Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 167: "Tell him we’ll hold the line with bread crusts and insults, then."
Chapter 167: "Tell him we’ll hold the line with bread crusts and insults, then."
The steppe was quiet.
Too quiet.
A low wind ran its fingers through the golden grass of northern Suiyuan.
General Fu Zuoyi stood on a ridge above the valley.
Behind him, sentries crouched by camouflaged trench lines, their rifles steady but their hands nervous.
Below them, across the wide basin, came shapes that didn’t belong horsemen in unfamiliar uniforms, columns of men in patchwork gear.
"They’re coming," his aide whispered.
Fu Zuoyi didn’t answer.
He just lit a cigarette and blew out smoke into the wind.
Ten days earlier.
Mukden, Manchukuo
Colonel Seishirō Itagaki laid the map across the table, pointing sharply at the borderlands.
"This is not an invasion," he said, voice clipped and calculated.
"This is a restoration. Prince Demchugdongrub has declared autonomy for Inner Mongolia. Japan merely supports the will of the Mongol people."
His audience nodded junior officers, intelligence agents, political operatives.
All knew the truth.
All played the game.
Teh Wang, seated in ceremonial robes beside the colonel, spoke with smooth certainty.
"Our dream is unity. Autonomy, under the guidance of those who have proven their strength."
"And the Chinese?" one officer asked.
"They have abandoned the north," Teh Wang said with disdain. "Chiang Kai-shek is chasing phantoms in the south. Let him."
"And the Russians?" another whispered.
Itagaki frowned. "Let them blink. If they flinch, we take more. If they bark, we deny everything."
A small, cynical smile passed around the table.
Far away in Suiyuan.
"You’re telling me we have three machine guns to cover the entire southern pass?"
General Fu slammed his fist on the field table.
"Two, sir," the quartermaster corrected. "The third... cracked its barrel in transit."
"Son of a bitch."
"We’ve improvised with sandbags and an old Austro-Hungarian mortar," added another officer.
"It still fires. Barely."
Fu rubbed his temples. "If they attack with cavalry, fine. But I’ve seen the intelligence. This isn’t just Mongols with spears. There are uniforms. Japanese helmets. Type 38s."
His aide, Captain Luo, handed him a crumpled message.
"Scout report. Overflights. Markings match those of the Kwantung Air Wing."
Fu looked up. "So the bastards think they’re clever."
Captain Luo looked grim. "Chiang still says it’s a local matter. He won’t divert troops."
Fu laughed bitterly. "Tell him we’ll hold the line with bread crusts and insults, then."
In Shanxi Province Yan Xishan sat cross legged on a brick kang, reading two letters at once.
One was a plea from Fu Zuoyi.
The other was a report of bandits near Datong.
He groaned.
"Tell the staff to send rice, rifles, and field medics to Suiyuan. Immediately."
A steward blinked. "What about the budget?"
Yan snorted. "I’ll deal with the budget after we still have a border."
He looked out the window. "Chiang’s playing the long game. But there won’t be a game left if he keeps treating the north like someone else’s problem."
Chahar Border.
October 26
Japanese "volunteers" moved like shadows across the steppe.
They spoke little, carried Arisaka rifles, and wore Mongol badges sewn hastily onto Japanese tunics.
Their commander, a Japanese colonel disguised as a Mongol officer, pointed at the ridgeline.
"That will be the staging point. Take the town by dawn."
One soldier murmured, "And if the Chinese resist?"
"Shoot. Blame it on bandits. Burn what you must."
A small boy watched them from a rocky outcrop, then ran back to his village, barefoot and breathless.
In Fu Zuoyi’s HQ
The general stood over a makeshift map table.
Each marker moved by hand.
Red for the enemy.
Blue for the defenders.
Captain Luo rushed in, breathless. "Teh Wang’s forces hit a patrol near Bailingmiao. Four dead. They left their weapons... but not the uniforms."
"Japanese?"
"Disguised. But the boots gave them away. Standard-issue imperial."
Fu Zuoyi turned to his men. "Mark my words. This isn’t a rebellion. This is an invasion."
A staff officer whispered, "And still Nanjing sends nothing."
Fu nodded. "Then we stand alone. We bleed here, or we bleed later."
He walked out to the trenches, past rows of thin, shivering soldiers.
Some had shoes.
Others wrapped their feet in cloth.
"I know you are tired," he shouted.
"I know you are outgunned. But you are not outnumbered in spirit. They come to break us. We will break their illusion first."
In Tokyo General Ishiwara examined the map calmly.
"Everything is in motion. The Germans turn west. We expand east. The Russians have too many enemies to notice another scar."
An aide brought tea. "Berlin has confirmed the Anti-Comintern draft. They recognize Manchukuo."
Ishiwara sipped. "Then we take Suiyuan, and carve out a new border."
At the Ministry of Defense, General Beauchamp read the coded cable with a heavy sigh.
"Japanese-backed Mongolian rebels. Germans in Spain. Europe in denial."
Moreau entered quietly, removing his gloves.
"The world pretends this is just China’s problem," Beauchamp said.
"Like they said Spain was ours," Moreau replied. "Let me go."
"To Suiyuan?"
"To the League. To the papers. Let them see the lines connect. Japan, Germany, fascism. It’s all one war. We just haven’t called it that yet."
Beauchamp poured coffee. "You’ll be mocked."
"Let them mock. I have fought Guderian. I can fight suits with cigars."
Snowflakes drifted over the grasslands.
From the ridge, Fu Zuoyi could see torches in the distance.
Then fire.
"Positions!" he yelled.
Bugles screamed.
Troops ran to the trenches, clutching bolt-actions.
Mortars were loaded by candlelight.
The first shells landed near the railway junction.
"Return fire!"
The Chinese gunners responded, their fire scattered but desperate.
A Japanese column broke through the outer village.
Houses burned.
Children screamed.
The night was lit with fire and panic.
In the chaos, Captain Luo dragged a wounded soldier out of a collapsing barn.
"Hold the flank!" he bellowed.
From the western ridge, Yan Xishan’s militia arrived old rifles, mismatched boots, and hearts full of fury.
"For Suiyuan!" they roared.
The battle surged through the night.
Fu Zuoyi stood amid the wreckage at dawn. Smoke drifted from scorched wagons.
A scout approached.
"They pulled back. For now."
Fu nodded.
His coat was torn.
His boots soaked.
"Then we live another day."
He looked to the rising sun.
"But the next storm rides under that banner."
Above them, the wind carried a scrap of cloth torn from a Japanese tunic.
