The 3rd Battle of Wuhan

After years of tug of war over the city of Wuhan, something had finally broken. The contest between Japan's Saigō and Joseon's Gao was no longer a matter of statecraft, nor a simple rivalry. The fate of the city was a festering wound on both men's minds, one that would not end until a true victor emerged.

This story picks up immediately after a previous article. For context on this ongoing conflict, read here.

Higuchi Sokudo

General Saigō Magohachi’s voice rang out over the radio, “All units fall back behind the Yangtze. Hankou and Hanyang have fallen.” With a brief pause to change over the radio channel, the livid and near-taciturn commander called on another officer in the city, “Captain, you’re up. The city’s about to be split in two, I need you holding the knife.” His subordinate responded in form, and Saigō made his way down the tower to meet the man.

Higuchi Ryuusuke was a celebrity both in occupied China and Japan proper. His heroics were well-recognized, even by men far more experienced like the General. His genuine fondness for China had allowed him to wage the war with clear eyes, a younger officer who could not be deterred from the mission over getting his own hands dirty, but also knew when to pull back from his baser instincts. His sentimentality for culture would potentially cause issues with destroying landmarks, but the mission in mind called for the man’s most straight-forward of skills. The man’s unit was simply the fastest.

Captain Higuchi’s company had just returned at the outbreak of the Second Battle of Wuhan, having taken leave from the frontline to serve as temporary MPs in Shanghai for much of 1937. His presence in the Choukou capital was deemed a boon for keeping the peace with locals, as they knew he would ensure them an even hand in any investigations. Meeting with the General in the early morning of August 3rd, Higuchi was given his first frontline mission in years; the first situation dire enough since the ceasefire had ended.

The objective for Higuchi’s company was to demolish Wuhan’s Bridges One and Two, with the Third already critically damaged in the artillery barrage the night before. The infrastructure needed to be rendered impassable to slow the advance of the Chengdu and Wuhan Ying, all so that the 11th General Army could remain in control of Wuchang and maintain the front.  General Saigō wanted Higuchi for the job, as his men were the fastest runners available, and could easily scramble out onto the structure under gunfire and set charges better than anyone. This would save what little artillery munitions the 11th had left, and ensure the damage was done in the most efficient way possible to guarantee the bridges were disabled. He normally would hate the idea of destroying the bridges, but even he recognized the situation's necessity. The only thing that rubbed the Captain the wrong way was how callous the General was about the retreating troops on the opposite bank, as his orders were to blow the bridges by the deadline, even if troops remained on the other side.

At 0500, the company was deployed to the two bridges. 150 men were deployed to Bridge 1, commanded by Higuchi’s subordinate Lieutenant Aramaki. The minority of his forces accompanied him to the more remote Bridge 2, where he expected the resistance would be lesser, but the distance would necessitate the Captain’s speed. Unfortunately this anticipation proved incorrect, as Aramaki’s unit had a far easier time storming the bridge to set their charges, meeting minimal crossfire. Higuchi was conversely set upon instantly by heavy machine gun fire, with Joseon forces pursuing men across Bridge 2. The Captain sent 50 men to provide covering fire while he and the rest dealt with the explosives, an admittedly more difficult job while in view of Korean troops on the riverfront below.

At 0600, an explosion rang out across the morning air: Aramaki’s charges had been detonated. The center mass of Bridge 1 crashed into the river below, making Wuchang a much safer position for the 11th, but making the situation on Bridge 2 abundantly clear to the enemy. Joseon’s pressure on the retreating Japanese intensified, and efforts to stop the saboteurs climbing on the bridge masts were doubled. Thirteen of Higuchi’s demo-team were picked off by distant gunfire, with the Captain himself receiving a shot to his helmet. Fighting through the disorientation, Higuchi continued to struggle through the mission, not only assisting the demolition, but also supporting the limping vanguard as they fled. His altruism would be his undoing.

