cicada

Chapter 1477 [Barbecue Preparation 1]

In the small conference room of the Military Intelligence Bureau, Zuo Zhong glanced at Gu Qi, Wu Chunyang, Song Minghao, and the others who were discussing quietly below, and coughed lightly twice.

"Ahem, everyone, speak up. How do we guide American bombers to accurately bomb targets? Speak freely and don't hold back."

Gu Qi was about to speak when Wu Chunyang spoke first, his tone slightly displeased.

"Co-pilot, should we reconsider revealing the bombing to the Japanese? If the Japanese are prepared beforehand, it would be very dangerous for Fu Ling and the others to guide the bombing."

“The frontline has its own difficulties. It’s one thing if the higher-ups don’t understand the situation, but they can’t just give orders haphazardly, like they did during the Henan-Hunan-Guangxi campaign.”

Before Wu Chunyang could finish speaking, Zuo Zhong suddenly slammed his teacup back onto the table with a loud thud, plunging the conference room into silence. Song Minghao wished he could shrink his head back into his stomach.

The news of someone's brilliant maneuvering during the Henan-Hunan-Guangxi Campaign had already spread throughout the army. The military's strategic policy changed three times a day, from "protecting the Central Plains" to "protecting Shacheng" and then to "protecting Guicheng." It would be a miracle if the Guo army could win any battles.

The oppressive atmosphere lasted for a while before Zuo Zhong ended his death stare at Wu Chunyang and turned to look at He Yijun, who was taking notes.

"Director He, please don't record this part. You did an excellent job in Jiangcheng. Tell me your thoughts."

He Yijun put down his pen, casually tore up the record he had just made, wrote a few words again, and then looked up with a completely calm expression.

"Reporting to the Vice-Captain, I believe that the decision on how to guide the bombing should be made by Fu Ling. We do not understand the situation on the Japanese mainland, and giving arbitrary orders could easily put our brothers in Tokyo in danger."

"In addition, it is possible to inform the Japanese about the bombing, but it should be delayed. It is best to inform the Japanese through an inside source one or two days before the bombing begins."

"As for whether this will affect Fu Ling's mission, I don't think so. The Japanese are used to being arrogant and won't make a big fuss over a piece of intelligence. Besides, they don't have time to react."

Although He Yijun didn't say it explicitly, everyone present smiled knowingly. Someone's order must be carried out, but when and how to carry it out required "careful decision-making."

Tokyo is not a small city; it has a population of nearly 800 million. By the time the Japanese receive the news and are ordered to evacuate, it will be too late.

Zuo Zhong nodded in satisfaction. The worst thing in intelligence operations is to give orders haphazardly. Since no one knows Japan better than Fu Ling, then give the Tokyo station the greatest authority and let them do their job freely.

Only incompetent superiors criticize the actions of their subordinates. Yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about.

Two days later, a secret telegram from Chongqing was delivered to the Kuomintang's Tokyo Station liaison point. The courier repeatedly urged Fu Ling to complete the mission as soon as possible.

Fu Ling picked up the coded telegram and studied it for a long time. The Americans bombing Tokyo was a good thing, but how should they guide it? She frowned as she stared at the map of Tokyo on the wall.

As the war progressed, the Japanese were showing clear signs of defeat, but the emotions of the lower classes within Japan were becoming increasingly fervent, as if this could reverse the defeats at the front lines, and public order was being tightened.

Every Tokyo resident is a potential spy; if they discover anything unusual, they will not hesitate to report it to the police and consider it an honor.

Therefore, directing American bombers from Tokyo was tantamount to suicide; the moment they sent the signal, Japanese police and military police would appear on the scene.

Fu Ling's gaze moved across the map, finally settling on a sign that was ubiquitous throughout the city.

After a long silence, she turned and walked out of the secret room, picked up the phone and coldly uttered the code for the operation: "The fishing boats have returned to port."

Over the next few days, Fu Ling wandered around Tokyo, refining her plan while meeting with her subordinates and assigning tasks.

After receiving the order, the Kuomintang agents acted swiftly, causing quite a stir. Even the Japanese police and military heard the news, and another security operation was launched.

It was early spring, and the snow in Nagatacho, Tokyo, had not yet melted. A patrolman was pedaling his bicycle through the streets with his buttocks hanging in the air. The back of his uniform was already soaked with sweat, and he looked as if he had been pulled out of the water.

"Squeak~~"

The brake rubber screeched against the steel rim, and the bicycle came to a stop in front of the residential area with a beautiful drift. Children playing nearby immediately gathered around, their eyes filled with admiration.

The young patrolman laughed heartily, patted the children's heads kindly, and stepped into the alley to begin registering and verifying information door-to-door.

The Japanese government attaches great importance to household registration management, especially in important cities like Tokyo, where police stations conduct regular door-to-door investigations to prevent enemy spies and criminals from hiding.

Nagata-cho is even more special because it is home to many military and government agencies, such as the Ministry of the Army, the General Staff Headquarters, the Ministry of the Navy, the Naval General Staff, and the official residence of the Cabinet Minister, so the level of inspection is naturally the highest.

In front of a house, the homeowner and his family stood respectfully by the roadside. The patrol officer opened the register and casually asked the male homeowner a question.

