Chapter 165: Landing

Casualty situation?

We have three lightly wounded, no deaths. About twenty Dutch defenders were killed, fifteen captured.

"Very good," Amir said, looking around. More and more soldiers were landing, and order was quickly established on the beach. Medics set up an aid station, engineers began clearing the landing zone, and signal troops erected antennas.

"Captain Zhou, what is your mission?"

"According to plan, my regiment is responsible for securing the beachhead and establishing a three‑kilometre‑deep defensive line. After the 5th and 6th Divisions have fully landed, we will advance toward Kundian City."

Amir glanced at his watch: "Give me a company; I'm going to the front to scout."

"Commander, that's too dangerous…"

"I'm here to fight, not to sightsee," Amir cut him off. "Show the way."

Zhou Weiguo, helpless, selected his own company: "Company commander, take a platoon to protect the commander!"

"Yes!"

A few minutes later, Amir led a mixed squad—his Arab guards and Chinese soldiers from the 1st Division—toward the edge of the jungle.

The scent of the tropical rainforest hit them: damp earth, rotting leaves, and some floral perfume. Sunlight was sliced by the dense canopy into fragments that fell on the ground. Visibility was under fifty meters.

"Watch for mines and traps," Zhou warned, "the Dutch may have laid them during their retreat."

As soon as he finished speaking, an explosion rang out ahead.

It wasn't a mine—it was a hand grenade. It was followed by fierce gunfire.

"We're under fire!" the guard sergeant immediately pressed Amir against a tree. "Protect the commander!"

Amir pushed him aside: "I'm not that delicate! Look at the situation!"

A soldier ran back to report: "We've spotted a Dutch defensive position ahead! About a platoon, with a machine gun!"

"Location?"

"Right off that trail, there's a semi‑underground bunker."

Amir thought for a moment: "Captain Zhou, how do you usually take such a target?"

"Mortar barrage, then infantry charge."

"Too slow," Amir shook his head. "Watch me."

He said to his guard sergeant: "Khalid, take two men and flank from the left. I'll draw fire from the front. When you hear my whistle, you'll assault from the side‑rear."

"Commander, you can't…"

"Execute the order!"

Khalid gritted his teeth, took two soldiers, and vanished into the jungle.

Amir turned to Zhou Weiguo: "Captain Zhou, have your machine‑gun squad set up a fire base here to suppress the enemy. Everyone else, follow me."

"You want to lead the charge yourself?" Zhou widened his eyes.

"I'm at the front; only then will the soldiers dare to follow," Amir said, checking the MP18 submachine gun in his hand. "It's a lesson learned in the desert: wherever the lead ram goes, the flock follows."

He said no more, crouched low, and moved forward. Over twenty soldiers followed behind him.

After advancing a hundred meters, the Dutch position came into view. It was indeed a semi‑underground bunker built of logs and sandbags, with a Lewis light machine gun spitting flame from its firing port. Bullets struck the surrounding trunks, sending splinters flying.

Amir crouched behind a rise and told the soldiers beside him, "Throw smoke grenades!"

Three smoke grenades arced out and landed in front of the position. Thick white smoke spread rapidly, obscuring the shooters' view.

"Now!" Amir blew his whistle.

The sharp whistle pierced the gunfire.

Almost simultaneously, an explosion rang from the left‑hand jungle—Khalid's team's hand grenade. It was followed by a spray of submachine‑gun fire and Arabic shouts.

The Dutch machine gun swung its direction.

"Charge!" Amir leapt from the rise, brandishing his submachine gun while sprinting and firing.

The soldiers charged after him. Thirty meters in five seconds. Amir was the first to dive into the bunker; a Dutch soldier trying to swing the machine gun was taken down by a single burst.

The fight ended within thirty seconds. Of the seven Dutch, three were killed and four raised their hands in surrender.

Amir inspected the bunker. Inside, besides the machine gun, there was a box of ammunition, several rifles, and a field telephone. He lifted the handset, hearing Dutch shouts: "Position Three! Report status! Position Three!"

He hung up.

"Commander, you're wounded!" a soldier shouted.

Amir looked down, seeing a slash in his left‑sleeve with blood seeping out—likely from barbed wire when he jumped into the bunker.

"Minor wound," he tore off the damaged sleeve to bandage it. "Khalid?"

"I'm here," the guard sergeant came around from behind the bunker, his face streaked with smoke. "Flank assault succeeded, two killed, one captured. No casualties on our side."

"Very good," Amir said, eyeing the few Dutch prisoners crouched on the ground. They were all young, none older than twenty‑five, their faces full of terror.

"Do you speak English?" he asked in English.

A bespectacled prisoner nodded.

"Where is your main force?"

"Retreat… they retreated into the city," the prisoner said trembling. "The officer said they can't hold the beachhead and must organize defense in the city."

"How many?"

"I don't know… maybe… maybe two thousand? Including police and militia."

Amir calculated: two thousand defenders, low morale, outdated equipment. The 5th and 6th Divisions total twenty‑four thousand troops, plus parts of the 1st Division. The force ratio was twelve‑to‑one, and firepower was an absolute advantage.

"Take them down to the POW camp," he said to Zhou Weiguo. "Captain Zhou, it seems the Dutch don't intend to make a final stand on the beachhead. Notify the troops, accelerate the landing pace. I'll establish the division headquarters in Kundian City before sunset today."

"Yes!"

Amir stepped out of the bunker and looked back toward the coast.

The landing zone had expanded severalfold. More soldiers, vehicles, and supplies were coming ashore. Engineer units laid temporary roads with prefabricated steel plates as trucks rolled down one after another. In the distance, several 105mm howitzers were dragged ashore, their barrels aimed at Kundian City.

The power of modern amphibious assault was on full display at that moment.

A communications soldier ran over: "Commander! Headquarters called; Mr. Wang Bo has arrived and is asking where you are."

Wang Bo. A Mi Er recalled the old man who had tearfully seen him off at the Dubai pier.

"Tell him I'm waiting for him at the beachhead," he said, "send a vehicle to pick him up."

At nine a. m., a jeep rattled out of the jungle and stopped at the beachhead command post entrance.

Wang Bo stepped out of the vehicle. Today he had deliberately changed into a deep‑gray traditional long robe, his hair neatly combed, and the "Homecoming" badge on his chest polished to a shine. Yet the fatigue of the long voyage was still evident on his face: deep eye bags, pallid skin, and his legs felt a little weak as he got out.

A Mi Er met him, supporting him: "Wang Bo, take it easy."

"It's fine, it's fine," the old man waved his hand, but his eyes scanned anxiously, "Is this… is this Kun Dian?"

"To be precise, it's Red Beach outside Kun Dian," A Mi Er said, "the urban area is over there, about five kilometers away. The Dutch garrison is still resisting, but not in organized formations. The vanguard of the First Division has already advanced to the edge of the city."

Wang Bo didn't listen to the military briefing. His gaze passed over the sand, looking toward the distant, hazy outline of the city. His lips trembled slightly.

"Forty‑four years…" he murmured, "Forty‑four years, huh…"

"Wang Bo, do you want to go into the city now?" A Mi Er asked, "but the urban area is still not safe,"