General Saigō’s 0630 deadline was quickly approaching, but the Captain insisted on as many men making it out of Hankou as possible. Dozens made it across in the final minutes, the Captain and two volunteers staying behind to assure the evacuation. The secondary timer on the bombs was quickly moving, and the men fell back at the last possible moment. Unfortunately for the brave soldiers on Bridge 2, the timer on the blasting cap was faulty, with the countdown a costly few seconds ahead.

A white light engulfed Higuchi as he fled the Bridge too late, the blast of the detonation catching him as he ran. The warm embrace of fire and shrapnel cut him across his back, his near-lifeless form tumbling several meters away after landing. The still-breathing Captain sat just past the end of the smoldering remains of the bridge. His men quickly collected him as he slipped into unconsciousness, his last view of the bridge being his own rifle slipping off the precipice; the distant splash punctuating the waking war.

Unfinished Business

A set of bloodshot eyes awakened in a field hospital. These eyes did not belong to the surviving Higuchi Ryuusuke, rather it was his adversary, the broken General Gao Feng. He had also survived the artillery storm of August 2nd, slipping in and out of awareness for the past month. The extent of his injuries was extreme, having lost both of his left limbs, and suffering from burns on 58% of his remaining body. Even with heavy medication, the pain he was in was truly inescapable, the screams heard all throughout the command position’s makeshift hospital. This man had barely escaped a trip to hell, but he had brought some back with him to the world of the living.

He may have survived the destruction of the battle, but he was in no position to focus on the front. Nonetheless, he was insistent on staying in Wuhan, he needed to see the fight for his hometown through to the end. Using his contacts in the government, his aides were able to call upon the best medical assistance the League of Five Emperors had to offer. Elite doctors were called in from the Korean peninsula to treat the bulk of his wounds, but he would need extensive surgery and Technik augmentation in order to get back into action. A man with some inherent biases however, he refused to be fitted for Russian modifications. “The northerners have ‘given’ us enough, must we require their help to stand on our own two feet?” His aides instead called on Technik surgeons from the true source of the field’s greatest strides; Ethiopia. A team of surgeons were deployed from the Mother of Mercy Medical Institute, taking the long journey to personally install Gao’s much needed gear.

While the scientists were en-route, it was up to the General’s junior commanders to continue the Wuhan Ying’s push. The Chengdu Ying’s commander, General Liu Jingwu, was increasingly preoccupied with the surrounding pushes against the Japanese in the region, as rural contingents of the Choukou front were regaining their footing. The Yangtze was solidifying as a moat around the enemy forces, and if Liu was not vigilant, their wind could turn on them. General Nam Po-Sun, Gao's artillery expert, was similarly tied-up with family matters, leaving the local power structure thread-bare. Command of the Wuhan assault instead fell to Colonel Ou Meng, an overly non-commital officer, who was unable to sufficiently pressure Saigō. 

In the three months he was in command, Ou attempted several probing strikes into the city, using a mixture of boats, short range air transports, and stealth incursions. The Japanese at Wuhan lacked serious firepower against armor, but the Yangtze was too large to ford with tanks. Thanks to IJN air support, Saigō was also unassailable from the skies. A small air base at Ezhou , a town not far to the east of Wuhan, ensured that any aerial assaults were immediately met with an elite fighter squadron. These combined elements led to a simple, bitter result; When General Gao was to awaken from his intensive augmentative operations, he would find that Colonel Ou had killed all forward momentum he had before his injury.  When General Nam Po-Sun returned to restore order, Gao had him strip the Colonel of his field promotions, and take an immediate leave.

Gao Feng emerged from his convalescence a changed man, at least physically. His Ethiopian technik limbs were remarkably nimble, almost organic in movement. The metals were lightweight, built for user comfort, unlike anything the Russians would hand out to their serfs on the front line. This extra consideration was but a small blessing, as while he could now get around just as well as any man of his age, the damage to his flesh, both internally and externally, was the bigger problem. Medical plates were grafted to his torso to conceal unhealing wounds from the elements, safe from infection but not chafing. His respiratory system was damaged from the potent combination of toxic gas and incendiary ordnance that had injured him, which required frequent medication and mechanically-assisted breathing to rectify. In all, the man had been afforded the best care he could ask for, but his visage now resembled the perfect blending of flesh and steel. Perfect of course, unless you were him.

