Chapter 668 - Advance Detachments

The idea of prosecuting "war criminals" had originated with several members of the Law Society. The mastermind behind it was, of course, Ma Jia.

Though the Law Society-controlled Arbitration Court had spared no effort in promoting the "rule of law"—producing, or rather plagiarizing, a vast corpus of regulations and statutes while actively publicizing and encouraging commoners to seek litigation—their judicial business remained frustratingly sparse.

For Lingao's population of roughly one hundred thousand, only the East Gate Market's simplified court generated enough petty security and commercial cases to stay busy. The other three courts sat practically deserted, sometimes going weeks without a single case. Beyond helping compile laws and statutes, judges had nothing to occupy them and were frequently seconded to other departments for administrative busywork.

Such idleness was a dangerous signal, and Ma Jia knew it. Too much personnel secondment would gradually disperse focus and erode morale.

I need to give them something meaningful to do, he thought. But the Arbitration Court's caseload couldn't be conjured from thin air. The busiest department was obviously the Political Security Bureau, but that operated as essentially an independent fiefdom—he neither wanted to interfere nor could do so even if he wished.

The judicial system desperately needed important, attention-grabbing cases. After the great victory at Chengmai, Ma Jia's entire focus shifted to what he called the "war criminal question."

For many transmigrators, this seemed like pointless grandstanding. They already had the prisoners. Whether to execute them, flay them, or abuse them however they pleased was entirely at their discretion. What was the use of war criminals trials? And under what law or treaty? It would just be another exercise in self-important theater, directing and acting their own play.

But Ma Jia's proposal won majority support in the Yuan Laoyuan. "Everything according to law" might sometimes appear affected, rigid, or even laughable, but compared to a system where a handful of people could arbitrarily arrest anyone they chose, it was undeniably more progressive.

So the "war criminal trials" were formally decided upon. A Special War Crimes Tribunal was established, with prosecuting attorneys and defense counsels duly designated.

Of course, from any objective standpoint of fairness, the proceedings were absurd. This timeline possessed no international treaties, no international law. The Ming government had never acknowledged, signed, or participated in anything of the sort.

The so-called "war crimes trials" were simply the transmigrator regime imposing its new social order upon this timeline. But even within the Law Society itself, differing views persisted on this approach.

If they truly adhered to the old timeline's international law and treaties, the transmigrator regime had committed no fewer war crimes in their battles against imperial forces. Yuan Qiushi had hanged dozens of prisoners at the POW camp; they had engaged in massive prisoner enslavement...

These actions could arguably constitute "war crimes." Consequently, some opposing transmigrators felt that pursuing "war criminals" was only asking for trouble—tying their own hands with legal precedents that could later be used against them.

Under such questioning, the Yuan Laoyuan Standing Committee held a formal hearing on the necessity and reasonableness of "war crimes trials."

The hearing's purpose, of course, was not to debate "fairness" but to establish "reasonableness."

"So-called war crimes," Ma Jia declared at the Standing Committee hearing, dispelling transmigrators' concerns with a single incisive sentence, "are crimes that only losers ever have."

Ma Jia elaborated further: prosecuting "war criminals" wasn't simply about intimidation or revenge. It was about seizing the moral high ground and publicly proclaiming one's own "righteousness." This held enormous importance in the ideological domain.

And so the war crimes trials proceeded with great fanfare.

By this point, the Executive Committee and Yuan Laoyuan's attention had already shifted elsewhere—specifically, to the entire island of Hainan.

The plan to occupy all of Hainan had been renamed at Wei Aiwen's suggestion. The original name, "Spring Awakening," had produced such poor results that it drew unanimous opposition. As a compromise, the operation received a seasonal upgrade to "Summer Awakening."

Following General Staff adjustments, the army—after resting for several days in the aftermath of the victory parade—began executing the Summer Awakening plan.

The operation deployed four battalions, divided into Eastern and Western Advance Detachments.

The Western Detachment was built around the 3rd Infantry Battalion, reinforced with artillery, engineering, logistics, and medical units. Its objective was to occupy Danzhou, thereby extending the Lingao regime's "Purple Zone" control to the Danzhou-Changhua border.

The Eastern Detachment faced far larger objectives. According to General Staff plans, the first phase of eastward expansion would complete the occupation of Chengmai, Qiongshan, Ding'an, and Wenchang—four counties in total. This force was built around the 1st, 5th, and 6th Infantry Battalions.

These four counties, like Lingao, had been foundations of Ming rule in Hainan: developed early, densely populated, with deep administrative roots. Taking them would announce the complete collapse of Ming authority on the island.

As for the southern prefectures and counties—sparsely populated, with only a few thousand registered souls per county regardless of age or sex, and many with magistrate positions vacant for years—Ming rule was purely symbolic. They could be plucked whenever convenient.

