yingtian, to withdraw for desperate reorganization. The regimental commander positioned Luo's 3rd Battalion on the regiment's vulnerable left wing. In the blink of an eye, it was the 27th, aligning with the 15th of the eighth lunar month. Amid the relentless great battle, few noted the calendar, and the skies hung heavy with clouds. Luo Wenlang twisted on his straw bed, his thoughts a snarled knot of anxiety and memory.
At 11 p.m., gunfire shattered the night; a barrage of machine gun bullets riddled the battalion HQ house, raining thatch and dust upon Luo like fallout from a storm. Catastrophe had struck! Luo surged toward the positions with the buglerâhis battalion signal chiefâand the reserve force, ascending the hilltop in a frenzy. Halfway up, he spotted 8th Company's Lieutenant Platoon Leader Rong Fayu leading over 20 soldiers in retreat. Bellowing "Why unauthorized retreat?" while brandishing his pistol, he compelled Rong to rally and turn back. The Japanese had launched a nocturnal assault; 8th Company Commander Yi Zuitao lay slain by a fatal shot, over a dozen comrades felled in brutal close combat, the survivors scattered like leaves in the wind; the high ground now belonged to the enemy.
Upon learning of Dongtang's loss, the regimental commander personally led the regimental reserve, his face etched with urgency. Under flickering lantern light, poring over the map with Luo, Division Commander Tang Boyin telephoned, his voice a whipcrack of command: Recapture it before dawn, or both would face the merciless hand of military justice. After seizing the high ground, the enemy hesitated to press further; Luo surmised the darkness concealed paths, and their numbers were not overwhelming. Forgoing the regimental reserve, he led 7th Company's 4 squads and remnants of the routed 8th Company in a stealthy ascent. Near the position, a ravine concealed over 20 8th Company soldiers, rallied by Sergeant Squad Leader Tan Tianrong, who had lurked in wait for reinforcements, dreading exposure at dawn under the enemy's gaze.
Spotting the battalion commander personally spearheading the counterattack, Tan Tianrong's face lit with fierce joy; his men, armed with grenades, surged as the vanguard. Intimate with the terrain even in blindness, they hurled explosives into bunkers, trenches, and works. The commander orchestrated the charge; the Japanese force of 40-50 men crumbled, over half slain or maimed, the remnants fleeing northward to their village stronghold. It was past 4 a.m.; the moon pierced the clouds, bathing the earth in a silvery glow. With positions reclaimed, the night revealed its secret: tonight was Mid-Autumn. Moonlight unraveled the tangled threads of his past; Luo draped his clothes over his shoulders, sat beneath the luminous orb, and wept in solitary anguish.
Before the war, devastating news had arrived: his brother Luo Yinong had been killed in Jiangxi. Luo had three brothers; the eldest shouldered half the family's burdens, their bond unbreakable. The brother had enlisted first in the 50th Army, climbing to battalion commander through sheer valor. He and his younger brother had followed suit, inspired by that call to arms.
Wartime conscription demanded only one per family, but battling the devils was a duty for the nation and its people. His brother had risen to deputy regimental commander before his end. The 50th Army notified him first. Engulfed in battle, there had been no time to console his grieving parents or tend to the funeral; it weighed on his heart like an unyielding stone. His sister-in-law, diligent and unassuming, cared for a young boy and carried another child; the long, arduous days ahead loomed like an endless shadow. The night dew brought a biting chill, the moon an icy sentinel; Luo shivered uncontrollably, his tears mingling with the frost.
The sky hung heavy with overcast gloom, yet the moon lurked beyond the clouds, casting a faint, ethereal light that warded off utter darkness. Along the road, a unit's elongated black shadow snaked southward in hurried silence, a serpent of weary resolve pressing through the night. Qin Yizhi reined in his horse, pausing to gaze back: the queue stretched onward, silent and impeccably orderly, belying the exhaustion of a force scarred by days of ferocious combat, their spirits unbroken amid the shadows. After the Japanese seized the 195th Division's defiant outpost at Bijia Mountain, they surged across the Xin Qiang River in a merciless onslaught. The river, shallow enough to wade knee-deep, offered no true impediment; the real barrier was forged from the defenders' scorching blood, a crimson testament to their unyielding stand. The 195th Division clashed in a maelstrom of cruelty; positions were heaped with corpses time and again, the Xin Qiang's waters churning blood-red in relentless cycles of carnage. From the night of the 23rd to the dawn of the 25th, respite was a forgotten dream; Okamura Yasuji, in a gesture of grim respect, inscribed Qin's name in elegant calligraphy and hung it within his command tent, a haunting trophy of the foe's tenacity.
Following their triumphant landing at Yingtian, the Japanese entangled the Ninth War Zone's left-wing defenders in a protracted snare, their advances grinding slowly like a predator toying with prey, menacing the flanks of the frontal troops with insidious intent. On the evening of the 27th, Xue Yue issued the fateful order for the 15th Army Group to withdraw to the precarious ground between the Miluo River and Shangshan City, ushering this blood-soaked force into an all-night march toward the next defensive crucible. Late into the night, a brief halt was called. Soldiers slumped to the ground, adjusting leg wraps and gear with mechanical precision; logistics teams darted through the ranks, distributing rations like lifelines; cooks, having forged ahead, arrived with steaming pots of rice soup, infusing the air with a rare warmth. Though no clamor broke the hush, a quiet camaraderie enveloped the queue, a fleeting balm against the war's chill.
The division staff claimed a flat expanse beside a farmhouse yard for their respite. Qin settled onto a stone roller used for grinding grain, nibbling at his meager ration and sipping the hot soup that steamed in the cool air. Suddenly, moonlight pierced the clouds, cascading down in silvery streams; the familiar contours of the farmhouse stirred a flood of warmth in his heart, evoking memories of home.
Chongqing, Huangshan Villa. Every window was shrouded in double layers of thick curtains, sealing out any sliver of betraying light, as if the very walls conspired to guard secrets from the encroaching night. Tonight's ethereal protagonist rose languidly from the eastern valley, its orange-red moonlight casting an aura of drowsy reluctance, as though it had not fully shaken off the slumber of the day. The feeble glow dappled the building's roof, balcony, and the surrounding hillsides, intersections, and thickets, where armed shadows lurked, capturing every rustle in the oppressive silence. Only upon close inspection could one discern the faint specks of moonlight glinting off steel helmets. Yet, beyond those fortified walls, another realm pulsed with life, a vibrant contrast to the shadowed vigilance outside. The front hall, living room, and dining room blazed with brilliant light. Vibrant flowers, dominated by chrysanthemums in full, defiant bloom, infused the air with color and fragrance; a phonograph murmured a cheerful Guangdong melody, weaving an atmosphere thick with festive joy, a deliberate illusion amid the storm of war.
Chiang Kai-shek, clad in a flowing black silk gown, strode ahead with poised grace, escorting his guests into the dining room alongside the elegantly attired Soong May-ling, their conversation laced with laughter and warmth. At the table, Soong May-ling's smile was a beacon of diplomacy, as she artfully arranged the seating to suit hierarchies and alliances, while servers in crisp white uniforms moved with nimble precision. This was Chiang Kai-shek's intimate Mid-Autumn family banquet; beyond a handful of pivotal military and political figures, the gathering brimmed with relatives. Guests and kin alike noted Chiang's buoyant spirits tonight; his smiles were wide and genuine, his discourse light and expansive, delving into casual topics with uncharacteristic ease.
In September 1939, China's War of Resistance Against Japan had entered its grueling third year. After the initial cataclysm of turmoil and disarray, the government and military had clawed their way to stability, adapting to this unprecedented historical crucible, with operations finally aligning into a semblance of order. According to figures proclaimed by Minister of Military Affairs He Yingqin to Chinese and foreign reporters on the 13th of this month, Japanese invaders had seized 521 counties across 12 provinces, a vast swath of conquest. Yet, the Japanese imperialists had exacted this toll at a staggering cost. Just prior, on August 30, the Hirannuma Cabinet, installed a mere eight months earlier, had collapsed in mass resignation. Hirannuma Kiichiro's predecessor, Konoe Fumimaro, had similarly bowed out amid governmental failures, chiefly the unmet ambitions in the Sino-Japanese War that he had boldly promised to parliament, exacerbating domestic political and economic woes. Days ago, when Wang Pengsheng briefed Chiang on Japan's turbulent politics, he quipped: "Konoe said three months to destroy China; three months didn't work, nor three years, who knows about 30 or 300. Hirannuma had no solutions, down in eight months. Does Abe have good ideas? How long can he be prime minister?" Indeed, Abe Nobuyuki, Hirannuma's successor, would endure a mere four and a half months before resigning in ignominy. Tonight's feast showcased Chiang's favored cuisines: delicate Jiangsu-Zhejiang dishes mingled with robust Sichuan flavors. Chiang abstained from alcohol, raising his cup in mere symbolic toasts to his guests. During the meal, as if by unspoken accord, no one broached the raging domestic battles or the volatile international landscape; conversations meandered through trivialities, skirting anything heavy or discordant, a fragile bubble of normalcy.
On September 3, Britain and France had declared war on Germany, shattering the global order in a seismic shift. Foreign newspapers already bandied the term "Second World War," a phrase that evoked freshness, exhilaration, and sheer terror in equal measure. China's diplomacy surged with newfound vigor. In April, Ambassador to the US Wang Zhengting had negotiated a $20 million loan with American banks on China's behalf. In May, Stalin responded to Chiang's overtures, agreeing to exchange arms for Chinese tea, wool, raw hides, and more. A month later, the first consignment of light and heavy weaponsâincluding artillery and heavy machine gunsâarrived via clandestine routes through Xinjiang and Mongolia, bolstering the central army's frontlines. In August, Hu Shih, Wellington Koo, and Chien Tai represented the Nationalist Government at the 19th League of Nations Assembly, laying bare the Japanese imperialists' atrocities in China before the world and rallying global forces for peace to support China's defiant stand. Soon after, British and American civic groups ignited "China Week" campaigns, pressing their governments to aid the beleaguered nation. Waves of foreign volunteers streamed in from distant shores: doctors, journalists, ordnance engineers, even retired soldiers clamoring to join the fray on the frontlines.
"If we could pull America into this war..." Through Soong May-ling's subtle, persuasive influence, Chiang allowed himself to daydream of that prosperous, dynamic young powerhouse across the vast ocean. Thus, on this Mid-Autumn night, his talk turned to America, to his correspondence with President Roosevelt regarding the "tung oil loan." That saga had unfolded the previous October; T.V. Soong had jetted to America, securing a loan with China's tung oil, a commodity scarce in the US, as collateral. China had boldly requested $400 million; America countered with $25 million, a classic tale of "ask high, settle low." Yet, the funds were secured. One success paved the way for many. Soong May-ling had once confided to Chiang: "In mobilizing US aid for China's resistance, I'll make a difference." When Chiang responded with a smile, "Thank you, Madam," he could scarcely foresee how his beautiful wife's extraordinary prowess in fulfilling this solemn vow would astonish him, etching eternal glory for Chinese women worldwide and elevating Soong May-ling to the zenith of her life's achievements.
The most direct echo of the First Battle of Changsha's thunderous saga resides in the Ninth War Zone's meticulous report on the northern Hunan and southern Hubei operations, submitted to the Chongqing Military Committee and Chiang Kai-shek himself, a faded relic now entombed amid the vast ocean of Nationalist Government military and political archives in Nanjing's Second Historical Archives of China. This document, a painstaking compilation of combat dispatches from divisions, armies, and army groups, stands as a testament to valor and sacrifice. Tragically, time's relentless march and human folly have ravaged this priceless artifact, leaving only shards and whispers to conjure the heart-wrenching inferno of that bloody clash.
"October 24, Year 28. Urgent. To Chongqing. Chairman Chiang. Secret. Submitted by Commander Xue on orders." The rice paper has yellowed to a deep, somber hue, brittle and parched; a careless touch could reduce it to dust. Some pages lie fractured, their remnants affixed to white paper, forever unable to reclaim their original wholeness. Leafing through page by page unleashes a pungent miasma, a scorched, acrid, decayed blend that assaults the senses. Traces of fire and water mar the original rice paper sheets, with countless fragments glued haphazardly to white backings, their sequences lost to eternity.
"...The Xin Qiang River spanning from Lujiao to Leishi Mountain, defending a front of over 110 li..." "Enemy 13th and 33rd Divisions, parts of the Hata Detachment, naval units, and artillery, cavalry, engineers totaling..." "...Began attacking us first with artillery... fortifications completely destroyed, then infantry charged; relying on our officers and men all resolved to coexist with the homeland..." "...And launched balloons to direct artillery... our army braved the cannons... repelled them, corpses filling the river, turning the water red..." "Division casualties also reached over a thousand... failed to inflict greater strikes and annihilate... deep inner guilt, besides vigorously training troops awaiting orders to kill the enemy..." "...Attack casualties heavy, then concentrated large forces... artillery fire so dense like continuous firecrackers for hours... released poison gas, Wang Street garrison all heroically sacrificed, then breached... Zhao Gongwu kowtows, October 15"
Zhao Gongwu commanded the 2nd Division under Zhang Yaoming's 52nd Army. This unit first held the line along the Xin Qiang River, then fell back to northeast of Fengjiang Bridge to staunch the enemy tide once more; after October 6, it hammered southward-marching Japanese from the west in the Yanglin Street and Dajing Street regions. Through these crucibles, the division bled over half its strength. A fragment of an envelope clings to a sheet of white paper, its words faintly visible: "Changsha 126-3 Zhang Yaoming," "Hunan Jinjing Air Mail," "Combat Process by..." and the like. The stamp remains remarkably intactâa philatelic gem now. Measuring 1.5 cm square, it features Sun Yat-sen's portrait at its center, inscribed "Republic of China Post" below, with "5" in the upper right, "fen" to the left, and "5" in each lower corner. I sat at the long table in the spacious, brightly lit reading room, staring vacantly, my thoughts grinding to a halt. These remnants are all that endure for posterity, of that monumental battle, of the scorching blood and vanished lives of countless unnamed Chinese soldiers. With hands that once gripped a rifle, I gently caressed those pages from a bygone era; they were cold, devoid of any lingering breath.
As the full moon of the 15th of the eighth month dissolved into the golden-red blaze of sunrise, Qin Yizhi's 195th Division had already plunged into the rugged mountains and dense forests encircling Fulinpu. Per directives from 15th Army Group Commander Guan Linzheng, the 195th was to forge a new defensive bastion centered on Fulinpu, 40 to 70 kilometers from Changsha. Their mandate: stall the Japanese southward juggernaut, granting precious time for allied forces to muster and fortify around the city. Despite the grueling all-night march, morale soared undimmed. The advance chief of staff doled out positions to each regiment, and the troops dove into fortification labors with fervent zeal. The 195th Division's unyielding stand along the Xin Qiang River had already etched preliminary glory upon this unit in its baptism of fire. "Fame in one battle" echoed as a battle cry throughout the division, where collective honor intertwined with personal valor. Honor and triumph formed the bedrock for soldiers and armies alike. Yet, another fire fueled their resolve.
On September 23, amid the Japanese forcing the Xin Qiang River, Guan Linzheng's voice crackled over the phone to Qin Yizhi: "Facing you is the 6th Division." The 6th Division, a name that ignited fury in Chinese troops and civilians, forever linked to the demonic specter of Tani Hisao. Moments later, the whisper spread like wildfire through every trench: "The Japanese army that perpetrated the Nanjing Massacre is right in front." Agitation rippled through the ranks; some donned fresh uniforms and shoes from their packs, casting aside the worn; others flouted discipline to bid farewells to hometown comrades: "Today we fight to the death here; see you in the next life." "Tell my mother I died fighting the Nanjing Massacre enemies."
Some company commanders commanded their mess sergeants to expend all funds on hearty feasts. All Japanese were foes, but the 6th Division embodied a blood debt, an unforgivable vendetta; the Chinese nation does not lightly forget its tormentors. In the Xin Qiang River maelstrom, the 195th Division battled with heroic ferocity. Some soldiers, in their final breaths, murmured: "Die then; it's worth it." Others lamented slaying too few devils, gritting teeth, eyes refusing to close in eternal regret. Now under Inaba Shiro's command, the 6th Division splintered southward after breaching the Xin Qiang; roughly a thousand hounded the 195th to Fulinpu. On the morning of September 29, the Japanese blundered into the 195th's meticulously laid ambush. Qin Yizhi, pulse racing with excitement and tension, fumbled the binoculars from his guard's hand. His command sliced the air: "Begin." War history chronicles: "The 6th Division advanced south from the Miluo River along the Xinshi-Liqiao road and Xinshi-Fulinpu routes. The over a thousand reaching Fulinpu were ambushed by the Nationalist 195th Division, suffering heavy losses." As Japanese artillery and aircraft unleashed hell upon the 195th's positions, Qin orchestrated a swift southward withdrawal to the environs of Shangshan City. Again, without pause, they erected fortifications and set deadly traps.
On the morning of September 30, the pursuers from Fulinpu closed in on Shangshan, their numbers swollen to over 1,500. Qin Yizhi clenched his jaw, his demeanor icy calm, allowing the Japanese to creep into the kill zone before barking: "Hit them hard!" Combat raged from dawn to dusk, obliterating over 700 foes. Qin ascended a hill, surveying through binoculars, then erupted: "Bad! The enemy is retreating." Upon receiving Qin's telegram, Guan Linzheng scrutinized the map, momentarily stunned, then replied: "Enemy shows no retreat signs yet; proceed per original plan. Your unit to block at Shangshan City line until October 2." Xianning, Okamura Yasuji's 11th Army HQ.
Combat maps bristled with markings, staff officers darting amid ringing phones and clattering telegrams. The colossal red arrow in northern Hunan had fractured into tributaries, surging over 100 km southward from the outset; one tendril pierced to Yong'an City, a mere 30 km from Changsha. Vast swaths of northern Hunan lay conquered, yet Okamura sensed the tide turning, it was time to retreat. The Chinese employed their time-honored gradual resistance, battling while retreating with cunning grace. Some units fell back directly, others amassed on flanksâwhat portent did that hold? In Okamura's shrewd mind loomed an equally shrewd Xue Yue; he envisioned his adversary methodically weaving a snare.
Post-Yingtian landing, the 15th Army Group's timely evasion had unraveled his "Xiang-Gan Operation Plan" like fragile thread. If encircling and annihilating the Chinese main force proved unattainable, what purpose in pressing onward? Telegrams from 3rd Division's Fujita Susumu, 6th's Inaba Shiro, and 13th's Tanaka Seiichi piled on his desk, pleading to assault Changshaâfor headlines and Imperial accolades, perhaps, but blind to their exposed supply lines vulnerable to enemy thrusts? Ground logistics teetered on collapse; the air force resorted to airdrops for isolated regiments. Venturing further south would stretch lines to breaking; a severed artery spelled doom for the vanguard. When would these commanders mature into true stewards of the Imperial Army? Okamura fretted and pitied them in equal measure.
At 4 p.m. on September 30, Okamura decreed a halt to advances at Shangshan and Yong'an. He commenced orchestrating the retreat. Changsha, Yuelu Mountain, Ninth War Zone Command Forward HQ. October 1. Xue Yue stood before the map, Guan's latest telegram clutched in hand. Qin's second missive insisted on Japanese withdrawal, corroborated by 15th Army Group scouts from Yingtian: This morning (October 1), Japanese transports unloaded artillery stowed the previous night, hauling it back to Yueyang; intercepted wires revealed a regiment aborting its southward push, standing idle. Guan assessed the mosaic and commanded counteroffensives: intercept if feasible, pursue relentlessly, deny the Japanese escape; he relayed retreat indicators to Xue. Xue paced the chamber, head bowed in contemplation. Chief of Staff Wu Yizhi, Staff Director Zhao Zili, and their cadre tracked his every step with expectant eyes, awaiting the verdict. Xue's thoughts whirled through military stratagems and beyond.
Pre-war, Xue had segmented the war zone's forces into tripartite blocs: Northern Hunan under Guan Linzheng's 15th, Yang Sen's 27th, and Shang Zhen's 20th Army Groups as "A Cluster"; Northern Jiangxi Nanchang with Yunnan Army Lu Han's 1st Army Group and the 74th Army as "B Cluster"; the Wuning, Xiushui, Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border guarded by Sichuan Army Wang Lingji's 30th Army Corps, Fan Songpu's Border Advance Army, and 8th Army; augmented by 3 armies' 7 divisions in general reserve. Before the storm broke, Xue pored over maps, tracing every mountain, river, road, and bridge, envisioning burial grounds for the invaders.
Now, beneath Changsha, 200,000 troops formed a tightening net. The "decisive battle in Changsha suburbs" blueprint had been wired to Chongqing. Chiang and the nation yearned for a resounding triumph as the resistance pivoted into a new epoch?! A masterful drama, honed over half a month's toil, neared its crescendo; yet that cunning fox appeared to sniff the trap's metallic tang, freezing in place. "Commander, phone from Minister Chen." "Brother Boling, good news." Chen Cheng's voice brimmed with levity, "Your formal appointment published. What? Ninth War Zone Commander! First to congratulate; document tomorrow." Shedding the "acting" prefix was inevitable; Chiang had intimated as much long ago. But for a man and general, true worth lay not in titles, but in forging indelible feats. Splendor was judged not by underlings, colleagues, or superiors, but by peers in the craft of war.
Unmoved by the promotion, Xue exhaled a profound sigh. Though the 15th's intelligence couldn't confirm a wholesale retreat, preparations for dual contingencies were imperative. Victories came hard; a splendid battle, harder still. He summoned Wu Yizhi and Zhao Zili to devise countermeasures for the enemy's potential flight. October 2, Sichuan Army Yang Sen's 27th Army Group, Yang Gancai's 134th Division special service company, under Company Commander Wan Mingyu, slogged through the profound mountains and forests on the northern Mufu Mountains' flanks. The 134th's covert mandate: infiltrate enemy rear via treacherous terrain, sabotage supply arteries in the Chongyang-Xianning sector, and deliver a dagger to the Japanese spine when opportunity struck, bolstering frontal defenses.
Past 3 p.m., a crystalline mountain stream materialized. Wan decreed a respite. Over 100 soldiers, drained from a half-day's ascent, collapsed like puppets with severed strings. Most propped their torsos with rifles in one hand, fanning hats to ward off the relentless forest mosquitoes with the other. Regaining breath, they devoured rations washed down with stream water. Some unfurled towels and ventured downstream, letting the cool flow rinse away layers of sweat. Then, a muted engine drone encroached from the heavens. Wan peered through the foliage: a low-flying plane vectored southward, its wings emblazoned with the Rising Sun.
A transport; Wan recognized the temporary Japanese airfield near Xianning. With lines overextended, airdrops sustained isolated units. Wan was prying open a can with his bayonet, the tip etching a cross on the lid before levering along the edge; paired with a rice ball, it promised a savory repast. His orderly proffered a cup of fresh stream water; 2nd Platoon Leader Hu Yaozong perched nearby on a rock, smirking, poised to pilfer from the opened tin. Wan warded off this Sichuan Pixian compatriot. The plane droned overhead then.
Both glanced skyward; the platoon quipped: "Open quick, damn, I'll repay two cans later." Commander: "Want cans? Sky has; shoot plane down, enough for two lifetimes, bloat your mother-in-law first." The can hailed from a prior supply raid. Platoon: "You want me to shoot the plane?" Commander: "Bastard! You shooting or not?" The platoon snatched the light machine gun from a tree fork, jamming the butt against his belly, one hand on the grip, aiming crudely: "Come down, you turtle son!" The other hand squeezed the trigger. Wan assumed jest, resuming his task. "Da-da-da..." Wan jolted; the half-opened can tumbled to his feet, spilling Japanese fish onto Chinese soil. Recoil floored the platoon; he hurled the gun like a branding iron, face ashen. Inspecting the trigger, he snarled: "Whose damn fault, why no safety?!" The gunner dashed over; tall and even-tempered: "Safety was on; how'd it fire without pulling?" Wan's initial panic: "Damn! Position exposed."
The company spearheaded the division's reinforced regiment to raze a recent Japanese depot, guarded by a mere companyâbut exposure doomed the regiment deep in hostile territory. The assault had been plotted for days; pre-departure, Yang Gancai had toasted them. Wan had sworn a blood oath: No return to Sichuan without success. Hu had jested then: "No Sichuan return means wanting Hunan girl as concubine." Banter was fine in peace, but in war's grip, this was no trifling errand. Wan unleashed a torrent of curses, rising to survey the environs. The main force lagged 15 km behind; advance or abort post-blunder? Enemy rear was a labyrinth; this isolated band teetered on a razor's edge. As if to compel a choice, the radio operator approached; Wan itched to lash out. In his fury and indecision, a miracle unfolded.
