The Siege of Hanoi

It was the morning of June 1st, Haiphong Harbor burned with the light of diesel and Cavorine. The open water had been the site of a fearsome showdown, a Canadian fleet wiped out after delivering arms and supplies to the key port city. In a couple of short weeks, the already damaged shields of the city would shatter, giving in to the combined might of the Japanese Army and Navy. Separately the two adversarial branches could threaten almost any nation, but combined they rivaled even the strongest of the Great Powers. The newly liberated nation of Indochina was now alone against insurmountable odds, having spent their last favors before the strengthening of the Pact blockade. The newly appointed President Nguyen had his work cut out for him, as he knew that once Haiphong had fallen, the capital was next.

Nguyen Tat Than had no time to rest on his journey to the capital, organizing his military from the back seat of his armored car as the convoy made its way. He had only just resolved the fighting in the south, defeating the Bonaparte remnants at Saigon in late May. He had hardly communicated with the Interim Government in the north, much less met his cabinet before now. Was he to be welcomed as a hero? An unwanted pariah? The Japanese were deploying a full invasion force in the northeast, would he even be able to stop them? His mind was in tumult as his complement rolled into the outskirts of Hanoi on the 9th.

Much to his surprise, the welcoming committee at the capital did not disappoint, as thousands gathered along the streets of Hanoi to see their new President. Once he regained his composure, he started to wave from the window of his car, the local populace chanting “Bác Nguyễn”. He may have been too absent from the revolution in Hanoi to be the nation’s founding father, but he was welcomed as its uncle.

He arrived at Ba Dinh Square for a brief speech and photo-op, where he was greeted by his friend and Revolutionary Party Secretary Dang Xuan Khu, as well as other statesmen in his cabinet. After a brief speech and some shaking of hands, the duo along with Nguyen’s former Aide-de-camp Colonel Vo Nguyen Giap slipped away to discuss defensive strategies. The three men were the most important voices in the war, Dang having made supplying the operation southward a high priority, and Vo serving as an interim Defense Minister due to his experience in the earlier revolution. Those old strategies before Nguyen had the backing of the government were quite foreign to how he had vanquished Babineaux, but it would become clear that he would need Vo’s talents again to fight the Japanese over the next few months. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

On the 13th of June, 1939, the city-wide shield network at Haiphong crackled to life one last time. The Japanese had been gradually increasing the magnitude of their bombardment since the first of the month. This was done in order to give time for the ground forces to take positions, as the three pronged assault that had been planned by the Joint-Task force’s command was well crafted. The Indoshina Gōdō Guntai was under a dual command structure, specially picked for their potential cohesion in the face of the interbranch rivalry that had plagued the Japanese military for years.

The Southern Expeditionary Army was under the command of the well-tempered General Kusunoki Moroe, whose family had ancient ties to the Imperial Court, albeit faint in actual reach. Moroe was the scion of this family, returning their prominence in recent decades as a staunchly measured clan of warriors, even when they were not the most skilled. He was close to Prince Yasuhito, who recommended him for the position with the hopes he could play nice with his co-commander. His troops were positioned along the Bach Dang River north of the city, with his armored complement waiting at major road crossings at Phong Tai and Yen Dong. When the shields inevitably fell, it was his job to apply the most pressure, hoping to squeeze out enemy troops early so that they might try to escape the city southward, into the waiting arms of his partner.

The Southwest Area Fleet was under the command of Vice Admiral Kazahaya Tadahira, the junior of the two on paper, though their mutual respect was commendable. Tadahira was scion and heir of the Kazahaya clan, an Urinke family in the upper echelons of the Kyoto Court. He and Moroe bonded well over their loyalty to the Imperial household, and his high civilian rank allowed him to speak with his superior on more even terms. Unlike his father however, the young aristocrat was well versed in tactics, just as adept at drawing battle plans as his father was with a tea set and brush. It was he who devised the overarching plan to take down the city, though he relied on his elder for specific on-ground army placements. His fleet, including his singular surviving aether ship the Fusō, was positioned in the less incendiary parts of the harbor, bombarding the cities shield in a slow crescendo while battle lines were properly arranged. His detachment of the Rikusentai were deployed along the coastline south of the city, progressing westward in secret. He also sent the Satsuma 19th Heike Regiment into the riverbeds around the city, hiding a backline of armor to protect from potential ambushes.