Have any strangers visited your home recently?

"No, Officer Yokoyama."

"Okay, please let me know if any strange creatures appear nearby."

"Of course, this is the duty of all citizens."

Upon hearing this, the patrolman named Yokoyama closed the register, pointed to the residence with a smile, and said, "You don't mind if I go in and take a look, do you?" The male homeowner quickly stepped aside and made a gesture of invitation. The Japanese concept of hierarchy is deeply ingrained, and ordinary people have no choice but to obey the police officer's request.

Yokoyama walked into the room and looked around, stomping his feet on the floor to try and determine if there were any hidden compartments underneath by listening to the echoes.

He even opened the shoe cabinet to count the number of clogs. This is a security search technique. If the number of commonly used clogs exceeds the number of residents or the size is incorrect, then there is likely someone hiding in the other party's house.

Ten minutes later, Yokoyama, having found nothing, walked out the door and nodded to the male homeowner: "Alright, you can go home now."

As the door slowly closed, Yokoyama walked to another house and conducted a search using the same method, but still found nothing unusual.

As the sun set, a weary Yokoyama emerged from the residential area. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at the shops and gas station across the street with a hesitant expression.

Despite the setbacks at the front and the dwindling supply of materials and fuel being transported back to Japan from Southeast Asia, merchants always managed to find ways to obtain the goods they wanted.

Sugar, grains, gasoline—these strictly controlled goods are displayed openly on the shelves, yet no one dares to trace their origins.

A distant relative of the Locust Clan once wanted to investigate this matter, but the next day he was transferred to the battlefield of the Republic of China to be responsible for suppressing the underground party. Unexpectedly, he encountered the guerrillas on his first patrol and was shot more than a dozen times, dying a glorious death.

After a brief hesitation, Yokoyama gritted his teeth and walked into the shop. Before the shop owner could speak, he bowed deeply, his attitude extremely respectful.

"In Marseille, there has been a lot of activity from spies from the Republic of China era recently. Have you seen any suspicious individuals?"

The shop owner shook his head: "Officer, we serve hundreds of customers every day, so I'm sorry I can't answer your question."

"Hai, sorry to bother you." Yokoyama didn't dare utter a sound and slunk away.

He breathed a long sigh of relief after leaving the store, and then went to the next shop to repeat the same operation, but unfortunately he still came up empty-handed.

Finally, dejected, Yokoyama arrived at the oil depot. When the shop assistant saw the patrolman arrive, he put down the manual oil pump and took the initiative to chat with him.

Do you need gasoline?

Yokoyama froze abruptly. As a resident police officer in Nagata-cho, he knew every resident there, and could even recite their family information off the top of his head.

But the voice was unfamiliar; he was certain he had never seen the person before, which was unusual.

"Are you a new employee?" Yokoyama became more alert and quietly took two steps back.

The unfamiliar shop assistant smiled brightly: "Hello, officer, my name is Funaki. The owner of the oil shop is my uncle. It's our first time meeting, please take care of me."

Yokoyama dared not be careless and immediately went to the fat boss to verify the matter. The result proved that Funaki was not lying.

Having lowered his guard, Yokoyama politely took his leave. On his way back to the police station, he noted down the information about the boat timber in the register, intending to hand it over to his colleagues for verification.

Three days later, the verification results were delivered to Yokoyama, and the data showed that Funaki's past was very clean.

The other party was born in the countryside near Tokyo. He missed the draft due to pneumonia. After recovering, he was left with serious sequelae that prevented him from serving in the military, so he had to go to live with his wealthy uncle.

This seemed like a draft evasion attempt, but since the documents were in order, there was no need to waste any more time. Yokoyama tossed the documents aside and quickly forgot about it. Little did he know, there were also some strangers at gas stations in other parts of Tokyo.

At the Nagatacho oil shop, Funaki sat casually at a low table, enjoying his meal, while the fat owner huddled in a corner, trembling with fear.

Funaki took a sip of tea and glanced at the other man: "Once you earn 100,000 yen, my companion will release your wife and children, understand?"

The gas station owner was furious. Why did these damned robbers target him when there are so many rich people in Tokyo?

What's even more infuriating is that the other party not only used his family to coerce him, but also pretended to be a shop assistant to embezzle the sales revenue, which is extremely outrageous.

However, for safety's sake, he nodded frantically to the gas station owner, repeatedly assuring him that he would not run away or resist.

Noticing his reaction, Funaki sneered inwardly. This guy must never have heard the saying that only the dead can keep secrets. He's going to die!
Meanwhile, Fu Ling drew a circle on a map of Tokyo with a pencil, and there was more than one similar circle.

They are grouped in groups of three, forming countless large nets in a triangular pattern, with many key locations located in the middle of these nets.

Schools, factories, military camps, government offices, police stations, and hospitals are all key targets of the US military.

If these buildings are destroyed, Tokyo will descend into complete chaos, and could even trigger riots.

Fu Ling looked at the map with satisfaction. Suddenly, her gaze fell on a location. After hesitating for a few seconds, she circled it on the map again.

A few hundred meters away from this circle is a city gate pattern, with the words "Sakurada Gate" written next to it.