The transport's engines hacked like a consumptive invalid, then a witness spied the plane banking left, plummeting, its nose inexorably toward a colossal rock 3-4 km distant. It rebounded twice on the stone, nose and left wing crumpling; the fuselage, fragile as parchment, tumbled gently, skewing onto the slope amid splintered trees. Wan gaped, then bellowed: "Assemble!" The men snapped from reverie, charging downhill in a frenzied cascade. One hour later, 134th Deputy Commander and Reinforced Regiment Commander Liu decoded Wan's vanguard transmission via radio. Another hour passed before Liu received Yang Gancai's directive: Abort Mountain Leopard operation; return with documents expeditiously. One day hence, October 3, Okamura Yasuji's original retreat order from October 2 dawn, addressed to northern Hunan's 6th, 33rd Divisions, Nara and Uemura Detachments, plus its Chinese translation, landed on Xue Yue's desk.
Fifteen days later, at the Changsha Victory Celebration, unit accolades were proclaimed; for "shooting down enemy plane, obtaining vital enemy documents," meritorious honors went to 134th Commander Yang Gancai and Deputy Liu. Each received 1000 yuan and one 3rd Class Baoding Medal. Okamura's October 2 order original: Chinese forces retreated to Miluo and Xiushui Rivers banks assembling; to avoid disadvantage, this army should quickly withdraw to original positions, restore combat strength.
Withdrawal plan as follows: ⊠Xue's October 3 order original:
"Northern Hunan frontal units with current posture immediately pursue facing enemy fiercely, must capture in Chongyang-Yueyang south area. ... Pursuit units may detach part to monitor and sweep enemy collection troops; main force execute overtaking pursuit... Already deep behind enemy advance units vigorously destroy enemy transport lines, cut escape routes."
From October 3, Chinese forces unleashed ferocious counteroffensives against the Japanese on three fronts: northern Hunan, southern Hubei, and the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border; the invaders receded like a vanishing tide, never to reclaim their ground. The 25th and 195th Divisions hounded the 6th Division and Nara Detachment from Fulinpu back to the Miluo River, then to the Xin Qiang River. On October 8, the Japanese fled across the Xin Qiang; the 195th's 566th Brigade surged in pursuit, launching a nocturnal raid on Xitang-Jianshan. Gains were modest, but the enemy, entrenched in their den, resisted with feral tenacity. Qin commanded the brigade's withdrawal southward; northern Hunan operations concluded.
In southern Hubei, the 79th Army chased remnants of the 33rd Division from Sanyan Bridge to Pingjiang, across Nanjiang Bridge, hounding them back to their Tongcheng lair. On the Hunan-Hubei-Jiangxi border, 30th Army Group Commander Wang Lingji orchestrated a pincer against Japanese at Xiushui. The foes retreated to Sandu, mounting a stubborn defense. Chinese assaults faltered for three days; on the fourth night's blitz, victory crowned their efforts, expelling the invaders to their original Wuning stronghold. With both armies reclaiming pre-war lines, the First Battle of Changsha drew to its resounding close.
Over days, Xue Yue received a deluge of congratulatory telegrams and letters from the Nationalist Government, Military Committee, National Assembly, myriad civic groups, party officials, and social luminaries. As hoped, among them was Chiang Kai-shek's effusive missive, brimming with joy. For Xue Yue, this one sufficed. Chiang Kai-shek's telegram to Xue Yue:
"In this northern Hunan campaign, over half the enemy was annihilated. The triumphant news has invigorated the nation, all due to effective command and soldiers' valor; I commend without reservation. Thoroughly investigate and report meritorious personnel from this battle; also report the dead and wounded for awards and relief. With this initial victory foundation laid, our officers and men's responsibilities grow heavier; urge your subordinates to extra vigilance, redoubled effort, avoiding arrogance or complacency, to amass great achievements, my deepest hopes."
As if countering Chongqing's high-powered broadcasts, Japanese radios in Wuhan, Nanjing, Beiping, and Manchukuo blared at full volume: "In this Xiang-Gan operation, valiant Imperial forces penetrated over 100 km into northern Hunan, sweeping anti-peace elements, routing Chinese central main forces, inflicting over 40,000 enemy casualties, a pivotal triumph advancing the holy war. Having achieved objectives, Imperial troops have victoriously withdrawn..."
In the aftermath of the First Battle of Changsha, the Japanese high command spun a tale of calculated restraint, insisting their assault was merely a spoiling raid, a calculated jab never intended to seize and hold the city indefinitely. With brazen confidence, they downplayed their toll, claiming a mere 850 souls lost to death and 2,700 wounded in the fray, while boastfully asserting they had slain 44,000 Chinese defenders and taken 4,000 captive, painting a picture of overwhelming triumph amid the smoke and ruin. Yet, foreign military observers, peering through the fog of propaganda with detached scrutiny, painted a starkly different canvas. They gauged Chinese losses at a far more tempered 20,000 killed and wounded, a heavy but bearable scar on the nation's resolve, while estimating Japanese casualties soared to around 30,000, a grievous hemorrhage that belied the invaders' claims of minimal sacrifice. Military historian Michael Clodfelter, sifting through the annals of conflict, ventured an even grimmer tally: a staggering 50,000 Japanese casualties endured in the relentless clash, a testament to the ferocity of Chinese resistance and the high price of imperial ambition. In the battle's locale, neither side claimed clear victory, but globally for the resistance, it favored China.
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The First Battle of Changsha unfolded in September 1939 during China's War of Resistance Against Japan. Japanese forces under Okamura Yasuji advanced into Hunan and Jiangxi, crossing rivers and capturing key positions like Yingtian amid fierce Chinese defenses led by Xue Yue.
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Last time we spoke about the Xiang-Gan Operation. In 1939, during the Second Sino-Japanese War's stalemate phase, Chiang Kai-shek received intelligence from Wang Pengsheng about Japan's "Xiang-Gan Operation," a plan to pressure Chongqing by advancing on Hunan and supporting Wang Jingwei's puppet regime in Nanjing. Chiang, based in Chongqing's Huangshan Villa, coordinated defenses in the Ninth War Zone. Deputy Chief Bai Chongxi proposed Plan A, luring Japanese forces deep to Hengyang for annihilation, minimizing movements and exploiting supply vulnerabilities. Chen Cheng and acting commander Xue Yue favored Plan B, emphasizing successive resistance north of Changsha to prevent its fall and counter propaganda.Initially approving Plan A, Chiang switched to Plan B after Xue's insistent telegrams highlighted risks like pincer attacks from Guangzhou and political fallout. Xue, haunted by past failures like Lanfeng and Nanchang, sought redemption. Troops under generals like Guan Linzheng fortified positions along the Xin Qiang and Miluo Rivers, with slogans invoking Taierzhuang's prestige.
#196 The Road to Changsha: Rivers of Carnage at Miluo and Bijia
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
At 7 a.m. on September 14, over 2,000 troops from Nakai Ryotaro's 106th Division launched a fierce attack on the positions of Wan Baobang's 184th Division in Huibu. When this telegram crackled into the command centers of Chongqing, Guilin, and Changsha simultaneously, a hush fell over those who read it, each uttering the same grave words: "It has begun." Huibu, a forgotten speck in Jiangxi Province, clung precariously close to the Hunan border. It was here, in this unassuming town, that the curtain rose on a brutal symphony of war, the opening act of a larger tragedy. The Japanese 106th and 101st Divisions, fresh from their iron grip on Nanchang, clashed once more with the beleaguered units under General Luo Zhuoying, the front-line commander whose failed bid to reclaim Nanchang still burned like an open wound after five agonizing months of tense standoff, where every shadow hid a potential ambush.
This was the calculated first thrust of Okamura Yasuji's insidious "Xiang-Gan Operation" plan: unleash an assault in Jiangxi to draw and pin down Chinese forces, forging the anvil for the hammer blow soon to fall in northern Hunan. The Japanese horde splintered into two relentless routes, surging toward Gao'an and Xiu Shui like twin serpents through the mist-shrouded hills and tangled jungles. Against them stood the Chinese 1st and 19th Army Groups, arrayed in ironclad formation, igniting a ferocious battle that echoed through the valleys with the thunder of gunfire and the cries of the fallen.
When Luo Zhuoying received the urgent telephone report from the front lines, not even a flicker of the expected tension crossed his steely facade. The map of the battlefield was etched into his mind, vivid as a fresh scar, with no need to consult paper when strategy pulsed in his veins. His voice remained calm, almost detached, as he issued orders that carried the weight of life and death. The confidential staff scribbling down the commands couldn't help but notice the eerie mismatch between General Luo's serene tone and the savage directives spilling forth. "Order all units to strictly hold their positions, use their own reserves to reinforce critical areas, do not expect the general reserve, retake lost positions on their own. Anyone whose defense zone is breached by the enemy, affecting the overall operation, will be executed without mercy!" After dictating this decree of unyielding resolve, he summoned Deputy Chief of Staff Yang Xiuqi with a pointed command: "Don't handle anything else; just keep an eye on Gao'an for me."
As the focus shifted to this critical stronghold, Gao'an stood as the town nearest Nanchang still clutched in Chinese hands, a stubborn thorn in the Japanese side, one they were hell-bent on yanking out with overwhelming fury. On September 15, 1939, the invaders shattered several forward positions of Song Kentang's 32nd Army encircling Gao'an, advancing like a tidal wave from east, west, and north. The soldiers of Li Zhaoying's 139th Division and Tang Yongliang's 141st Division clung desperately to their increasingly pulverized fortifications, enduring a hellstorm of Japanese aircraft and artillery that rained death from the skies. Wave after wave of wounded and martyred heroes were hauled from the lines, their blood staining the earth, while swathes of Japanese troops crumpled at the front in heaps of defeat. Army Commander Song Kentang, his brows furrowed in grim calculation, pondered pulling his forces back from Gao'an to blunt the enemy's razor-sharp advance. But as night cloaked the battlefield, Yang Xiuqi arrived under direct orders to oversee the fray, bearing Luo Zhuoying's unshakeable edict: Hold Gao'an firmly; no withdrawal allowed.
The onslaught intensified the next day, September 16, as the Japanese unleashed a frenzy of continuous assaults, their bombs reducing front-line positions to smoking craters. By dusk, each unit had bled over half its strength, yet they held amid the rubble, defiant ghosts in a landscape of ruin. That night, Song Kentang and Yang Xiuqi faced each other with expressions etched in worry, shadows dancing across their faces in the dim light. Song implored Yang to relay to Commander Luo that without reinforcements to hammer the enemy's flanks, clinging on until tomorrow's eve would be impossibleâhe urged a tactical withdrawal. Yang dispatched the dire situation and Song's plea via overnight telegram to Luo Zhuoying, but by noon on the 17th, silence reigned, no reply pierced the growing dread.
Yang Xiuqi recalled that on the afternoon of the 17th, a relentless drizzle fell like tears from the heavens. He accompanied a reception team to a crossroads, witnessing a heartbreaking procession from the front to a makeshift hospital south of Gao'an city. Severely wounded streamed in on stretchers, the lightly injured limped on their own, porters whispered of abandoned guns littering the positions, and military police reported a surge of deserters. In the cold calculus of combat statistics, there lurked a "missing" categoryâmost were those who had fled the carnage.
On the 18th, combat erupted at dawn's first light. Japanese planes obliterated Gao'an city into a flattened wasteland, their infantry charging with unprecedented savagery. At noon, Song Kentang issued the fateful order: withdraw from the city and seize the hillsides to the south. Gao'an thus slipped into enemy clutches, a bitter loss that echoed like a death knell. That evening, Operations Section Chief Ji informed Yang Xiuqi of urgent directives from Guilin Office Director Bai Chongxi and War Zone Commander Xue Yue: the 32nd Army must orchestrate an immediate counterattack on Gao'an, with the "ace army" en route. The "ace army" was none other than Wang Yaowu's 74th Army, the Ninth War Zone's prized general reserve. Yang's orderly, fetching water past Song Kentang's quarters, overheard the commander's resigned growl: "If they say fight, then fight; at worst, we'll lose all our men."
That night, Army Commander Song Kentang descended to Tang Yongliang's 139th Division to personally oversee the assault, striking from south to north. The 141st Division, bolstered by Li Tianxia's 51st Division and Shi Zhongcheng's 57th Division of the 74th Army, flanked like wolves from both sides, weaving an encirclement around the Japanese in and around Gao'an city.
"The 51st Division's code name was 'Vanguard.' This was truly a formidable unit; that night, with a fierce charge, they recaptured Cunqian Street, then built fortifications and stabilized the position," Yang Xiuqi said.
Liu Qihuai, an elderly man who was a squad leader in the 4th Company of the 3rd Regiment of the 51st Division during the Gao'an battle, where his thigh was pierced, recalled: "At that time, I was young and remembered one phrase passed down by veterans: The fearful die first, the fearless die later. In the first few battles, I gritted my teeth and charged head-on. Later, I grew bolder, became flexible in battle, calm-headed, quick-eyed and -handed. Once, right after a skirmish, the company commander punched me in the chest and said, 'Good kid, you know how to fight!' and made me squad leader. On the battlefield, bullets don't care if you're afraid or not; those unafraid of sacrifice, brave and tenacious, often seize the initiative for our army but also bear the brunt, suffering the heaviest casualties. On the third day of fighting Gao'an, the wound ticket said Republic Year 28 (1939) September 21. That day, we charged into the city for street fighting with the little devils, all mixed up. I was closely following the deputy company commander, but lost him; no one could find anyone, it was all about who had the quickest eyes. Watching front, left, right, rooftops, and fearing the ones lying on the ground were feigning death to get up and shootâwished I had more eyes. I killed a devil poking out from a broken wall, thought that wall section could be a cover for observation and shooting, so I rushed toward it. As I got closer to that dead devil, suddenly my thigh felt stabbed; I ran a few more steps before realizing I was hit, and seeing blood, I couldn't stand. The bullet came at an angle; later I thought it might have been friendly fire, since I was charging ahead and there were no devils on the sides. But I didn't dare say that then; admitting it wouldn't count as a combat wound. I was carried by stretcher bearers to the aid station in a Gu clan's ancestral hall. Next to my stretcher was a Henan soldier from the 32nd Army with a through-and-through calf wound; he was quite cheerful, friendly right away. He said our 74th Army could fight because our helmets were special, all bought from the old Russians (Soviets), bulletproof, bullets would spin on the head. I said great, next battle let's swap. Being wounded, I feared disability most; death wasn't scaryâdie early, reincarnate early. Lying on the stretcher, still joking; we were truly young then. Later, I met a platoon leader surnamed Dang from my company who was wounded around the same time; he said that Henan soldier was transferred to a rear hospital, got gangrene, had his leg amputated, and died a few days later..."
According to war history records: At dawn on September 22, with the cooperation of the 74th Army, the 32nd Army's "139th and 141st Divisions fiercely attacked Gao'an city. Since the city walls had been destroyed by the unit before withdrawing, the Japanese could not hold firm and began retreating." By 8 a.m., the entire city was recaptured, "pursuing north in victory. A portion of the 141st Division advanced to Huangpo Bridge." The next day, they recaptured Xiangfuguan, Sigong Mountain, and other places northeast of Gao'an, "restoring the pre-war positions."
September 18 was a date the Japanese favored for their grim expeditions, a cursed numeral etched into the annals of invasion and strife. At dawn's first whisper, the Japanese 6th and 33rd Divisions, the Nara Detachment, Uemura Detachment, and their attached artillery, armored, engineer, aviation, and naval units gathered in their respective starting zones, adhering to the precise timings decreed by Okamura Yasuji. They held silent prayer ceremonies, an eerie ritual amid the gathering storm. Over 50,000 Japanese officers and soldiers turned their faces eastward, their hands momentarily abandoning weapons to clasp before their chests, peering through the dense, rain-laden clouds blanketing China toward an imagined sun ascending from a blood-red sea.
As the silent prayers dissolved into the mist, hands seized weapons once more. General Okamura Yasuji, prowling the lines of the 6th Division to inspect and ignite the assault, drew his command sword with a savage flourish and barked a short, guttural command in the tongue of his island nation to his fervent compatriots. In response, tens of thousands of military boots thundered in unison upon this foreign soil, so distant from the homeland that flickered in their devotional visions. The offensive in northern Hunan had erupted, a cataclysm of steel and fury.
On Okamura Yasuji's military map, three bold red arrows aligned menacingly along the Xin Qiang River, like lethal shafts poised to pierce the south bank. The scattered Chinese forward positions on a handful of high points north of the river appeared as mere pebbles before an inexorable tidal wave. Among these fragile defenses, the one thrust farthest into the jaws of peril was the Bijia Mountain position, held by Qin Yizhi's 195th Division under Zhang Yaoming's 52nd Armyâa protruding bastion shaped like an oval with twin camel-like peaks. On Okamura's map, this defiant outpost bore no unit designation or commander's name, perhaps dismissed as inconsequential in the shadow of the massive onslaught.
Qin Yizhi recalled: "The enemy broke through the left-wing Songjiawan position on the north bank on the 19th. From dawn on the 20th, they attacked Shi Enhua's battalion at Bijia Mountain from the north and west. Besides artillery, they used planes for repeated bombings. This battalion was the most forward in our division; my attention was always here. The 195th Division was newly added to the 52nd Army after Yueyang's fall in late 1938, based on Henan security forces with poor military quality. I was transferred from army chief of staff to division commander and immediately focused on rigorous military training. First train company commanders, then platoon leaders, finally squad leaders. Marksmanship, bayoneting, grenade throwingâeveryone passes; fail and get demoted. This is fighting the devils; personal death is minor, but who takes responsibility for failing the mission? Shi Enhua was my old subordinate from the 25th Division, Huangpu 8th Class graduate as platoon leader. He was upright, brave in combat; I promoted him to company and battalion commander. Shi Enhua had an older brother, Shi Enrong, Huangpu 7th Class, also in my unit, killed at Taierzhuang. Army Commander Zhang Yaoming said holding Bijia Mountain for 3 days completes the task; strive for more to blunt the enemy's edge, consume them heavily before they cross the river, making later battles easier. I barely slept those days. Shi Enhua led a reinforced battalion, over 500 men; this time it was truly bitter. By the second day, fortifications were basically blasted away; by the third day, September 22, the battalion had over half casualties. At dusk, visibility good, I went to a high ground by the river and looked across with binoculars. Shells flipped up patches of yellow earth on the mountain; fortifications in ruins. The chief of staff said the friendly position on Bijia Mountain's right wing was also lost. I called Shi Enhua: 'You've held for three days and nights, meeting army requirements. Troops have heavy casualties, surrounded on three sides; if unable to hold, withdraw if necessary.' Shi Enhua said only: 'A soldier has no "if necessary."' From dawn the next day, intense gunfire at Bijia Mountain; operations officer reported over a dozen tanks supporting infantry. I called for Shi Enhua; the orderly said the battalion commander was at the front. I asked how many troops left; the orderly cried. I ordered him to immediately convey: Withdraw to south bank at once, no delay! Shi Enhua and his brother Shi Enrong were both my subordinates. After Enrong's death, his father visited the troops; the old man tearfully shook my hand: 'Enrong died for the country, in his rightful place.' Enhua's family was affluent; his father educated, deeply principled. Around 3 p.m., I called again, finally reached Shi Enhua. I yelled angrily why not withdraw; Shi said: 'Division Commander, not that we won't; the enemy has us surrounded, we can't.' I ordered him to organize remaining forces for breakout; I'd assign artillery to suppress and send troops on south bank for support. Shi Enhua was silent for a while, finally said: 'Division Commander, see you in the next life!' A reinforced battalion, over 500 men: battalion commander, company commanders, platoon leaders, squad leaders, soldiers. A complete, orderly unit⊠After the battle, Japanese soldiers made locals collect bodies on the mountain; thousands from nearby villages went, all wanting to see these Chinese soldiers who fought for 4 days. On the mountain, everyone knelt; the hill was covered in fragmented corpses, not one intact for burial; the people wailed loudly."
On the night of September 22, under the dim, ethereal glow of the moonlight, the Xiang River flowed in silent mystery, its gentle waves lapping against the shore like whispered secrets of impending doom. Amid this serene rhythm, a faint, ominous hum of engines pierced the air. Upon the river's surface, shadowy vessels glided, not a mere handful, but a colossal fleet, a dark armada poised for conquest! The right wing of the Japanese attacking formation was the 5th Brigade, commanded by Major General Uemura Mikio under Fujita Susumu's 3rd Division. This formidable forceâcomprising 4 infantry battalions, 1 mountain artillery battalion, two engineer regiments, and two transport companiesâbore a perilous mission: "After the frontal offensive begins, advance up the Xiang River to land at Yingtian in Xiangyin County, detour to the area of Daniqiao, Xinkaishi, Qingshansi, and Malinshi south of the Miluo River, cut off the retreat of the Chinese forces, and support the 6th Division, 33rd Division, and 26th Brigade in attacking the area north of Changsha."
The Yingtian landing occupied a pivotal, treacherous role in Okamura Yasuji's grand operational scheme, a devastating thrust aimed at the left wing of the Chinese defenses, designed to sever the southern retreat of troops entrenched along the Xin Qiang River and Miluo River lines, while plunging a lethal dagger into their exposed flanks. Among the Japanese soldiers charged with this grim duty was Yoshida Yujin, who in the 1970s resided in Higashi Ward, Osaka, Valley Town 3-chome, once a private first class in the 5th Brigade's 7th Infantry Battalion, 5th Company. He recalled: "It was a few days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, and we were on the 'Xiang-Gan Operation' mission. One night, the troops assembled and boarded naval speedboats near Yueyang. I remember the mission involved our brigade plus attached units, totaling over 3,000 men. The speedboats formed a long line on the river; the one I was on seemed to be near the front. The speedboats ran without lights or whistles for concealment. We headed upstream along the Xiang River. That night, there was a not-quite-full, dark red moon in the sky, with dim reflections on the water; other boats and the land were black. We sat tightly packed in the cabins or on deck, rifles against shoulders, no talking allowed, only hearing the rumble of engines and soft water sounds. Around 1 or 2 a.m., Squad Leader Aota whispered: 'Entering combat zone.' We all instinctively grabbed our rifles, staring at the dark shoreline. About two hours before dawn, we finally reached the landing site. As we disembarked, gunfire erupted from a nearby hillside; the Chinese army had spotted us. Machine guns fired from the boats ahead; urged by the squad leader, we jumped off, wading knee-deep water to run from the shore. The company commander ordered several squads to deploy in battle formation, seize the hill attacking us, and cover the following boats' landing. After the attack began, it drew enemy fire; bullets whistled overhead and around us. Soon, enemy direct-fire cannons bombarded the fleet fiercely. Turning back in the explosion's flash, I saw our boat and an adjacent one hit and sinking, plus a few not yet ashore hitâthose on board must have suffered heavy casualties. Because of the fierce enemy fire, our progress was slow. It was dark, targets unclear; 'Follow up, follow up' commands came constantly. Advancing in darkness, uneven ground caused frequent falls, impossible to move fast. Per plan, our battalion was to land at Tuxing Port between Yingtian and Xiongzui, then immediately occupy a place called Liuxing Mountain south of Yingtian as a foothold, before cutting southeast into the main battlefield. Landing led to immediate combat; everyone was momentarily at a loss. Along the riverbank, many spots fired guns and cannons toward the river, making our intent to seize that hill meaningless. When I and another soldier carried a wounded to the company's aid station, I saw officers studying maps with flashlights, probably unsure of position and attack direction. Soon came the order: Conceal in place. At dawn's first light, our planes bombed enemy positions; seven or eight planes dropped bombs and strafed several high grounds controlling the riverbank. By full daylight, we received orders to capture a village. The squad leader ordered us to advance in battle formation. This village, whose name I now forget, was on a hillside not far from the riverbank, with a simple trench in front. We rushed to the trench, threw a few grenades, and jumped in; my foot softly stepped on an enemy soldier's corpse. I jumped in fright, looked down, and saw two bullet holes side by side in his headâfrom a machine gun. Though I'd been in several battles, I was still afraid; before each, I'd pray inwardly, making a small wish. This time, my wish was to live through the Mid-Autumn Festival. Around 9 a.m., several more battalions landed at another crossing near Yingtian and soon linked with us. After our battalion occupied the empty small village, we turned to attack Yingtian Town. Around noon, we reached a kilometer outside the town, eating in a dry ditch. I heard the company commander say the company had over a dozen killed and wounded each. After eating, we joined the final assault on Yingtian Town. Bayonets fixed on rifles, per tactics, in groups of three or four, alternating cover, advancing stepwise. Enemy fire was quite fierce; we could only rush to forward advantageous positions when planes bombed, then conceal immediately after they left, pushing forward step by step. At 4 p.m., we attacked into the bombed-out ruins of Yingtian streets, engaging in street-by-street fighting with the enemy. My combat group had four; before entering the streets, Oyama-kun was unfortunately killed. After entering, the three of us stayed close. Rushing into a small temple in the town's northwest corner, one of us, my good friend Kurata, was hit in the abdomen and fell. I quickly dropped, took out bandages to wrap him. His expression was pained, holding breath in his lungs, face flushed red. I forcefully pried his hands from his belly; blood surged out. I stuffed gauze in, shouting: 'Medic, medic!' Kurata was my middle school classmate, same grade different class; we met on the school baseball team. His mother was a very kind woman, always smiling beautifully. Sometimes after extended practice, she'd bring water and snacks, wait by the field until done, and share with the team. The medic was nowhere; I was so anxious tears flowed. Kurata teared up too, wanted to say something but dared not breathe, suffering greatly. I picked him up to retreat; after a few steps, a shell exploded nearby, my head boomed, and I knew nothing. When I woke, Company Commander Miki was slapping my face hard; my mouth tasted salty. I got up, felt myselfâno injuries; realized I'd been stunned. The commander, seeing me awake, patted my shoulder and handed my gun. Seeing people walking upright, I knew the battle was over. I asked: 'Where's Kurata-kun?' He said: 'He did his duty.' Not far, over thirty bodies lay side by side awaiting transport; I recognized them one by one and found Kurata. No longer curled, he lay flat, comfortably. His face waxy yellow, an arm blown off, abdominal blood soaking his uniform. I knelt beside him, tears unending. My mind kept thinking: I can't live either, because back home, I couldn't face that kind, always beautifully smiling woman; I can't live. Our unit advanced southeast; the column lacked many familiar faces. Before the unit crossed a mountain, I looked back once. Yingtian, a small town on the Xiang River's east bank..."