Eyes to the Skies

By early 1939, both Higuchi and Gao were back in action, both men determined to win the city outright. Higuchi’s wounds were mostly shrapnel and burns to his back, and while painful could heal with rest. General Saigō Magohachi had grown increasingly harsh in that time, with his officers (including the Captain) noting his more brutish demeanor. Patrols on the outskirts were doubled, leading to a higher rate of attrition from overworked, overextended, or downright overexposed squads. To Saigō, the cost of a few lives was becoming easier to justify, anything to gain precious intel on his enemy’s activities.

Gao Feng in reality was unable to create a foothold, not without burning manpower and resources. The city would be worth it no matter how long it took to reclaim, but not if he had to stoop to destroying the city in the process. His working plan was to devise some form of pincer maneuver around the city, but without proper control over the skies he worried his men could be easily cut down by strafing runs. Moreover, even if he solved this issue, there was the problem of the heavily fortified city center, protected by a shield generator installed by his foes.

The middle of the year would bring news that would potentially remedy General Gao’s first problem. Japan had declared a preemptive war on Russia, launching an airborne invasion of Siberia spearheaded by the Imperial Navy. Over the following months, the Ezhou air strip was largely emptied, as the IJN pulled resources northward. The inter-departmental rivalry was fast at work. The Japanese Army also possessed a few craft that they were able to reposition in Ezhou, but these craft were short range bombers, perfectly equipped for shelling encampments and heavy armor, but not fast moving skirmishes. Joseon finally had an opportunity to regain air superiority in the region, they just needed some extra support.

Gao’s family was involved in various aspects of Joseon society, including the aethernautics sector. His brother Gao Song was a Hubei Institution of Technology graduate and Zero-G Engineering expert. At the time, he was working on the Peking Jump Gate Project. The construction had reached a critical milestone in 1939, as the Tsiolkovsky Ladder up to the gate had been completed, allowing superstructure construction to pick up pace.  The gate’s shield generator was also nearing completion, which would allow the still-growing structure to defend itself in the event of a surprise assault. Once completed, Gao would request some of the defensive fleet over Peking be pulled away, hoping to use them in his coming battle. He also had another request for his brother that would assist his plans, but he made sure to keep that aspect a closely protected secret…

On March 9th, 1940, large shadows appeared on the horizon west of Wuhan. Four aether corvettes arrived from the Peking Gate fleet to provide fire support for General Gao. A fresh supply of artillery shells were also provided, flown in on the new navy in service to the Wuhan Ying. The Zhou Yu Class ships’ armaments were not the most potent, but had an extreme upper limit on their firing range, allowing them to harass the shield from a great distance. Anti-air weapons within Wuchang were unable to reach the craft, and the IJA bomber squadron waiting behind the line was not equipped to take on the vessels. General Saigō had to watch from within the dome shield as Korean artillery volleys scattered across the sky, causing the barrier to crackle with energy. 

The fire was not extreme, but consistent. Saigō could easily see Gao’s plan: this sustained fire was not in support of an attack, but a method of gradually overloading the power grid in Wuchang. Consistent blows like this would prevent the buffers from properly refreshing the shield over time, and the noise of his enemy shelling his position would put the defenders on edge. Yes, Gao Feng planned to eventually make his way into the city, but this was going to be a slow, deliberate process. The worst part of this encounter was that Saigō had no method of countering the corvettes, he could only watch them fire on him from above, and prepare. The Navy had left him out to dry.