Each detachment included not just military personnel but also county work teams that Liu Muzhou had personally selected. These teams comprised both transmigrators and several native cadres, positioned to immediately begin administrative work and assume county governance.

The first phase of occupying Hainan proceeded with astonishing smoothness—one might say they "pacified by proclamation." With naval support, the army conducted what amounted to an armed grand tour. Villages along the route capitulated at the first whisper of their approach. Danzhou fell first—though in truth, the army hadn't planned to assault the city at all. The original intention was to make camp outside the walls, then apply a careful mixture of carrots and sticks to compel city officials into compliance: the slow-boiling-frog approach. But the officials inside surrendered proactively. This was so unexpectedly smooth that Battalion Commander Yu Zhiqian, commanding the western expansion, was genuinely startled. He had fully expected the city officials to barricade themselves and make everything difficult.

The Danzhou prefect killed himself with admirable integrity. This jinshi, barely half a year into his posting, made no attempt at further military resistance that would merely add to the transmigrators' prisoner count. Knowing resistance was futile, he simply and decisively took poison.

The surrender itself was organized by the Danzhou County Bailiff. He and the city gentry waited trembling at the city gate for the Western Detachment's arrival.

After rest and reinforcement, the Western Detachment's fighting spirit burned even higher than before Chengmai.

The letter of surrender had come from the Danzhou County Bailiff. Like Lingao's own County Bailiff Sun Ruiwu, he had long since abandoned any hope of a respectable career in this remote, miserable posting. Though he wouldn't openly defect, he maintained a cautious wait-and-see posture. So he neither killed himself nor fled, using "protecting the official seal" as his excuse to stay and organize the handover. If the bald bandits could maintain long-term control, he had no objection whatsoever to changing his allegiance and serving these Australians.

"I thought we'd have to camp outside the city for days," Battalion Commander Yu Zhiqian said triumphantly to Liu Yixiao, leader of the Danzhou Work Team. "Didn't expect to get in this easily."

"Easy gains often mean trouble ahead." The work team leader's expression remained grim. "Who knows what schemes these officials might be cooking up? We must maintain full vigilance."

The prefect's suicide was merely the bailiff's claim. Who knew whether he was truly dead, or whether some other trick lurked beneath the surface? Liu Yixiao believed they must stay completely alert to avoid being exploited by enemies.

According to regulations, except for small parties tasked with taking over city defenses and key facilities, the main military force wouldn't enter the city proper. This wasn't from any concern for benevolence or avoiding disturbance to civilians. Rather, the Health Department harbored serious anxieties about local urban hygiene. Until necessary epidemic prevention and disinfection could be performed, the army generally avoided densely populated areas to prevent contracting disease.

But for the gentry waiting at the city gate, this restraint brought enormous relief—truly, the Australians deserved their reputation of "not a hair harmed"!

Liu Yixiao exchanged a few perfunctory courtesies, then followed the bailiff and local gentry to the prefectural yamen. Danzhou had slightly more population than Lingao and was marginally more prosperous. But today the streets stood empty, utterly devoid of pedestrians. Outside the yamen, a sparse gathering of perhaps a dozen runners and clerks stood at attention, their expressions wooden.

The yamen itself was decrepit—it looked worse than some historical replicas from the old timeline. Liu Yixiao stepped inside and surveyed the premises. In the courtyard stood a coffin containing the prefect who had taken his own life.

"Open it," he ordered.

There was nothing inherently worth seeing about a corpse. He simply wanted to confirm the prefect was actually dead. Liu Yixiao pulled a notebook from his satchel—a "Danzhou Basic Situation Compendium" compiled by the External Intelligence Bureau. The first section contained biographies and photographs of yamen officials both large and small.

The photographs, taken with telephoto lenses, were somewhat unclear, but facial features remained recognizable. The corpse in the coffin, though its face was distorted from poisoning, was clearly the same person.

Liu Yixiao sighed and gave a respectful nod. Brave men deserved respect, regardless of which side they had served.

"Prepare him properly for burial," he said. "Is the prefect's family still in the city?"

"Yes, yes." The bailiff spoke cautiously, studying Liu Yixiao's expression for any hint of malice. "They're all in the rear residence. Would Your Honor like to see them...?"

"No need. Tell them not to kill themselves." Liu Yixiao had no interest whatsoever in the prefect's family. "Prepare a boat immediately. Send twenty taels of silver as condolence money. Let them depart with the coffin."

"Your Honor's generosity—they will never forget..."

Liu Yixiao nodded impatiently and began asking further questions. Most of the yamen's runners and clerks had fled—word of what had befallen their counterparts in Lingao had reached Danzhou. The petty officials, fearing they would suffer the same fate, had long since absconded with whatever valuables they could carry.