Chapter 742: Capture Dhaka?

Lin Huaiyuan continued, "The First Infantry Division is ready. Five thousand men, twenty‑four landing ships, can depart at any moment."

Li Te finally set down his telescope and looked at him.

"Did the British notice us?"

"Probably not. Our fleet has kept radio silence, and the reconnaissance aircraft flew overhead. The British may think we're a merchant convoy."

Li Te sneered.

"A merchant convoy? With more than forty warships?"

He turned and stared at the coastline becoming clearer.

"Order all ships to prepare for battle. Landing craft, begin deploying boats."

The order was relayed, and Zhenyuan's signal light began flashing. One by one, landing ships slipped away from the mother ship, racing toward the shore.

The First Infantry Division's soldiers crowded inside the landing craft, gripping their rifles in silence. Waves hammered the bow, spraying spray. One seasick man leaned over the rail to vomit; a comrade patted his back and handed him a water flask.

A young soldier asked the veteran beside him, "Sergeant, this is our first amphibious assault, right?"

The veteran glanced at him and lit a cigarette.

"First time? This is my third."

The young soldier's eyes brightened, "Where were the first two?"

The veteran exhaled a plume of smoke.

"The first two were just training."

He paused.

"Kid, remember, the biggest danger in a landing is not the enemy but nerves. When you're nervous, your hands shake, the gun won't aim. Miss, and you die."

The young soldier nodded vigorously, but his hands still trembled.

The landing craft lurched hard and grounded on the beach.

The hatch slammed open.

In that instant, seawater surged in, icy, up past the ankles, knees, and thighs.

"Charge!"

The soldiers leapt into the water, rifles raised, sprinting toward the sand.

On shore, a British sentry just noticed the surface disturbance. He froze for three seconds, then turned and ran, shouting, "Enemy! The enemy is landing!"

But his shout was quickly drowned out by gunfire.

Machine guns on the landing craft opened fire, bullets striking the shoreline rocks and scattering shards. Mortars began pounding, shells landing near British fortifications, raising plumes of smoke.

The First Infantry Division's troops surged onto the beach, crouching, rifles aimed at the shore.

A British soldier stuck his head out of a trench, raised his gun, and was hit in the forehead by a bullet, falling backward.

Another British soldier tried to set up a machine gun, but before he could pull the trigger, a mortar shell blew him apart.

The battle ended faster than expected.

Karachi's garrison consisted of a single company, just over a hundred men. Facing a five‑thousand‑strong landing force, they didn't hold ten minutes. Some were killed, some surrendered, some dropped their rifles and fled into the city.

At exactly eight a. m., Karachi Port raised Lanfang's Golden Dragon Flag.

Li Te stepped off the landing craft onto Karachi's soil.

He surveyed the surroundings— the pier intact, warehouses intact, port facilities intact. The British hadn't even had time to sabotage.

Chief of Staff Lin Huaiyuan came over and handed a telegram.

"General, Division Commander Wang Guojian reports: Glad is secured and under rest. Division Commander Yang Guoyan reports: Moklan Port is under attack, expected to be taken this afternoon."

Li Te took the telegram, read it once, then nodded.

"Reply to Wang Guojian: Karachi is secured. Let him press eastward; we'll hold the rear."

Lin Huaiyuan nodded, turned, and went to issue orders.

Li Te continued to look at the undamaged port facilities.

In the distance, residents of Karachi stood by the road, curiously watching the soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Some were frightened, hiding inside houses. Some lingered at doorways, peeking. A few bold children ran after the troops, shouting as they went.

Li Te watched the children and suddenly thought of his own son.

His son, seven this year, studies in Dubai. He wondered what the boy was doing now.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

Now is not the time to think of home.

He turned to the officer beside him and said, "Order all units: after securing the port, advance into the city. Eliminate any resistance on the spot, but do not harass civilians."

The officer saluted, "Yes!"

The First Infantry Division began moving toward Karachi's urban area.

Along the streets, shops were shuttered, windows sealed. Occasionally a few locals peeked out, glanced, then withdrew. Distant gunshots rang a few times, then fell silent.

A soldier asked the squad leader, "Sergeant, have we taken it?"

The squad leader nodded.

"We have."

The soldier scratched his head, "That easy?"

The squad leader looked at him and suddenly smiled.

"Easy? Kid, do you know how long we prepared? Three months. Three months of landing drills, three months of firepower prep, three months of reconnaissance. It's easy now because it wasn't before."

He patted the soldier's shoulder.

"Let's go, keep moving forward."

At two p. m., the entire city of Karachi was occupied.

The British lost 123 killed and 47 captured. Lanfang suffered eleven dead and twenty‑three wounded.

Li Te stood in front of the former Yingguo colonial government's office building, watching the Yingguo flag being lowered and the Lanfang Golden Dragon flag being raised.

He suddenly thought of a question.

The British had stayed in India for two hundred years. Two hundred years, and it ended like that?

He shook his head.

Not yet. India is too vast; the British are still there. There are still two hundred thousand British Army troops in Daka, and eight capital ships in Mumbai. To take the whole of India will still take time.

But at least Lanfang now has a foothold in India.

He turned and walked into the office building.

The new command post is right here.

February 11, Myanmar‑India border.

The sun cannot penetrate the jungle.

The dense tropical rainforest blocks the sky, only a few shafts of sunlight filter through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The air is filled with a damp, rotten smell—a mixture of decaying leaves, moldy wood, and the carcass of some unknown animal.

Mosquitoes buzz around people, leaving bite marks all over the body. Leeches fall from the trees, crawl into collars to suck blood. The soil beneath the feet is as soft as a swamp; each step requires great effort.

Yamamoto Kazuo stood beneath a massive banyan tree, holding a telescope and looking at the impenetrable green ahead.

Nothing can be seen. Only trees, trees, still trees.

Chief of Staff Tsuchihara Ken walked over, drenched, his face swollen and red from mosquito bites. He held a reconnaissance report, his expression solemn.

"General, the scout reports that the outer defensive line of Daka is thirty kilometers ahead. The British have been building fortifications there for three months, with at least fifty thousand men guarding it."

Yamamoto Kazuo said nothing.

Tsuchihara Ken continued: "The jungle is full of hidden forts, minefields, and traps. The British cut down trees and set up machine guns on clearings. Our troops can't deploy at all."