The Forbidden City, Beijing, China, 12th April, 1940;
The journey from the throne room to the military quarters provided both officers with their first practical understanding of the Forbidden City's internal geography. Minister Chen led them through a series of courtyards and covered walkways that revealed the palace complex to be far larger and more complex than they had initially realised. Their destination proved to be a well-maintained complex located in the eastern section of the Forbidden City. While not decorated with the elaborate artistic elements found in the ceremonial areas, the military quarters clearly benefited from superior resources and maintenance compared to regular army facilities outside the palace walls.
The training facility impressed both officers with its scope and organization. Multiple buildings housed different specialized functions: a communications center equipped with the latest radio equipment, a logistics coordination office with detailed maps and supply charts, and a motor pool containing various vehicles that spoke to the Imperial Guard's mechanized capabilities.
"Song Zhongwei!" Minister Chen called out to a young officer who had been supervising equipment maintenance in the communications building. "Your instructors have arrived. Please prepare your men for introductions."
The man who approached them was clearly representative of the Imperial Guard's elite status. Song Zhongwei appeared to be in his early twenties, with the bearing and physical conditioning that marked him as a serious soldier. Most encouraging from the Hanseatic perspective, he extended his hand in the Western fashion and demonstrated comfortable familiarity with European military customs.
"Captains," he said in perfectly serviceable English, "we are honored to receive instruction from representatives of such a distinguished military tradition. I understand you specialize in modern military communications and logistics coordination?"
Both officers found themselves pleasantly surprised by their first student's obvious sophistication, though Wolfgang couldn't help but notice that Song appeared to be roughly their own age—a fact that might complicate their authority as instructors.
"Indeed," Kylian replied, examining the radio equipment visible through the building's windows. "Your communications setup appears quite sophisticated. You have access to German-manufactured equipment?"
Song's expression darkened slightly at this comment. "Until recently, yes. German advisors provided regular technical training and equipment maintenance, but their program ended abruptly four months ago. The radios continue to function, but when they break down, we lack the expertise to repair them properly."
"What about supply coordination?" Wolfgang asked, noting the detailed charts and organizational materials visible in the logistics building.
"Similar problems," Song replied with obvious frustration. "The German mission included specialists in modern supply chain management—how to coordinate ammunition, fuel, and provisions for mechanized units operating over extended distances. Without their guidance, we've had to revert to older methods that may prove inadequate for modern warfare."
This explanation clarified their mission's purpose. Rather than basic military training, they were being asked to fill technical gaps left by the departed German advisors—areas where their Hanseatic military education provided genuine expertise.
What followed their initial introductions, however, revealed the complexity of their situation. The Imperial Guard personnel selected for advanced training were not junior soldiers eager to learn from foreign experts. Instead, they were experienced non-commissioned officers and junior officers, many of whom had been working with the departed German advisors for years.
Sergeant Major Liu Kangshan, clearly the senior enlisted man among their students, was a weathered veteran whose scarred hands spoke to decades of military service. When introduced to the two young Hanseatic officers, his expression remained carefully neutral, though his slight bow conveyed polite skepticism rather than enthusiasm.
"Sergeant Major Liu has been responsible for communications training within the Imperial Guard for eight years," Song explained. "He worked directly with the German technical advisors and understood their equipment better than most of our officers."
Wolfgang felt a flutter of nervousness as he realized the implications. "Eight years of experience? That's... quite impressive."
"Lieutenant Chen Hao oversees our logistics operations," Song continued, indicating another man who appeared to be in his thirties. "He coordinated supply operations during the pacification campaigns in the western provinces. His experience with field logistics is extensive."
Both Hanseatic officers began to understand the delicate nature of their assignment. These were not students in need of basic instruction, but experienced professionals seeking to fill specific technical gaps in their knowledge. The challenge would be providing useful information without appearing to lecture men who possessed far more practical experience than they did.
Their first training session focused on radio communications, an area where Hanseatic military doctrine differed significantly from German approaches. The Chinese Imperial Guard's radio operators had been trained in German methods that emphasized centralized control and rigid message protocols, while Hanseatic doctrine stressed flexibility and initiative at lower command levels.
"The key principle," Wolfgang explained to the assembled operators, "is redundancy in communications networks. Rather than relying on a single command frequency, Hanseatic doctrine establishes multiple communication paths for critical information."
He began sketching a network diagram on a blackboard, showing how individual units could maintain contact through various radio frequencies and relay stations. The concept was sound, but his presentation assumed a level of ignorance about radio technology that insulted his audience's intelligence.
"Now, I know this may seem complicated at first," Wolfgang continued, "but once you understand the basic principles of radio wave propagation and antenna positioning, you'll find these techniques quite manageable."