According to war history records: "On the morning of September 23, the Japanese Nara Detachment at Yanglin Street and the 6th Division near Qibutang west of Xin Qiang forcibly crossed the Xin Qiang River (shallow enough to wade). A portion of the Uemura Detachment, supported by naval vessels, assaulted landings at Lujiao and Jiumazui on the left flank of Chinese positions. The Chinese 2nd Division and 195th Division bravely resisted the facing enemy. At this time, the Japanese used over a hundred small boats to carry the main Uemura Detachment force, supported by naval guns and air fire, detouring via Heyehu and Guhu to land south of the Miluo River mouth, at Yingtian, Tuxing Port, Duigongzui, etc., with about 1,500 troops. The Chinese 95th Division immediately counterattacked. Around 10 a.m., the Japanese reinforced landings toward Qingshan, Yanjia Mountain, and Liuxing Mountain south of Yingtian. Chinese counterattacks in these areas failed, and the Japanese captured the line from Yingtian to Qianqiuping."
After triumphing at the Xin Qiang River and securing their perilous landing at Yingtian, Okamura Yasuji, adhering to his meticulously crafted deployment, drove his forces relentlessly toward the second defensive bulwark in northern Hunan, the formidable Miluo River, a line that could spell the difference between survival and annihilation. The Miluo River, snaking midway but northward between Yueyang and Changsha, stood as a natural fortress, a gift from the earth that Chinese forces could wield as a shield against the invaders. Chen Pei's 37th Army, under the 15th Army Group, had arrayed Liang Zhongjiang's 60th Division and Luo Qi's 95th Division along its southern bank, a wall of determination forged in the face of encroaching doom. With the Xin Qiang River defenses shattered and the Changsha region pulsing with tension, precious time was needed to fortify further, so Xue Yue issued a draconian order: do not abandon the Miluo River line under any circumstances. Over 20,000 officers and men of the 37th Army toiled ceaselessly through day and night, bolstering fortifications with sweat and resolve, their hearts heavy with the dread of the inferno soon to descend.
The 2nd Company of the 1st Battalion, 3rd Regiment of the 37th Army's 60th Division had been entrenched at Xinshi for a full three months, a vigil that turned the town into a pressure cooker of anticipation. Since the eruption of battle at the Xin Qiang River on September 18, the nerves of this riverside outpost had been strung taut, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Yang Peyao, who would later endure a crippling foot wound that left him disabled, was then a fresh-faced one-year recruit, his innocence yet to be scorched by the fires of war. He harbored a naive conviction that combat was preferable to the drudgery of peacetime; training and fortification labor were exhausting, meals meager and uninspiring, but in the heat of battle, hardships seemed to vanish, and rations improved with each passing day. This notion stemmed from his unit's lack of real action since his enlistment, just endless standbys and guard duties where the enemy remained a phantom, never materializing.
That day marked the 13th of the eighth lunar month; Yang Peyao and his entire regiment stood on high alert at their positions beside the dock, as routine as the river's flow. The Xin Qiang River line had held for five grueling days and nights; since two days prior, front-line troops had been streaming southward in retreat, their weary forms a harbinger of the storm to come. Xinshi served as the vital crossroads of east-west and north-south highways, a choke point for withdrawals from the Xin Qiang River, and the precarious junction between the 60th and 95th Divisions of the 37th Army. Army Commander Chen Pei had personally inspected the defenses multiple times, his eyes scanning for any weakness that could unravel their stand. One fateful day, as Yang Peyao's battalion labored to thicken fortification covers, the commander and Division Commander Liang Zhongjiang strode by; Yang overheard the commander's voice, sharp as a blade, declaring to the division commander: "No words; execute on the spot!" After the officers vanished from sight, Yang turned to a grizzled 40-something veteran in his squad: "Uncle Zhao, don't know who the commander is so fierce about executing?" Old Zhao replied with the weary wisdom of one who had seen too much: "Once fighting starts, people die, some by devils' hands, some by officers'; that's a soldier's fate."
Around 10 a.m., regimental orders crackled through: Battle was imminent today; front-line troops would withdraw by noon, with Japanese hounds nipping at their heels; all positions must vigilantly scan the north bank; lunch would not be rotated, meals delivered straight to the lines. Yang Peyao positioned himself outside the fortification, peering intently across the water. The Miluo River stretched about 600 meters wide here, bridged by a military pontoon for vehicles linking the north-south highways. Not far upstream on the south bank loomed Xinshi Town; the highway skirted west of it, arrowing straight south to Changsha. With the town as a dividing line, the east fell under the 60th Division's domain, the west to the 95th; Yang's battalion clung to the division's edge, perilously adjacent to the town. Since assuming their post, he had heard tales of the south bank fortifications, erected over a full year: clusters of reinforced concrete bunkers interlinked in a defiant network. With reports of Japanese heavy artillery and aerial onslaughts at the Xin Qiang River, the commander had demanded further reinforcements, ensuring they could withstand multiple direct hits from the sky's fury.
At 11:30 a.m., the company phone buzzed with instructions to fetch lunch from the kitchen. As Yang Peyao and another recruit emerged, they beheld another unit trudging across the bridge, a grim procession of battered souls. These brothers had fought through hell itself, their forms caked in grime and soot, the Republic of China flag at their vanguard tattered and filthy like a discarded rag. Stretcher bearers hauled an endless line of wounded and lifeless bodies; Yang caught sight of one injured soldier sitting rigidly on his litter, his upper body and head swathed in bandages, only his wide, haunted eyes visible, staring blankly in his direction. The unit took nearly an hour to cross, a somber parade of exhaustion. Returning with empty bowls after their meal, Yang spotted two collection vehicles groaning under loads of supplies and stragglers rumbling over the bridge. Trailing not far behind were clusters of three to five refugees, burdened with children, their faces etched with desperation. Since taking position, Yang had witnessed such southward streams daily on this crucial route, ghosts fleeing the advancing nightmare.
Then the squad leader bellowed his name, jolting him back into the fortification. The company relayed urgent word: Japanese forces were tailing the 79th Army southward, poised to reach the Miluo River imminently. Before the squad leader could finish, the sharp "da-da-da" of machine gun fire erupted nearby. Yang's head buzzed with adrenaline; this was his first true taste of combat since enlisting. Though he had thumped his chest in pre-battle rallies, the real crackle of gunfire twisted his guts, nearly overwhelming him with fear. He dove to his assigned spot: assisting machine gunner Old Zhao by swapping ammo drums. Peering through the narrow firing slit, a vivid, stereoscopic tableau unfolded before him, forever seared into his memory.
A thin man in a blue gown, bespectacled like a rural teacher, hoisted a light machine gun, firing wildly as he charged; behind him, a woman clutched a child, racing northward from the bridge's center. Several farmer-like figures miraculously produced machine guns, blasting away while advancing; beside them, women, elders, and old crones, some crouched with hands over heads on the bridge, others fled back, a few leaped into the churning river. The chaos erupted so abruptly that even these battle-ready soldiers froze in shock. Two disguised Japanese assailants stormed the nearest semi-underground permanent fortification by the bridge, circling it while unleashing fire, likely hunting for an entry. One yanked a grenade pin with his teeth, jamming it through the slit; the air quivered silently before exploding, and they lunged toward another target.
Several Chinese soldiers, not yet hunkered in their bunkers, stood frozen, as if the pandemonium were a distant spectacle unrelated to them. In that surreal moment, Japanese machine guns spared these bystanders, fixating instead on the bridgehead bunkers. Then, a soldier erupted from a bunker with a primal yell, bayoneted rifle in hand, charging the armed intruders. As the Japanese wheeled around, he closed in, thrusting before bullets felled him, but his stab missed as they evaded; his cry was silenced mid-roar. Over a dozen members of this Japanese suicide squad, masquerading as fleeing Chinese civilians, surged toward the bridge's southern end; our machine guns finally thundered to life, dropping the invaders one by one on the span, yet the survivors pressed on in a desperate sprint.
Yang's machine gun roared to life; he watched battle-hardened Old Zhao, sweat streaming, eyes narrowed in fury, teeth gritted, lips pulled back in a savage grimace. They sealed the bridge with a hail of lead; amid the deafening cacophony, Yang caught a frantic shout: "Blow the bridge! Damn it, blow the bridge!" Yang braced for the nightmare of a Japanese bursting in, raking their backs with fire. But then, the bridgehead and the entire river defenses shuddered under a barrage of shells. From the first shot to now, mere minutes had elapsed; yet the opposite bank already bristled with khaki uniforms and the glaring Rising Sun flags fluttering like omens of death. What followed was a relentless alternation of aerial and artillery bombardments, a symphony of destruction. Later, Yang queried Old Zhao: Many in the suicide squad had crossed, so weren't they afraid of bombing their own? Old Zhao pondered deeply, then sighed with bitter resignation: "No matter the country, soldiers' lives are cheap."
As the bombing ceased, Japanese forces, now in plain sight and within lethal range, charged in waves from the bridge and through the water toward the south bank; one wave crumpled, only for another to rise, an unyielding, inexhaustible horde. Ammunition was plentiful in the fortification; Old Zhao mentioned three "bases" had been issuedâYang couldn't recall the exact rounds per base. Hours blurred into a frenzy, the ground carpeted with gleaming brass casings; this, Yang realized, was the commander's invocation of the "Art of War: 'Strike when half crossed'", a tactical masterstroke amid the carnage. Japanese blood stained this ancient, storied river crimson; Yang's reinforced concrete bastion cracked wide under the onslaught. In the cataclysmic blast of a heavy bomb from above, the other gunner bled from every orifice, collapsing unconscious and being dragged away. Old Zhao, eyes bloodshot and nose trickling red, paused during a drum swap: "Might not make it this time; don't forget me." Then, with grim pride: "Remember, killed 8 enemy, 1 horse."
At dusk, the Japanese assault faltered, granting a fleeting respite. The fortification's survivors scrambled out, frantically repairing and piling more soil. The company commander passed by, eyeing the fissure: "You guys are lucky; this is the best in the company." The squad leader inquired: "Heavy casualties?" The commander paused, his response evasive: "Depends how higher-ups say to fight." Soon after, orders circulated: Two per squad to retrieve ammo and rations from the company; prepare for nocturnal warfare. The squad leader dispatched Yang for rations, handling bullets himself. While distributing the meager sustenance, fresh word arrived: Immediate withdrawal.
As darkness enveloped the battlefield, our mortars and small mountain guns hammered the opposite Japanese positions. In column formation, Yang stole one last glance at this place of grueling training, endless drills, and now, brutal initiation. Fortifications erected over a year, inhabited for three months, defended for half a day. At the Xinshi positions on the Miluo River's south bank, recruit Yang Peyao had fought his first battle in his personal saga of the War of Resistance Against Japan. He emerged unscathed, no death or wound; alongside Old Zhao, they had felled 11 enemies and two horses. In a quiet revelation, he discovered Old Zhao wasn't the unflinching hero he proclaimed, trudging onward, Yang secretly tallied his insights.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
After debating Plans A and B, Chiang adopted Plan B, emphasizing resistance north of Changsha. Japanese forces assaulted Jiangxi and Hunan, capturing Gao'an briefly before Chinese troops, including the 74th Army, recaptured it. At Bijia Mountain, Shi Enhua's battalion held for four days, perishing entirely. The Uemura Detachment landed at Yingtian amid fierce resistance, suffering heavy losses. Defenders at the Miluo River repelled waves of attacks, with suicide squads and bombardments inflicting carnage before a tactical withdrawal.
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Last time we spoke about the Wang Jingwei Regime. During the Second Sino-Japanese War, tensions between Chiang Kai-shek and Wang Jingwei escalated amid Japan's aggressive invasion. Disillusioned by Chiang's scorched-earth tactics, such as the Yellow River flood and Changsha fire, Wang defected from Chongqing in December 1938, fleeing to Hanoi to negotiate peace with Japan. An assassination attempt, likely ordered by Chiang, killed Wang's secretary Zeng Zhongming, deepening the rift and sparking retaliatory violence. Wang's group, aided by Japanese agents like Kagesa Sadaaki, navigated scandals and leaks, including a forged agreement exposed in the press. After grueling negotiations in Shanghai and Tokyo, Wang conceded to harsh Japanese terms, including limited sovereignty and economic controls. On March 30, 1940, he established the Reorganized National Government (RNG) in Nanjing, adopting the nationalist flag with a controversial yellow pennant symbolizing "peace, anticommunism, nation-building." Despite Wang's vision of constitutional democracy, the RNG functioned as a wartime puppet, isolated from Chongqing and resented as traitorous. Wang died in 1944, and the regime collapsed in 1945.
#195 The Xiang-Gan Operation
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
In the sweltering grip of August 1939, Chongqing languished under an unbearably hot summer, the air thick with humidity and the weight of impending doom. Perched on a sun-baked hillside along the southern bank of the Jialing River, roughly 10 kilometers from the chaotic heart of the city, loomed a two-story Western-style building. This fortress of stone and resolve, known as the "Huangshan Villa," stood as Chiang Kai-shek's official residence in Chongqing, a sanctuary amid the storm of war. Unless urgent meetings or crises at the Military Affairs Commission demanded his presence, it was here that Chiang orchestrated the fate of a nation on the brink.
One fateful evening, as shadows lengthened across the villa, the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics delivered a chilling report from Wang Pengsheng, the director of the Military Affairs Commission's Institute for International Affairs. Wang was no ordinary operative; he was a knowledgeable, experienced, and sharp-minded intellectual, a master of Japanese affairs, and one of Chiang's most trusted aides, his insights cutting like a blade through the fog of deception. In this urgent dispatch, Wang distilled the latest machinations from Japan. After the traitor Wang Jingwei defected to the enemy, Japan glimpsed a sinister new path to conquer China: ramping up political inducements for surrender, with brutal military offensives reduced to mere supporting roles. On June 20, the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters unleashed "strategy" tasks upon its troops in Chinaâto incite local armies, those ragtag "miscellaneous troops," to betray their own, isolating and pulverizing the central army units. Wang Pengsheng saw through the ruse; this "attacking the heart" and "subduing strategies," drawn from the ancient wisdom of China's military sage Sun Tzu, betrayed the Japanese army's desperate straits, manpower stretched thin, supplies dwindling to the point of desperation.
Chiang Kai-shek's eyes narrowed as he gripped his red pencil, underlining a passage in the report with deliberate strokes, marking it as a thunderclap of importance or urgency: To cooperate with the establishment of the Wang puppet regime and exert military pressure on the Chongqing government, under the direction of the Imperial General Headquarters, the commander of the Japanese 11th Army, Okamura Yasuji, had formulated the "Xiang-Gan Operation Plan" targeting the main forces of the central army in the Ninth War Zone and was intensifying preparations for its implementation. The words hung heavy in the air like a gathering storm. Chiang Kai-shek rose abruptly, his body protesting with a stiff ache from hours of unyielding vigilance. He stretched his weary waist and legs, then pushed open the wooden door beside the vast sun-facing window, stepping out onto the balcony as if seeking solace from the encroaching night.
The balcony commanded a sweeping vista, a momentary escape from the suffocating confines of strategy and betrayal. Gazing downward, the "Fog Capital" Chongqing emerged in rare clarity, serene and layered beneath the fiery embrace of the evening glow. The distant murmur of the Jialing River, flowing ceaselessly like the pulse of a defiant heart, whispered a fleeting sense of ease amid the turmoil. Yet even this pause carried the echoes of war's relentless march. After the Japanese horde seized Wuhan and surged onward to claim Yueyangâonly to halt their southward thrustâboth Mao Zedong in his Yan'an stronghold and Chiang Kai-shek in Chongqing etched this moment as a pivotal divide in China's War of Resistance Against Japan. Mao proclaimed the war had plunged into the "stalemate phase," a grinding impasse. Chiang, ever the resolute leader, declared the "second phase of the war of resistance" ignited from this very point.
But across the vast national battlefield, the first half of 1939 roared with unquenched fury, the air thick with the acrid smoke of gunpowder. From the year's dawn, the Japanese army, bolstered by five divisions and eight mixed brigades, launched ruthless "security consolidation" operations in North China to fortify their blood-soaked conquests, only to be harried and bloodied by the Communist Eighth Route Army slipping behind enemy lines and the valiant troops of the First and Second War Zones. In late March, the Japanese 11th Army stormed Nanchang, clashing in a maelstrom of fire with the four group armies of the Ninth War Zone under the iron command of front-line commander Luo Zhuoying. For a grueling month and a half, the battle raged, the Japanese claiming the city at a staggering cost in lives. Chiang Kai-shek, his fury mounting, demanded a counterattack from the Ninth War Zone, but it crumbled into tragedy, over 20,000 souls lost, including Lieutenant General Chen Anbao, the indomitable commander of the 29th Army. Nanchang remained in enemy hands, fueling Chiang's rage like an inferno unchecked.
Then, in May, the Japanese Kwantung Army clashed with Soviet and Mongolian forces in the epic conflagration at Nomonhan. What ignited a spark of grim satisfaction in Chiang was not merely the Japanese rout, with nearly 20,000 of their ranks obliterated, but the broader ripple: this Japan-Soviet inferno would heap pressure upon the invaders in China, weakening their grasp. As the war sank into its stalemate phase, Chiang turned his gaze inward, fiercely guarding his military strength while awaiting the winds of change. He clung to a core conviction: the essence of the War of Resistance boiled down to that single, unbreakable wordâ"resist." Troops could be sacrificed, territories forsaken, retreats endured when battles turned dire, but surrender was unthinkable. As long as resistance endured, the nation would hold its place among the world's powers, and its leaders their rightful thrones. In time, the tides of international intrigue would shift; the imperialist giants, driven by their own insatiable interests, would not stand idly by as China fell to Japan's maw.
With resolve hardening like steel, Chiang Kai-shek strode back to his imposing desk and seized the telephone, dialing Xu Yongchang, the Minister of Military Orders. His voice cut through the line with unyielding command: instruct Deputy Chief of Staff Bai Chongxi, currently in the Ninth War Zone dissecting the bitter lessons of the Nanchang debacle, to hasten and aid Chen Cheng in crafting ironclad military deployments against the looming Japanese "Xiang-Gan Operation" and submit them without delay.
As the last defiant ray of sunlight plunged below the horizon, the sprawl of Chongqing's urban expanse succumbed to an enveloping darkness, a shroud of uncertainty. Since the government had fled southward, Chongqing had become a relentless target for Japanese bombers, their payloads raining death and devastation in waves of tragedy. By night, the city enforced ironclad blackout controls, its citizens huddling in fear behind heavy curtains, their lives reduced to whispers in the shadows. Chiang Kai-shek's mind drifted to the pre-war nights of the mountain city, when thousands of lights danced like stars upon the river's rippling waves. A deep, weary sigh escaped him, carrying the burden of a leader who refused to yield.
Far from the shadowed balconies of Chongqing, as China's War of Resistance Against Japan plunged into its harrowing third year, the misty haven of Guilin clung to its gentle, rain-soaked serenity, a fragile oasis amid the chaos of a nation torn asunder. Farmers, oblivious to the headlines screaming from distant newspapers, trudged barefoot through the lush fields, guiding massive water buffaloes with their backward-curving horns and deceptively gentle temperaments. Verdant tea groves blanketed the undulating hills, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind, while breezes carried the haunting, sweet-and-sour melodies of mountain songs that seemed to defy the encroaching shadows of war. Those weary souls fleeing the bloodied front lines stumbled into this paradise, their eyes widening in awe, as if they had crossed into a dream untouched by the nightmare raging beyond.
Nestled in the northwestern suburbs of the city, the Guilin Office pulsed with the raw energy of command, its operations post concealed within a colossal karst cave, a labyrinth of nature's own fortifications. Amid the jagged stalagmites and dripping stalactites, wires snaked like veins, cables coiled in tense anticipation, and radio antennas reached out like desperate fingers grasping for signals. These were the nerves of war, linking this hidden nerve center to the smoke-choked, blood-drenched front lines where heroes and horrors collided in the unyielding struggle for resistance.
Deputy Chief of Staff of the Military Affairs Commission and Director of the Guilin OfficeâBai Chongxiâunfolded the telegram folder thrust into his hands by his confidential staff, his heart pounding with the weight of destiny:
"To Director Bai in Guilin: Telegram received. Deploy operations according to Plan A.
Zhongzheng"
Before departing Changsha, the Second Department had already whispered warnings of the Japanese horde's intent to strike southward, and fatefully, an urgent call from Xu Yongchang had demanded the swift forging of a battle plan to confront the enemy. As Bai Chongxi devoured the enemy intelligence, a bold strategy ignited in his mind like a flare in the darkness. Chen Cheng, the steadfast Commander of the Ninth War Zone, championed the tried-and-true tactic of successive resistance, but with a grim twist: retreat would be capped north of Changsha. Front-line troops would grind down the Japanese invaders, bleeding them dry before slipping to the east and west flanks. There, they would pounce on the enemy's exposed sides as the foes pressed southward, culminating in a devastating annihilation beneath the walls of Changsha with the aid of the garrison. This blueprint minimized troop movements and promised a swift, brutal clash. Yet Chen Cheng, burdened by his dual role as Minister of the Political Department of the Military Affairs Commission, had delegated command to Xue Yue as acting Ninth War Zone Commander. In heated deliberations, Xue Yue tilted toward Chen's vision, his resolve echoing the caution of survival.
But Bai Chongxi, his strategic mind a whirlwind of innovation, saw a bolder path through the storm. The Japanese forces lurking in the Wuhan area were fractured, split between the Yangtze's north and south, facing off against China's formidable heavy troops. Though intelligence on the scale of their assault remained shrouded in mystery, Bai knew their drawable forces couldn't exceed half their might, and their endurance in sustained combat would falter like a dying flame. "To swallow the attackers whole, the battlefield must be vast and unforgiving, our forces luring them deeper while retreating to the Hengyang area, stretching the enemy thin across a sprawling 200-kilometer wasteland." There, the invaders would wither in passivity, their food and ammunition lines stretched to breaking. Then, in a masterful stroke, troops from the Jiuling and Mufu Mountains would surge westward, while those west of the Xiang River drove eastward, severing every land and water escape route in a vise of total annihilation. Both plans stood as ironclad fortresses of logic, each unassailable in its reasoning, and were dispatched simultaneously to Chiang Kai-shek, the arbiter of China's fate.
By rank and protocol, Bai's vision claimed the mantle of Plan A, while Chen's bore the label of Plan B. Bai Chongxi had voiced his conviction and released it to the winds, content to let Chiang's judgment prevail. Bai Chongxi was a master of strategy, whispered among allies as the "Little Zhuge," his intellect a weapon as sharp as any blade. Yet Chen Cheng shared Chiang's Zhejiang roots and the unbreakable bonds of Huangpu camaraderie, drawing him even closer in the inner circle of trust. On such pivotal matters, Bai Chongxi often chose the path of restraint, yielding rather than clashing in futile strife. Five agonizing days after the plans vanished into the ether, Chiang's telegram pierced the tension, affirming the adoption of Plan A. A surge of quiet triumph coursed through Bai Chongxi as he signed the missive and strode toward the operations map, his steps echoing with purpose.