One month and over 100,000 volleys later, the Koreans were almost through the shield. The Japanese 11th swapped to emergency power on the 12th of April, a fact leaked to Gao by sympathetic Chinese stragglers within Wuchang. The stage was almost set for his gambit. Unfortunately for his ego, Saigō had grown increasingly petty as the siege had gone on, a fact his more reasonable subordinates had grown tired of. As the corvettes continued to fire on the city shield below, General Saigō ordered the generators turned off before they were depleted. This unexpected choice had two goals. A more tactical commander would save his shield for the full assault, which he knew was soon to follow. The personal reason was simple, and exceedingly spiteful; he wanted to hurt Gao’s beloved city as collateral. At the angle the corvettes were firing, the unshielded barrage impacted a famous temple in southern Wuchang, leveling it instantly. Gao as a local obviously bit the bait, he was fighting angry now. Even as Saigō’s position was growing untenable, he was not taking him seriously, or at the least he was excellent at hiding it. He would regret that.

And to the Rivers Below

At dawn on April 14th, Saigō Magohachi was awakened by no less than a dozen emergency alerts across the theatre. Units from the Joseon’s Chengdu Ying had launched simultaneous assaults across the Yangtze, trying to permeate the Japanese defensive line in as many locations as possible. Fanhu, Xianning, and the industrial complexes to the north of Wuchang all reported heavy resistance, yet Wuhan proper remained silent. Unwilling to be encircled or lose the production base in the city, Saigō ordered half of his Wuchang contingent northward into the Kuznets-Ganzorig complex, and ordered outlying patrols to assist in the south. The remaining 25,000 in his command were on high alert, taking battle positions on the shore.

As if the situation was destined to only get worse, another announcement came over the radio: “Ezhou Air Base is under attack, we didn’t see them coming!” The No. 2 Hefei Wei, a unit famous from many clashes in the Nanjing theatre, had apparently been on the move behind enemy lines for some time. Making a daring river crossing under the cover of darkness, a contingent of pengbaesu snuck into the airfield to sabotage the runway, and the bulk of the surprise attack was now pushing into Ezhou proper. By noon, it was clear that Wuchang was being assaulted on almost every side, save for one road out of town to the southeast, and from Gao’s position across the river. What was he waiting for?

The skies grew cloudy as the afternoon rolled on, and an auspicious wind shifted over the city. The time had come. General Gao Feng deployed a swift attack force across the river, with unarmored water craft darting out from the Han River, the Hanyang Canals, and Sheshui river to the north. Joseon skirmishes dotted the riverfront, covering for a growing wedge force that was landing near the Sha Lake. These forces were simple to brush aside at first, but artillery units along the banks were unable to repel the wedge in the center, forcing Saigō into a worrying scenario; his forces were cut in half. The lake was a natural choke point in northern Wuchang, perfect for cutting off a retreat for the men fighting in the industrial sector. Surely Gao wasn’t banking on this thin barrier being enough to bisect his forces forever; what was he missing?

The answer came at 3:42 PM, as a heavy hum overtook the sky above. Four large aether barges, vehicles intended for out-of-atmosphere construction, dropped out of the heavy clouds over Hankou. More presents from his engineer brother. These wide and bulky vehicles dispersed across the river, positioning themselves at Bridges 1 and 2. “You son of a whore”, Saigō muttered to himself as the ships took position. He quickly called forward all available forces to intercept the barges, as he knew if they succeeded the defense of the city would fail. Gao meant to use the ruined bridges after all.

The aether craft, with their broad and flat hulls were perfect for facilitating the crossing of heavy equipment and large contingents of soldiers. All attacks since the Second Battle of Wuhan had been severely hampered by the Yangtze, as the river’s size made it impossible to field tanks. With the barges filling the gap in the less damaged bridges, Joseon forces could flood into Wuchang. The gambit did not come without sacrifice though, as the IJA was not completely without anti-air capability. Short range weapons within Wuchang pelted the immense barges, as well as the aether corvettes which still covered for them. Without the bombers from Ezhou though, this defense was difficult for the Japanese. At Bridge 1, the defenders got lucky; as only a few platoons of the Wuhan Ying were able to cross before reinforcements arrived. Captain Higuchi, with the help of some man-portable heavy ordnance was able to turn the tide of battle, damaging both barges tending to the bridge to Hanyang. The remaining Joseon troops did their best to make a foothold on the land, utilizing heavily armored walkers as ready-made bunkers once they reached solid ground.

