Chapter 8: The Military Intelligence Agents Root Out Traitors in the Street
Not far away, Bai Jie cautiously glanced back to make sure no one was following her before entering a bookstore. The owner, Old Zhang, was a middle-aged man. The two quietly slipped into the back room.
“Old Zhang! I saw the missing person notices on the telephone poles and hurried over. Is there a new mission?” Bai Jie asked urgently.
Old Zhang took out a package, his expression serious. “These are newly written anti-Japanese slogans. You must secretly post them at night and be very careful!”
“All right!” Bai Jie accepted the slogans; she was already quite experienced with this kind of work.
“Old Zhang, have you reported my request for a gun to the higher-ups?” Bai Jie pressed.
“Well... Comrade Bai Jie, we are underground workers, not combat personnel. You’re a young woman; you shouldn’t keep fixating on getting a gun. Besides, our guns are never in surplus—they’re all reserved strictly for frontline combat units,” Old Zhang advised.
“What about my application to join the frontline troops?” Bai Jie was still hopeful.
“Comrade Bai Jie, don’t always think about the frontlines. Every revolutionary task has its role. Posting slogans and distributing leaflets are equally important. Propaganda work is also part of the fight against Japan,” Old Zhang patiently explained.
Again with the same excuses; Bai Jie knew Old Zhang hadn’t really reported her request. “Fine, I’ll be on my way then.”
“Mm, be sure to stay safe and take care of yourself!”
...
The next morning, as soon as Li Haibo stepped outside, he saw the streets and alleys plastered with all kinds of anti-Japanese slogans.
A few Japanese soldiers were loudly ordering collaborators to tear them down.
Li Haibo curled a corner of his mouth, secretly thinking, “How childish. Posting slogans won’t do any good; those little devils won’t lose an inch of flesh. I just don’t get it!”
Everyone arrived early at the police precinct for the patrol team’s morning briefing.
The patrol team was large. Observant Li Haibo noticed that all the other patrol officers were armed—some carried rifles on their backs, others had pistols at their sides. Only the four of them were without guns, each holding a single police baton.
So apparently, I’m still the lowest rank among the rank-and-file policemen.
Ma Zi Liu stood with his hands behind his back, babbling a bunch of meaningless nonsense.
An illiterate thug, his speech littered with curses and incoherent, it was better just to treat his words like barking dogs.
Then the precinct’s translator started teaching everyone some common Japanese phrases.
“Ohayo...”
“Ohayo...”
“Konnichiwa...”
“Konnichiwa...”
...
“Arigato, kuso omae no haha...”
“Arigato, kuso omae no haha...”
...
The four worthless guys studied the hardest and shouted the loudest.
In fact, Li Haibo did know some Japanese. He had studied it seriously back in school, knew many teachers, some from hard drives, some from school.
As for skill level? He could understand when listening, but couldn’t speak well, recognized some characters, and couldn’t write.
After the Japanese lesson, the four ruffians resumed their daily patrol.
Li Haibo fiddled with his baton, complaining, “Guys, patrolling all day with just this lousy stick isn’t right. It’s not intimidating, and these times aren’t peaceful. If we run into a desperado, we won’t even have the means to fight back. Is there any way we can get guns like the other brothers?”
Xiong Kui immediately chimed in, “I know this well! In our patrol squad, the old officers all had guns. But ever since the Japanese came—more precisely, since that Ma Zi Liu showed up—new recruits who want guns have only two options. One, use your own gun, just register it with the station. Two, if you want to use a station gun, you gotta pay Ma Zi Liu some money.”
Yang Chun frowned. “How much money?”
Xiong Kui sneered, “Fifteen silver yuan for a rifle, twenty for a pistol!”
Hou Yong’s eyes widened in anger. “What the hell! Is Ma Zi Liu crazy? These guns belong to the station! How dare he pocket money for them?”
Xiong Kui shrugged helplessly. “So what? He’s the one who calls all the shots in the patrol team. If you don’t pay him, you just have to hold onto that lousy baton honestly.”
Yang Chun looked full of suspicion and resentment. “Such a big police precinct, is there really no one who can control him?”
Xiong Kui snorted disdainfully. “You’re naive. Do you really think other officials don’t take bribes?”
Hou Yong cursed, “Damn it! What kind of messed-up world is this?”
...
After less than ten minutes, the group slacked off in a small park, sitting on benches while Ban Ya boasted loudly about his exploits seducing wealthy women.
Ban Ya spoke animatedly, spitting everywhere; the others listened eagerly, even drooling.
Suddenly, a familiar figure darted quickly past a distant street corner.
Hmm! It’s someone from the Military Intelligence Action Team—something’s happening!
Indeed, that figure was a comrade from the same battalion as Li Haibo at Wanjialing. Later, they were both recruited by Military Intelligence to return to Shanghai as undercover agents.
Li Haibo feigned nonchalance and said to the three companions, “Shift’s over. You guys head back. I’m going to buy something over there.”
After sending them off, Li Haibo quickened his pace to follow.
Turning a corner at a three-way intersection, he spotted several familiar faces.
They all wore serious expressions, hands tucked in pockets, scattered along both sides of the street—clearly setting up an ambush.
Li Haibo also noticed the portly bald man standing by a second-floor window in the distance—Sergeant Liu of Military Intelligence.
Liu seemed to sense something and suddenly turned his head, their eyes meeting. That bald guy’s instincts were surprisingly sharp.
Could they be planning a street assassination? But the surroundings were terrible for a retreat, and the police precinct was nearby.
Just then, three old Ford cars slowly approached from afar.
As the convoy reached the intersection, a rickshaw suddenly overturned, blocking the road.
The lead driver slammed on the brakes instinctively, causing all three cars to stop in a row.
The bodyguard in the front passenger seat sensed danger and shouted, “Don’t stop! Ram through!”
But it was too late. The rickshaw driver quickly drew a pistol and opened fire on the lead driver. Four gunmen on both sides of the street simultaneously drew their weapons, recklessly charging into the road and firing furiously at the middle car.
The bodyguards in the rear cars jumped out to retaliate, and gunfire erupted, deafening in intensity.
Within mere breaths, the firefight ended. All five gunmen were hit, collapsing in pools of blood.
The surviving bodyguards shouted as they rushed to check on the passengers inside the middle vehicle.
Li Haibo stared in astonishment at the scene unfolding before him. Were these really the same comrades? After more than half a month apart, had they become death squads?
He glanced up again at Sergeant Liu upstairs, who turned away expressionless and left.