While strategic minds clashed in hidden caves and distant villas, the front lines pulsed with the raw grit of soldiers readying for battle. Guan Linzheng had been assigned a mount since 1930, when he became commander of the 1st Regiment of the 2nd Training Division, during the Central Plains War between Chiang, Feng, and Yan. He led the regiment to cover the retreat of the division's main force under Zhang Zhizhong. Pursued by several times their number of Feng-Yan troops, they fought while retreating in dire straits. From night to dawn, heavy fog descended, obscuring visibility beyond dozens of paces. Guan Linzheng's chestnut horse suddenly neighed loudly and charged back toward the pursuers. After trying to rein it in unsuccessfully, Guan simply ordered the troops to countercharge into the fog. Shouts of killing filled the air, gunfire intense. The Feng-Yan troops, unclear of the situation in the fog, thought Chiang reinforcements had arrived and ordered a retreat. By the time the fog cleared, they were gone. Guan's bold cunning successfully completed the cover mission, and he was promoted to brigade commander of the division's 2nd Brigade after the war.
In July 1932, during Chiang Kai-shek's fourth encirclement of the Hubei-Henan-Anhui Soviet, Guan Linzheng was brigade commander of the 4th Army's Independent Brigade. In battle, he was surrounded by Red Army troops led by Chen Geng and Cai Shenyi of the Red 25th Army Corps in the Anhui town of Zhuanfo Temple. His unit suffered heavy casualties, and a beloved horse was killed, leaving him distressed for a long time. With the outbreak of the War of Resistance, Guan Linzheng's military career entered its golden age. He believed this was truly raising an army of justice, fighting for the people and the nation. After promotions, though equipped with cars, he always kept a warhorse, often riding to survey terrain, inspect work, and command battles. In spare moments, he personally exercised and groomed the horse. That day, he led several staff on horseback to the Xin Qiang River front line, dismounting on the southern bank. 52nd Army Commander Zhang Yaoming and 195th Division Commander Qin Yizhi were waiting.
According to the Ninth War Zone deployment, the 15th Army Group had positioned Zhang Yaoming's 52nd Army and Xia Chuzhong's 79th Army, a formidable force of six divisions along the southern bank of the Xin Qiang River, stretching from Xin Qiang to Maishi beyond the provincial border. This ironclad first line of defense spanned over 100 kilometers, a vast bulwark against the gathering storm of invasion. Fifty kilometers to the south, Chen Pei's 37th Army, with its Divisions 60 and 95, held the Miluo River from Miluo to Pingjiang as the unyielding second line, ready to absorb any breach. Meanwhile, Li Jue's 70th Army, commanding Divisions 19 and 107 along the eastern bank of the Xiang River, was deployed north and south of Xiangyin, fiercely guarding the critical landing points like Yingtian, points that could spell victory or catastrophe.
195th Division Commander Qin Yizhi reported to Guan Linzheng with a voice charged with resolve: troop morale soared like a battle cry, fortifications stood complete and impenetrable, and the army's slogan for this fateful clash thundered: "Fight with the prestige of Taierzhuang!" The division's mobilization slogan echoed even fiercer: "Win fame in one battle!" Guan Linzheng nodded with grim satisfaction toward Zhang Yaoming, his eyes gleaming with the fire of shared history. Guan had once commanded the 52nd Army himself, leading it through a gauntlet of brilliant, blood-soaked battles on the anti-Japanese front. As the Japanese hordes prepared to surge across the Xin Qiang River southward, this was the first, most perilous barrier, a crucible where legends would be forged or shattered. He had entrusted his most loyal unit to the point of greatest impact, knowing full well the stakes. Zhang Yaoming and the division commanders, who had marched at his side for years through hellfire, understood the gravity: Commander Guan was setting an unassailable example, issuing orders that rippled through the ranks, no one could afford the slightest lapse, or face the merciless blade of military law!
"Who's on the north bank?" Guan Linzheng and the others sat on the hard earth, the weight of impending war pressing down; he pointed to the map's symbols for forward positions across the river, his finger tracing lines of fate. "Guarding the Bijia Mountain position is the reinforced 3rd Battalion of the 195th Division's 131st Regiment under Qin Yizhi," Zhang Yaoming replied without hesitation, his tone steady as stone. "Who's on the north bank?" Guan Linzheng repeated as if he hadn't heard, his voice a low rumble, demanding precision in the face of chaos.
Zhang Yaoming hesitated slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, and Qin Yizhi stepped in: "3rd Battalion Commander Shi Enhua, Huangpu 8th Class."
The Central Military Academy had held its first five classes in Guangzhou's Huangpu, commonly called Huangpu Military Academy. Afterward, the school moved several times, but students continued using the Huangpu name, partly to inherit the revolutionary spirit against imperialism and feudalism from Huangpu's founding, and partly to indicate their central orthodoxy. Army generals, especially the "old Huangpu" big brothers, approved this practice, calling it Huangpu no matter where the school was.
Guan Linzheng glared at Zhang Yaoming, his gaze like sharpened steel, then pressed his knee and rose to his feet. Guan's left knee had been shattered by a bullet in 1925 during the Eastern Expedition against Chen Jiongming, a wound that had nearly claimed his leg and his future. Doctors had decreed amputation to save his life, but Liao Zhongkai, the party representative, had visited the wounded and intervened strenuously, preventing it. Otherwise, there would be no later glory for Guan Linzheng. After careful treatment and diligent exercise, the leg's function mostly recovered, though rising from a squat was slightly difficult. Zhang Yaoming reached out to help, but Guan pushed him away with a fierce independence born of countless battles. The group descended to the riverbank and stood in heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. The horses either stood patiently with heads held high, vigilant sentinels, or lowered them to sniff the grass, casually plucking some to hold in their lips, oblivious to the human storm brewing.
The Xin Qiang River, an unnamed small river that had flowed quietly for countless years, had no great turbid waves in flood seasons and still shallow clear ripples in dry periods. It flowed peacefully from its source to Dongting Lake over dozens of kilometers. At this moment, it reflected the figures and thoughts of several soldiers, utterly unaware that in a dozen days, its name would leap to the front pages of newspapers nationwide, baptized in blood and etched into history.
Amid these preparations on the front lines, deeper internal conflicts simmered among the high command. Xue Yue regretted taking the position of provincial chairman, a decision that now haunted him like a specter from the battlefield's edge.
After the nationwide shock of the "Great Fire of Changsha," Zhang Zhizhong was punished with "suspension with retention," continuing to handle daily affairs amid the ashes. He sent several telegrams requesting resignation from the provincial chairmanship, expressing to the Executive Yuan his "shameless guilt and deep pain." On January 17, 1939, the Chongqing Executive Yuan passed a resolution to reorganize the Hunan Provincial Government. That night, Zhang Zhizhong received Chiang Kai-shek's telegram instructing him to hand over work and report to Chongqing.
In December 1938, when the Military Affairs Commission issued the order for Xue Yue to act as Ninth War Zone Commander, Chiang Kai-shek personally spoke with Xue, asking: "Brother Boling, do you think this arrangement is acceptable?" Boling was Xue Yue's courtesy name. Chiang, nine years older, addressed him as brother in private. Xue Yue said: "With Changsha in such a state, I truly lack the ability to handle such a major war zone task." Chiang Kai-shek understood Xue's implication about the disunity of military and political affairs making military work difficult. He said: "You go first; we can consider unifying military and political affairs later." According to He Yaozu, then director of the Military Affairs Commission Office who witnessed this: "My impression was that Xue Yue didn't want to avoid the acting commander role, but wanted to combine military and political powers. Chiang knew this, telling me 'If he's willing, let him do it,' words Chiang said to many seeking positions."
On February 1, 1939, the Nationalist Government officially appointed Xue Yue as Chairman of the Hunan Provincial Committee of the Kuomintang and Chairman of Hunan Province. With party, government, and military powers combined, troubles followed incessantly, piling upon him like relentless enemy fire. As war zone commander, he first thought of the troops. Upon taking office, Xue implemented a policy to restrict market rice prices for military grain procurement, proposing "flat prices" to acquire grain cheaply, forcing merchants underground. Upon hearing this, Xue angrily summoned major rice merchants, reprimanded them, and ordered them to deliver quotas. The result: insufficient low-price rice, with black market prices rising daily. After half a year, sharp-tongued Hunanese nicknamed him "Xue Pinggui," a name that became household, a mocking whisper that cut deeper than any blade.
Coincidentally, his father passed away. Whether Xue instructed it or subordinates "handled it," obituaries flew everywhere, sent to county-level units across the province. Each county had at least 20 units sending condolences, and higher-level cities and provincial units all sent, leading some to secretly calculate. After Xue Yue took charge in Hunan, his family members were transferred from other provinces, and arranging work according to their abilities was reasonable in that old society. His uncle-in-law Fang Xuefen became head of the Provincial Grain Bureau, brother-in-law Qiu Weiyi head of the Provincial Bank. His brother continued business, transporting Hunan rice to Guangdong for barter.
Xue Yue's talents shone not in officialdom. Only before military maps, on battlefields of gunfire and flying shells, could one find the general-like Xue Yue; "heaven-born talent" was for warfare. This descendant of an ordinary farming family in Lechang County, Guangdong, who entered Huangpu Army Primary School at 10, became commander of Sun Yat-sen's bodyguard regiment's 1st Battalion at 24, and once carried a machine gun through hails of bullets to protect Madame Sun Soong Ching-ling from rebel encirclement, earned the nickname "Tiger Cub" in blood and fire. What propelled him to life's peak was the Battle of Changsha.
On August 21, 1939, with war clouds over Changsha thickening like a noose, Xue Yue received telegrams and calls from Chiang Kai-shek, Bai Chongxi, and Chen Cheng. Chiang's telegram required immediate deployment according to "Plan A." Bai and Chen urged resolute implementation of the Chairman's instructions. Xue Yue stood motionless before the map, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and defiance.
Many articles recalling Xue Yue mentioned his daily habit, or hobby, of studying maps; he could do so all day. With battles, he looked; without, he still studied avidly. Perhaps map-reading had evolved from a commander's work need to a professional soldier's spiritual requirement, a way to express emotions, dispel worries, a soldier's way of existence. After Chiang's order to execute "Plan A," rather than comparing plans on the map for stronger bases for his preferred view, he was organizing thoughts, adjusting emotions, and gathering courage in this soul's sanctuary. Hours later, he turned and called Chief of Staff Zhao Zili, dictating three reasons to persist with "Plan B," instructing him to draft a telegram directly to Chiang Kai-shek.
He reminded Zhao that the wording should be forceful yet resilient, making the Chairman clearly feel his firm determination. The Ninth War Zone has sufficient forces and confidence to annihilate the Japanese north of Changsha. If our forces retreat to Hengyang, the Japanese 21st Army under Ando Toshikichi in Guangzhou (with 18th and 104th Divisions, Taiwan Brigade, and attached air units) might advance north along the Yue-Han Railway in support, forming a pincer on us, making the battle hard to control. Following Plan A and allowing the Japanese south would lead to Changsha's fall, exploited by enemy propaganda, causing adverse effects domestically and internationally. These three points presented the potential military and political disadvantages of Plan A as tangible, imminent dangers, more argumentative and unyieldingly firm than his original inclination toward "Plan B."
Zhao Zili quickly noted the points, his pen flying across the page with the precision of a seasoned warrior, before retreating to the staff office to draft the telegram that could alter the course of battle. A top student of Huangpu's 6th Class, quick-witted and resourceful, Zhao had risen like a comet through the ranks after a few blistering campaigns, pinning the insignia of major general to his shoulders at the tender age of 31, a feat that stirred envy among his classmates like a storm in their hearts. Zhao Zili, of course, understood Xue Yue's true intent, piercing through the layers of strategy to the raw undercurrent of determination and unresolved fury.
In May 1938, to avenge the stinging triumph at Taierzhuang, the Japanese had massed their forces in a vengeful storm, aiming to encircle and annihilate the Chinese main forces east of the Longhai Railway, striking from both east and north with ruthless precision. The northern route's 14th Division, under the cunning Dobashi Kenji, found itself surrounded in Lanfeng by a pantheon of fierce Chinese generals, Song Xilian, Yu Jishi, Hu Zongnan, Qiu Qingquan, Wang Yaowu, Li Hanlun, Gui Yongqing, Sun Tongxuan, and Shang Zhen, warriors whose names echoed like thunder across the battlefields. Chiang Kai-shek himself descended upon Zhengzhou to supervise the carnage, appointing Xue Yue as 1st Corps Commander to orchestrate the generals in a full-throttle offensive on the morning of May 25, with the ironclad goal of obliterating that longtime scourge of China and his 14th Division before the dawn of the 26th shattered the night.
The odds were a gambler's dream: 150,000 elite Chinese troops against a mere 20,000 second-rate Japanese soldiers. Victory seemed not just possible, but inevitable; Chiang invited journalists to the front lines for live dispatches, while the Wuhan Political Department feverishly prepared celebrations for the "second great Taierzhuang victory." Chiang Kai-shek was exceptionally angry, his rage boiling over in orders that scorched the ranks, reprimanding army commanders for "inept command, cowardly actions, leading to low morale and hesitation," and that "most army, division, and brigade commanders lacked courage and self-motivation, prolonging the battle." After the Lanfeng Battle, Chiang ordered the dismissal and investigation of future Nationalist Navy Commander Gui Yongqing and 1950s Taiwan Army Commander and Provincial Chairman Huang Jie, and executed 88th Division Commander Long Muhan. But he did not hold Xue Yue accountable for leadership responsibility. For a highly self-respecting person, self-blame is more painful than others' blame. Thereafter, Xue Yue spent more time buried in maps, his eyes tracing lines of terrain like a man possessed, seeking a monumental battle to avenge his wounded pride and redeem his tarnished honor.
On March 8, 1939, shortly after Xue Yue assumed the mantle of acting Ninth War Zone Commander, Chiang telegraphed him with urgent resolve: "To secure Nanchang and its rear lines, decide to strike first, take the offensive to thwart the enemy's intentions." Chiang valued Nanchang's strategic position, as did Okamura Yasuji, but Chiang was a step slow, his hesitation a fatal crack. The Japanese, wielding two divisions bolstered by the bulk of their army's tanks and artillery, seized the initiative like predators in the night, storming Nanchang before the Chinese heavy forces could muster. Chen Cheng remained the nominal Ninth War Zone Commander, relegating Xue Yue to a watchful perch in Changsha while entrusting the Nanchang front to his confidant Luo Zhuoying. Xue Yue haunted the command room day and night, monitoring the inferno through frantic phone calls and telegrams, his discomfort gnawing at him like an unhealed wound. He bore witness to Nanchang's fall and the counterattack's agonizing collapse.
The Nanchang Battle loss was not Xue's fault, but it scarred the Ninth War Zone under his watch, with generals' whispers spreading like venom, knotting his heart in a tangle of regret and resolve. Months of intense map study and on-site inspections had etched Hunan's terrain into Xue Yue's very soul, birthing a strategy that was bold, unique, and brimming with promiseâa phoenix rising from the ashes of defeat. But as Zhao Zili understood with crystal clarity, Commander Xue's telegram to Chiang, a forceful plea to reverse the decision, sprang less from cold military "strategy" than from the seething "resentment" accumulated through repeated failures and humiliations, a fire that demanded reckoning. With Chen Cheng's help, Chiang finally agreed to change the plan, bending to the tide of persuasion. Xue Yue was delighted, his spirit soaring like a liberated eagle; Bai Chongxi was angry, his frustration simmering like a storm held at bay. After the battle erupted, Bai, dispatched by Chiang to assist Xue Yue, arrived at the war zone headquarters on Yuelu Mountain atop the Xiang River's west bank in Changsha but remained silent like a mute bodhisattva, his words locked away in disapproval. Even decades later, in his Memoirs of Bai Chongxi, discussing the First Battle of Changsha, he still did not consider it a victory, saying the Japanese "conducted a planned retreat without much loss, which is a fact."
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In 1939, amid the Second Sino-Japanese War's stalemate phase, Chiang Kai-shek received intelligence on Japan's Xiang-Gan Operation, aimed at pressuring Chongqing through military advances in Hunan. Deputy Chief Bai Chongxi proposed Plan A for a deep-lure annihilation south of Changsha, while Chen Cheng and Xue Yue favored Plan B for resistance north of the city. After tense debates, Chiang approved Plan B, influenced by Xue's insistence to avoid Changsha's fall and counter Japanese propaganda.
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Last time we spoke about the Chiang Kai-Shek-Wang Jingwei divide. In the late 1930s, amid the Second Sino-Japanese War, tensions escalated between Chiang Kai-shek and Wang Jingwei. Following the Nomonhan Incident and Soviet-Japanese neutrality pact, Japan intensified its invasion of China. At the 1937 Mount Lu Conference, Chiang delivered a speech committing to resistance against Japanese aggression, though both leaders initially hoped for peace. However, Japan's advances, including the fall of Shanghai and the brutal Rape of Nanjing, displaced millions and relocated the government to Chongqing. Wang, disillusioned by Chiang's scorched-earth tacticsâsuch as the devastating Yellow River flood and Changsha fire, which caused immense civilian suffering, joined a "peace faction" of intellectuals favoring negotiation. In December 1938, Wang defected from Chongqing, fleeing to Hanoi via Kunming to broker peace with Japan. An assassination attempt, likely ordered by Chiang, killed Wang's secretary Zeng Zhongming instead, deepening the rift.
#194 The Wang Jingwei Regime
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
The assassination of Zeng Zhongming struck a severe blow to Wang Jingwei. Although Lin Baisheng had been stabbed in Hong Kong in January, Wang apparently did not foresee himself becoming a target. To him, Zeng's death signified that Chiang Kai-shek would no longer tolerate a potential rival to power. In mourning, on April 1, Wang Jingwei published a defiant piece titled "An Example" (Ju yige li) in the South China Daily News. Drawing on Zeng's final words, he argued that a peaceful settlement was not something Wang proposed alone, but a result of a consensus reached at the highest levels of the national government. He referenced the December Hankou minutes in which Trautmann's mediation was discussed. He asserted that the minutes were only one of many covert negotiation instances and, for the sake of national interests, he would reveal no further details. He contended that Konoe's conditions could similarly underpin peace, especially now that a larger portion of China had fallen. He argued that a Sino-Japanese total war would be mutually destructive and must end for both nations to survive. He hoped Zeng's blood would become a bright torch for the "peace movement."
This article proved deeply embarrassing for Chiang Kai-shek. Wu Zhihui quickly wrote a rebuttal, accusing Wang of leaking government secrets and falsifying the minutes. However, the original minutes were not released to support Wu's claim. Henceforth, any pretence of civility or understanding between the two camps was lost. This hostility meant that Chongqing's path to peace through negotiation was closed. If Wang ever sought to broker peace between Chongqing and Tokyo, the publication of this article burned that bridge, making his course of action increasingly irreversible.
On the Japanese side, the Hiramuma Cabinet, previously uncertain about how to handle Wang, now felt compelled to protect their new asset. Two days after the incident, the Five Ministers Conference decided to send Kagesa Sadaaki and Inukai Takeru to Hanoi immediately. Inukai, a congressman and the son of assassinated prime minister Inukai Tsuyoshi, carried with him the grim memory of a frenzied public cheering for his father's killers, serving as a sobering counterweight to militant nationalism.
Zeng's death also inaugurated a bloody cycle of killings and retaliation. Shen Song, Wang Jingwei's nephew, was assassinated in August in Hong Kong. Wang and his followers felt compelled to protect themselves. Lacking military backing, they turned to the secret police, establishing the notorious spy agency known as "No. 76," named after its Shanghai headquarters at 76 Jessfield Road. It recruited the city's worst elements and was led by the defected BIS agent Ding Mocun and Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics agent Li Shiqun. Both men had defected to the Japanese and were handed over to Wang's faction, which thus wielded limited control over them. Spy violence in Shanghai persisted throughout the war, infamous for its brutality and shifting allegiances.
Wang Jingwei attempted to erect a martyr's cult around Zeng Zhongming within the RNG. Beginning in 1942, the propaganda ministry in Nanjing held annual memorials on the anniversary of Zeng's death. This date sat between Sun Yat-sen's death (March 12) and the RNG's founding (March 30), and it became part of the RNG's foundational narrative that the Wang regime promoted. Yet the Zeng cult seemed to matter most to Wang Jingwei himself. After Wang's death in November 1944, the propaganda ministry quietly discontinued the Zeng anniversary service, though Sun Yat-sen's death continued to be mourned and the RNG's founding was still celebrated in March 1945, five months before the regime fell.
The journey from Hanoi to Nanjing was long and winding, and Wang Jingwei eventually emerged at the far end as both an emblem and an enigma. To his followers and sympathizers, he was a cult figure who single-handedly saved half of China from total subjugation, likened to a bodhisattva who descended into Hell to rescue tortured souls. To others, his name became a byword for treason. The resistance ultimately gained unity through its hatred of traitors. For the Japanese government, Wang's role and value evolved with the war's shifting dynamics, at times seeming to be an asset, a puppet, an enemy, and a partner all at once.
After months of courtship, Kagesa Sadaaki and Inukai Takeru became the first Japanese agents to meet Wang in person. On April 16, they arrived in French Indochina with forged passports aboard a rented civilian vessel, the HikkĆmaru. They found Wang entangled in a fresh scandal. Eleven days earlier, Chongqing's Dagongbao published an alleged secret agreement that Gao Zongwu claimed Wang had brokered in late February. In this plan, Wang proposed forming a GMD collaborationist organization with branches in key Japanese-occupied cities. When the Japanese army moved toward Xi'an, Yichang, and Nanning, Wang would make a statement to "take responsibility for peace," while Long Yun and other local warlords would respond to the call. A new national government under Wang would be established in Nanjing on October 10, 1939, creating a unified government over all of China (excluding Manchukuo) and making Japan its ally in East Asia. All of these activities would be funded by the Japanese government. The plan provoked an uproar, with critics accusing Wang of "selling the nation." Gao Zongwu was suspected of leaking the plan, and Wang denied that the agreement existed. Gao accused the Japanese of leaking a forged plan to sow further division between Chongqing and Wang. Wang's supporters were deeply divided. Gao later claimed he came to prefer the French option, citing Japan's insincerity. Chen Gongbo suggested Wang remain in Hong Kong first to recover from Zeng Zhongming's death before going overseas. Zhou Fohai and Mei Siping favored international concessions in Shanghai. Kagesa and Inukai's mission was to bring Wang into Japan's grasp.
On April 18, through Wang's Japanese-language secretary Zhou Longxiang, the Japanese agents met him for the first time. Wang Jingwei, dressed in a traditional Chinese-style long white robe, impressed them with his characteristic poise and sincerity, as he often did with visitors. It was not the first time his personal charm helped him escape danger. If in 1910 he avoided death as a byproduct of Prince Su's favor, in the following decades he weaponized his intimate charisma. These agents, moved by Wang's apparent altruism and sincerity, eventually played a peculiar role as intermediaries between the Japanese government and Chinese collaborators. The UmÄ Kikan "Plum Agency" was founded on August 22, 1939, in Shanghai under Kagesa's leadership and was seen as a puppet master guiding the RNG's fate. Yet it often fought on behalf of the collaborators with the Japanese cabinet to secure better terms. Kagesa Sadaaki, initially an advocate of aggressive strategy, especially in Manchuria, was removed from his post as supreme military advisor at Nanjing in May 1942 by the new prime minister, Tojo Hideki, who deemed him "too soft toward China." He was reassigned to Manchuria and eventually to Rabaul. In the shadow of illness and death, he produced a memoir in December 1943 to atone for having failed Wang's trust. In truth, perhaps because of Kagesa's sympathy, Wang remained cautiously optimistic about Japan's intentions, unable to disengage from negotiations even as conditions deteriorated.
Wang Jingwei chose Shanghai as the destination, but he refused to board a Japanese ship or reside in the Hongkou concession, preferring other autonomous international concessions to avoid appearances of patronage. Unfortunately, the 750-ton vessel rented from the Indochina government nearly foundered in a storm. In Hainan, Wang and his entourage were rescued by the 5,000-ton HikkĆmaru. On May 6, they finally arrived in Shanghai aboard a Japanese ship. For security reasons, Wang had to stay in the Hongkou District for three weeks before moving to 1136 Lane YĂșyuan Road, a site within the expanded, unofficial French concession. This episode became another public relations setback.
After reaching Shanghai, on May 28 the Wang group presented the Japanese government with a "Concrete Plan to Solve the Current Situation." Key proposals included: convening a GMD national congress to preserve orthodoxy; calling a multiparty central political conference to legitimize a reorganization of the national government and approve personnel choices; founding a national government in Nanjing and dissolving existing collaborationist regimes to signal national unity. Three days later, Wang flew to Japan by navy plane to meet Hiranuma in person, accompanied by eleven followers including Zhou Fohai, Mei Siping, and Gao Zongwu. It was his first visit to Japan in three decades, aside from occasional stopovers. When he left Japan in 1910, many Japanese intellectuals and politicians supported China's modernization and backed its Nationalist revolution morally and financially. Now, with such goodwill scarce, he hoped to appeal to Japan's rational self-interest.
