Chapter 676: Coordinating an Artillery Regiment for You

Shanben Yifu nodded.

"I think so too."

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the night view of Singapore City was unusually quiet under the moonlight—the kind of quiet that precedes a storm.

"Tu Feiyuan, order all corps: tomorrow at eight a. m., continue the advance north. All four corps deploy, the target is—Kuala Lumpur."

Tu Feiyuan Xianer was startled for a moment.

"All? No troops left to guard Singapore?"

Shanben Yifu turned and looked at him.

"Singapore is already ours. Yingguo won't return—its navy is gone, what could they bring back?"

He walked back to his desk and put away the map.

"Tell the soldiers, Singapore is only a beginning. Kuala Lumpur is the real battlefield."

Eighty kilometers south of Kuala Lumpur lies Bendell Mountain.

Shanben Yifu raised his binoculars and stared at the lush green peak in the distance. The morning mist had not yet cleared; the portion above the mid‑mountain was faintly visible, as if veiled by a light gauze.

But he knew that behind that gauze were 35,000 Yingguo soldiers.

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da stood beside him, holding the report just delivered by the scouts.

"General, the British Army has built a complete defensive line here. Three trenches, two layers of barbed wire, a minefield fifty meters deep. On the mid‑mountain there are permanent fortifications made of reinforced concrete, capable of withstanding direct hits from artillery under 155 mm."

Shanben Yifu set down his binoculars.

"What about the heavy artillery?"

"Intelligence shows they have thirty‑six 18‑pound field guns, twelve 4.5‑inch howitzers, and… eight 60‑pound heavy guns."

The 60‑pound heavy guns. Those are the British Army's main suppressive fire, with a range over ten thousand meters and tremendous power.

Shanben Yifu was silent for three seconds.

"What about our heavy artillery?"

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da shook his head: "They're still behind us. The mountain roads are difficult; the artillery units won't arrive until tomorrow at the earliest."

Shanben Yifu raised his binoculars again, looking at the mountain.

Bendell Mountain. The throat of the Malay Peninsula. Both road and rail run through the hills; without taking it, the main force cannot move north.

"What about Lanfang's ship guns?"

"General Zhou replied: the Distance to the coast exceeds fifty kilometers, beyond ship‑gun range. But he has coordinated a 105 mm artillery regiment, carrying thirty‑six guns, currently on the way. Expected… arrival within two days."

Two days.

Shanben Yifu closed his eyes.

Within two days, the British Army will only reinforce the fortifications and tighten the defensive line. Within two days, more British troops will arrive from Burma, from India, from every place that can still spare forces.

Two days is too long.

"Tu Feiyuan."

"Present."

"Order all corps to prepare for the attack. No longer wait for the artillery regiment."

Tu Feiyuan Xianer was startled for a moment.

"General, without heavy‑artillery support, a direct assault…"

"I know," Shanben Yifu cut him off, "but we don't have time to wait."

He pointed toward Bendell Mountain.

"The Yingguo are gathering. Each extra day adds to their strength. We must strike while they haven't solidified their positions."

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da was silent for three seconds, then stood at attention.

"Yes!"

At two p. m., the first wave of the Sakura Nation's attack began.

Two regiments, about six thousand men, launched a charge from the foot of the mountain. Ahead were sappers clearing mines, followed by infantry, then machine‑gunners and mortarmen providing cover.

Shan Tian Yilang led his regiment, charging at the front.

His left shoulder was still unhealed, wrapped in thick bandages, each step pulling pain. Yet he did not stop, did not slow, gritting his teeth and pressing forward.

Minefield. Sappers used detectors one by one, cutting with pliers one by one. The "crack—crack" sound was especially clear beneath the silent mountain foot.

The first mine was cleared. The second, the third, the fourth—

Suddenly, a huge blast.

A sapper stepped on an undetected mine and was blown into the air. Several nearby sappers were also swept down by shrapnel, falling to the ground and screaming.

"Keep clearing!" Shan Tian Yilang shouted, "Don't stop!"

The sappers, eyes reddened, kept moving forward. Some trembled, some wept, but none retreated.

A narrow passage was finally cleared.

"Charge!"

Sakura Nation soldiers surged across the minefield, charging toward the first barbed‑wire fence. Sappers used large pliers to cut the wire, and the soldiers crawled through, advancing, climbing toward the first trench.

Three hundred meters.

Two hundred meters.

One hundred meters.

The British Army positions remained quiet.

That quiet reminded Shan Tian Yilang of yesterday's beachhead. The same quiet, the same waiting, the same—

"Open fire!"

The British Army's machine gun finally roared.

Thirty-six Vickers Machine Guns swept fire simultaneously, bullets pouring down like a torrential rain. Soldiers at the front fell in waves; some were riddled into shrapnel, some were shot in the head and died on the spot, and some dragged broken legs, screaming on the ground.

"Get down!" Yamada Ichiro shouted.

The soldiers crawled on the ground, faces pressed to the mud, listening to bullets whooshing overhead. The British Army's machine guns were too fierce, pinning them down so they could barely lift their heads.

"Mortars! Suppress the machine guns!"

Six mortars were set up, firing smoke bombs at the British Army positions. White smoke spread over the positions, obscuring the machine guns' sightlines, and the firepower weakened a bit.

"Charge!"

The soldiers scrambled up and kept moving forward.

Fifty meters.

Thirty meters.

Twenty meters—

The first trench finally arrived.

Yamada Ichiro leapt into the trench, brandishing his pistol and firing in all directions. A few British Army soldiers were in the trench; before they could react, they were riddled into shrapnel.

More Sakura Nation soldiers jumped in. They advanced along the trench to both sides, using hand grenades to clear cover and bayonets to deal with remaining enemies.

The first trench, taken.

But Yamada Ichiro was not pleased.

He looked up toward the hillside—there, the machine guns in the second trench were still firing, the soldiers in the third trench were still aiming. Higher up, eight 60‑pound heavy artillery pieces were adjusting their angles, and the next round of shells could fall at any moment.

"Relay the order," he panted, "continue the attack. The second trench."

At dusk, the Sakura Nation had already taken the second trench, but the losses were severe.

Yamada Ichiro leaned against a tree trunk blown apart by a shell, gasping heavily. His uniform was drenched in sweat, his face covered in mud and smoke, and the wound on his left shoulder had reopened, blood streaming down his arm.

"Casualty report?"

The deputy officer's voice trembled: "1st Regiment, still has… still has over eight hundred left. nd Regiment, still has just over a thousand left. 3rd Regiment… the 3rd Regiment has been scattered and is being regrouped."

Yamada Ichiro closed his eyes.

Two regiments, six thousand men. Now fewer than two thousand remain.

He stared at the third trench on the hillside still spitting fire, at the heavy artillery still rumbling, and at the soldiers who kept falling.

"It's getting dark," he said, "relay the order, pause the attack. Pull back the troops, wait for nightfall."

The deputy officer, relieved, turned to deliver the order.

Yamada Ichiro continued leaning on the tree trunk, watching the sky grow darker.