Chapter 677: 12,000 Killed

Tomorrow, the artillery regiment should arrive.

Tomorrow, he will use those thirty‑six 105‑mm howitzers to level that damned trench.

Tomorrow—

He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

At four o'clock on the third day's dawn, Lanfang's artillery regiment finally arrived.

The thirty‑six 105‑mm howitzers were lined up in a single file at the foot of the mountain, their barrels raised high, aimed at the British Army positions on Bendahl Mountain. The gunners, shirtless, hauled shells, calculated data, and prepared to fire.

Shan Tian Yilang stood beside the artillery position, watching the massive guns.

The artillery regiment commander, a Lanfang native named Zhang, in his early thirties, wore the steadiness that only a battle‑hardened veteran possesses.

"Colonel Shan Tian," Colonel Zhang said in stiff Japanese, "Are your men ready?"

Shan Tian Yilang nodded.

"Ready. As soon as the barrage stops, we'll charge."

Colonel Zhang glanced at his watch.

"Dawn is near. We have thirty minutes of artillery preparation. In thirty minutes, you must charge forward."

Shan Tian Yilang drew a deep breath.

"Understood."

At exactly four thirty in the morning, Colonel Zhang raised his right hand.

"Open fire!"

All thirty‑six 105‑mm howitzers roared simultaneously. Flames from the barrels lit the pre‑dawn darkness as shells whistled toward the summit of Bendahl Mountain.

On the British Army positions, explosions rang continuously. Firelight shot upward, earth splattered, and the fortifications built over three days and nights crumbled like tofu before the shells.

The first barrage lasted ten minutes.

Ten minutes later, Colonel Zhang ordered, "Extend fire! Advance two hundred meters forward!"

The barrels lifted, and the shells flew farther.

Shan Tian Yilang drew his command sword and shouted at the soldiers crouching behind him:

"Assault!"

Over three thousand Sakura Nation soldiers leapt from the shelters and rushed toward the summit.

This time, the British Army's machine guns fell silent.

The soldiers who survived the barrage, as soon as they scrambled out of the shelters, were stabbed by Sakura Nation troops with bayonets. Those still resisting were blown to pieces by grenades. Those who raised their hands to surrender were simply cut down—there was no time for prisoners.

Shan Tian Yilang surged ahead.

He barreled through the third trench, through the demolished fortifications, through the still‑burning corpses. He didn't know how many he had killed or how many shells had hit him—he only felt pain all over his body, yet he could not stop.

Finally, he reached the summit.

At the summit, a huge Yingguo flag still fluttered. Beneath the flagpole, several Yingguo officers brandished pistols, attempting a final resistance.

Shan Tian Yilang raised his pistol, aiming at the leading Colonel.

The Colonel also saw him.

The two locked eyes for half a second.

Then, the gun fired.

Shan Tian Yilang's bullet struck the Colonel's chest. The Colonel staggered, fell to his knees, then collapsed.

Shan Tian Yilang walked to the flagpole, drew his bayonet, and cut the rope blade by blade.

The Yingguo flag slowly descended, landing on the summit littered with shell craters and corpses.

Behind him, Sakura Nation soldiers began to shout.

"Long live! Long live!"

Shan Tian Yilang did not shout.

He stood on the summit, looking at the dense mass of bodies beneath his feet—British, Indian, Burmese, and Sakura Nation alike.

Twelve thousand.

Twelve thousand Sakura Nation soldiers were forever left on this mountain.

At two p. m., Shan Ben Yifu ascended the summit.

He stood on the highest rock, overlooking the entire battlefield. Below, stretcher teams were carrying corpses, one after another, wrapped in white cloth and taken down the mountain. Above, the living were cleaning the field, gathering weapons and ammunition, and burying the dead.

Tu Fei Yuan Xian hurried to his side, holding the freshly compiled report.

"General, casualties… are huge."

Shan Ben Yifu did not turn around.

"How many?"

"Killed: 12,047; wounded: over 10,300. The first and third divisions were essentially shattered, the second suffered more than half losses, and only the fourth division remains relatively intact."

Shan Ben Yifu was silent for a long time.

Twelve thousand.

Including the 1,800 from Singapore, the Sakura Nation has already lost fourteen thousand.

He watched the corpses being carried down the mountain, the maimed wounded missing limbs, and the soldiers sitting on stones, staring blankly with vacant eyes.

"Tu Fei Yuan."

"Present."

"Order all units to rest for three days. After three days, advance toward Kuala Lumpur."

Tu Fei Yuan Xian hesitated for a moment.

"General, the soldiers…"

"I know," Shanben Yifu interrupted him, "but the Yingguo people also know our casualties are severe. They will gather more troops in Kuala Lumpur, will build stronger fortifications, will cause even more of us to die. If we stop now, those who have already died up front will have died in vain."

He turned and looked at Tu Fei Yuan Xian Da.

"Three days. Let the soldiers have a good meal and a sound sleep. After three days, continue fighting."

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

"Yes!"

In the evening, Shan Tian Yilang sat on a rock, watching the campfires burning down the mountain.

His regiment still had just over four hundred men left.

In the Singapore battle he still had two thousand men. In this Bendall Mountain battle, only four hundred remain.

Footsteps came nearby. A young soldier walked over, holding two rice balls in his hands.

"Colonel, you haven't eaten anything all day. Have some."

Shan Tian Yilang took the rice ball, took a bite. The rice was cold and hard, but he chewed it slowly and carefully.

The young soldier sat beside him, also eating his own rice ball.

"Colonel, do we… still have to fight?"

Shan Tian Yilang looked at him.

"Are you scared?"

The young soldier lowered his head, said nothing.

Shan Tian Yilang finished the rice ball and patted the grains off his hand.

"Being scared is right. Those who aren't scared are all dead."

He stood up and patted the young soldier's shoulder.

"Go back and sleep. Tomorrow we still have to march."

The young soldier stood, bowed to him, turned and left.

Shan Tian Yilang remained on the rock, watching the campfires.

In the distance, atop Bendall Mountain, the Rising Sun Flag still fluttered.

But in his eyes, that flag had already been stained red with blood.

Late at night, in Shanben Yifu's tent, Fu Tian Ya Tai Lang sat opposite him.

In front of them lay a bottle of sake and two cups. Yet neither drank.

"Shanben," Fu Tian Ya Tai Lang began, his voice hoarse, "the events of today… the matter of those prisoners, do you know?"

Shanben Yifu nodded.

He knew.

In the afternoon, while clearing the battlefield, a group of Sakura Nation soldiers captured over two hundred British Army prisoners. When those prisoners were being led down the mountain, they passed a field of corpses—the corpses of the soldiers who had fallen at the front in today's charge.

Then, someone fired first. By the time the officers rushed in to stop it, more than half of the two hundred prisoners were already dead.

"The soldier who opened fire, I have already restrained," Fu Tian Ya Tai Lang said, "There are thirty‑seven of them in total. How shall we deal with them?"

Shanben Yifu was silent for a long time.

Then he lifted the cup and drained it in one gulp.

"Lock them up for now. We'll discuss it after the battle."

"If it gets out…"

"So what if it gets out?" Shanben Yifu looked at him. "Those soldiers, I ordered them to charge. Those prisoners, they captured. Now you want to execute them for killing the prisoners?"