In Tokyo, a June 6 cabinet meeting concluded that the new Chinese government would comprise Wang, the retired strongman Wu Peifu, established collaborationist regimes, and a reformed Chongqing regime; the foundation date would be set by Japan. The plan called for collaboration under a divided governance framework, and the GMD could continue only if it pledged friendship to Japan, recognized Manchukuo, and committed to anti-communism. The document's tone suggested trouble for Wang's visit, and the gap between each side's demands seemed insurmountable. Over the next ten days, Wang held marathon meetings with Hiranuma, cabinet members, and Prince Konoe. He briefed his followers daily, appearing increasingly despondent. He suggested Japan's best option was to strike a peace deal with Chiang Kai-shek; the second option was peace via a new national government under Wang, for which he demanded: an army of about half a million, immediate withdrawal of Japanese forces after his government's foundation, non-interference in China's internal affairs, immediate recognition of his government by Japan, Germany, and Italy, a three-hundred-million-yen loan, and administrative control over North China. Japanese officials listened politely but added numerous conditions. Frustrated, Wang began to walk away. Alarmed, the Japanese cabinet made some concessions on June 16, and the "Concrete Plan" was approved, though it still insisted on divided governance and did not address the crucial issue of a military withdrawal. On June 18, Wang departed Japan for Tianjin.
This negotiation round was only the prelude. Beyond questions of jurisdiction, military occupation, and economic renationalization, Wang insisted on preserving an ostensibly unified "national government," including its official doctrine (the Three Principles) and the nationalist flag, and he pressed for annexation of existing collaborationist regimes in Beiping and Nanjing. This was a daunting task, as each regime had a different patron. After the fall of Nanjing, the North China Area Army instructed Wang Kemin to establish a provisional government in Beiping. Liang Hongzhi was recruited by the Central China Area Army to lead the Reformed Government in Nanjing, founded on March 28, 1938. Both were Beiyang loyalists, and their regimes used the Five-Color Beiyang flag, an anti-GMD symbol. Asking them to subordinate themselves to a "latecomer" and old rival proved difficult. Wang's aim was thus to reassert GMD political authority over occupied territories. However, the idea of creating a client government that would conflict with Chongqing split Wang's followers and even some Japanese sympathizers. Gao Zongwu, Nishi Yoshiaki, and Matsumoto Shigeharu opposed the plan. Given Gao Zongwu's growing pessimism, Japan's eventual negotiating partner leaned more toward the optimistic Zhou Fohai.
Wang sought legitimacy to give his future government the appearance of autonomy, despite Japan's backing. As historian David Serfass observed, aligned with Sun Yat-sen's concept of "political tutelage," a state-formation process must be initiated by the ruling party. Thus, reorganizing an "orthodox" GMD in occupied China became a prerequisite for reconstituting the state's legal framework in Nanjing, enabling the new regime to claim legitimate authority vis-Ă -vis Chongqing. On August 28, 1939, the Sixth National Congress of the GMD was held in Shanghai. With most Reorganization Clique members declining to join, CC Clique members within Wang's circle recruited locally, and thirty-six CC Clique members in Shanghai endorsed Wang, giving his faction dominance at the congress. This foreshadowed a future RNG split between the Mansion Clique (gongguan pai) around the Wang couple and the CC Clique around Zhou Fohai. The communique did not reject resistance outright but criticized Chiang's methods, arguing that Wang's negotiations had already achieved the goal of national resistanceâpeace. Among other resolutions, the congress revised the GMD charter, abolished the authoritarian zongcai system, elected Wang as chairman of the Central Executive Committee, and redefined the highest principles as the Three Principles, anticontainment of communism, and friendship with Japan and Manchukuo. Civil liberties, such as freedom of speech and assembly, were protected, though communists were excluded. The congress promised to convene a national assembly and promulgate a constitution once peace was achieved. Importantly, it opened the door for other parties to join the Central Political Committee, signaling Wang's attempt not only to create a rival "peace" government to Chongqing but also to establish a competing, if imperfect, democratic framework. For the next year and a half, constitutionalism became a central objective in the Wang faction's political program.
Wang's communique proposed a remedy for the separatist client regimes. On September 20 in Nanjing, an agreement was announced that nominally ended GMD single-party rule and established a multiparty coalition government. A Central Political Conference (a semi-parliament) would be formed, comprising one-third GMD members, one-third former Beiyang collaborators, and one-third small parties or independents. In practice, this tripartite power sharing was never fully realized in the RNG.
The negotiations with Japan stretched into a lengthy verbal marathon that persisted for months. As Gerald Bunker noted, the Wang peace movement depended on convincing both sides to accept a conciliatory posture from the other, a plan doomed from the start. During the Shanghai negotiations, Wang sought an agreement with Japan that would give real substance to his "Peace Government." But Japan's demands were excessive. To address the chaos Japan's China policy had created, Konoe established the KĆain (Asia Development Board) to coordinate all government activities and economic initiatives in China, reporting directly to the prime minister. Its staff came from across ministriesâForeign Affairs, Finance, Army, and Navy, making it a natural battlefield for power struggles. Following changes at the General Staff Office, Kagesa, then an Army officer, found himself suddenly in charge of the entire "peace movement," a coveted position. When he and Inukai were shown the secret KĆain draft that would form the basis for future talks with Wang, they were stunned by its strict demands. The draft was presented to the Wang camp on November 1 in Shanghai, provoking astonishment and confusion by imposing harsher terms than Gao Zongwu's deal a year earlier, or even than Konoe's latest statement. Kagesa adopted a duplicitous stance: each night, Inukai privately met with Zhou Fohai to seek more lenient terms, and the next morning Kagesa would propose those terms for the next round.
Tao Xisheng warned that Japan planned to slice China into thin rings, each attached to Japan's core interests. According to Tao, Wang broke into tears, declaring, "If Japan can conquer China, let it try. It cannot, so it wants me to sign its plan. This document cannot be an indenture to sell China. China is not something I can sell. At most, my signature would be an indenture to sell myself." The Wang couple considered halting talks and seeking refuge in France. Hearing this, Kagesa hurried to see Wang. Tears stained the page where Wang was taking notes, and his words moved Wang, who privately admitted that Kagesa might be sincere after all. The next day, Kagesa returned to Tokyo to report Wang's discontent, and the France option was again shelved.
Just as Wang weaponized his sincerity, Kagesa's genuine wish to end the war through Wang Jingwei was instrumentalized by the KĆain. The latter appeared torn between reason and greed. Moreover, who claimed the war in China was unwinnable? Like Wang, the Japanese believed in the neo-Confucian ideal of a thoroughly cultivated, invincible self, a conviction echoed in their wartime sacrifices. Similarly, Wang viewed the negotiations as a contest of moral principles. Tao Xisheng described it as "drinking poisoned wine." He took a sip, found it poison, and nearly died; Wang concluded he might as well finish the cup. Kagesa's plea to improve terms was rejected by Tokyo. He returned a changed man, stiff, overbearing, and determined to ram the demands down his counterpart's throat. But just as talks reached another breaking point, Kagesa abruptly altered course, overstepped his authority, and made a few quick concessions on key issues, ending the discussion.
Compared with the original plan, the December 30, 1939 agreement, titled "Principles of Adjusting the New Sino-Japan Relationship," introduced changes on eleven points, spanning from substantive to symbolic matters. The Great Wall line separating the Mongolian Autonomous Zone from North China was placed under the Wang regime's jurisdiction; Chinese administrative rights over Japanese military areas were reaffirmed; a two-year timeline for total troop withdrawal from occupied Chinese territories after peace was achieved was established; and Manchukuo was not listed as a separate entity. The future Wang regime was granted greater latitude in economic policy and personnel appointments, provided it guaranteed Japan's wartime supply.
The dispute over a naval base in Hainan became a focal point of contention. Japan's navy representative, General Sugahiko JirĆ, clashed with Chen Gongbo in a contentious exchange. This time, Wang Jingwei compelled Chen to concede. Even Inukai lamented that Wang made concessions too readily, since the Hainan base symbolized a failure of Japan's restraint in venturing into the Southern Pacific. The concession jeopardized not only Wang's cause but also Japan's fate. According to Inukai, even if the conditions needed to reach a credibility threshold of 60 points to avoid rendering Wang a traitor, KĆain's original draft scored at best 30; through coordinated efforts with Kagesa, they improved it to 57 or 58, still short of the credibility gap Gao Zongwu called crucial, between saving the nation and selling it.
Gao Zongwu and Tao Xisheng declined to participate in the signing ceremony. Gao felt alienated from the movement he had helped initiate and his ties with the Japanese had become strained. Thinking he faced mortal danger, he persuaded Tao to flee Shanghai together. In mid-November, Gao secretly copied KĆain's terms in negotiation. The photocopies were published in the Hong Kong Dagongbao on January 22, 1940, fueling the impression that the final signed agreement had been reached and undermining the Wang faction's public narrative of securing genuine peace and national independence. An editorial decried it as "the ultimate fulfillment of the Japanese militarists' pipe-dreams! The greatest betrayal in the history of China and the world!" A national uproar ensued.
The Wang camp, while moving toward Qingdao to build consensus with established collaborators, was blindsided. Zhou Fohai swore to "kill these two animals." For the embryonic Wang regime, appearances mattered as much as substance. But with the leak of this damning document, the illusion of sovereignty was irreparably shattered. Nevertheless, Wang resisted his followers' urge to publish the final secret terms containing the Japanese concessions, a restraint that impressed Imai.
There was a hopeful note amid the media backlash. The Japanese cabinet was forced to approve the limited concessions that Kagesa had secured, particularly regarding troop deployments and railroad rights. Yet Tokyo remained stubborn in insisting that a yellow triangle pennant bearing the words "peace, anticommunism, nation-building" be appended to the flagpole beneath the national flag. The yellow pennant became a powerful emotional flashpoint for the Wang camp. For them, this unsightly symbol embodied the future character of their regime. On March 4, less than three weeks before the RNG's founding, Zhou Fohai threatened to delay the process indefinitely unless the pennant was removed. In the end, they capitulated on that point as well. On March 30, the Blue Sky White Sun flag reappeared over the occupied, ruined city of Nanjing, with a yellow triangle pennant affixed to the pole. Whenever possible, the RNG tried to display the national flag without the pennant, making such images rare in surviving visual records.
Inukai observed that Wang may have faced such harsh terms because many in the cabinet and in KĆain were reluctant to negotiate with him. They regarded the RNG as a temporary fix, reserving the most favorable peace terms for Chiang Kai-shek. Konoe's remark that he would never negotiate with Chiang was an unfortunate misstep that his successors struggled to correct. Wang took that stance to heart, wasting political capital and ultimately his life. Inukai noted that in 1941, when Konoe negotiated with the United States to avert war in the Pacific, the conditions offered regarding China bore a striking similarity to what he had promised Gao Zongwu in 1938. Yet this time, Japan refused to accept them. Konoe resigned again; Tojo Hideki succeeded him, and the Pacific War erupted. Had Konoe kept his promises, the bloodshed of the war might have been avoided.
Wang Jingwei returned to a changed Nanjing, a provincial city never fully modernized, ravaged by war and burdened by occupation. On March 19, 1940, Wang led a future cabinet faction to pay respects at Sun Yat-sen's Mausoleum. It was a desolate spring day. Through cutting wind and rain, a small, solemn group climbed the 392 steps to the hall. Wang stood in the main hall, raised his eyes to the 4.6-meter marble statue, and tears streamed down his cheeks. As he read Sun's testament, the hall echoed with hushed sobs. It was a sorrowful prelude to the Wang regime.
Optimistic Zhou Fohai saw a brighter sign as they exited the mausoleum, noting that the sun appeared. On the same day, however, he learned that the RNG's foundation would be delayed: the Japanese cabinet was eager to push another peace initiative with Chiang, and Imai had gone to Hong Kong to meet a Chongqing representative. Zhou was annoyed, but Wang agreed to proceed. Imai's contact, who presented himself as Song Ziwen's brother turned out to be a BIS agent whose sole aim was to obstruct the Wang faction. The negotiations stalled, and the RNG's founding finally took place on March 30, 1940. An exhilarated Zhou proclaimed the day the happiest of his life, claiming nothing felt more fulfilling than realizing one's ideals. With Wang's growing passivity, Zhou effectively became the RNG's most powerful figure, controlling administration, finances, military, and policing. This fostered resentment within the Wang faction and helped spawn the Mansion Clique around Chen Bijun, Mei Siping, and Lin Baisheng.
The RNG was founded on a veneer of legitimacy. Lin Sen, the GMD elder, was elected president, but since he remained in Chongqing and was unlikely to join the RNG soon, Wang Jingwei served as acting president, in addition to his roles as head of the Executive Yuan and the Military Council. The regime claimed nominal sovereignty over border regions and imagined sovereignty over parts of the interior. Nanjing's influence over North China was minimal, with that area administered by the semiautonomous North China Political Council under Wang Yitang, a Beiyang bureaucrat. Although established as China's rival national regime to Chongqing, the RNG did not receive formal recognition from Japan. Japan did, however, agree to send an ambassador to present credentials to Wang, though the implications remained vague. On this and other issues, Japan neither denied nor endorsed the RNG's sovereignty. The collaborators noticed Japan's duplicity. Rather than appoint a Japanologist as foreign minister, Wang named Chu Minyi, whose foreign language skills were French, a choice France refused to recognize, making the appointment rather provocative.
From late 1940 into 1941, the United States grew more involved as the war intensified. Chongqing stood firm, while Japan found itself bogged down. Eventually, Japan abandoned hopes of peace with Chongqing. Despite his reluctance, Wang formally assumed the RNG presidency on November 29, 1940. The next day, he and the Japanese ambassador Abe Nobuyuki exchanged a "Basic Treaty" that formally recognized the RNG as China's national government. Zhou Fohai regarded this as a fresh start: previously, their aim had been to persuade Chongqing to negotiate for peace; now, he hoped Wang and Chiang would reach a tacit understanding of a dual approachâone regime aligned with the Axis, the other with the Alliesâso that China would emerge victorious. Chongqing, however, did not share Zhou's optimism; on the same day, it placed a bounty on Wang's head.
A consistent thread in Wang's political vision was constitutional democracy, pursued both as an ideal and as a pragmatic method to distinguish himself from rivals, chiefly Chiang Kai-shek. In the Return to the Capital Manifesto (March 30, 1940), Wang declared the regime's core aims as peace and constitutionalism. Peace followed Konoe's December 1938 "Adjustment of the Sino-Japanese Relationship" blueprintâneighborliness, joint anti-communism, and economic cooperation. Constitutionalism drew on the RNG's Sixth National Congress in Shanghai (1939). The RNG presented itself as both a peacemaker and a champion of constitutional democracy, opposing dictatorship (Chiang) and opposing the CCP's class warfare doctrine. A Constitutionalism Implementation Committee was founded on June 27, 1940, and by September adopted a plan to convene a national assembly on January 1, 1941. Yet actual liberal democracy would undermine Wang's and the GMD's leadership, and by August 1940 Wang declared that neither direct nor representative democracy suited China's current conditions, advocating instead for "democratic centralism" under a GMD-led coalition with smaller parties. That year, urgent tasks, ratifying the Basic Treaty with Japan, establishing a charter for the East Asian League Movement, and creating a Central Reserve Bank, pushed constitutional reform onto the back burner, delaying the national assembly indefinitely and shelving the constitutional program.
Another source of legitimacy for the RNG was Sun Yat-sen's cult, which it continued to promote as a civil religion. Although Wang recognized Sun's fallibility and disagreed with him at times, Sun's deification aided both Wang and Chiang. The Three Principles of the People were reintroduced in schools; Sun's portrait appeared on office walls and currency; a bronze statue was erected in Nanjing; his testament was read at meetings; and memorial observances were held on Sun's birthday and death. The rivalry between Wang and Chiang over legitimacy through piety was evident in Chongqing's conferment of the title "Father of the Nation" on Sun on March 21, 1940, just before the RNG's founding.
In terms of diplomatic relations, the RNG received recognition from Nazi Germany (reluctantly), fascist Italy (enthusiastically), and Franco's Spain. France, by contrast, declined to follow suit, mainly because of its delicate position balancing interests in China and Indochina, and secondly because its China-diplomatic corps was split between officials loyal to Vichy and supporters of Free France. Among the RNG's foreign relations, Manchukuo proved the most thorny. Despite the RNG's hesitant acknowledgment of Manchukuo's statehood, cautious rhetoric was used to avoid public outrage. On May 4, 1942, Wang left Nanjing for a state visit to Manchukuo, accompanied by Zhou Zuoren. On May 8, he finally met Puyi, who likely did not forget that the man before him once sought to murder his father. Regardless of sentiment, the arrangements had been set in advance with Japanese approval, leaving little to chance.
The Basic Treaty, effective at the end of 1940, limited Japanese military zones to Mongolia and parts of North China, ceding central and southern China largely to the RNG. It agreed to rescind Japanese extraterritorial rights and settlements, effective immediately. The two-year grace period before total Japanese evacuation would begin immediately upon the war's end, rather than after a vaguely defined "recovery of peace." The cap on RNG troop numbers was lifted, granting the RNG more freedom to build its own police and army. Japanese advisers were confined to technical and military roles, with functions defined by the Chinese authorities. Although this fell far short of true independence that Wang Jingwei sought, concessions were made to strengthen the RNG and to help Japan as a wartime partner. The RNG's forces were not deployed in frontline combat against Chongqing or in Japan's Pacific war, but primarily to suppress growing communist influence in occupied areas. Under the RNG, economic activity in the occupied areas appeared to some extent normal, at least until early 1943, when a "command economy" was introduced to monopolize commodities as Japan's Pacific venture grew desperate. Life in occupied China, however, remained noticeably more comfortable than in "free China," fueling resentment when resistance fighters returned.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
Wang established the Reorganized National Government (RNG) in Nanjing in 1940, after grueling talks yielding harsh Japanese terms, including limited sovereignty and a yellow pennant on the national flag. The RNG sought legitimacy through a GMD congress, constitutional promises, and Sun Yat-sen's cult, but gained only Axis recognition and faced Chongqing's hostility, ultimately serving as Japan's wartime puppet.
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Last time we spoke about the Soviet-Japanese neutrality pact. In the summer of 1939, the Nomonhan Incident escalated into a major clash along the Halha River, where Soviet-Mongolian forces under Georgy Zhukov decisively defeated Japan's Kwantung Army. Zhukov's offensive, launched on August 20, involved intense artillery, bombers, and encirclement tactics, annihilating the Japanese 23rd Division and exposing weaknesses in Japanese mechanized warfare. The defeat, coinciding with the Hitler-Stalin Nonaggression Pact, forced Japan to negotiate a ceasefire on September 15-16, redrawing borders and deterring further northern expansion. Stalin navigated negotiations with Britain, France, and Germany to avoid a two-front war, ultimately signing the German-Soviet pact on August 23, which secured Soviet neutrality in Europe while addressing eastern threats. Post-Nomonhan, Soviet-Japanese relations warmed rapidly: fishing disputes were resolved, ambassadors exchanged, and the Chinese Eastern Railway sale finalized. By 1941, a neutrality pact was concluded, allowing Japan to pivot southward toward China and Southeast Asia.
#193 The Chiang-Wang Divide
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
After that lengthy mini series covering the battle of Khalkin Gol, we need to venture back into the second sino-japanese war, however like many other colossal eventsâŠ.well a lot was going on simultaneously. I wanted to take an episode to talk about the beginning of something known as the Reorganized National Government of the Republic of China, or much shorter, the Wang Jingwei Regime. It's been quite some time since we spoke about this character and he is a large part of the second sino-japanese war.
After the fall of Tianjin and Beiping, the government offices in Nanjing entered their annual summer recess. All of GMD's senior leadership, from Chiang Kai-shek down to Wang Jingwei, gathered on Mount Lu, a picturesque resort in northern Jiangxi, south of the Yangtze, famed for cliffs, clouds, and summer villas. Although Chiang had visited Mount Lu every summer, this was the first occasion that nearly the entire central government assembled there. Analysts suspected the gathering was a deliberate move to relocate government functions inland in the event of total war. Dozens of the nation's leading intellectuals were invited to Mount Lu to discuss strategies for countering Japan's ambitions. The forum was scheduled to begin on July 15 and to last twenty-seven days in three phases. The bridge incident caught them off guard. Unlike Manchuria, Beiping had long been the nation's capital, and the shock added urgency to the proceedings. When the forum, chaired by Wang, finally opened on July 16, speculation ran as to whether this signaled another regional conflict or the onset of full-scale war. The media pressed for a resolute stance of resistance from the government. To dispel the mounting confusion and perhaps his own indecision, Chiang delivered a solemn speech on July 17, declaring that if the incident could not be resolved peacefully, China would face the "crucial juncture" of national survival and would consider military action; if war began, every Chinese person, from every corner of the country and from every walk of life, would have to sacrifice all to defend the nation.
Chiang's Mount Lu Speech was now commonly regarded as the moment when China publicly proclaimed its firm commitment to resistance. Contemporary observers, however, did not take Chiang's stance at face value. Tao Xisheng, a Peking University law professor who had been invited, recalled that after the speech, people gathered in Hu Shi's room to discuss whether a peace option remained. Chiang left the mountain on July 20, leaving Wang to chair the conference. The discussions continued upon their return to Nanjing, where a National Defense Conference was organized in mid-August. It was also Tao's first encounter with Wang Jingwei. A "peace faction," largely composed of civil officials and intellectuals, began to take shape around Wang, favoring diplomatic solutions over costly and potentially ineffective military action.
During this period, both Chiang and Wang publicly called for resistance, while both harbored hopes for a peaceful solution. Yet their emphases differed. On July 29, Wang Jingwei delivered a radio address from Nanjing titled "The Critical Juncture," echoing Chiang's slogan. He likewise asserted that after repeated concessions and retreats, the critical juncture had come for China to rise against Japan. It would be a harsh form of resistance, since a weak nation had no alternative but to sacrifice every citizen's life and scorch every inch of land. Yet toward the end, Wang's speech took on an ironic turn. He stated, "The so-called resistance demands sacrificing the whole land and the whole nation to resist the invader. If there is no weakness in the world, then there is also no strength. Once we have completed the sacrifice, we also realize the purpose of resistance. We hail 'the critical juncture'! We hail 'sacrifice'!" The sentiment sounded almost satirical, revealing his doubt about the meaning of total sacrifice.
The hope for containment was crushed by Japan's ongoing advances. On November 12, Shanghai fell. Chiang's gamble produced about 187,200 Chinese casualties, including roughly 30,000 officers trained to German standards. Japanese casualties were estimated at a third to a half of the Chinese losses, still making it their deadliest single battle to date. The battered Japanese Imperial Army and Navy, long convinced of their invincibility, were consumed by vengeful bloodlust. The army swept from Shanghai toward Nanjing, leaving a trail of murder, rape, arson, and plunder across China's heartland.
With the fall of Nanjing looming, the central government announced on November 20 that it would relocate to Chongqing, a city upriver on the Yangtze protected by sheer cliffs. Plans for Chongqing as a reserve capital had already begun in 1935, with Hankou as the midway station. To preserve elite troops for the future while saving face, Nanjing was entrusted to General Tang Shengzhi and his roughly one hundred thousand largely inexperienced soldiers. Nanjing fell on December 13. Despite this victory, Japan's hopes of ending the China Incident within three months were dashed. The carnage produced by the war, especially the Rape of Nanjing, left a profound moral stain on humanity. A mass exodus from the coastal provinces toward the hinterland began. People fled by boats, trains, buses, rickshaws, and wheelbarrows. Universities, factories, and ordinary households were moved halfway across China, step by step. The nation resolved to persevere, even in distant mountains and deserts if necessary. In Sichuan alone, government relief agencies officially registered about 9.2 million refugees during the war years.
Chiang Kai-shek, after paying respects at Sun Yat-sen's mausoleum, flew to Mount Lu with Song Meiling. The so-called Second Couple chose a more modest path: like most refugees, the Wang family traveled upriver along the Yangtze. On November 21, they left Nanjing, abandoning a recently renovated suburban home and thirty years of collected books. Coincidentally, the ship carrying Wang Jingwei from Nanjing to Wuhan was SS Yongsui, the former SS Zhongshan that had escorted Sun Yat-sen to safety and witnessed Wang's ascent and subsequent downfall from power. Ironically renamed "Yong-sui," the ship's new title meant "peace," while the compound term suijing denoted a policy of appeasement. This symbolismâWang being carried away from Nanjing by a ship named "Eternal Peace"âforeshadowed his eventual return to the city as a champion of a "peace movement."
