radicalducati Chapter 193 Restoration of the French Concession
Chapter 193 Restoration of the French Concession
The night was deep on the outskirts of the French Concession.
The roar of the armored vehicle battalion's engines tore through the silence.
Forty-eight armored vehicles lined up in a row, their steel tracks rolling over the asphalt road with a chilling sound.
The turrets of each armored vehicle were pointed inwards from the French Concession, their muzzles gleaming with a cold metallic sheen in the moonlight.
Even after consulting with Chen Zijun, Shen Li brought out the twelve most precious 150mm heavy artillery pieces in their entire garrison area. Once deployed, the dark muzzles of the cannons were pointed directly at the French consulate.
The artillerymen, dressed in German uniforms, loaded shells with practiced ease. For a moment, some French veterans in the French Concession thought they were back in World War II!
The shell was pushed into the cannon barrel, making a crisp metallic clanging sound.
The air around him seemed to freeze.
The French police officers in the French Concession trembled with fear, hiding in their guard posts and not daring to show their faces.
"Reporting to the young marshal, the First Regiment of the Imperial Guard has surrounded the French Concession, and all entrances and exits have been sealed off." Shen Li stood beside the armored vehicle, his voice booming.
Chen Zijun stood on the command vehicle, his gaze coldly fixed on the direction of the French Concession.
A hint of murderous intent flashed in his eyes.
The French Concession, this malignant tumor of the colony, needs to be removed.
"Very good," Chen Zijun said.
He raised his wrist and looked at his watch.
"Three hours until the ultimatum."
Chen Zijun's voice echoed in the night.
"Pass on my order: if Marcel does not come out within three hours, shell the French consulate directly."
"Understood, young marshal!" Shen Li replied loudly.
Shen Li turned around and waved to the artillerymen.
"Artillery company, prepare!"
The artillerymen quickly adjusted the angle of their guns and aimed them at the French consulate.
The breechblock is closed, and the shell is in place.
We are just waiting for the order.
Panic gripped the French Concession.
French consulate staff evacuated in a panic, scattering documents all over the floor.
Marcel, pale-faced, looked out the window at the approaching armored vehicles from the second floor of the consulate.
His hands were trembling.
"Quickly...send a telegram to Paris!" Marcel roared at his secretary. "Tell them that Chen Zijun's armored vehicles have surrounded the French Concession! Send someone to mediate, send a telegram to Chen Yuhe, and get other powers to send troops to help resist!"
The secretary frantically directed the telegraph operator to operate the telegraph machine, his fingers trembling.
"Minister...the reply from Paris..." The secretary's voice was choked with sobs.
"What did you say?" Marcel asked sharply.
"Paris says...that you have disappointed them greatly. Your actions have not only failed, but have also angered Chen Zijun. They will not send troops; you will have to deal with it yourself."
Marcel slumped in his chair, staring despairingly out the window.
Outside the window, the roar of armored vehicles grew closer and closer.
The cannons were pointed directly at the consulate, and the shadow of death loomed over the entire building.
Marcel felt a sense of suffocation.
Just then, Welch rushed in.
"Sir, the British and American consuls have arrived! They say they wish to see you!"
Marcel suddenly stood up, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes.
British and American consuls? Are they willing to mediate?
"Quickly, invite them in!" Marcel said.
The British and American consuls hurriedly entered the consulate, their faces grave.
British Consul General in Shanghai, Bardon, and American Consul General in Shanghai, Cunningham, exchanged a hint of disdain when they saw Marcel's disheveled appearance.
Marcel's tie was askew, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, and he looked like he had been pulled out of the water.
"Marcel, what exactly did you do?" Baldon asked coldly.
"I...I just wanted to teach Chen Zijun a lesson..." Marcel explained, his voice trembling.
"A lesson?" Cunningham sneered. "You almost started a war! Now Chen Zijun's armored vehicles have surrounded the French Concession, and his 150mm heavy artillery is aimed at the consulate. What are you going to do?"
Marcel lowered his head, not daring to speak.
His hands were trembling; he didn't know where to put them.
Baldon sighed and shook his head.