As the shields fell around 3 p.m., the Expeditionary Army pushed into the city, whose ground forces were quickly routed. The defending troops were greatly outnumbered, and partially composed of volunteer revolutionaries who were poorly armed. Their rout eventually turned to full retreats, as those who were not dug into fortified positions were caught in the open, and lost all morale. As many of the troops within fell back, they were caught by Rikusentai ambushes on the southern outskirts, with thousands being taken prisoner in a matter of hours. The remaining pockets would cause chaos for several days, but the conclusion was already met; the city would fall to Japan.

In the aftermath, martial law was quickly instituted, and a curfew was put in place. The civilian populace had not been evacuated fully, as many were left behind working on military projects in the naval yards. Curiously, many ship parts had been moved out of the city around the time of the initial attack, including several naval batteries. When interrogated, job foremen were surprisingly hard to liberate of their information. Nonetheless, General Kusunoki’s occupation was absolute, methodically snuffing out resistance over the next few weeks. Vice Admiral Kazahaya meanwhile deployed his ground forces into the river delta, catching stragglers and positioning himself for the next stage of their operation.

Nguyen had anticipated Haiphong’s defeat, but the loss still stung as he sat in the situation room, going over war plans with his closest military advisors. Colonel Vo had been quickly conglomerating the largely disorganized “People’s Army”, taking care to mix revolutionary veterans with new recruits in equal measure. Many former Colonial troops were brought back into the fold at lower ranks, offering continued service as penance for their betrayal of the nation. This opportunity was only extended to those who were among the enlisted however, as commanding officers were deemed too dangerous to reintegrate without proper vetting and reform. This recruitment method granted Indochina an additional pool of 100,000+ soldiers in a short time, as volunteers still required training. This also did not take into account the trickle of escapees from Haiphong that made their way to the capital, many of which arriving with resources Nguyen’s defense desperately needed.

The battle plans were straightforward, implementing a mix of strategies based on the diverse experiences of the soldiers at Nguyen’s disposal. Those who were the most experienced at guerilla warfare, the revolutionaries that had been with him the longest were deployed into the river delta near Hai Duong, an outlying town that was the prime candidate for Japan’s staging ground towards Hanoi. His troops would lie in wait in the rough terrain, slowing the advance and picking off stragglers. The environment was perfect for the strategy, as General Kusunoki’s tanks would struggle to advance with the infantry from that point. This was proven to be correct in the following weeks, when spies uncovered that the armored units in the Army were holding positions, and not advancing with the attack force. Nguyen’s troops had the advantage in the marshes, and could easily delay the invasion by a month even if outnumbered.

The remaining forces would be arrayed around Hanoi, with the weakest forces garrisoned in the strongest positions. Nguyen wanted the capital’s defenses to be homogenous throughout, providing sufficient resistance from all points. If he left any vulnerabilities, the Japanese Navy would simply deploy their troops to out-flank them from that position. By leaving no obvious position to attack from, he was hoping to make them fight from the angle he desired most: a frontal assault across the Red River. The geography around Hanoi was, to Indochina’s benefit, incredibly difficult to traverse in a hurry. The best thing Japan could do would be to assault the city from the river’s west bank to avoid a crossing, but this strategy would remove the advantage of using Hai Duong as a staging ground. By evenly distributing his rearguard, he could disincentivize maneuvers across the bank, and lure his enemies to launch the invasion from the far side of the bank. This strategy would mean effectively condemning Hai Duong, but he knew the best chance at holding Hanoi for any amount of time would require sacrificing the periphery. The Red River was to be the best defensive measure for the city, slowing down approaches by the infantry until the shield fell. More importantly, if the city were to fall, he could at least have the time to evacuate.