After the Mount Lu Forum, Hu Shi and Tao Xisheng could not return to Beiping, now under Japanese occupation. They joined the government in Nanjing. Beginning in mid-August, Japanese bombers began attacking Nanjing. Air powerâan unprecedented weapon of mass destructionâhumbled and awed a Chinese public largely unfamiliar with airborne warfare. By striking a target that did not serve its immediate interests, Japan demonstrated its world-class military might and employed psychological warfare against the Chinese government and people. Because Zhou Fohai's villa at Xiliuwan had a fortified cellar suitable as an air-raid shelter, a group of like-minded intellectuals and civil servants sought refuge there. They preferred a peaceful approach to the conflict, subscribing to the idea of trading space for timeâbuilding China's industrial and military capabilities before confronting Japan. Tao Xisheng and Mei Siping, old allies of Zhou Fohai, lived in his house. Another frequent guest was Luo Junqiang, an ex-communist. The former CCP leader Chen Duxiu, recently released from prison, joined their gatherings a few times. Gao Zongwu hosted another meeting site. Hu Shi, as a guest himself, jokingly called this circle the "Low-Key Club" (Didiao julebu), a label that underscored their pragmatic defiance of the government's high-flown rhetoric urging all-out resistance. Many members of this group would later become central figures in a conspiracy known as the "peace movement," with Wang Jingwei as its leader and emblem.
As Gerald Bunker noted, the peace scheme did not originate with Wang but with certain associates of Chiang, elements in Japanese military intelligence, and members of liberal-minded Japanese political circles who were linked to Konoe. Zhou Fohai belonged to the Chiang-loyalist CC faction, named for Chen Guofu and Chen Lifu. Zhou believed that resistance under current conditions was suicidal. He sought to influence Chiang through people around him, including Wang Jingwei, whom he found impressionable and began visiting at Wang's salon. Gao Zongwu, head of the Foreign Ministry's Asian Department, felt sidelined by Chiang's uncompromising stance. They shared the sense that Chiang might be willing to talk but feared the price, perhaps his own leadership. They were dismayed by the lack of a long-range war plan beyond capitulation. Their view was that China's battlefield losses would worsen the terms of any settlement, and that the war's outcome seemed to benefit Soviet Russia and undermine the GMD more than China itself. The rapid collapses of Shanghai and then Nanjing vindicated their pessimism. Chiang's autocratic decision-making only deepened their dissatisfaction. They feared China was again at risk of foreign conquest from which it might not recover.
Wang Jingwei became the focal point for these disaffected individuals, drawn by his pacifist leanings, intellectual temperament, and preference for consensus-building. After the government relocated to Hankou, he lent guidance to the Literature and Art Research Society (Yiwen yanjiu hui), a propagandist body led by Zhou Fohai and Tao Xisheng. Its purpose was to steer public opinion on issues like the war of resistance and anticommunism, and to advocate a stance that the government must preserve both peace and war as options. Many believed it to be Wang's private organization; in truth, Chiang supported its activities. For much of 1938, Chiang's belligerent anti-Japanese rhetoric and Wang's conciliatory push were two sides of the GMD's broader strategy.
Among the society's regional branches, the Hong Kong chapter flourished under Mei Siping and Lin Baisheng. In addition to editing South China Daily News, Lin established Azure Books and the International Compilation and Translation Society (Guoji bianyishe) as primary propaganda organs. Ironically, Mei Siping had himself been a radical during the 1919 student protests, when he helped set fire to the deputy foreign minister's house in protest of perceived capitulation to Japan.
Wang Jingwei also actively engaged in international efforts to broker peace between Japan and China, including Trautmann's mediation by the German ambassador. Since the outbreak of war, various Western powers had contemplated serving as mediators, but none succeeded. Nazi Germany, aligned with Japan in an anti-Soviet partnership, emerged as China's most likely ally because it did not want Japan to squander its strength in China or compel China to seek Soviet help. Conversely, Japan's interest lay in prolonging the war or achieving a swift settlement. Ambassador Trautmann met with Wang Jingwei multiple times from October 31 to early November 1937 to confirm China's preference for peace before negotiating with Japan. The proposal Trautmann carried to Chiang Kai-shek on November 5 proposed terms including autonomy for Inner Mongolia, a larger demilitarized zone in North China, an expanded cease-fire around Shanghai, a halt to anti-Japanese movements, an anti-communist alliance, reduced tariffs on Japanese goods, and protection of foreign interests in China. Although Japan did not specify territorial gains, these terms deviated significantly from Chiang's demand to restore preâMarco Polo Bridge status. After Shanghai fell, Chiang's rigidity softened.
On December 5, at Hankou, the National Defense Conference agreed to begin peace negotiations based on Trautmann's terms, a decision Chiang approved. But it was too late: Nanjing fell on December 13, and a provisional Beiping government led by Wang Kemin was established, signaling Japan's growing support for regional separatism. On December 24, Japan issued an ultimatum for a harsher deal to be accepted by January 10. In response, Chiang resigned as chairman of the Executive Yuan on January 1, 1938, and was succeeded by his brother-in-law Kong Xiangxi. Chiang declared that death in defeat was preferable to death in disgrace and refused to yield under coercion. The Konoe Cabinet announced on January 16 that Japan would not negotiate with Chiang Kai-shek. Trautmann's mediation had failed.
After Konoe's announcement, mediation became even more precarious, as it placed the already deadly, no-win situation between the two nations in deeper jeopardy. Secret contacts between the two governments persisted through multiple channelsâsometimes at the direction of their own leaders, other times at the initiative of a cadre of officials and quasi-official figures of dubious legitimacy. Many of these covert efforts were steered by Chiang himself. In late 1937, Wang Jingwei even sent Chen Gongbo to Rome to explore the possibility of Italian mediation between China and Japan. After meetings with Mussolini and Foreign Minister Ciano, Chen concluded that Italy had no genuine goodwill toward China and favored Japan. His conversations with other Western leaders (Belgium, France, Britain, and the United States) proved equally fruitless. In diaries, Zhou Fohai and Chen Kewen recorded a pervasive mood of pessimism among Hankou and Chongqing's national government factions. Although direct champions of negotiating with Japan were few, many voices insisted that China was on the brink of collapse while secretly hoping peace talks would begin soon. Gao Zongwu's mission emerged from this tense atmosphere.
With Konoe's cabinet refusing to negotiate with Chiang Kai-shek, many regarded Wang as the best candidate to carry forward a diplomatic solution. Yet Wang remained convinced of his loyalty to Chiang and to Chiang's policy. The Italian ambassador visited Wuhan to offer mediation between Wang and the Japanese government, an invitation Wang declined. Tang Shaoyi's daughter traveled to Wuhan to convey Tokyo's negotiation intent, but was similarly turned away. Even Chen Bijun, then in Hong Kong, urged Wang to join her and start peace negotiations; he again declined. Tao Xisheng remembered a quiet night when Wang confided in him: "This time I will cooperate with Mr. Chiang until the very end, regardless of how the war unfolds." His stance did not change when Gao Zongwu reported that the Imperial Japanese Army General Staff Office wanted him to head the peace talks.
Gao Zongwu's bid was brokered by Dong Daoning, head of the Japan Affairs Section in the Foreign Ministry. Shortly after Konoe's statement, Dong traveled to Shanghai to meet Nishi Yoshiaki, representative of Mantetsu, and Matsumoto Shigeharu, a DĆmei News Agency journalist. Nishi and Matsumoto then introduced Dong to Kagesa Sadaaki, head of the Strategy and Tactics Department in the General Staff Office. Kagesa introduced Dong to Deputy Director Tada Hayao and colleagues Ishiwara Kanji and Imai Takeo, who agreed that a peaceful resolution to the China crisis aligned with Japan's interests. It would be inaccurate to paint these figures as pacifists: Ishiwara, who helped build Manchukuo, also recognized that further incursions into China could jeopardize Japan's hard-won gains. They proposed a temporary resignation by Chiang to spare Konoe from having to retract his refusal to negotiate, thereby allowing Wang to lead the talks. In short, the scheme aimed to save face for Konoe.
Dong returned to Hong Kong and delivered the proposal to Gao Zongwu, who had been stationed there since February under Chiang's orders to oversee intelligence and liaison with Japan. Luo Junqiang, Gao's contact, testified that Gao was paid monthly from Chiang's secret military fund. Gao went back to Hankou twice, on April 2 and May 30. On the second trip, he personally conveyed Japan's terms to Chiang. Gao later admitted that Chiang never gave him explicit instructions, but rather cultivated an impression of tacit approval. At no point did Gao view the deal as Chiang's betrayal. As long as Chiang retained control of the military, Wang's leadership could only be nominal and temporary. Unbeknownst to Wang, Gao's personal ties to Chiang remained hidden from him; he learned of them only through Zhou Fohai. Startled, he handed the information to Chiang Kai-shek and told Tao Xisheng: "I cannot broker peace with Japan alone. I will not deceive Mr. Chiang." Given Tao's later departure from Wang's circle to rejoin Chiang, Tao's recollection could be trusted.
Two months later, Wang left Chongqing to pursue a peace settlement. A key factor may have been persistent lobbying by Zhou, Gao, Mei, Tao, and especially his wife Chen Bijun. Luo Junqiang recalled that Kong Xiangxi objected that Gao acted without him, prompting Chiang to order Gao to halt his covert efforts, an order Gao ignored. Gao and Mei Siping continued to press for a deal. Gao even spent three weeks in Japan in July, holding extensive talks with Kagesa Sadaaki and Imai Takeo. Their discussions produced the first substantive articulation of the Wang peace movement as a Sino-Japanese plot to end the "China incident." On November 26, Mei flew from Hong Kong to Chongqing with a draft of Japan's terms and Konoe's planned announcement. The proposal stated that the Japanese army would withdraw completely within two years once peace was reached, but it demanded that China formally recognize Manchukuo. Wang was to leave Chongqing for Kunming by December 5, then proceed to Hanoi. Upon Japan receiving news of his arrival in Hanoi, the telegram would reveal the peace terms. This pivotal moment threw Wang into intense inner turmoil. Zhou Fohai visited Wang daily, and Wang delayed decisively each time, much to Zhou's frustration. Ultimately, it seemed that Chen Bijun rendered the final judgment on Wang's behalf. As in earlier episodes, Wang found himself trapped by an idealized image of himself held by family, followers, and loyalists, seen by them as a larger-than-life figure who must undertake a mission too grand to fail.
Yet Wang's stance was not purely involuntary. As Imai Takeo noted, he fundamentally disagreed with Chiang's strategy of resistance. The so-called scorched-earth approach caused immense suffering. Three episodes stood out: the 1938 Yellow River flood, ordered by Chiang to impede Japan's advance, which destroyed dikes and displaced millions, yielding devastating agricultural and humanitarian consequences; the subsequent epidemics and famine that followed, producing about two million refugees and up to nine hundred thousand deaths, while failing to stop the Japanese advance toward Wuhan (which fell in October); and the Changsha fire, ignited in the early hours of November 13, which killed nearly thirty thousand people and devastated most of the city. These events sharpened Wang's doubts about Chiang's defense strategy, especially its reckless execution and cruelty. By late November, Wang began to openly challenge Chiang's approach, delivering a series of speeches advocating his own war-weariness and preference for limiting resistance to preserve national strength for future counterstrikes. He argued that guerrilla warfare burdened the people and wasted national resources that could be saved for a later, more effective defense. He urged soldiers to exercise judgment and listen to their consciences, and he attributed much of the civilian suffering to the Communists; nonetheless, with General von Falkenhausen, Chiang's German adviser, now urging a shift toward smaller-unit mobile warfare, Wang's critique of Chiang's strategy took on a more pointed, risksome tone. If resistance equaled total sacrifice, Wang was not prepared to endorse it. As Margherita Zanasi noted, Wang Jingwei and Chen Gongbo had long shared a vision of a self-consciously anti-imperial "national economy", the belief that China's economy had not yet achieved genuine nation-power and that compromising with the foe might be necessary to save the national economy.
Wang and Zhou also worried that continuing resistance would strengthen the Communists and that genuine international aid would not arrive, at least not soon. After Nazi Germany occupied Czechoslovakia, Wang briefly hoped for the formation of an antifascist democratic alliance. Yet the Munich Agreement disappointed him. Viewing Western democracies as culturally imperialist, he doubted they would jeopardize their relations with Japan, another imperial power, on China's behalf. This view was reinforced by Zhou Fohai and other China specialists who had recently joined Wang's circle; they argued that China would fall unless the international situation shifted dramatically. Their forecast would prove accurate only after Pearl Harbor.
In the end, Wang longed for decisive action. He had been sidelined since the government's move to Wuhan. At the GMD Provisional National Congress in Hankou (March 29âApril 1), the party resolved to restore Chiang Kai-shek to near-total control by reasserting the authoritarian zongcai system. The Congress also established the People's Political Council as a nominal nod to democracy, but it remained largely consultative. Wang was elected deputy director and chairman of the council, yet he clearly resented the position. Jiang Tingfu described Wang's Hankou mood as "somewhat resentful," recognizing the role as largely ceremonial. More optimistic observers attributed his dismay to the return of dictatorship, and he likely felt increasingly useless. Since the Mukden Incident, Wang had prioritized party unity and been content to play a secondary role to Chiang, but inaction did not fit his sense of historical purpose. It was Zhou Fohai who urged Wang to risk his reputation for a greater cause, presenting a calculated nudge to someone susceptible to idealism. A longing to find meaning through action may have finally pushed him toward a fateful decision. As Chen Bijun bluntly told Long Yun, her husband "was merely an empty shell in Chongqing and could contribute nothing to the country; thus he wanted to change his surroundings."
Wang considered staying abroad as a serious option amid the Hanoi uncertainty. Gao Zongwu had previously told Japanese negotiators that if Konoe's stance did not satisfy Wang, he might head to France. Chongqing echoed this possibility. On December 29, Ambassador Guo Taiqi, acting on Chiang's orders, telegraphed Wang suggesting he go to Europe "to take a break." It would have offered a graceful exit. Kagesa recommended Hanoi as Wang Jingwei's midway station because, as a French colony, it offered a relatively safe environment. Only the French were armed there, and several members of the extended Wang family had grown up in France, enabling them to communicate with the colonial authorities.
After Wang departed for Hanoi, Long Yun hesitated for weeks. On December 20, he telegraphed Chiang, saying Wang had paused in Kunming on the way to Hanoi to seek medical treatment. Knowing this was untrue, Chiang replied on December 27 with a stern warning about Japan's unreliability, a message that appeared to have persuaded Long. A day later, Long urged leniency for Wang. Following Wang's publication of the "yan telegram," public anger likely pushed Long toward a final decision. On January 6, he informed Chiang of a letter from Wang delivered by Chen Changzu, and he noted that the Wangs were considering the French option, but recommended allowing Wang to return to Chongqing to show leniency and to enable surveillance.
Chiang replied two days later that Wang would be better off going to Europe. The extended Wang family resided in two Western-style mansions at 25 and 27 Rue Riz Marché, surrounded by high walls. On February 15, Chongqing's envoy Gu Zhengding brought their passports to Hanoi. Accounts differed on what happened next. One version had Wang offering to travel abroad if Chongqing accepted his proposal to start peace talks; if Chongqing remained indecisive, he would return to voice his dissent. Another version claimed Gu's primary task was to bring Wang back to Chongqing, which Wang declined, preferring France.
Although the French option was gaining favor, the Wang circle continued to explore other avenues. In early 1939, secret contacts with the Japanese government persisted, though not always in a coordinated way. Chiang's intelligence advised that the Wang group was forming networks in Shanghai and especially Hong Kong, with Gao Zongwu playing a central role. On February 1, Gao returned from Hong Kong and stayed for five days, finding Wang in a despondent mood. Wang asked Gao to pass along a few letters to Japanese leaders urging the creation of a unified Chinese government to earn the Chinese people's understanding and trust. Wang believed his actions would serve the best interests of both China and Japan. On March 18, the Japanese consulate in Hong Kong informed Gao that funding for the Wang group would come from China's customs revenues that Japan had seized.
Meanwhile, Chiang Kai-shek sensed a shift in the war's direction. On February 10, Japan seized Hainan, China's southernmost major island. The next day, Chiang held a press conference describing the development as "the Mukden Incident of the Pacific." He warned that Japan's ambitions could threaten British and French colonial interests and U.S. maritime supremacy. Gao Zongwu read the speech and concluded that Chiang's outlook had brightened.
For three months, the Wang circle met frequently to weigh options. The prominent writer and scholar Zhou Zuoren, who had already accepted a collaborationist post as head of the Beiping library, warned Tao Xisheng, saying "Don't do it," signaling his misgivings about collaborating with Japan based on his reading of Japanese politics. As Zhou observed, many young Japanese militarists did not even respect General Ugaki, let alone a foreign leader.
Then the assassination of Zeng Zhongming, Wang's secretary and protégé, abruptly altered the meaning of Wang's mission. The Wang group was deeply unsettled by Zeng Zhongming's assassination. The event came as a shock. On March 20, Gu Zhengding's second Hanoi visit concluded. Allegedly Gu delivered passports and funds for a European excursion. On a bright spring day, the entire Wang family enjoyed a lighthearted outing to Three Peaches Beach, only to be halted by a French officer who warned they were being followed. During their afternoon rest, a man posing as a painter, sent by the landlord to measure rooms for payment, appeared at the door and was turned away when he insisted on entering every room. More than twenty people in the household, none were armed.
Since January, Hanoi had been a hive of BIS activity. The ringleader was Chen Gongshu, a veteran operative under spymaster Dai Li, though Chen's recollections clashed with those of other witnesses, leaving the exact sequence unclear. Chen claimed their role was intelligence and surveillance until March 19, when an unsigned telegram from Dai Li ordered, "Severest punishment to the traitor Wang Jingwei, immediately!" The mission supposedly shifted. The Wang family was followed the next day but evaded capture in traffic, prompting a raid on the house. Reports varied: some said Wang resided on the second floor of No. 27; others suggested he lived in No. 25, with No. 27 used for day guests. The force entered the courtyard, forced open the door to Wang's room, and a getaway car waited outside. Chen, in the car, heard gunshots: initial shots toward a downstairs figure, then three shots through a bedroom door hacked open with an axe, aimed at a figure beneath the bed, believed to be Wang Jingwei. The team drove off after four to five minutes. Vietnamese police soon detained three killers who lingered in the courtyard and even listened in on a hospital call. Chen didn't realize the target had been misidentified until the next afternoon. Some BIS records suggested Wang and Zeng Zhongming had swapped bedrooms that night, a detail Chen doubted. Chen did not mention a painter's earlier visit.
There were competing accounts of the event with their numerous inconsistencies that fueled conspiracy theories. Jin Xiongbai outlined three possibilities:
(1) the killers killed the "wrong person" as a warning to Wang Jingwei;
(2) they killed Zeng to provoke Wang toward collaboration; or
(3) the episode was always part of a broader Chiang-Wang collaboration plan.
In any case, Dai Li showed unusual leniency toward Chen Gongshu, who was never punished and later led the Shanghai station. After Dai Li's agent Li Shiqun was captured in 1941, Li not only spared Chen's life but recruited him on a double-agent basis for the remainder of the war, with Chen retiring to Taiwan. Chiang Kai-shek never discussed the case publicly or in his diary, and his silence was perhaps the strongest indication that he ordered the killing.
I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me.
Wang Jingwei, once a key figure in China's resistance against Japan, grew disillusioned with Chiang Kai-shek's scorched-earth tactics during the Second Sino-Japanese War. Amid devastating events like the Yellow River flood and Changsha fire, which caused immense civilian suffering, Wang joined a peace faction advocating negotiation. Secret talks with Japanese officials led to his defection in 1938. He fled Chongqing to Hanoi, where an assassination attempt, likely ordered by Chiang, killed his secretary Zeng Zhongming instead.
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Last time we spoke about the end of the battle of khalkin gol. In the summer of 1939, the Nomonhan Incident escalated into a major border conflict between Soviet-Mongolian forces and Japan's Kwantung Army along the Halha River. Despite Japanese successes in July, Zhukov launched a decisive offensive on August 20. Under cover of darkness, Soviet troops crossed the river, unleashing over 200 bombers and intense artillery barrages that devastated Japanese positions. Zhukov's northern, central, and southern forces encircled General Komatsubara's 23rd Division, supported by Manchukuoan units. Fierce fighting ensued: the southern flank collapsed under Colonel Potapov's armor, while the northern Fui Heights held briefly before falling to relentless assaults, including flame-throwing tanks. Failed Japanese counterattacks on August 24 resulted in heavy losses, with regiments shattered by superior Soviet firepower and tactics. By August 25, encircled pockets were systematically eliminated, leading to the annihilation of the Japanese 6th Army. The defeat, coinciding with the Hitler-Stalin Pact, forced Japan to negotiate a ceasefire on September 15-16, redrawing borders. Zhukov's victory exposed Japanese weaknesses in mechanized warfare, influencing future strategies and deterring further northern expansion.
#192 The SovietâJapanese Neutrality Pact
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
Despite the fact this technically will go into future events, I thought it was important we talk about a key moment in Sino history. Even though the battle of changkufeng and khalkin gol were not part of the second sino-Japanese war, their outcomes certainly would affect it.
Policymaking by the Soviet Union alone was not the primary factor in ending Moscow's diplomatic isolation in the late 1930s. After the Munich Conference signaled the failure of the popular front/united front approach, Neville Chamberlain, Adolf Hitler, and Poland's JĂłzef Beck unintentionally strengthened Joseph Stalin's position in early 1939. Once the strategic cards were in his hands, Stalin capitalized on them. His handling of negotiations with Britain and France, as well as with Germany, from April to August was deft and effective. The spring and summer negotiations among the European powers are well documented and have been examined from many angles. In May 1939, while Stalin seemed to have the upper hand in Europe, yet before Hitler had signaled that a GermanâSoviet agreement might be possible, the Nomonhan incident erupted, a conflict initiated and escalated by the Kwantung Army. For a few months, the prospect of a SovietâJapanese war revived concerns in Moscow about a two-front conflict. Reviewing Soviet talks with Britain, France, and Germany in the spring and summer of 1939 from an East Asian perspective sheds fresh light on the events that led to the GermanâSoviet Nonaggression Pact and, more broadly, to the outbreak of World War II.
The second week of May marked the start of fighting at Nomonhan, during which negotiations between Germany and the USSR barely advanced beyond mutual scrutiny. Moscow signaled that an understanding with Nazi Germany might be possible. Notably, on May 4, the removal of Maksim Litvinov as foreign commissar and his replacement by Vyacheslav Molotov suggested a shift in approach. Litvinov, an urbane diplomat of Jewish origin and married to an Englishwoman, had been the leading Soviet proponent of the united-front policy and a steadfast critic of Nazi Germany. If a settlement with Hitler was sought, Litvinov was an unsuitable figure to lead the effort. Molotov, though with limited international experience, carried weight as chairman of the Council of Ministers and, more importantly, as one of Stalin's closest lieutenants. This personnel change seemed to accomplish its aim in Berlin, where the press was instructed on May 5 to halt polemical attacks on the Soviet Union and Bolshevism.
On the same day, Karl Schnurre, head of the German Foreign Ministry's East European trade section, told Soviet chargé d'affaires Georgi Astakhov that Skoda, the German-controlled Czech arms manufacturer, would honor existing arms contracts with Russia. Astakhov asked whether, with Litvinov's departure, Germany might resume negotiations for a trade treaty Berlin had halted months earlier. By May 17, during discussions with Schnurre, Astakhov asserted that "there were no conflicts in foreign policy between Germany and the Soviet Union and that there was no reason for enmity between the two countries," and that Britain and France's negotiations appeared unpromising. The next day, Ribbentrop personally instructed Schulenburg to green-light trade talks. Molotov, however, insisted that a "political basis" for economic negotiations had to be established first.
Suspicion remained high on both sides. Stalin feared Berlin might use reports of GermanâSoviet talks to destabilize a potential triple alliance with Britain and France; Hitler feared Stalin might use such reports to entice Tokyo away from an anti-German pact. The attempt to form a tripartite military alliance among Germany, Italy, and Japan foundered over divergent aims: Berlin targeted Britain and France; Tokyo aimed at the Soviet Union. Yet talks persisted through August 1939, with Japanese efforts to draw Germany into an anti-Soviet alignment continually reported to Moscow by Richard Sorge. Hitler and Mussolini, frustrated by Japanese objections, first concluded the bilateral Pact of Steel on May 22. The next day, Hitler, addressing his generals, stressed the inevitability of war with Poland and warned that opposition from Britain would be crushed militarily. He then hinted that Russia might "prove disinterested in the destruction of Poland," suggesting closer ties with Japan if Moscow opposed Germany. The exchange was quickly leaked to the press.
Five days later, the first pitched battle of the Nomonhan campaign began. Although Hitler's timing with the Yamagata detachment's foray was coincidental, Moscow may have found the coincidence ominous. Despite the inducement of Molotov's call for a political basis before economic talks, Hitler and Ribbentrop did not immediately respond. On June 14, Astakhov signaled to Parvan Draganov, Bulgaria's ambassador in Berlin, that the USSR faced three options: ally with Britain and France, continue inconclusive talks with them, or align with Germany, the latter being closest to Soviet desires. Draganov relayed to the German Foreign Ministry that Moscow preferred a non-aggression agreement if Germany would pledge not to attack the Soviet Union.
