kingnovel Chapter 700: Stevenson Gets His 5th Star
Chapter 700: Stevenson Gets His 5th Star
Almost simultaneously, at the White House on the other side of the world, it was already evening.
A high-level meeting is being held regarding postwar arrangements in the Pacific.
One of the issues was the status of the Ryukyu Islands (Okinawa).
"Mr. President, gentlemen." Lieutenant General Anderson, a Marine with a tough personality, was speaking, tapping his finger on the location of Ryukyu on the map.
"In the Battle of Okinawa, our Marines and Army lads shed too much blood. This was a strategic stronghold that we took from the Japanese with the lives of young White Eagle soldiers."
Its importance is beyond doubt: to monitor the Japanese mainland, to contain the possible southward expansion of the Soviet Union, and to serve as a vital foothold on the Pacific coast of the Far East.
I believe that our country should exercise complete occupation and administrative control, or at least a form of trusteeship, and that it should not be easily handed over to anyone, including Southeast Asia.
His views were echoed by some of his Navy and Army colleagues.
Truman leaned back in his chair, not immediately making a statement, and looked at Stevenson, who had just been appointed as the president's special military advisor and promoted to five-star general.
As the former Allied Commander for Southeast Asia and the Republic of China theater, Stevenson undoubtedly had intricate connections with Southeast Asia, especially with Zhang Chi.
Truman couldn't directly refute some of the radical voices within the Marine Corps, so he hoped Stevenson would step forward.
As Stevenson had hoped, he slowly began to speak:
"General Anderson is right, Okinawa is important, and our children have made huge sacrifices there."
He changed the subject:
"But that's precisely why we need to look at reality more calmly."
The United States of Southeast Asia also paid a heavy price in the Battle of Okinawa; their troops fought bravely and cooperated well with us.
After the war, their popular support in Okinawa was better than ours, mainly because they were both of Asian descent and had a relatively... well, less 'Westernized' management style.
He paused and continued:
"More importantly, if we insist on having exclusive control of Okinawa, it means that we will have to bear all the administrative, economic and defense expenses there, and we will also have to face possible local backlash and international public opinion pressure."
Currently, we have Clark and Subic in the Luzon Islands, Yokosuka and Sasebo in Japan, and a base and supply rights in Bangkok, Siam. My presence on the Asian frontier is sufficient.”
He looked at Truman:
"Mr. President, from a practical point of view, acknowledging the dominant position of Southeast Asia in Okinawa, but retaining our right to military passage and the right to use bases when necessary, and guaranteeing this through an agreement, is a choice that is more in line with our current interests."
This would both maintain our alliance with this emerging regional power in Southeast Asia and alleviate our direct burden. Giving Ryukyu entirely to Southeast Asia is, emotionally, an acknowledgment of our comrades with whom we shared bloodshed; practically, it's a shrewd geopolitical arrangement.
Truman nodded; he was essentially a pragmatist.
He was already overwhelmed by the mess in Europe, the aggressive Soviet Union, and the immense pressure of demobilization at home, and he didn't want to create another unnecessary trouble in the Far East.
“General Stevenson is right,” Truman set the tone. “The Ryukyu issue requires consideration of both camaraderie and practical interests.”
Complete occupation by us is not the optimal solution at present. General Anderson, I understand your considerations stem from a soldier's sense of responsibility and honor, but national decision-making requires a more comprehensive perspective.
He looked at Stevenson: "Stevenson, it seems I'll need you to make a trip."
General Marshall is about to depart for Bactria to conduct some… tricky mediation. You will accompany him; with your prestige and experience in the Republic of China, I believe you can be of assistance. Afterwards, you will travel south to Southeast Asia to meet Zhang Chi.”
Truman tapped the desktop:
"Douglas has some complaints about Nanyang's recent actions in Kyushu."
While it's not a major issue, it does involve Allied coordination. As an old friend, you could speak with Zhang Chi, express our concerns, and hope that when implementing the occupation policy, they could... give some consideration to the overall image of the Allied forces and the administrative difficulties in Tokyo.
Of course, we understand matters of principle.
He smiled and added, "After all, we are still close allies with Southeast Asia, and there will be a lot of cooperation in the Pacific in the future. I believe that with your good relationship with Zhang Chi, you can get him to 'restrain a little' and find a balance that everyone can accept."
Stevenson stood up and saluted: "Yes, Mr. President. I understand."
End of the meeting.
Stevenson walked out of the White House, looked at the gloomy Washington sky, and pondered the complex mission of this trip to the Far East.
He took a deep breath, knowing that this mission would be far more than just chatting with an old friend.
Zhang Chi, the shrewd, decisive, and iron-willed young man he remembered, is now a powerful figure. Would he easily accept the suggestion to tone it down a bit?
Stevenson is not optimistic about this.
Moreover, he owes his fifth star on his shoulder to the other party.