The Japanese did at least act as predicted in part, though there were elements Nguyen could not plan for. General Kusunoki left his complement of tanks in Haiphong to carry out the occupation and snuff out resistance, leaving him with only his infantry and light artillery to cross the wetlands. Vice Admiral Kazahaya took temporary command over Haiphong’s garrison, exchanging with his partner the bulk of his Rikusentai forces. The naval landing troops were lighter, and served as the vanguard as the General advanced westward. What the Indochinese didn’t know was that Kazahaya had deployed some sixty Heike Amphibious Assault Craft on a separate operation. To ensure secrecy, Kazahaya ordered Lieutenant Commander Fukuda Enji, a member of his personal staff, to lead the newly christened Akagawa Company while maintaining radio silence. He could not risk interception, so he sent someone he could trust to get the job done.

General Kusunoki’s men entered the depths of the river delta on July 10th, facing little resistance on the first day. Lieutenant Colonel Le Van Minh was in command of the Guerilla Front. A veteran of Nguyen’s revolution, Le knew to wait for the Joint-Forces to fully enter before engaging them, ensuring they could not fall back to the open surroundings at Haiphong. On the 12th, his forces began a campaign of harassment and sabotage, picking off scouts, stragglers, and any artillery equipment they could find. Japanese casualty rates were predictably high, as Kusunoki’s march was incapable of avoiding the ambushes. The General nonetheless continued his march, reorganizing his army so that the artillery would remain in the center of his column. This reduced the casualties per attack, but drastically slowed the march towards the target city.

Kusunoki arrived at Hai Duong on July 19th, after a slow and painful slog. The artillery was very hard to move through the dense foliage and muck, drastically delaying the trek, which in all was less than 40 kilometers. The roads from there to Haiphong were heavily mined and otherwise sabotaged, making both the trip and his supply lines a nightmare. Nonetheless, his target was an unshielded city with much of the community already evacuated: An easy target to capture without a protracted confrontation or unnecessary human loss. Very few of Lt. Colonel Le’s men were actually garrisoned within, as the plan was to encircle and confront the Japanese as they secured the town. The ensuing battle was costly for both sides, with Le losing half of his Guerillas as the Japanese bombarded the treeline. Incendiary weapons were deployed to clear the brush, removing much of the cover they valued. In the end, the Indochinese fell back after Le received a severe injury from a tree struck by mortar fire. By the evening of July 21st, the battlegrounds were secured. Japan had won, but at the cost of 15,000 lives in the confrontation. Another 6,000 had been lost in the march, making the number of Japanese casualties almost double that of the defending guerillas.

With Hai Duong secured, the expeditionary forces of General Kusunoki went to work establishing a forward operations base (FOB). The infrastructure of the town center was not too damaged from fighting, and made for an optimal location. Vice Admiral Kazahaya, having been updated on the successful operation, deployed the aethership Fusō to provide supplies and fire support for the invasion. Once the cargo was unloaded, the ship was to accompany the march westward from a few kilometers behind, allowing the infantry to feel out any potential anti-aircraft positions. Kusunoki and Kazahaya’s instincts on the dangers of sending the ship ahead were correct, but they had not considered all possible challenges…

The army had finished coalescing at the FOB by the end of the month, with the march resuming on August 1st. The Fusō advanced slowly behind, a looming mass of steel casting a shadow. The plan was simple; advance to the eastern outskirts of Hanoi and begin a bombardment of the shield while the rest of the artillery was wheeled into position. The ship’s cannons could easily handle any armor the Indochinese could field, and could in theory stay outside of the range of the city’s outdated anti-air batteries. Even if it could not evade such defenses, the ship’s shield generator had not been seriously damaged at Haiphong, and could easily be turned on in the event of battle. Nguyen also lacked aetherships of any meaningful damage output, making the only resistance in the skies a minimal presence of fighter planes. All these reasons made it all the more shocking when a volley of 16 shots erupted from the treeline, piercing the Fusō as it was slowly passing through the skies.

In the evening of the 2nd, the Japanese task force was preparing to make camp, as the sun began to dip below the trees. The black mass of their aethership overhead was alight as it was assaulted from all sides, the assailants hidden in the forested surroundings. Infantry immediately jumped into action, fanning out to find the source of the fire. The nearby terrain was rough and densely forested, how could they have set up anti-air emplacements of that caliber? The damage to the Fusō was severe, as the shield was off to conserve power. A second volley had been fired before they could even get the generators online, and by then it was already too late. The ship was going down.