Two days later, Schulenburg told Astakhov that Germany recognized the link between economic and political relations and was prepared for far-reaching talks, a view echoed by Ribbentrop. The situation remained tangled: the Soviets pursued overt talks with Britain and France, while Stalin sought to maximize Soviet leverage. Chamberlain's stance toward Moscow remained wary but recognized a "psychological value" to an AngloâSoviet rapprochement, tempered by his insistence on a hard bargain. American ambassador William C. Bullitt urged London to avoid the appearance of pursuing the Soviets, a view that resonated with Chamberlain's own distrust. Public confidence in a real AngloâSoviet alliance remained low. By July 19, cabinet minutes show Chamberlain could not quite believe a genuine RussiaâGermany alliance was possible, though he recognized the necessity of negotiations with Moscow to deter Hitler and to mollify an increasingly skeptical British public.
Despite reservations, both sides kept the talks alive. Stalin's own bargaining style, with swift Soviet replies but frequent questions and demands, often produced delays. Molotov pressed on questions such as whether Britain and France would pledge to defend the Baltic states, intervene if Japan attacked the USSR, or join in opposing Germany if Hitler pressured Poland or Romania. These considerations were not trivial; they produced extended deliberations. On July 23, Molotov demanded that plans for coordinated military action among the three powers be fleshed out before a political pact. Britain and France accepted most political terms, and an Anglo-French military mission arrived in Moscow on August 11. The British commander, Admiral Sir Reginald Plunket-Ernle-Erle-Drax, conducted staff talks but could not conclude a military agreement. The French counterpart, General Joseph Doumenc, could sign but not bind his government.
By then, Hitler had set August 26 as the date for war with Poland. With that looming, Hitler pressed for Soviet neutrality, or closer cooperation. In July and August, secret GermanâSoviet negotiations favored the Germans, who pressed for a rapid settlement and made most concessions. Yet Stalin benefited from keeping the British and French engaged, creating leverage against Hitler and safeguarding a potential AngloâSoviet option as a fallback. To lengthen the talks and avoid immediate resolution, Moscow emphasized the Polish issue. Voroshilov demanded the Red Army be allowed to operate through Polish territory to defend Poland, a demand Warsaw would never accept. Moscow even floated a provocative plan: if Britain and France could compel Poland to permit Baltic State naval operations, the Western fleets would occupy Baltic ports, an idea that would have been militarily perilous and diplomatically explosive.
Despite this, Stalin sought an agreement with Germany. Through Richard Sorge's intelligence, Moscow knew Tokyo aimed to avoid large-scale war with the USSR, and Moscow pressed for a GermanâSoviet settlement, including a nonaggression pact and measures to influence Japan to ease SinoâJapanese tensions. On August 16, Ribbentrop instructed Schulenburg to urge Molotov and Stalin toward a nonaggression pact and to coordinate with Japan. Stalin signaled willingness, and August 23â24 saw the drafting of the pact and the collapse of the Soviet and Japanese resistance elsewhere. That night, in a memorandum of Ribbentrop's staff, seven topics were summarized, with SovietâJapanese relations and Molotov's insistence that Berlin demonstrate good faith standing out. Ribbentrop reiterated his willingness to influence Japan for a more favorable SovietâJapanese relationship, and Stalin's reply indicated a path toward a dĂ©tente in the East alongside the European agreement: "M. Stalin replied that the Soviet Union indeed desired an improvement in its relations with Japan, but that there were limits to its patience with regard to Japanese provocations. If Japan desired war she could have it. The Soviet Union was not afraid of it and was prepared for it. If Japan desired peaceâso much the better! M. Stalin considered the assistance of Germany in bringing about an improvement in Soviet-Japanese relations as useful, but he did not want the Japanese to get the impression that the initiative in this direction had been taken by the Soviet Union."
Second, the assertion that the Soviet Union was prepared for and unafraid of war with Japan is an overstatement, though Stalin certainly had grounds for optimism regarding the battlefield situation and the broader East Asian strategic balance. It is notable that, despite the USSR's immediate diplomatic and military gains against Japan, Stalin remained anxious to conceal from Tokyo any peace initiative that originated in Moscow. That stance suggests that Tokyo or Hsinking might read such openness as a sign of Soviet weakness or confidence overextended. The Japanese danger, it would seem, did not disappear from Stalin's mind. Even at the height of his diplomatic coup, Stalin was determined not to burn bridges prematurely. On August 21, while he urged Hitler to send Ribbentrop to Moscow, he did not sever talks with Britain and France. Voroshilov requested a temporary postponement on the grounds that Soviet delegation officers were needed for autumn maneuvers. It was not until August 25, after Britain reiterated its resolve to stand by Poland despite the GermanâSoviet pact, that Stalin sent the AngloâFrench military mission home. Fortified by the nonaggression pact, which he hoped would deter Britain and France from action, Hitler unleashed his army on Poland on September 1. Two days later, as Zhukov's First Army Group was completing its operations at Nomonhan, Hitler faced a setback when Britain and France declared war. Hitler had hoped to finish Poland quickly in 1939 and avoid fighting Britain and France until 1940. World War II in Europe had begun.
The SovietâJapanese conflict at Nomonhan was not the sole, nor even the principal, factor prompting Stalin to conclude an alliance with Hitler. Standing aside from a European war that could fracture the major capitalist powers might have been reason enough. Yet the conflict with Japan in the East was also a factor in Stalin's calculations, a dimension that has received relatively little attention in standard accounts of the outbreak of the war. This East Asian focus seeks to clarify the record without proposing a revolutionary reinterpretation of Soviet foreign policy; rather, it adds an important piece often overlooked in the "origins of the Second World War" puzzle, helping to reduce the overall confusion.
The GermanâSoviet agreement provided for the Soviet occupation of the eastern half of Poland soon after Germany's invasion. On September 3, just forty-eight hours after the invasion and on the day Britain and France declared war, Ribbentrop urged Moscow to invade Poland from the east. Yet, for two more weeks, Poland's eastern frontier remained inviolate; Soviet divisions waited at the border, as most Polish forces were engaged against Germany. The German inquiries about the timing of the Soviet invasion continued, but the Red Army did not move. This inactivity is often attributed to Stalin's caution and suspicion, but that caution extended beyond Europe. Throughout early September, sporadic ground and air combat continued at Nomonhan, including significant activity by Kwantung Army forces on September 8â9, and large-scale air engagements on September 1â2, 4â5, and 14â15.
Not until September 15 was the MolotovâTogo cease-fire arrangement finalized, to take effect on September 16. The very next morning, September 17, the Red Army crossed the Polish frontier into a country collapsed at its feet. It appears that Stalin wanted to ensure that fighting on his eastern flank had concluded before engaging in Western battles, avoiding a two-front war. Through such policies, Stalin avoided the disaster of a two-front war. Each principal in the 1939 diplomatic maneuvering pursued distinct objectives. The British sought an arrangement with the USSR that would deter Hitler from attacking Poland and, if deterred, bind Moscow to the AngloâFrench alliance. Hitler sought an alliance with the USSR to deter Britain and France from aiding Poland and, if they did aid Poland, to secure Soviet neutrality. Japan sought a military alliance with Germany against the USSR, or failing that, stronger Anti-Comintern ties. Stalin aimed for an outcome in which Germany would fight the Western democracies, leaving him freedom to operate in both the West and East; failing that, he sought military reassurance from Britain and France in case he had to confront Germany. Of the four, only Stalin achieved his primary objective. Hitler secured his secondary objective; the British and Japanese failed to realize theirs. Stalin won the diplomatic contest in 1939. Yet, as diplomats gave way to generals, the display of German military power in Poland and in Western Europe soon eclipsed Stalin's diplomatic triumph. By playing Germany against Britain and France, Stalin gained leverage and a potential fallback, but at the cost of unleashing a devastating European war.
As with the aftermath of the Portsmouth Treaty in 1905, Russo-Japanese relations improved rapidly after hostilities ceased at Nomonhan. The MolotovâTogo agreement of September 15 and the local truces arranged around Nomonhan on September 19 were observed scrupulously by both sides. On October 27, the two nations settled another long-standing dispute by agreeing to mutual release of fishing boats detained on charges of illegal fishing in each other's territorial waters. On November 6, the USSR appointed Konstantin Smetanin as ambassador to Tokyo, replacing the previous fourteen-month tenure of a chargĂ© d'affaires. Smetanin's first meeting with the new Japanese foreign minister, Nomura Kichisaburö, in November 1939 attracted broad, favorable coverage in the Japanese press. In a break with routine diplomatic practice, Nomura delivered a draft proposal for a new fisheries agreement and a memo outlining the functioning of the joint border commission to be established in the Nomonhan area before Smetanin presented his credentials. On December 31, an agreement finalizing Manchukuo's payment to the USSR for the sale of the Chinese Eastern Railway was reached, and the SovietâJapanese Fisheries Convention was renewed for 1940. In due course, the boundary near Nomonhan was formally redefined. A November 1939 agreement between Molotov and Togo established a mixed border commission representing the four parties to the dispute. After protracted negotiations, the border commission completed its redemarcation on June 14, 1941, with new border markers erected in August 1941. The resulting boundary largely followed the SovietâMPR position, lying ten to twelve miles east of the Halha River. With that, the Nomonhan incident was officially closed.
Kwantung Army and Red Army leaders alike sought to "teach a lesson" to their foe at Nomonhan. The refrain recurs in documents and memoirs from both sides, "we must teach them a lesson." The incident provided lessons for both sides, but not all were well learned. For the Red Army, the lessons of Nomonhan intertwined with the laurels of victory, gratifying but sometimes distracting. Georgy Zhukov grasped the experience of modern warfare that summer, gaining more than a raised profile: command experience, confidence, and a set of hallmarks he would employ later. He demonstrated the ability to grasp complex strategic problems quickly, decisive crisis leadership, meticulous attention to logistics and deception, patience in building superior strength before striking at the enemy's weakest point, and the coordination of massed artillery, tanks, mechanized infantry, and tactical air power in large-scale double envelopment. These capabilities informed his actions at Moscow, Stalingrad, Kursk, and ultimately Berlin. It is tempting to wonder how Zhukov might have fared in the crucial autumn and winter of 1941 without Nomonhan, or whether he would have been entrusted with the Moscow front in 1941 had he not distinguished himself at Nomonhan. Yet the Soviet High Command overlooked an important lesson. Despite Zhukov's successes with independent tank formations and mechanized infantry, the command misapplied Spanish Civil War-era experience by disbanding armored divisions and redistributing tanks to infantry units to serve as support. It was not until after Germany demonstrated tank warfare in 1940 that the Soviets began reconstituting armored divisions and corps, a process still incomplete when the 1941 invasion began.
The Red Army's performance at Nomonhan went largely unseen in the West. Western intelligence and military establishments largely believed the Red Army was fundamentally rotten, a view reinforced by the battlefield's remoteness and by both sides' reluctance to publicize the defeat. The Polish crisis and the outbreak of war in Europe drew attention away from Nomonhan, and the later Finnish Winter War reinforced negative Western judgments of Soviet military capability. U.S. military attachĂ© Raymond Faymonville observed that the Soviets, anticipating a quick victory over Finland, relied on hastily summoned reserves ill-suited for winter fightingâan assessment that led some to judge the Red Army by its performance at Nomonhan. Even in Washington, this view persisted; Hitler reportedly called the Red Army "a paralytic on crutches" after Finland and then ordered invasion planning in 1941.
Defeat can be a stronger teacher than victory. Because Nomonhan was a limited war, Japan's defeat was likewise limited, and its impact on Tokyo did not immediately recalibrate Japanese assessments. Yet Nomonhan did force Japan to revise its estimation of Soviet strength: the Imperial Army abandoned its strategic Plan Eight-B and adopted a more defensive posture toward the Soviet Union. An official inquiry into the debacle, submitted November 29, 1939, recognized Soviet superiority in materiel and firepower and urged Japan to bolster its own capabilities. The Kwantung Army's leadership, chastened, returned to the frontier with a more realistic sense of capability, even as the Army Ministry and AGS failed to translate lessons into policy. The enduring tendency toward gekokujo, the dominance of local and mid-level officers over central authority, remained persistent, and Tokyo did not fully purge it after Nomonhan. The Kwantung Army's operatives who helped drive the Nomonhan episode resurfaced in key posts at Imperial General Headquarters, contributing to Japan's 1941 decision to go to war.
The defeat of the Kwantung Army at Nomonhan, together with the StalinâHitler pact and the outbreak of war in Europe, triggered a reorientation of Japanese strategy and foreign policy. The new government, led by the politically inexperienced and cautious General Abe Nobuyuki, pursued a conservative foreign policy. Chiang Kai-shek's retreat to Chongqing left the Chinese war at a stalemate: the Japanese Expeditionary Army could still inflict defeats on Chinese nationalist forces, but it had no viable path to a decisive victory. China remained Japan's principal focus. Still, the option of cutting Soviet aid to China and of moving north into Outer Mongolia and Siberia was discredited in Tokyo by the August 1939 double defeat. Northward expansion never again regained its ascendancy, though it briefly resurfaced in mid-1941 after Germany's invasion of the Soviet Union. Germany's alliance with the USSR during Nomonhan was viewed by Tokyo as a betrayal, cooling GermanâJapanese relations. Japan also stepped back from its confrontation with Britain over Tientsin. Tokyo recognized that the European war represented a momentous development that could reshape East Asia, as World War I had reshaped it before.
The short-lived Abe government (SeptemberâDecember 1939) and its successor under Admiral Yonai Mitsumasa (December 1939âJuly 1940) adopted a cautious wait-and-see attitude toward the European war. That stance shifted in the summer of 1940, however, after Germany's successes in the West. With Germany's conquest of France and the Low Countries and Britain's fight for survival, Tokyo reassessed the global balance of power. Less than a year after Zhukov had effectively blocked further Japanese expansion northward, Hitler's victories seemed to open a southern expansion path. The prospect of seizing the resource-rich colonies in Southeast Asia, Dutch, French, and British and, more importantly, resolving the China problem in Japan's favor, tempted many in Tokyo. If Western aid to Chiang Kai-shek, channeled through Hong Kong, French Indochina, and Burma could be cut off, some in Tokyo believed Chiang might abandon resistance. If not, Japan could launch new operations against Chiang from Indochina and Burma, effectively turning China's southern flank. To facilitate a southward advance, Japan sought closer alignment with Germany and the USSR. Foreign Minister Yosuke Matsuoka brought Japan into the Tripartite Pact with Germany and Italy, in the hope of neutralizing the United States, and concluded a neutrality pact with the Soviet Union to secure calm in the north.
Because of the European military situation, only the United States could check Japan's southward expansion. President Franklin D. Roosevelt appeared determined to do so and confident that he could. If the Manchurian incident and the Stimson Doctrine strained U.S.âJapanese relations, and the China War and U.S. aid to Chiang Kai-shek deepened mutual resentment, it was Japan's decision to press south against French, British, and Dutch colonies, and Roosevelt's resolve to prevent such a move, that put the two nations on a collision course.
The dust had barely settled on the Mongolian plains following the Nomonhan ceasefire when the ripples of that distant conflict began to reshape the broader theater of the Second Sino-Japanese War. The defeat at Nomonhan in August 1939, coupled with the shocking revelation of the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact, delivered a profound strategic blow to Japan's imperial ambitions. No longer could Tokyo entertain serious notions of a "northern advance" into Soviet territory, a strategy that had long tantalized military planners as a means to secure resources and buffer against communism. Instead, the Kwantung Army's humiliation exposed glaring deficiencies in Japanese mechanized warfare, logistics, and intelligence, forcing a pivot southward. This reorientation not only cooled tensions with the Soviet Union but also allowed Japan to redirect its military focus toward the protracted stalemate in China. As we transition from the border clashes of the north to the heartland tensions in central China, it's essential to trace how these events propelled Japan toward the brink of a major offensive in Hunan Province, setting the stage for what would become a critical confrontation.
In the immediate aftermath of Nomonhan, Japan's military high command grappled with the implications of their setback. The Kwantung Army, once a symbol of unchecked aggression, was compelled to adopt a defensive posture along the Manchurian-Soviet border. The ceasefire agreement, formalized on September 15-16, 1939, effectively neutralized the northern front, freeing up significant resources and manpower that had been tied down in the escalating border skirmishes. This was no small relief; the Nomonhan campaign had drained Japanese forces, with estimates of over 18,000 casualties and the near-total annihilation of the 23rd Division. The psychological impact was equally severe, shattering the myth of Japanese invincibility against a modern, mechanized opponent. Georgy Zhukov's masterful use of combined armsâtanks, artillery, and air powerâhighlighted Japan's vulnerabilities, prompting internal reviews that urged reforms in tank production, artillery doctrine, and supply chains. Yet, these lessons were slow to implement, and in the short term, the primary benefit was the opportunity to consolidate efforts elsewhere.
For Japan, "elsewhere" meant China, where the war had devolved into a grinding attrition since the fall of Wuhan in October 1938. The capture of Wuhan, a major transportation hub and temporary capital of the Nationalist government under Chiang Kai-shek, had been hailed as a turning point. Japanese forces, under the command of General Shunroku Hata, had pushed deep into central China, aiming to decapitate Chinese resistance. However, Chiang's strategic retreat to Chongqing transformed the conflict into a war of endurance. Nationalist forces, bolstered by guerrilla tactics and international aid, harassed Japanese supply lines and prevented a decisive knockout blow. By mid-1939, Japan controlled vast swaths of eastern and northern China, including key cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Nanjing, but the cost was immense: stretched logistics, mounting casualties, and an inability to fully pacify occupied territories. The Nomonhan defeat exacerbated these issues by underscoring the limits of Japan's military overextension. With the northern threat abated, Tokyo's Army General Staff saw an opening to intensify operations in China, hoping to force Chiang to the negotiating table before global events further complicated the picture.
The diplomatic fallout from Nomonhan and the Hitler-Stalin Pact further influenced this shift. Japan's betrayal by Germany, its nominal ally under the Anti-Comintern Pactâfostered distrust and isolation. Tokyo's flirtations with a full Axis alliance stalled, as the pact with Moscow revealed Hitler's willingness to prioritize European gains over Asian solidarity. This isolation prompted Japan to reassess its priorities, emphasizing self-reliance in China while eyeing opportunistic expansions elsewhere. Domestically, the Hiranuma cabinet collapsed in August 1939 amid the diplomatic shock, paving the way for the more cautious Abe Nobuyuki government. Abe's administration, though short-lived, signaled a temporary de-escalation in aggressive posturing, but the underlying imperative to resolve the "China Incident" persisted. Japanese strategists believed that capturing additional strategic points in central China could sever Chiang's lifelines, particularly the routes funneling aid from the Soviet Union and the West via Burma and Indochina.
The seismic shifts triggered by Nomonhan compelled Japan to fundamentally readjust its China policy and war plans, marking a pivotal transition from overambitious northern dreams to a more focused, albeit desperate, campaign in the south. With the Kwantung Army's defeat fresh in mind, Tokyo's Imperial General Headquarters initiated a comprehensive strategic review in late August 1939. The once-dominant "Northern Advance" doctrine, which envisioned rapid conquests into Siberia for resources like oil and minerals, was officially shelved. In its place emerged a "Southern Advance" framework, prioritizing the consolidation of gains in China and potential expansions into Southeast Asia. This pivot was not merely tactical; it reflected a profound policy recalibration aimed at ending the quagmire in China, where two years of war had yielded territorial control but no decisive victory over Chiang Kai-shek's Nationalists.
Central to this readjustment was a renewed emphasis on economic and military self-sufficiency. The Nomonhan debacle had exposed Japan's vulnerabilities in mechanized warfare, leading to urgent reforms in industrial production. Tank manufacturing was ramped up, with designs influenced by observed Soviet models, and artillery stockpiles were bolstered to match the firepower discrepancies seen on the Mongolian steppes. Logistically, the Army General Staff prioritized streamlining supply lines in China, recognizing that prolonged engagements demanded better resource allocation. Politically, the Abe Nobuyuki cabinet, installed in September 1939, adopted a "wait-and-see" approach toward Europe but aggressively pursued diplomatic maneuvers to isolate China. Efforts to negotiate with Wang Jingwei's puppet regime in Nanjing intensified, aiming to undermine Chiang's legitimacy and splinter Chinese resistance. Japan also pressured Vichy France for concessions in Indochina, seeking to choke off aid routes to Chongqing.
War plans evolved accordingly, shifting from broad-front offensives to targeted strikes designed to disrupt Chinese command and supply networks. The China Expeditionary Army, under General Yasuji Okamura, was restructured to emphasize mobility and combined arms operations, drawing partial lessons from Zhukov's tactics. Intelligence operations were enhanced, with greater focus on infiltrating Nationalist strongholds in central provinces. By early September, plans coalesced around a major push into Hunan Province, a vital crossroads linking northern and southern China. Hunan's river systems and rail lines made it a linchpin for Chinese logistics, funneling men and materiel to the front lines. Japanese strategists identified key urban centers in the region as critical objectives, believing their capture could sever Chiang's western supply corridors and force a strategic retreat.
This readjustment was not without internal friction. Hardliners in the military lamented the abandonment of northern ambitions, but the reality of Soviet strengthâand the neutrality pacts that followedâleft little room for debate. Economically, Japan ramped up exploitation of occupied Chinese territories, extracting coal, iron, and rice to fuel the war machine. Diplomatically, Tokyo sought to mend fences with the Soviets through the 1941 Neutrality Pact, ensuring northern security while eyes turned south. Yet, these changes brewed tension with the United States, whose embargoes on scrap metal and oil threatened to cripple Japan's ambitions. As autumn approached, the stage was set for a bold gambit in central China. Japanese divisions massed along the Yangtze River, poised to strike at the heart of Hunan's defenses. Intelligence reports hinted at Chinese preparations, with Xue Yue's forces fortifying positions around a major provincial hub. The air thickened with anticipation of a clash that could tip the balance in the interminable warâa test of Japan's revamped strategies against a resilient foe determined to hold the line. What unfolded would reveal whether Tokyo's post-Nomonhan pivot could deliver the breakthrough so desperately needed, or if it would merely prolong the bloody stalemate.
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In 1939, the Nomonhan Incident saw Soviet forces under Georgy Zhukov decisively defeat Japan's Kwantung Army at Khalkin Gol, exposing Japanese weaknesses in mechanized warfare. This setback, coupled with the Hitler-Stalin Nonaggression Pact, shattered Japan's northern expansion plans and prompted a strategic pivot southward. Diplomatic maneuvers involving Stalin, Hitler, Britain, France, and Japan reshaped alliances, leading to the Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact in 1941. Japan refocused on China, intensifying operations in Hunan Province to isolate Chiang Kai-shek.
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Last time we spoke about General Zhukov's armor offensives at Nomohan. Following heavy Japanese losses in May and June, General Georgy Zhukov arrives in June, reorganizes the Soviet 1st Army Group, and bolsters it with tanks, artillery, and reinforcements. The July offensive sees General Komatsubara's forces cross the Halha River undetected, achieving initial surprise. However, General Yasuoka's tank assault falters due to muddy terrain, inadequate infantry support, and superior Soviet firepower, resulting in heavy losses. Japanese doctrine emphasizing spiritual superiority clashes with material realities, undermining morale as intelligence underestimates Soviet strength. Zhukov learns key lessons in armored warfare, adapting tactics despite high casualties. Reinforcements pour in via massive truck convoys. Japanese night attacks and artillery duels fail, exposing logistical weaknesses. Internal command tensions, including gekokujo defiance, hinder responses. By August, Stalin, buoyed by European diplomacy and Sorge's intel, greenlights a major offensive. Zhukov employs deception for surprise. Warnings of Soviet buildup are ignored, setting the stage for a climactic encirclement on August 20.
#191 Zhukov Steel Ring of Fire at Nomohan
Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War.
On the night of August 19â20, under cover of darkness, the bulk of the Soviet 1st Army Group crossed the Halha River into the expanded Soviet enclave on the east bank. Two weeks of nightly Soviet sound effects had paid off: Japanese perimeter troops failed to distinguish the real deployment from the frequently heard simulations. Zhukov's order of battle was as follows: "Northern force, commanded by Colonel Alekseenkoâ6th Mongolian Cavalry Division, 601st Infantry Regiment (82nd Division), 7th Armored Brigade, 2 battalions of the 11th Tank Brigade, 82nd Artillery Regiment, and 87th Anti-tank Brigade. Central force, where Zhukov was located, commanded by his deputy, Colonel Petrovâ36th Motorized Infantry Division, 82nd Infantry Division (less one regiment), 5th Infantry Machine Gun Brigade. Southern force, commanded by Colonel Potapovâ8th Mongolian Cavalry Division, 57th Infantry Division, 8th Armored Brigade, 6th Tank Brigade, 11th Tank Brigade (less two battalions), 185th Artillery Regiment, 37th Anti-tank Brigade, one independent tank company. A mobile strategic reserve built around the 212th Airborne Regiment, the 9th Mechanized Brigade, and a battalion of the 6th Tank Brigade was held west of the Halha River."
