Chapter 671: Why the Yingguo Won

Cruiser No. 2 was hit by one Shell! Its bridge was destroyed!

Cruiser No. 3 was hit by three Shells! It is sinking!

The observer's voice grew more and more agitated, but Zhou Zhen guo was not agitated. He simply held up his telescope, watching those Yingguo warships that were burning, sinking, dying.

The second cruiser tried to weigh anchor and flee, but after moving only a few dozen meters, it was struck at the bow by a Shell. The Shell penetrated the armor plate, exploded inside the hull, and flames spewed from the porthole like a giant beast's tongue.

The third cruiser hadn't had time to move before three Shells hit it simultaneously. Two struck the midsection, one hit the stern, and the hull broke in half, slowly sinking into the harbor. The sea surface was left with only a slick of oil and debris, and a few sailors struggling in the water.

First volley complete. All targets destroyed or disabled.

Zhou Zhen guo nodded.

Second volley. Target: shore defense gun batteries. High‑explosive shells.

Eight Main Guns rotated again, their barrels lowered, pointing at the concrete batteries built on both sides of the harbor.

After thirty seconds, the second volley fired in unison.

Sixteen high‑explosive shells fell into the battery area.

The first Shell landed in front of the battery, the displaced earth burying one gun. The second directly hit the battery's main structure— that concrete fortification, built for three years and touted as "as solid as gold soup," was as fragile as tofu before a 380‑mm Shell. Concrete fragments splashed, rebar twisted and deformed, and the people inside the battery instantly turned into a heap of shredded flesh.

The third hit the ammunition depot.

The massive explosion raised a mushroom cloud, flames shooting skyward, visible from over a dozen nautical miles away. The shells in the ammunition depot detonated, exploding continuously for a full minute, and the entire battery area was leveled.

Shore defense gun batteries, all disabled.

Zhou Zhen guo lowered his telescope.

Send signal: Sakura Nation landing ship, you may begin.

On the landing ship, Shanben Yifu saw the two volleys.

He saw the moment the three cruisers were sunk during the first simultaneous volley; he saw the flash of the ammunition depot explosion during the second volley; he saw the two Lanfang battleships, in the morning light like two steel giants, spewing death‑flame from their gun barrels.

The messenger ran over: "General! Lanfang signal! You may begin!"

Shanben Yifu nodded.

He turned, facing the three thousand soldiers on the deck.

"Did everyone see?" he asked, pointing at the distant flames, "Yingguo's warships, sunk. Yingguo's batteries, gone."

The soldiers stared at the towering fire, and no one spoke.

"Now, it's our turn."

He drew his command sword, pointing toward Singapore.

"Charge onto the beach, seize Singapore. Sakura Nation army, from today onward, will no longer be mere spectators!"

The landing ship's hatch lowered slowly. Sea water surged in, not reaching the soldiers' ankles, not reaching their knees.

The first wave of soldiers began the charge.

They raised their rifles, wading through waist‑deep water, desperately rushing toward the beach. The water resistance was great; each step required all their strength. Yet no one stopped, no one looked back.

Shanben Yifu stood on the deck, watching those silhouettes charging into the sea.

Tu Feiyuan walked up to his side: "General, on the beach… there's no gunfire."

Shanben Yifu nodded.

"I heard it."

"Why don't the Yingguo fire?"

Shanben Yifu was silent for three seconds.

"They are waiting," he said, "waiting for all our soldiers to land, waiting for them to crowd together, waiting for them to enter the optimal firing range."

Tu Feiyuan's complexion changed.

"Then…"

Shanben Yifu gave no answer.

He simply watched those silhouettes receding farther, watched the silent beach, watched the two Lanfang battleships still smoking in the distance.

Wait.

Everyone was waiting.

Sakura Nation soldiers were waiting for the moment to charge onto the beach.

Yingguo soldiers were waiting for the moment to fire.

The Lanfang battleship was waiting for the next order.

And he, Shanben Yifu, was also waiting.

Waiting for those soldiers to trade blood for that beach.

On Zhenyuan's bridge, Zhou Zhen guo also held a telescope, watching that beach.

Sakura Nation soldiers had already surged halfway, only three to four hundred meters from the sand. The sea surface was filled with a dense sea of heads, like a flock of migrating birds.

Lin Huaiyuan stood beside him, his voice a bit tense: "Commander, why are the Yingguo still not firing?"

Zhou Zhen guo gave no answer.

He stared at that beach, at the silent British Army position, at those trenches and machine‑gun emplacements.

He recalled the military treatises he had read in his youth, recalling the accounts of amphibious assaults.

The defending side fears most that the enemy lands too early. The earlier they land, the more time the enemy has to form formations, the more chances they have to establish a beachhead. Therefore, a true commander waits. Waits for the enemy to be halfway, waits for them to be exhausted and breathless, waits for them to be stuck on the sand, unable to advance or retreat—

Then, fire.

"They are waiting." He finally spoke, his voice very soft.

Lin Huaiyuan was startled: "Waiting for what?"

Zhou Zhen guo lowered his telescope, looking at him.

"Waiting for those Sakura Nation soldiers to all become targets."

On the beachhead, the first batch of Cherry Blossom Nation soldiers finally rushed onto the sand.

They, panting heavily, lay on the sand, holding rifles aimed at the British Army positions ahead. The positions were quiet, with no movement, no shadows, only those black machine‑gun emplacements standing out in the morning light.

Regimental commander Colonel Yamada Ichiro followed the second batch of soldiers onto the beach. His left leg was cut by a stone in the seawater, blood streaming down his trouser leg, but he could not attend to the pain.

The British Army positions were three hundred meters ahead. The trenches were dug deep, the machine‑gun emplacements were solidly built, and three rows of barbed wire were strung. In front of the positions lay an open field with no cover.

"Colonel," the adjutant beside him panted, "why haven't they opened fire yet?"

Yamada Ichiro gave no answer.

He stared at the silent positions, and a strong unease rose in his heart.

Thirty years ago, when he first enlisted, his instructor had said: "Yingguo people when fighting are best at waiting. They wait until you're tired, wait until you're panicked, wait until you think you can catch a breath—then they open fire."

"Relay the order," he said, his voice low, "reduce speed, keep formation. The vanguard advance fifty meters, then stop, await the following units."

The adjutant went to relay the order.

The first batch of soldiers rose, crouching low as they advanced. Fifty meters, forty meters, thirty meters— they began cutting the barbed wire. Engineers used large pliers to snip each strand, producing a crisp "crack!" sound. The infantry crouched behind, muzzles pointed forward, fingers on the triggers.

No one fired a shot.

No one fell.

Yamada Ichiro's brows furrowed even tighter.

A young soldier stopped, took out his water bottle to drink. An older veteran beside him gave him a shove: "What are you drinking? Wait until the battle's over to drink!"

The young soldier wiped his mouth, shoved the bottle back, and kept moving forward.