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Yangon, a secret room in the backyard of Xinglong Trading Company.
The heavy curtains were drawn tightly shut, and only a dim, yellowish desk lamp was on.
Zhou Yunlong, the head of the Military Intelligence Bureau's Yangon station, paced back and forth in front of his trusted lieutenant, "Fisherman" Chen Hai, like a trapped beast.
His finger almost touched Chen Hai's nose, and a suppressed roar was squeezed out from between his teeth:
"Chen Hai, how many heads do you have?! Do you even know what Boss Dai's family rules are?! Huh?!"
Chen Hai, codenamed "Fisherman," was thirty-five or thirty-six years old. His once sharp face was now ashen, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and he kept his head down, not daring to look at Zhou Yunlong.
"Stationmaster...I...I just wanted to..." Chen Hai stammered.
"What are you thinking?" Zhou Yunlong interrupted abruptly, grabbing the purple clay teapot on the table as if to smash it, but he forcibly restrained himself.
His chest heaved with anger:
"You want to get rich? I fucking don't! What kind of place is Yangon? Right under the nose of the Central Intelligence Agency of Southeast Asia."
We were incredibly lucky to be able to use the trading company as cover to gather intelligence for the bureau while also doing some business and making a little extra money on the side.
Boss Dai turns a blind eye only because we can still send some things back.”
He leaned closer to Chen Hai, his eyes bloodshot:
"At most, I'll fabricate two field agents and a few 'valuable informants developed locally' to swindle some pitiful informant fees and 'death' compensation from headquarters."
You have to be very careful and make sure the accounting is flawless.
"And you, you went all out! You took the entire 50,000 Southeast Asian dollars—the special fund for turning that director of the Ministry of the Interior in Southeast Asia—and used it to open a stock trading account at the Singapore Stock Exchange!"
Zhou Yunlong became increasingly angry as he spoke, and his voice even trembled slightly:
"Fifty thousand! Not worthless paper money, but hard-core Nanyang dollars! How long would it take me to scrape together 5 Nanyang dollars from my business?! And you just threw 5 into the stock market without a word?! Fine, you threw it away. If you made a profit, I could cover for you, maybe even give you a share..."
"But you actually lost money?! You lost everything?! How did you do that?! This godforsaken place in Southeast Asia is booming right now, every stock is rising, and you managed to lose it all?!"
Chen Hai's legs went weak, and he almost knelt down, his face contorted in a mournful expression:
"Site manager... I... I believed an insider tip that 'Borneo Rubber' was going to be nationalized by Southeast Asia, and the stock price would plummet, so I shorted it... I never expected... I never expected it was a fake tip from a market manipulator, a contrarian move... I've been wiped out..."
"Idiot, moron, pig-brain," Zhou Yunlong cursed repeatedly, slumping back into his chair and rubbing his temples vigorously.
A chill rose from the bottom of my heart.
A hole of 50,000 Nanyang dollars, and that's part of the operational expenses—this is a huge bombshell. If the headquarters' inspection office finds out about this, or if Boss Dai happens to ask about it…
He and Chen Hai, along with the entire Yangon station, may be expelled from the organization.
Veterans of the Military Intelligence Bureau all know that Boss Dai has an extremely low tolerance for embezzled funds, especially those that interfere with important matters.
A pang of regret and self-reflection flashed through his mind.
These past few years have been incredibly successful in Southeast Asia.
Thanks to the ambiguous relationship with Southeast Asia during and after the war, the Military Intelligence Bureau had a relatively relaxed environment for its activities here.
Under the guise of business, they didn't achieve much in intelligence work, but they did make a considerable fortune by exploiting information gaps and channels to resell scarce goods and participate in border trade.
When life gets too comfortable, vigilance rusts.
Even a veteran spy like Chen Hai dares to act so recklessly. Have I, as the station chief, been too lenient with him?
"Get out, get out of here and figure something out. I don't care if you sell your house, sell your land, or even rob someone, you have to get 50,000 Nanyang dollars back into my account within seven days, or else..." A fierce glint flashed in Zhou Yunlong's eyes, "Don't blame me for being ruthless, I'll enforce the family rules first."
Chen Hai left the secret room dejectedly and walked out of the back door of Xinglong Trading Company.
In late November in Yangon, the sunlight was a bit dazzling, but he felt cold all over.
Seven days, 50,000 South Sea Dollars? Where is he going to get that? Even if he sold all the small properties he owned in Yangon, it wouldn't be enough to cover a fraction of the cost.
My hometown? We haven't been in touch for a long time.
Stealing? Robbing? That's suicide.
As if possessed, his feet moved involuntarily in one direction.
No. 18 Jianguo Road, Yangon Stock Exchange Hall.
There, through dedicated telephone lines and telegraph machines, one could directly connect to the Singapore Stock Exchange to conduct remote trading.
That was the place where his dreams took flight and then crashed, but now it attracts him like a magnet.