The Soviet offensive was supported by massed artillery, a hallmark of Zhukov's operations in the war against Germany. In addition to nearly 300 antitank and rapid-fire guns, Zhukov deployed over 200 field and heavy artillery pieces on both sides of the Halha. Specific artillery batteries were assigned to provide supporting fire for each attacking infantry and armored unit at the battalion level and higher. In the early hours of August 20, the sky began to lighten over the semiarid plain, with the false promise of a quiet Sunday morning. The air was clear as the sun warmed the ground that had been chilled overnight. General Komatsubara's troops were in no special state of readiness when the first wave of more than 200 Soviet bombers crossed the Halha River at 5:45 a.m. and began pounding their positions. When the bombers withdrew, a thunderous artillery barrage began, continuing for 2 hours and 45 minutes. That was precisely the time needed for the bombers to refuel, rearm, and return for a second run over the Japanese positions. Finally, all the Soviet artillery unleashed an intensive 15-minute barrage at the forwardmost Japanese positions. Komatsubara's men huddled in their trenches under the heaviest bombardment to which they or any other Japanese force had ever been subjected. The devastation, both physical and psychological, was tremendous, especially in the forward positions. The shock and vibration of incoming bombs and artillery rounds also caused their radiotelegraph keys to chatter so uncontrollably that frontline troops could not communicate with the rear, compounding their confusion and helplessness.
At 9:00 a.m., Soviet armor and infantry began to move out along the line while their cover fire continued. A dense morning fog near the river helped conceal their approach, bringing them in some sectors to within small-arms range before they were sighted by the enemy. The surprise and disarray on the Japanese side was so complete, and their communications so badly disrupted, that Japanese artillery did not begin firing in support of their frontline troops until about 10:15 a.m. By then, many forward positions were overrun. Japanese resistance stiffened at many points by midday, and fierce combat raged along the front, roughly 40 miles long. In the day's fighting, Colonel M. I. Potapov's southern force achieved the most striking success. The 8th MPR Cavalry Division routed the Manchukuoan cavalry holding Komatsubara's southern flank, and Potapov's armor and mechanized infantry bent the entire southern segment of the Japanese front inward by about 8 miles in a northwesterly direction.
Zhukov's central force advanced only 500â1,500 yards in the face of furious resistance, but the frontal assault engaged the center of the Japanese line so heavily that Komatsubara could not reinforce his flanks. Two MPR cavalry regiments and supporting armor and mechanized infantry from Colonel Ilya Alekseenko's northern force easily overran two Manchukuoan cavalry units guarding the northern flank of the Japanese line, about 2 miles north of the Fui Heights. But the heights themselves formed a natural strong point, and Alekseenko's advance was halted at what became the northern anchor of the Japanese line. As the first phase of the Soviet offensive gathered momentum, General Ogisu, the 6th Army's new commander, assessed the situation. Still unaware of Zhukov's strength, he reassured KwAHQ that "the enemy intends to envelop us from our flanks, but his offensive effectiveness is weak⊠Our positions in other areas are being strengthened. Set your mind at ease." This optimistic report contributed to Kwantung Army's delay in reinforcing the 23rd Division. Some at KwAHQ suspected this might be another limited Soviet push, like Aug 7â8, that would soon end. Others worried it was a diversion prior to a larger offensive and were concerned but not alarmed about Komatsubara's position.
On Aug 21â22, Potapov's southern force pierced the Japanese main defense line at several points, breaking the southern sector into segments that the attackers sealed off, encircled, and ground down. Soviet armor, mechanized infantry, and artillery moved swiftly and with deadly efficiency. Survivors described how each pocket of resistance experienced its own hellish period. After the Japanese heavy weapons in a pocket were neutralized, Soviet artillery and tanks gradually tightened the ring, firing at point-blank range over open sights. Flame-throwing tanks incinerated hastily constructed fortifications and underground shelters. Infantry mopped up with grenades, small arms, and bayonets. By the end of Aug 23, Potapov had dismembered the entire Japanese defensive position south of the Holsten River. Only one significant pocket of resistance remained. Meanwhile, Potapov's 8th Armored Brigade looped behind the Japanese, reaching southeast of Nomonhan, some 11 miles east of the river junction, on the boundary claimed by the MPR, and took up a blocking position there athwart the most likely line of retreat for Japanese units south of the Holsten.
In those two days, the Japanese center yielded only a few yards, while the northern flank anchored at Fui Heights held firm. Air combat raged over the battlefield. Soviet air units provided tactical support for their armor and infantry, while Kwantung Army's 2nd Air Group strove to thwart that effort and hit the Soviet ground forces. Before Nomonhan, the Japanese air force had not faced a modern opponent. Japanese fliers had roamed largely unchallenged in Manchuria and China from 1931 to 1939. At Nomonhan, the Soviets enjoyed an advantage of roughly 2:1 in aircraft and pilots. This placed an increasingly heavy burden on Japanese air squadrons, which had to fly incessantly, often against heavy odds. Fatigue took its toll and losses mounted. Soviet and Japanese accounts give wildly different tallies of air victories and losses, but an official Japanese assessment after the battle stated, "Nomonhan brought out the bitter truths of the phenomenal rate at which war potential is sapped in the face of superior opposition."
As with tank combat, the Soviet air superiority was qualitative as well as quantitative. In Juneâearly July, the Soviet I-16 fighters did not fare well against the Japanese Type 97 fighter. However, in the lull before the August offensive, the Soviets introduced an improved I-16 with armor-plated fuselage and windshield, making it virtually impervious to the Type 97's light 7.7-mm guns. The Japanese countered by arming some planes with heavier 12.7-mm guns, which were somewhat more effective against the new I-16s. But the Soviet pilots discovered that the Type-97's unprotected fuel tank was an easy mark, and Japanese planes began to burn with horrendous regularity.
On Aug 23, as Ribbentrop arrived in Moscow to seal the pact that would doom Poland and unleash war in Europe, the situation at Nomonhan was deemed serious enough by Kwantung Army to transfer the 7th Division to Hailar for support. Tsuji volunteered to fly to Nomonhan for a firsthand assessment. This move came too late, as Aug 23â24 proved the crucial phase of the battle. On Tue night, Aug 22, at Japanese 6th Army HQ, General Ogisu ordered a counterattack to push back the Soviet forces enveloping and crushing the Japanese southern flank. Komatsubara planned the counterattack in minute detail and entrusted its execution to his 71st and 72nd Regiments, led by General Kobayashi Koichi, and the 26th and 28th Regiments of the 7th Division, commanded by General Morita Norimasa. On paper this force looked like two infantry brigades. Only the 28th Regiment, however, was near full strength, though its troops were tired after marching about 25 miles to the front the day before. This regiment's peerless commander was Colonel Morita Toru (unrelated to General Morita). The chief kendo fencing master of the Imperial Army, Morita claimed to be invulnerable to bullets. The other three regiments were seriously understrength, partly due to combat attrition and partly because several of their battalions were deployed elsewhere on the front. The forces Kobayashi and Morita commanded that day totaled less than one regiment each.
It was not until the night of Aug 23 that deployment and attack orders filtered down to the Japanese regiment, battalion, and company commanders. Due to insufficient truck transport and the trackless terrain, units were delayed reaching their assigned positions in the early morning of Aug 24, and some did not arrive at all. Two battalions of the 71st Regiment did not reach Kobayashi in time; his attack force that morning consisted of two battalions of the 72nd Regiment. Colonel Sumi's depleted 26th Regiment did not arrive in time, and General Morita's assault force consisted of two battalions of the 28th Regiment and a battalion-equivalent independent garrison unit newly arrived at the front. Because of these delays, the Japanese could not reconnoiter enemy positions adequately before the attack. What had been planned as a dawn assault would begin between 9:30 and 10:00 a.m. in broad daylight.
The light plane carrying Tsuji on the final leg of his flight from Hsinking-Hailar-Nomonhan was attacked by Soviet fighters and forced to land behind the 72nd Regiment's staging area. Tsuji managed to reach General Kobayashi's command post by truck and on foot, placing him closer to the fighting than he anticipated. Just before the counterattack began, a dense fog drifted across part of the battlefield, obscuring visibility and limiting artillery effectiveness. Using the fog to mask their movement, lead elements of the 72nd Regiment moved toward a distant stand of scrub pines. As they approached, the trees began to move awayâthe stand was a well-camouflaged Soviet tank force. The tanks then maneuvered to the south, jeopardizing further Japanese advance. As the fog cleared, the Japanese found themselves facing a much larger enemy force. A vastly heavier Soviet barrage answered their renewed artillery fire. Kobayashi and Morita discovered too late that their counterattack had walked into the teeth of far stronger Soviet forces. One account calls it "The Charge of Two Light Brigades."
Kobayashi's 72nd Regiment encountered the Soviet T-34, with its thick sloped armor and 76-mm gunâthe most powerful tank in 1939. In addition, the improved Soviet BT-5/7 tanks, powered by diesel, were less prone to ignition. On gasoline-powered vehicles, the Soviets added wire netting over the ventilation grill and exhaust manifold, reducing the effectiveness of hand-thrown gasoline bombs. Japanese infantry regiments suffered near 50% casualties that day. Nearly every battalion and company commander was lost. Kobayashi was gravely wounded by a tank shell fragment and nearly trampled by fleeing troops. He survived the battle and the Pacific War but died in a Soviet POW camp in 1950.
Morita's 28th Regiment fared little better. It was pinned down about 500 yards from the Soviet front lines by intense artillery. Unable to advance and not permitted to retreat, Morita's men dug into the loose sand and withstood the bombardment, but were cut to pieces. Shortly after sunset, the remnants were ordered to withdraw, but both regiments were shattered. Tsuji, a survivor, rejoined Komatsubara at his command post. Upon receiving combat reports from the 72nd and 28th Regiments, General Komatsubara "evinced deep anxiety." 6th Army chief of staff Major General Fujimoto Tetsukuma, at Komatsubara's command post, "appeared bewildered," and announced he was returning to headquarters, asking if Tsuji would accompany him. The major declined and later recalled that he and Komatsubara could barely conceal their astonishment at Fujimoto's abrupt departure at such a time.
Meanwhile, at the northern end of the line, Colonel Alekseenko's force had been hammering at Fui Heights for 3 days without success. The position was held by about 800 defenders under Lieutenant Colonel Ioki Eiichiro, consisting of two infantry companies; one company each of cavalry, armored reconnaissance, and combat engineers; and three artillery batteries (37-mm and 75-mm guns). The defenders clung tenaciously to the strongpoint created by the heights and their bunkers, inflicting heavy losses on Alekseenko's force. The unexpectedly strong defense disrupted the timing of the entire Soviet offensive. By Aug 23, Zhukov was exasperated and losing patience with the pace in the north. Some of Zhukov's comrades recall a personable chief who played the accordion and urged singing during happier times. Under stress, his harshness and temper surfaced. Zhukov summoned Alekseenko to the telephone. When the northern commander expressed doubt about storming the heights immediately, Zhukov berated him, relieved him on the spot, and entrusted the attack to Alekseenko's chief of staff. After a few hours, Zhukov called again and, finding that the new commander was slow, fired him as well and sent a staff member to take charge. Accounts record that his tirades sometimes included the phrase "useless bag of shit," though others note harsher language was used toward generals who did not meet expectations.
That night, reinforced by the 212th Airborne Regiment, heavier artillery, and a detachment of flame-throwing tanks, the northern force renewed its assault on Fui Heights. The battered Japanese defenders were thoroughly overmatched. Soviet artillery fired at two rounds per second. When the last Japanese artillery was knocked out, they no longer could defend against flame-throwing tanks. From several miles away, Colonel Sumi could see the heights shrouded in black smoke and red flames "spitting like the tongues of snakes."
After Aug 22, supply trucks could no longer reach Fui Heights. The next afternoon, Colonel Ioki's radioâthe last link to the 23rd Divisionâwas destroyed. His surviving men fought on with small arms and grenades, repelling Soviet infantry with bayonet charges that night. By the morning of Aug 24, Ioki had about 200 able-bodied men left of his original 800. Soviet tanks and infantry had penetrated defenses at several points, forcing him to constrict his perimeter. Red flags flew on the eastern edge of the heights. Ioki gathered his remaining officers to discuss last measures. With little ammunition and almost no food or water, their situation seemed hopeless. But Ioki insisted on holding Fui Heights to the last man, arguing that the defense should not be abandoned and that orders to break out should come only with reinforcements and supplies. Some subordinates urged retreat. Faced with two dire options, Ioki drew his pistol and attempted suicide, but a fellow officer restrained him. Rather than see his men blown to bits, Ioki decided to abandon Fui Heights and retreat east. Those unable to walk received hand grenades with the injunction to blow themselves up rather than be captured. On the night of Aug 24â25, after moonrise, the remaining resistance at the heights was quelled, and Soviet attention shifted south. Ioki's battered remnant slipped out and, the next morning, encountered a Manchukuoan cavalry patrol that summoned trucks to take them to Chaingchunmiao, forty miles away. Russians occupying Fui Heights on Aug 25 counted the corpses of over 600 Japanese officers and men.
After securing Fui Heights, the Soviet northern force began to roll up the Japanese northern flank in a wide arc toward Nomonhan. A day after the fall of Fui Heights, elements of the northern force's 11th Tank Brigade linked up with the southern force's 8th Armored Brigade near Nomonhan. A steel ring had been forged around the Japanese 6th Army. As the Japanese northern and southern flanks dissolved under Zhukov's relentless assaults, Komatsubara's command ceased to exist as an integrated force. By Aug 25 the Japanese lines were completely cut, with resistance remaining only in three encircled pockets. The remnants of two battalions of General Morita's "brigade" attempted a renewed offensive on Aug 25, advancing about 150 yards before being hammered by Soviet artillery and tanks, suffering heavier casualties than the day before.
The only hope for the surrounded Japanese troops lay in a relief force breaking through the Soviet encirclement from the outside. However, Kwantung Army was spread thin in Manchuria and, due to a truck shortage, could not transport the 7th Division from Hailar to the combat zone in time. By Aug 26 the encirclement had thickened, with three main pockets tightly invested, making a large-scale breakout nearly impossible. Potapov unleashed a two-pronged assault with his 6th Tank Brigade and 80th Infantry Regiment. Japanese artillery from the 28th Regiment temporarily checked the left wing of the armored attack, but the Soviet right wing overran elements of Sumi's 26th Regiment, forcing the Japanese to retreat into a tighter enclave. Morita, the fencing-master commander who claimed to be immune to bullets, was killed by machine-gun fire while standing atop a trench encouraging his men.
The Japanese 120-mm howitzers overheated under the August sun; their breech mechanisms swelled and refused to eject spent casings. Gunners had to leap from behind shelter to ram wooden rods down the barrels, drastically reducing rate of fire and life expectancy.
Komatsubara's artillery units suffered a bitter fate. Most were deployed well behind the front lines with their guns facing west toward the Halha. As the offensive developed, attackers often struck the batteries from the east, behind them. Even when crews could turn some guns to face east, they had not preregistered fields of fire there and were not very effective. Supporting infantry had already been drawn off for counterattacks and perimeter defense. One by one, Japanese batteries were smashed by Soviet artillery and tanks. Crews were expected to defend their guns to the last man; the guns themselves were treated as the unit's soul, to be destroyed if captured. In extremis, crews were to destroy sensitive parts like optics. Few survived. Among those who did was a PFC from an annihilated howitzer unit, ordered to drive one of the few surviving vehicles, a Dodge sedan loaded with seriously wounded men, eastward to safety during the night. Near a Holsten River bridge he encountered Soviet sentries. The driver hesitated, then honked his horn, and the guards saluted as the sedan sped past.
With water supplies exhausted and unable to reach the Halha or Holsten Rivers, the commander of the easternmost enclave ordered his men to drain radiator water from their vehicles. Drinking the foul liquid, at the cost of immobilizing their remaining transport, signaled that the defenders believed their situation was hopeless. On Aug 27 the rest of the Japanese 7th Division, two fresh infantry regiments, an artillery regiment, and support units totaling barely 5,000 menâreached the northeastern segment of the ring around Komatsubara. One day of hard fighting revealed they lacked the strength to break the encirclement. General Ogisu ordered the 7th Division to pull back and redeploy near his own 6th Army headquarters, about 4 miles east of Nomonhan and the border claimed by the enemy. There would be no outside relief for Komatsubara's forces.
Throughout Aug 27â28, Soviet aircraft, artillery, armor, and infantry pounded the three Japanese pockets, compressing them into ever-smaller pockets and grinding them down. The surrounded Japanese fought fiercely and inflicted heavy casualties, but the outcome was inevitable. After the remaining Japanese artillery batteries were silenced, Soviet tanks ruled the battlefield. One by one, major pockets were overrun. Some smaller groups managed to slip through Soviet lines and reach safety east of the border claimed by the MPR, where they were left unmolested by the Red Army. Elements of Potapov's 57th and 82nd Divisions eliminated the last remnants of resistance south of the Holsten by the evening of Aug 27. North of the Holsten, during the night of Aug 28â29, a group of about 400 Japanese tried to slip east through the Soviet lines along the riverbank. They were spotted by the 293rd Regiment (57th Division), which struck them. The fleeing Japanese refused to surrender and were wiped out attempting to recross the Holsten.
Japanese soldiers' refusal to surrender is well documented. Surrender was considered dishonorable; the Army Field Manual was silent on surrender. For officers, death was not merely preferable to surrender; it was expected, and in some cases required. The penal code (1908, not revised until 1942) stated that surrender was dereliction of duty; if a commander did his best to resist, imprisonment could follow; if not, death.
Stemming from Bushido, regimental colors were treated as sacred. On the afternoon of Aug 28, with much of his 64th Regiment destroyed, Colonel Yamagata saw no alternative but to burn the regimental colors and then commit suicide. Part of the flagpole had been shattered; the chrysanthemum crest damaged. Yamagata, Colonel Ise (artillery regimental commander), an infantry captain, a medical lieutenant, and a foot soldierâthe last survivors of the headquarters unitâfaced east, shouted "banzai" for the emperor, drenched the pennant in gasoline, and lit it. Yamagata, Ise, and the captain then shot themselves. The flag and crest were not entirely consumed, and the unburned remnants were buried beneath Yamagata's unmarked body. The medical officer and the soldier escaped and reported these rites to 6th Army HQ, where the deaths of the two colonels were mourned, but there was concern over whether the regimental colors had been entirely destroyed.
On Aug 29, Lieutenant Colonel Higashi Muneharu, who had taken command of the 71st Regiment, faced the same dilemma. The regimental standard was broken into four pieces and, with the flag and chrysanthemum crest, drenched with fuel and set on fire. The fire kept going out, and the tassels were especially hard to burn. It took 45 minutes to finish the job, all under enemy fire. Afterward, Higashi urged all able to join him in a suicide charge, and the severely wounded to "kill themselves bravely when the enemy approached." Soviet machine-gun fire and grenades felled Higashi and his followers within moments.
When it became clear on Aug 29 that all hope was lost, Komatsubara resolved to share the fate of his 23rd Division. He prepared to commit suicide, entrusted his will to his aide, removed his epaulets, and burned his code books. General Ogisu ordered Komatsubara to save himself and lead as many of his men as possible out of the encirclement. Shortly before midnight on Aug 30, the bulk of the Soviet armor briefly pulled back to refuel and resupply. Some of the Soviet infantry also pulled back. Komatsubara and about 400 survivors of his command used the opportunity to slip through the Soviet lines, guiding wounded by starlight to safety at Chiangchunmiao on the morning of Aug 31. Tsuji was among the survivors. In transit, Komatsubara was so distraught he needed to be restrained from taking his own life. A fellow officer took his pistol, and two sturdy corporals helped to support him, preventing him from drawing his sword.
On August 31, Zhukov declared the disputed territory between the Halha River and the boundary line through Nomonhan cleared of enemy troops. The Sixth Army had been annihilated, with between 18,000 and 23,000 men killed or wounded from May to September (not counting Manchukuoan losses). The casualty rate in Komatsubara's 23rd Division reached 76%, and Sumi's 26th Regiment (7th Division) suffered 91% casualties. Kwantung Army lost many of its tanks and heavy guns and nearly 150 aircraft. It was the worst military defeat in modern Japanese history up to that time. Soviet claims later put total Japanese casualties at over 50,000, though this figure is widely regarded as inflated.
For years, Soviet-MPR authorities claimed 9,284 casualties, surely an underestimate. A detailed unit-by-unit accounting published in Moscow in 2002 put Soviet losses at 25,655 (9,703 killed, 15,952 wounded), plus 556 MPR casualties. While Soviet casualties may have exceeded Japanese losses, this reflects the fierceness of Japanese defense and questions Zhukov's expenditutre of blood. There was no denying, however, that the Red Army demonstrated substantial strength and that Kwantung Army suffered a serious defeat. Knowledgeable Japanese and Soviet sources agree that given the annihilation of Komatsubara's forces and the dominance of Soviet air power, if Zhukov had pressed beyond Nomonhan toward Hailar, local Japanese forces would have fallen into chaos, Hailar would have fallen, and western Manchuria would have been gravely threatened.
But while that might have been militarily possible, Moscow did not intend it. Zhukov's First Army Group halted at the boundary line claimed by the MPR. A Japanese military historian notes that "Kwantung Army completely lost its head." KwAHQ was enraged by the battlefield developments. Beyond the mauling of the Sixth Army at Nomonhan, there was anxiety over regimental colors. It was feared that Colonel Yamagata might not have had time to destroy the imperial crest of the 64th Regiment's colors, which could have fallen into Soviet hands. Thousands of dead and wounded littered the field. To preserve "face" and regain leverage, a swift, decisive counterstroke was deemed necessary.
At Hsinking, they decided on an all-out war against the USSR. They planned to throw the 7th, 2nd, 4th, and 8th Divisions into the Sixth Army, along with all heavy artillery in Manchukuo, to crush the enemy. Acknowledging shortages in armor, artillery, and air power, they drafted a plan for a series of successive night offenses beginning on September 10. This was viewed as ill-advised for several reasons: September 10 was an unrealistic target given Kwantung Army's limited logistical capacity; it was unclear what the Red Army would be doing by day, given its superiority in tanks, artillery, and air power; autumn would bring extreme cold that could immobilize forces; and Germany's alliance with the Soviet Union isolated Japan diplomatically. These factors were known at KwAHQ, yet the plan proceeded. Kwantung Army notified AGS to "utilize the winter months well," aiming to mobilize the entire Japanese Army for a decisive spring confrontation.
However, the Nomonhan defeat coincided with the Hitler-Stalin pact's diplomatic fallout. The push for close military cooperation with Germany against the Soviet Union was discredited in a single week. Defeated and abandoned by Hitler, pro-German, anti-Soviet policy advocates in Tokyo were furious. Premier Hiranuma Kiichiro's government resigned on August 28. In response, more cautious voices in Tokyo asserted control. General Nakajima, deputy chief of AGS, went to Hsinking with Imperial Order 343, directing Kwantung Army to hold near the disputed frontier with "minimal strength" to enable a quick end to hostilities and a diplomatic settlement. But at KwAHQ, the staff pressed their case, and Nakajima eventually approved a general offensive to begin on September 10. The mood at KwAHQ was ebullient.
Upon returning to Tokyo, Nakajima was sternly rebuked and ordered to stand down. General Ueda appealed to higher authority, requesting permission to clear the battlefield and recover the bodies of fallen soldiers. He was denied and later relieved of command on September 6. A reshuffle followed at KwAHQ, with several senior officers reassigned. The Japanese Foreign Ministry directed Ambassador Togo Shigenori to negotiate a settlement in Moscow. The Molotov-Togo agreement was reached on September 15â16, establishing a temporary frontier and a commission to redemarcate the boundary. The local cease-fire arrangements were formalized on September 18â19, and both sides agreed to exchange prisoners and corpses. In the aftermath, Kwantung Army leadership and the Red Army leadership maintained tight control over communications about the conflict. News of the defeat spread through Manchuria and Japan, but the scale of the battle was not fully suppressed. The Kwantung Army's reputation suffered further from subsequent punishments of officers deemed to have mishandled the Nomonhan engagement. Several officers were compelled to retire or commit suicide under pressure, and Ioki's fate became a particular symbol of the army's dishonor and the heavy costs of the campaign.
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In August 1939, Soviet General Georgy Zhukov launched a decisive offensive against Japanese forces at Nomonhan. Under cover of darkness, Soviet troops crossed the Halha River, unleashing massive air and artillery barrages on August 20. Fierce fighting ensued, with failed Japanese counterattacks, the fall of Fui Heights, and annihilation of encircled pockets by Soviet tanks and infantry.
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