This newfound defensive capacity the Indochinese had fielded was the result of revolutionary ingenuity in Europe, as well as some well timed supplies from the Canadians. The French had been experimenting for the past year on a makeshift weapon platform that could tackle the superior aether fleet of the H.R.E., which threatened many of their ground assaults. Their answer was to mount a naval gun battery onto a construction mech, a massive walking cannon to park underneath oncoming fleets, knocking them out from as far as 40 kilometers in optimal conditions. This composite walker was dubbed the Carnot, and had already proven its worth in the battle against the Imperials. The legs used were perfect for the rough terrain of Indochina as well, meaning they did not require setup and could be easily repositioned. What proved most helpful was that Hanoi was uniquely qualified to replicate the design, as the construction platform used in the originals was manufactured all over the Francosphere, including the city. They had also scavenged naval guns from Haiphong’s shipyards months before, giving them multiple units ready for action very quickly.

The success of the Carnot ambush was absolute, as the aethership found itself drifting into the verdant abyss of the treeline. Black smoke glowing with traces of Cavorine leaked from holes in the side armor, choking all life in the immediate surroundings. Hundreds failed to escape from the wreckage, dying to either the impact, the fire, or the toxic air. The only thing that spared the bulk of the army from sharing a similar fate was the helmsman’s last ditch swerving northward. What made the encounter more crushing was the lack of reprisal by the Japanese. The Carnot were maneuverable, well hidden, and several kilometers away from the nearest Japanese troops. With a handful of guerillas covering the escape of each gun battery, all but one of the anti-aether walkers were able to evade capture. With the Fusō burning, Kusunoki had lost his greatest advantage, and got nothing in return.

The crash of the Japanese aether ship could be seen from Hanoi, the beleaguered Nguyen finding out about the successful operation almost immediately. The garrison was in an uproar over the victory, all while their leader worried after the wounded Lt. Colonel Le. He was far from the front line, but insisted on commanding the strike in spite of his injuries. Thankfully, his staff car quickly rode back into the city, easily outpacing both his lumbering mechs and the enemies’ now delayed march. The army spent the next two days digging out the wreckage, searching for bodies both living and dead. Many of the younger, more zealous voices in the command center longed for a swift strike at the distracted enemy, but Nguyen feared that the target was now too hardened by their loss. Striking the Japanese now would only exhaust their own numbers as they fought a foe now bubbling with rage and grief.

His assessment was correct, though he may not have realized to what extent. The typically level-headed Kusunoki was distraught at the losses, especially as his seemingly careful approach was still much too careless. He should have secured the route before bringing the Fusō forward, and he knew it. He had hoped the move would reduce the loss of life, but was handedly proven wrong. The morning after the crash he had a very blunt conversation with his staff, taking full responsibility. He ordered that any men who wished to mourn the dead could abstain from recovery efforts, and that he would personally be digging graves for the lost. This conviction, while not able to fully recover confidence, improved morale to a point. Their leader was aware of his flaws, and understood the sacrifice his men were making. As the next two days passed, he reorganized his march with a clear head, and a newfound mix of emotions. He was impressed with Nguyen, and all the more driven for it.

As the Japanese expedition prepared to head out on the 5th, the General made one final address to his forces at large:

The troops surged forward, reaching the outskirts of the city by that evening. The eastern bank of the city was largely abandoned, the local populace already scattering to the wind the week before. Indochinese scouts monitored Japanese movements, but avoided confrontation as much as possible. Nguyen wanted to prioritize terrorizing them from the safer side of the Red River, and saw no use in raiding the already embittered foe. Any more provocation would only make things worse on the Indochinese populace.

Fighting quickly broke out over the next few days, as the Japanese troops not dedicated to establishing their camp and artillery lines were saturating the shield with fire, looking for weak points in Nguyen’s defense. Sure enough, fortifications were evenly distributed, with few weak points. Kusunoki handedly concluded this battle could only end with his men crossing the river itself. Fortunately for him, this was certainly not an issue. On the 10th of August, Amphibious craft from the rearguard and salvaged motor boats were retrieved, as the besiegers prepared an assault across the river. The city's two remaining bridges over the river were not to be trusted, as Nguyen likely rigged them with explosives.

