World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Twenty minutes after the battle ended, the troops continued their advance.

The rest of the journey went relatively smoothly. They crossed the Third Lake District at 3:55 a.m. and arrived at the designated meeting point—a sheltered pine forest—at 4:00 a.m.

German engineers had prepared a hot meal: a thick pea soup with chunks of meat floating in it, along with dark bread and hot tea. For the Japanese soldiers who had been freezing all night, it was a heavenly treat.

Nakamura sat on a fallen tree trunk, sipping hot soup. It was salty and oily, but the warmth was quickly spreading through his cold body.

Hans came over and sat down next to him.

"Just received word from division headquarters," the German captain said. "The other units have also arrived at their designated positions on time. The general offensive will begin in two hours, at 6:00 sharp."

Nakamura glanced at the sky—the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten, but the sun had not yet risen. A six o'clock attack meant they would be engaged in battle at dawn.

"Our mission?" he asked.

"As the second echelon," Hans said, "the first wave of attack will be carried out by two divisions of the German 10th Army. Your division's mission is to widen the breach and then advance deeper into the enemy territory."

Nakamura nodded. This was as expected—the Germans wouldn't assign mercenary units to the main attack from the outset.

"Also," Hans pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "this is a telegram we just received, forwarded through your country's communication channels."

Nakamura took the paper and unfolded it. It was written in Japanese, brief and formal:

"To all units of the European Expeditionary Army: His Majesty the Emperor is greatly pleased to learn of the initial victory. I urge you all to fight bravely and display the might of the Empire in foreign lands. The first batch of rewards for the victory has been disbursed and will be delivered with the next supply. Imperial General Headquarters, January 17, 1925."

There was no signature, but Nakamura knew it came from Tokyo, from the people who decided to send them here.

"Good news?" Hans asked.

"Words of encouragement." Nakamura folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "Nothing special."

But in reality, the words echoed in his mind: "The battle bonus has been paid out." So, their battles here were indeed quantified into money and remitted back home.

"Major Nakamura," Hans suddenly changed the subject, "what are your thoughts on this war?"

"What do you mean, how do you see it?"

"What I mean is," Hans said, choosing his words carefully, "why are you Japanese willing to come? So far away, so cold, to fight a war that has nothing to do with you."

Nakamura remained silent for a long time, watching the sky outside the woods gradually brighten.

"For survival," he finally said, choosing part of the truth, "our country... needs to live. And war, sometimes, is a way to survive."

Hans seemed to understand the answer, or he thought he did.

"Germany was also fighting for survival," he said. "Britain, France, and Russia wanted to lock us down on the European continent and prevent us from developing. This war was our chance to break free of those shackles."

This is a typical German perspective. Nakamura had heard similar statements from Hans and other German officers. Each nation found a legitimate reason for its entry into the war, believing it was fighting for survival.

"Do you think we can win?" Hans asked, a rare hint of hesitation in his voice this time.

Nakamura turned to look at him. The German captain's eyes no longer held his usual confidence and composure, but rather a deep-seated weariness and uncertainty.

"I don't know," Nakamura answered honestly. "The war has only been going on for six months, but it's already this brutal. Who can see how it ends?"

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Hans nodded and finished the last bit of tea in his cup.

"Regardless," he said, "thank you for coming. At least today, you've proven you're reliable fighters."

Reliable. The word sounded somewhat jarring to Nakamura. Reliable tools? Reliable mercenaries?

But he simply nodded: "We'll do our best."

After breakfast, the troops began their final preparations for battle. Soldiers checked their weapons and distributed ammunition, while officers gathered to study maps and confirm attack routes.

Nakamura walked to a relatively quiet spot and took out a small notebook and pencil from his pocket. This was a "combat log" specially requested by Lanfang, to record in detail the usage of weapons and equipment, malfunctions, and soldier feedback.

He opened his notebook and began to write:

"On January 18th, 1925, at dawn, on the east side of the Masuri Lake area."

The first actual combat engagement involved attacking the positions of a Russian guard company.

Weapon and equipment usage status:

Type 11 light machine gun (Nambu): Two were deployed. One overheated after firing approximately 90 rounds and had to be paused for cooling; the other jammed after firing approximately 120 rounds. Loading was difficult in frigid conditions, and soldiers wearing thick gloves found it hard to operate the magazine. Suppression was initially effective, but its sustainability was insufficient.

Type 38 rifle: No special problems, but the effectiveness of antifreeze grease needs long-term observation.

Hand grenade (Type 91): Sufficient explosive power, with good fragmentation.

Suggest:

Design more effective heat dissipation devices or quick-change barrels for machine guns.

Improve the magazine design to make it easier to load in cold environments.

Consider equipping the machine gun with a snow camouflage cover.

After writing this, Nakamura paused, then turned to the last page of the notebook. There were no lines; it was blank.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then wrote:

"Soldier Status: Exhausted but morale is still acceptable. There is widespread doubt about the mission objective, but they are obedient to orders. The severe cold is the biggest enemy, with frostbite occurring more often than combat wounds."

Commander's observation: The German army is tactically well-organized, but they treat our troops as auxiliary forces. An initial victory might change this impression, but more proof is needed.

Personal reflection: We fight here, and the country receives the money. It's a trade, but the soldiers pay with their lives. Is this trade worthwhile? I can't answer that.

Nakamura stopped writing at this point. He knew that if his superiors saw these words, it would cause trouble. But he needed to write them down, to visualize these chaotic thoughts.

He closed his notebook and put it back in his pocket. In the distance came the sound of engines—German trucks and artillery units were moving towards the front lines, preparing for the general offensive.

A new battle is about to begin. More brutal, larger in scale, and with more deaths.

Nakamura stood up, brushed the snow off his clothes, and walked towards his unit. The soldiers were already lined up, awaiting orders. Their young faces appeared pale in the morning light, their eyes filled with fear, but also with determination.

"Gentlemen," Nakamura raised his voice, making sure everyone could hear, "the battles to come will determine whether we can complete our mission. Remember, we are not only fighting for ourselves, but also for the country behind us, and for the families waiting for us to return."

These words are cliché, but the soldiers need to hear them. They need some kind of meaning, even if it's just a figment of their imagination.

"Long live His Majesty the Heavenly Locust!" someone shouted.

"Long live!" More people responded.

The shouts echoed through the forest, startling a flock of crows that cawed hoarsely as they flew into the gray sky.