Sergeant Major Liu's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. As someone who had been operating and maintaining radio equipment for nearly a decade, he found the implication that he needed instruction in "basic principles" somewhat offensive.
"Excuse me, Captain," Liu interjected with careful politeness, "might I ask what specific advantages these multiple frequency approaches provide over our current centralized system?"
The question revealed the fundamental challenge of their teaching assignment. Liu wasn't asking for basic instruction in radio operation—he wanted to understand the strategic reasoning behind different doctrinal approaches. Wolfgang, despite his excellent theoretical education, lacked the practical experience to provide convincing answers.
"Well," Wolfgang replied, clearly struggling, "the advantages are... substantial. Multiple communication paths prevent enemy jamming from disrupting your entire network."
"But surely," Lieutenant Chen Hao observed, "maintaining multiple frequencies requires additional radio operators and equipment? How does your system address the resource requirements?"
This question struck at one of the fundamental weaknesses in Wolfgang's knowledge. Hanseatic doctrine assumed abundant equipment and well-trained personnel, conditions that might not apply to the Chinese military situation. The Chinese were in no position to manufacture their own radios, after all, they were importing from the West too.
"That's... that's a valid concern," Wolfgang admitted, his confidence beginning to waver. "In practice, you would need to adapt the principles to your available resources."
Meanwhile, Kylian's attempts to address logistics coordination produced similar difficulties. His presentation on modern supply chain management emphasized the importance of detailed record-keeping, standardized procedures, and centralized inventory control—principles that Lieutenant Chen had been implementing for years under German guidance.
"The critical element," Kylian explained, "is maintaining accurate records of ammunition expenditure, fuel consumption, and equipment maintenance schedules. Without proper documentation, modern mechanized units quickly become ineffective."
He gestured toward charts and forms that he had prepared to demonstrate Hanseatic methods, materials that assumed his audience had never encountered systematic logistics planning.
"These forms may appear complex initially," he continued, "but they're designed to prevent the supply shortages that cripple military operations. Once you become familiar with the documentation requirements, you'll find them quite straightforward."
Lieutenant Chen's patience was clearly being tested. As someone who had coordinated supply operations for thousands of men across difficult terrain, he resented the implication that he needed instruction in basic record-keeping.
"Captain von Reichsgraf," he said with strained courtesy, "the Imperial Guard has maintained detailed supply records for decades. Perhaps you could explain how your documentation methods differ from our current procedures?"
Kylian found himself in the same uncomfortable position as his colleague. While his theoretical knowledge was extensive, he lacked the practical experience to make meaningful comparisons with existing Chinese methods.
"The differences are... significant," he replied uncertainly. "Hanseatic methods emphasize... systematic approaches to inventory management."
"Could you provide specific examples?" Chen pressed. "Our current system tracks ammunition by caliber and production batch, fuel by octane rating and storage location, and spare parts by compatibility and priority classification. How would your methods improve upon these procedures?"
The question revealed the fundamental problem with their teaching assignment. Chen wasn't seeking basic instruction in logistics—he wanted to understand advanced techniques that might improve already sophisticated systems. Kylian's education, while thorough, hadn't prepared him for such detailed technical discussions.
By the end of their first training session, both officers realized they had seriously underestimated their students' knowledge and experience. The Imperial Guard personnel weren't ignorant soldiers in need of basic instruction—they were experienced professionals seeking advanced technical knowledge to fill gaps left by the departed German advisors.
Unfortunately, this realization came too late to prevent the damage their condescending presentation style had inflicted on their relationship with their students. Sergeant Major Liu and Lieutenant Chen were clearly offended by the assumption that they required elementary instruction in subjects they had been practicing for years.
"Tomorrow," Song Zhongwei announced as the session concluded, "perhaps we could focus on specific technical problems our units have encountered. We have several radio sets that require repair, and our logistics coordination has identified bottlenecks in our supply system."
Both Hanseatic officers nodded in agreement, though privately they wondered whether their theoretical knowledge would prove adequate for addressing practical problems identified by experienced soldiers.
As their students filed out of the training facility, Kylian and Wolfgang exchanged uncomfortable glances. Their first day as technical military instructors had not proceeded as smoothly as they had hoped, and the growing tension with their students suggested that future sessions might prove even more challenging.
"That could have gone better," Wolfgang admitted quietly.
"Indeed," Kylian replied. "Perhaps we should reconsider our approach for tomorrow's session."
Neither officer yet understood that effective teaching required not only knowledge but also respect for their students' existing expertise—a lesson their own military education had never adequately addressed. The Imperial Guard personnel, meanwhile, began to question whether these young foreign officers possessed the practical experience necessary to provide meaningful instruction.