Kusunoki’s early plans for an assault into the city caught Nguyen off guard, he had considered his foe would not throw lives away so easily. He called his forces from the rear of the city to reinforce the banks, engaging his enemy head on with the hopes of dashing any hopes at landing. Fighting went on for an hour before Nguyen received a call from the garrison commander on the south side of the city: “The Japanese have armor under the water!”

A massive contingent of Heike emerged from the muck of the red river, the ruddy brown paint of the Akagawa Company blending perfectly with the silt of the riverbed. Forty of the assault vessels crawled onto shore, engaging Indochinese forces near the shield’s perimeter. The fighting was brutal, especially as the crabs crossed the threshold of the barrier, clashing with the enemy at close distance. Lieutenant Commander Fukuda Enji commanded the 20 which remained in the water, all equipped with heavy-duty ship guns, which supplemented the army’s lacking artillery. The guns fired off a symphony as the heavy shells pelted the crackling shield. The southern garrison was quickly decimated by the assault, as their heavier weapons had been sent to the east side to shoot on Kusunoki’s boats. When the ordnance managed to return, the local resistance had already been largely silenced, the attackers taking minimal losses. How did this happen?

In truth, this attack had always been the plan before the venerable Kusunoki had left Vice Admiral Kazahaya in Haiphong. The younger man had shown his brilliance, deploying his assault craft to slowly wade up the Red River under the cover of darkness. These men were to travel ahead to Hanoi, do light reconnaissance, and disable any sea mines lodged in the river ahead of the battle. The loss of their aether support was regrettable, but they never lost the advantage on water.

As Kusunoki watched his junior partner’s plan unfold, his mood hardly changed. He had failed to live up to his part, and knew that even if the Heike ran amok unopposed, it would not be enough to defeat the hundreds of thousands Nguyen had under his command. However, If he could return home as something less than a complete failure, then perhaps he could relax…

By the 5th hour of fighting, troops in the south had turned the tides against the Heike assault, destroying six mechs. As the battle shifted, Lt. Commander Fukuda ordered a retreat, recalling his forces to form a siege line in the south. His front line machines, which were paired off with a partner unit, used the metal carcasses of the fallen as shields, holding their hulls up as shields to cover their escape. One unit, who could not utilize his fallen comrade for cover, instead opted to rip a streetcar off of its track, dragging it away as he fled. In return, the Indochinese resistance had lost tens of thousands across the day in the fighting, with many of their southern fortifications being overrun or outright destroyed.

The fighting persisted for days, with neither side budging, all the while the defenders quickly lost the will to keep going. Morale had been at an all-time high, but the losses sustained in fighting the Japanese both in the south and east were daunting, and very few Heike had been destroyed in retaliation. What was worse was that the military engineers maintaining the city’s infrastructure had detected a serious problem; the shield generator was shedding energy faster than planned. They had anticipated that their shield would hold until past the end of September, even cutting power to much of the city's grid to save energy during the conflict. This measure was not enough, especially as the artillery Heike supplementing the bombardment had really taken its toll. At their current rate, they only had enough power for the shield to hold until maybe a day or two after the autumn equinox. While the defenders would largely continue to hold out against the many skirmishes in store for them, an escape plan would be needed if they were to survive and escape, and sooner than they had planned.

In actuality, only a quarter million of Nguyen’s forces had remained in northern Indochina to defend the capital region. The rest were either escorting the fleeing citizens down to the city of Vinh, or off rallying more troops in the Cambodian frontier. A further third were lost in previous confrontations, leaving a little over 150,000 in his command. While they had numbers, their resources were limited, and he was not willing to reduce men to nothing but an asset. The Japanese had a slow trickle of reinforcements coming from the sea, but were still outnumbered. Their experience and resources were the real problem. Even if he hadn't lost that third, the experienced field tactician Kusunoki could have easily countered him in an open confrontation. The war was determined long ago.

Nguyen’s guerilla’s would never be able to hold the city, but maybe if he could stage an escape he could transform this war into something longer, more protracted. Losing the capital was going to be devastating for the government’s morale, but his soldiers would keep fighting as long as he willed them too. After consulting his senior officers, the decision was made: Hanoi was to be abandoned a week before the shield went down. Their plan was simple, each night his men would sneak out the injured and less experienced troops westward to Hoa Binh. There they would prepare for a full retreat, a mass exodus of all of Nguyen’s forces when they rendezvoused. This plan, while simple, worked for weeks, with half of the forces in Hanoi falling back by the 11th of September.