Bridge 2 saw far more success, thanks in part to the harrying forces that landed on the coastline before the launch of the barges. With reinforcements slowed, and the coastal batteries caught up in firefights, only few countermeasures could be used against the Koreans as they ferried men across the gap in the bridge. The sacrifice of the skirmishing forces proved worth it, and a solid foothold was established in the Yangyuan District. This critical position, the higher priority of the two landings, would spell the end of the battle in the long run, as the Sha Lake corridor was not the only pinching point for the advance troops.

Once they had joined up with the few remaining skirmishers at Sha Lake, all heavy walkers were moved into the area, locking down the choke point to prevent Japanese reprisals once the Bridge 1 assault failed. Lighter troops then turned northwards, sweeping around Mount Qingshan and quickly setting up positions around the edges of the Kuznets-Ganzorig complex. With the foothold in the south, and the Hefei forces quickly pouring in from the north and east, half of Saigō Magohachi’s men were completely trapped without backup. By nightfall, the General of the 11th was fully aware of how this battle was going to end, but it was now up to him on how it would get there…

To the Victor Goes the Rubble

April 15th was to be the bloodiest day of the battle, humbling the 16,000 estimated dead from the day before; and yet there were no means by which Saigō could stop it. His army had not taken many casualties in the initial defense compared to Gao, but it cost him precious battlefield control. 20,000 of his men were now trapped behind enemy lines, and over the next 48 hours almost all of them would be either captured or slain. The Japanese General knew there was no way around it except to run as many supply caravans down the highway between Dong and Yanxi Lake as possible. Through the night, several hundred men streamed through contested territory to reinforce the Kuznets-Ganzorig pocket, only to be cut off by the morning light when the No. 2 Hefei Wei closed the gap. As they were less in number compared to Gao’s Wuhan forces, the eastern flank opted to tighten their position and fire on any runners as the western flank pushed inward; a solid wall for Gao to crush the Japanese against. 

Street by street, the Wuhan Ying pushed inward, often losing as many men in the process as the enemy. The forces within the complex were becoming tighter-packed by the hour, and the death toll was reaching a fever pitch. By 6 PM, hundreds were dying per minute, the men who survived the vanguard picking up the guns of their fallen comrades as their own weapons ran dry. Japanese holdouts were forced to scavenge anything they could find, with officers even handing off their pistols and relying solely on their blades. They fought tooth and nail to survive, but momentum was simply not on their side. Fighting only slowed when night consumed the city, the power grid having been long since cut off in the dark, skeletal factories of northern Wuchang.

Between both forces, 36,000 men died on the second day of the Third Battle of Wuhan. Thousands more were injured, but with the deteriorating triage conditions in both camps, shot and down was as good as shot and dead. The third day promised more of the same, the numbers only shrinking due to the conclusion of fighting in Kuznets-Ganzorig. As foretold, the northern contingent was completely wiped out, leaving the remaining Japanese forces in Wuchang at about 18,000. The rest of the 11th General Army was still tied up in the south, and General Saigō was in no hurry to order them to come running to aid a crumbling city. Instead, he ordered 2,000 of them to begin setting up fallback lines, planning to move camp outside of the city

He had done everything in his power to hold the city, but Gao was an inevitability; a fact that infuriated the weary Saigō. If only command had given him the resources and leeway he had needed- no, that he deserved. He had plunged a dagger in the gut of Joseon, and only faltered because his masters refused to push harder. What made him snap though was the ulterior motives of his opponent’s costly invasion. Wuchang, unlike the rest of Wuhan, was mostly intact. Gao had intentionally held back on shelling the Japanese headquarters, no doubt to spare the city’s many beautiful monuments. Not only was his enemy winning, but he had held back on using critical resources in fear of damaging his hometown. This fact made the formerly even-keeled Saigō enraged. He was not going to keep clawing at his foe needlessly for a city that was likely lost, but he didn’t have to let him have his way.