"We just met with Chen Zijun, hoping he would temporarily stop the shelling and give us a chance to negotiate."
Marcel suddenly raised his head, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"Did he...did he agree?"
"He agreed," Bardon said, "but he made three conditions."
"What are the conditions?" Marcel asked nervously, his heart pounding.
"First, you must issue a public apology," Cunningham said. "Second, you must leave China and never return. Third, the French Concession must be returned to China unconditionally."
Marcel's face turned deathly pale instantly.
"This...this is impossible! I am the French ambassador, representing the French Republic!"
Marcel roared, "Furthermore, the French Concession is French territory! How can it be returned unconditionally?"
"Then let Chen Zijun's shells speak for themselves," Barton said coldly. "His 150mm heavy guns are already loaded and ready to fire. Think about it, is saving your face more important, or saving your life? Besides, I'm sure the French Republic has replied to your telegram by now. You're protecting French territory, but is France protecting you?"
Marcel remained silent.
Yes, Paris has already left him to deal with it himself. What can he possibly deal with? How can he possibly deal with it?
He looked out the window at the approaching armored vehicles and felt a surge of fear.
Chen Zijun was not joking.
He really will fire.
If the shelling begins, the French consulate will be razed to the ground.
At that point, forget about saving face, you'll lose your life too.
"I...I agree," Marcel said, his voice trembling and barely audible.
"Very well," Barton said. "Then prepare for the apology and reception ceremony."
Cunningham looked at Marcel, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes.
"Marcel, you've really messed up this time. We had a chance to join forces against Chen Zijun, but you were used by the Japanese, and now we're all being blamed."
Marcel lowered his head, speechless.
He knew he was finished.
Reporters had already gathered at the entrance of the consulate.
Flashes of light went off one after another, illuminating the entire consulate entrance as if it were daytime.
Chinese and foreign journalists held up their cameras, waiting for Marcel to appear.
Marcel stood in the doorway, pale-faced and his voice trembling.
His legs were trembling, and he could barely stand.
"I...I apologize for my actions," Marcel said. "I shouldn't have colluded with the Japanese, and I shouldn't have plotted to assassinate Mr. Chen Zijun. It was my mistake, and I am willing to take full responsibility."
Reporters snapped photos frantically, their flashbulbs going off.
The sound of camera shutters clicking incessantly seemed determined to capture Marcel's disheveled state forever.
Marcel felt a wave of dizziness.
His diplomatic career was now completely over.
"Furthermore, I announce my resignation as French Minister to China and my imminent departure from China," Marcel continued, his voice trailing off. "Before that, on behalf of France, on behalf of the French government, I declare that the French Concession... the French Concession will be unconditionally returned to China."
A cheer erupted from the crowd.
The Chinese journalists applauded excitedly, while the foreign journalists looked at each other in bewilderment.
Marcel lowered his head, slunk into the car, and fled in a panic.
The car started, and the tires screeched as they rubbed against the ground.
Marcel sat in the car, looking out the window at the cheering crowd, his heart filled with humiliation.
He vowed to take revenge.
Chen Zijun must be made to pay the price.
The crisis in the French Concession has been temporarily resolved.
Chen Zijun stood on the command vehicle, watching Marcel's disheveled departure, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Although Marcel has left, the French government will certainly not let this go easily," Moran said in a low voice as she walked up to Chen Zijun.
"I know," Chen Zijun said.
"Moreover, our intercepted intelligence indicates that Marcel secretly met with a Japanese agent before leaving, and it seems that some kind of agreement was reached," Moranz continued.
A cold glint flashed in Chen Zijun's eyes.
"France and Japan are actually colluding? Has Marcel not been fooled enough yet?"
Chen Zijun sneered, "Fine, then I'll wait and see who the real master is on this land of China."
He turned to Shen Li.
"Pass on my order: the German-equipped divisions shall continue to surround the French Concession until it is formally handed over."
"Understood, young marshal!" Shen Li replied loudly.
The roar of armored vehicles continued into the night.
The era of the French Concession is coming to an end.
But Chen Zijun's empire has only just begun.