PFC Chapter 1198 Heart-Pounding
Chapter 1198 Heart-Pounding
The afternoon sun shone through the bulletproof glass of the black sedan, casting dappled shadows on the cuffs of Zhou Zhengqing's crisp Japanese military uniform.
The gold stars on his epaulets gleamed with a cold, hard luster in the sunlight, which not only failed to warm the unease in his heart but also intensified his doubts.
Unconsciously, his fingertips caressed the hilt of the military knife at his waist, his fingertips touching the cold texture, while his thoughts were churning wildly.
The Military Intelligence Bureau has always hated puppet regimes to the core. With Wang Kemin and his gang setting up a puppet government in such a high-profile manner, how could they possibly remain inactive?
This unusual calm is more unsettling than an open attack.
This unease, like a persistent boil, drove Zhou Zhengqing to glance at the scenery outside the car every few seconds.
The car drove smoothly along West Chang'an Avenue, the engine roaring low and even, almost eerily so, as if the entire city of Beiping had been put on silent, leaving only the sound of the convoy moving forward, so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
Beside him, Terauchi Hisaichi was resting with his eyes closed. His graying temples were pressed tightly against the edge of his military cap, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were deep as if carved by a knife. His face was a mixture of the weariness of a veteran of many battles and the arrogance of someone who held the power of life and death.
He lowered his eyes slightly, clearly still immersed in the sense of control he had during the Huai Ren Tang ceremony.
This Japanese general in the North China Area Army, who commanded a large army, had just witnessed the establishment of the puppet regime and was enjoying a brief moment of relaxation after the ceremony.
"Takuto." Terauchi Hisaichi suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze landing on Zhou Zhengqing's face with a questioning look: "What are you looking for?"
Zhou Zhengqing quickly composed himself, slowly turned his head, and said with a slight frown, "I have a feeling that something is not right. Wang Kemin's establishment of a puppet government is such a big event, yet the Military Intelligence Bureau has not made any move. There has been neither assassination nor sabotage, which is really not in line with their style."
Upon hearing this, Terauchi Hisaichi's lips curled into a contemptuous smile, his voice full of arrogance: "The security arrangements for this ceremony are impeccable, with layers of defenses."
Even if the Military Intelligence Bureau had the greatest courage, they wouldn't dare to act rashly, so you can rest assured.
He glanced out the car window at the heavily guarded military police, his arrogance almost overflowing.
He couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness, realizing that Zhou Zhengqing was ultimately too young and inexperienced.
Zhou Zhengqing's brows did not relax because of Terauchi Hisaichi's words, but he did not say anything more, though a stronger sense of unease was surging in his heart.
As the core of the puppet government, Wang Kemin had long been the number one target of the Military Intelligence Bureau (MIB) for eliminating traitors. The fact that this founding ceremony was so high-profile was practically an open provocation, and the MIB had no reason not to react.
Did they abandon their operation under pressure? Or are they brewing a larger, more covert conspiracy?
The thought lingered in his mind like a vine, and the more he thought about it, the more alarmed he became.
Just then, Matsui Ryosuke, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, suddenly turned around, his profile tense, and his tone deliberately carried a hint of caution and awe: "General, I feel the same way."
Although the Military Intelligence Bureau's Beiping station suffered heavy losses from several raids, remnants remained hidden and were never completely eradicated.
He paused, his tone growing increasingly serious: "I have already deployed three times the number of military police along West Chang'an Street, making it difficult for even a bird to get close."
However... even his subordinates felt something was amiss. The Military Intelligence Bureau was always extremely sensitive to these kinds of puppet rituals, and today's deathly silence was more unsettling than any unusual activity.
Terauchi Hisaichi chuckled, raised his hand and patted Zhou Zhengqing's shoulder with an undeniable authority and disdain: "Takuto, you military police are overthinking things."
Where would the Military Intelligence Bureau have the audacity to organize an assassination at this time?
Besides, look at the numerous sentry posts and heavy firepower along the way. Even if they dared to come, they would only be walking into a trap and becoming victims of gunfire.
Zhou Zhengqing did not refute, but slowly turned his head to look out the window, his eyes filled with even more vigilance.
The entire West Chang'an Street had long been sealed off by the Japanese military police. The doors and windows of the shops on both sides were tightly closed, and the scratches from yesterday's clearing operation remained on the door panels. The usually bustling street was now eerily silent.
Military police in yellow uniforms stood guard every three steps and sentries every five steps, carrying loaded rifles and scanning their surroundings warily. The thud of their boots on the road was particularly jarring.
Occasionally, patrol motorcycles would roar past, their engines shattering the silence of the streets. Exhaust fumes, carrying dust, would sweep across the road, leaving a brief commotion before quickly fading back to silence, only intensifying the oppressive and tense atmosphere.
Zhou Zhengqing's fingers began to tap rapidly and unconsciously on his knees, the rhythm chaotic, a stark contrast to his outward composure.
My heart pounded faster and faster like a drum, my temples throbbed, and that intense unease finally transformed into a real sense of crisis that enveloped my entire body.
He always felt that behind this seemingly impregnable defense, there must be a surging murderous intent, quietly approaching the convoy.
I subconsciously glanced at the convoy formation outside the car.
To coordinate with the vigilance of the military police escorting them along the way, the entire convoy moved at a steady pace through the streets and alleys. The muffled engine noise drowned out all other sounds, creating a suffocating sense of oppression.
The convoy had two sidecar motorcycles at the front and rear, with light machine guns mounted on the cargo beds gleaming with a cold, hard metallic sheen.
The rider stood tall and straight like a pine tree, while the machine gunner gripped the gun firmly with both hands, his eyes scanning every corner along the way like a hawk, not even missing the cracks between bricks and tiles. They were responsible for clearing the way and guarding the rear, respectively.
In the middle of the convoy were two military trucks with their cargo bed panels open. Dozens of armed military police stood on either side, rifles slung across their shoulders, fingers constantly on the trigger guards, their eyes scanning the streets warily, exuding a chilling aura.
At the heart of the convoy were five black sedans, lined up end to end, their gleaming black bodies standing out starkly against the drab streets.
Zhou Zhengqing and Terauchi Hisaichi rode in the middle car, which was also the most heavily guarded core vehicle. The four cars in front and behind carried Zhou Zhengqing's guards and Terauchi Hisaichi's deputy team, respectively.
Four elite military policemen stood on the door sills of each vehicle, their pistols slightly raised and their fingers tightly on the triggers. Even when the wind blew the hem of their clothes, they remained motionless, ready to deal with any emergency at any time.
More than two hundred military police officers stood guard on foot with guns on both sides of the convoy.
Under the eaves of houses and at the corners of walls on both sides of the street, military police stood in neat postures, their guns pointed outwards.
Further out were a large number of Japanese soldiers from the North China Area Army Headquarters and agents from the Special Service Department, who wove a seemingly impenetrable defensive network around the perimeter.
However, these layers of arrangements did not reassure Zhou Zhengqing; instead, they made his unease surge like a tidal wave.
He always felt that this excessive calm was like a thin layer of ice, beneath which lay unfathomable undercurrents, and a greater crisis was quietly brewing.