As dawn arose, the industrial sector was already in Korean hands. Gao, knowing the human cost of the campaign, was not relieved at this victory, simply able to rest his mind a moment. His physical pain had barely improved over time, though his lungs had recovered enough that he could occasionally breathe independently. He didn’t want to, not with the iron-soaked air of the bloody battlefield he now found himself investigating. Overnight, his scouts had spotted a convoy of vehicles streaming out to the southeast, the Japanese ferrying out the most injured in anticipation of a retreat no doubt. Yet Saigō had held his lines firm through the day, his numbers still in the five figures as the day rolled on. “Just leave you stubborn fool. You and I both know this won’t end well”, he thought to himself. 

As the evening arrived, he could see many Japanese forces finally falling back to the south, with a few thousand remaining to man the barricades beyond the lakes. He radioed ahead to the forces holding Ezhou, warning them that enemy forces might attempt to repel them back across the river, but the reprisal never came. The Japanese simply moved on to Huangshi, and established more permanent fortifications in the heart of Wuchang. It seemed Saigō really intended on letting much of the city go, even as he still held almost half of Wuchang. As night fell however, a distant glow from a hilltop to the south made Gao’s stomach sink.

Yes, Saigō was planning to fall back, but he would leave after most of his officer corps had already evacuated. Many of his men, including Captain Higuchi, had protested against his more harsh strategies, especially when they damaged the cultural sites in Wuhan. Such nauseating sentimentality, that damned trait his men shared with Gao. The kind of sentimentality that justified Gao wasting thousands of lives with a reckless assault when he had the advantage with his artillery. What could have been a protracted siege was instead a massacre for both parties involved. This is why he had to have his men leave first; they would have stopped him from what he wished to do.

As the remaining 10,000 Japanese soldiers hunkered down for the twilight, Saigō Magohachi twisted his knife as he pulled it from the city. The Yellow Crane Tower, the building he had previously used as an observation post, was now lit ablaze for all of the city to see. Gao had done everything to take Wuchang without hurting its identity, and his opponent wanted to impart one final lesson on the injured man before he retreated. Gao was left stunned by the pettiness of his longtime rival, who had likely stolen away into the night as the fire was lit. The next morning, a messenger from the front delivered a brief statement written on a piece of wood from the tower itself.

“大奸似忠大僞似眞”

The Greatest Villains appear as the Most Loyal, 

and the Greatest Hypocrites as the Most True 

Saigō’s message was received.

In the end, the Wuhan Ying had taken a dominant position in the city, though it was due to a devastating loss of life. In only four days of combat, both sides had lost a combined 87,786 lives, with many more injured, lost, or captive. The 11th limped back to their new lines, using Xianning and Huangshi as new headquarters for the defense. The Shuiguo and Xinhe districts in central Wuchang became the new battleground for the war for Wuhan, the fighting never reaching quite the same dynamism of before, but nonetheless brutal.  General Saigō was recovered by Japanese forces the next day, the commander having evacuated himself via motorcycle. Captain Higuchi, having heard of what occurred as he fled, was wracked with frustration with his superior officer, and immediately requested a transfer to help the 13th General Army in the south as they tried to shore up the front. His general relented, no longer caring either way what the “Hero of Shanghai” did. Lastly, General Gao moved his headquarters back into the city of his birth, as he dreamed of a day it could be restored to its former beauty. He had lost so much, yet he persevered to spare his humanity in the face of his rival’s growing nihilism. It was all he had left.  

As of the end of 1940, the city of Wuhan still remains divided, the forces of Japan and Joseon spilling blood for every meter gained.