The escape plan was partially discovered on the night of the 12th, when a group was spotted in the night. The more experienced scouts, serving as guides, held off the Japanese patrol as the remainder fled, but were wiped out. At least the meeting point was still secured. After the discovery, the Japanese perimeter was widened, with Kusunoki sending additional battalions to the north and west in order to stop any more potential leaks. The “Unlucky 60,000” were locked up in Hanoi, including Nguyen and most of the senior staff. He had stayed behind in spite of the protests of his men, and now it would cost him dearly.

Fighting intensified the following afternoon, with Kusunoki setting up a speaker outside the city from which he would demand surrender, further taunting the resistance within. Nguyen’s staff were frantic to find a way for them to get the leader out, with only ten days left to stage an escape before the real attack began. Lt. Colonel Le, who still suffered from immense pain from his injuries, was the one who inevitably came up with a potential solution. Rather than slip out while the Japanese were doctrinally on the “defense”, perhaps the best way to slip out the remainder of the command structure was when the shield falls, and the enemy makes his advance into the city. Artillery will be forced to halt so as to not fire on the invading troops, allowing the VIPs to leave their bunkers uncontested, and a hard strike westward could break the perimeter in the west. Once broken, Nguyen could rejoin the army and retreat southward. The only issue was that they would need enough of a distraction to cover their escape, lest the main army pursued them too closely.

On the evening of the 21st, the shield gave its last crackling gasp. As the city’s main defense failed, the artillery continued to pound the target, their shells finally connecting. Nguyen’s remaining troops were largely sheltering in bunkers below the city, where they remained until just before dawn. At first light, the Japanese forces converged on the city, only ceasing their bombardment moments before the infantry landed on the banks of the Red River. The bulk of the “Unlucky 60,000” made a break for the west, leaving behind 20,000 men to hold the city as long as possible. While an insurmountable number for any other conflict, this rough group of volunteers were hopelessly outgunned. None of the chosen holdouts would make it out a free, living man, holding off as long as Nguyen could have hoped. When Kusunoki’s men located and breached the command bunker on September 28th, all they found was defiant, bedridden Le, who only offered his guests harsh words, and a volley of bullets. His last service to his fledgling country was to cover his commander’s escape to the last.

Nguyen’s forces managed to break the flank and flee towards the rendezvous point at Hoa Binh. It took three days, and even when they arrived they could not rest. Many had deserted while he was trapped, the total remaining troops just under 100,000. He knew in time he could regrow numbers, especially as the capital was merely a symbolic loss; the men left behind weighing heavier than those who ran. What followed was a several day march southward, the movement using their knowledge of the terrain to out pace any pursuers that may have come. The almost 250 kilometer journey ended on October 5th, when the refugees met up with defenders in Vinh, allowing them time to recover.

The total loss of life among the soldiers of the Hanoi Campaign summed to over 100,000; the civilian cost is still unknown. In the weeks after his victory, Kusunoki’s forces expanded their occupation zone, reaching Thanh Hoa in the south by December. After reporting his success in Indochina, the Emperor awarded him with several accolades, in spite of the old General’s shame over the fallen aether ship. For his strategic foresight, Vice Admiral Kazahaya was promoted as well, and the pair would go on to command the occupation zone, which continues to spread over the northern frontiers of Indochina. Noticeably absent from the campaign however is any form of aether firing support, with General Kusunoki banning their use over the region. He would never make that mistake again.

In the South, Nguyen’s government reestablished command from Saigon, the city still very-much damaged from the battle with Babineaux. New troops were being pulled in from all over the nation, forming the bulk of the official standing army. The survivors of the Long March were reintegrated as irregular forces under Nguyen’s direct command, and quickly established a network of bunkers, fortifications, and no man’s lands throughout the country’s midsection. The war could continue to rage for years, but the heroic leader of free Indochina would do so on his terms, using the same strategies that had won him the revolution. The battlelines would slowly dissolve into chaos with no clear victor in sight, but at least he could keep the dream of Indochina alive.