Chapter 744: Powerless

He stood up and walked to the window.

In the distance, toward Mumbai, faint black dots could be seen moving—those were Yingguo reconnaissance aircraft, still futilely watching them.

"Chief of Staff, tell me, what is Jieli Ke thinking now?"

The Chief of Staff thought for a moment.

"He's thinking about how to survive and get back."

She Er shook his head.

"No. He's thinking about how to die with some dignity."

He turned and looked at the Chief of Staff.

"You know, when a person realizes his death is inevitable, he thinks of two things. First, how to keep living; second, how to die with propriety. Jieli Ke knows he cannot keep living, so now he only considers the second."

The Chief of Staff was silent for a few seconds.

"General, do you think he'll come out?"

She Er thought for a moment.

"He will. Once the Lanfang forces take Mumbai from the land, he'll emerge."

"Why?"

"Because being trapped in the harbor waiting to die is more shameful than dying in battle."

He walked back to the window, looking at the distant harbor.

"Chief of Staff, tell the fleet to stay on alert. Jieli Ke could emerge at any moment."

The Chief of Staff nodded: "Yes!"

Mumbai, Yingguo Far East Fleet Headquarters.

Jieli Ke sat in his office, with three telegrams laid out before him.

First: Glad has fallen; Lanfang troops are advancing inland into India.

Second: Karachi has fallen; Lanfang naval marines have already landed.

Third: Toward Dhaka, the Sakura Nation's three hundred thousand troops are closing in.

He read them three times, his hand trembling slightly.

The Chief of Staff pushed the door open, his face ashen.

"General, we have a message from London asking when we can strike."

Jieli Ke lifted his head and looked at him.

"Strike? How to strike? There are four Bismarck Class ships waiting outside us, how can we strike?"

The Chief of Staff fell silent.

Jieli Ke stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the Mumbai harbor held his eight main battleships and five cruisers. That was Yingguo's last assets in Yazhou. No, it could be said that it was the entire Royal Navy's last assets!

But now they are just a pile of scrap—unable to leave, unable to fight, only waiting to die.

"Chief of Staff," he said softly, "send a reply to London."

The Chief of Staff took out paper and pen.

Jieli Ke was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "Helpless. Four characters."

The Chief of Staff was stunned.

"General? That's the reply?"

Jieli Ke turned and looked at him.

"That's the reply. Helpless. What else can we say? That we dare not go out? That we can only wait to die?"

The Chief of Staff lowered his head, wrote the telegram, and turned to leave.

After the door closed, Jieli Ke stood alone at the window.

He watched the few warships moored in the distant harbor, the soldiers pacing the decks, and the sea surface glittering under the sun.

He suddenly recalled thirty years ago, when he first enlisted. He was a young Lieutenant then, his first time aboard a warship, so excited he couldn't sleep. He had thought he would spend his life in the Royal Navy, perhaps become a captain, perhaps a general, perhaps take part in a great sea battle that would go down in history.

Thirty years later, he became a general and fought in numerous sea battles.

In the Arabian Sea battle, twelve main ships fought two Lanfang warships for three hours without victory. The world saw those photos, witnessing the British Empire's Royal Navy in a sorry state.

Now, he leads eight battered ships, trapped in Mumbai Port, daring not to go out.

A name that would go down in history?

It would be a disgrace for ten thousand years, perhaps.

He gave a wry smile.

In the distance, on the horizon, faint black dots could be seen.

Those were Deguo warships. Four Bismarck Class ships were waiting for him.

He suddenly recalled General Nelson's words: "Yingguo expects everyone to fulfill their duties diligently."

Fulfill duties diligently.

Has he fulfilled his duties?

He does not know.

He only knows that in his lifetime, he may never go out again.

February 14 evening, Glad.

Wang Guojian stood on the roof of the former Yingguo colonial administration building, holding a telescope and watching the sky darken in the distance.

In one day and night, forty thousand people and over a hundred tanks captured Glad and Moklan Port. News came from Yang Guoyan's side that Moklan Port was also taken this afternoon.

Chen Dalaei climbed onto the roof and handed over a telegram.

"Division Commander, General Li Te is on the line. Karachi has been secured, and the First Infantry Division is advancing inland."

Wang Guojian took the telegram, read it once, and then nodded.

"What about Yamamoto Kazuo's side?"

Chen Dali hesitated for a moment.

"Still in the jungle. Progress is very slow. The Yingguo have laid too many mines."

Wang Guojian was silent for a few seconds.

"Jungle warfare is hard. Tell Yamamoto Kazuo, no rush. Take it slow. We're moving faster here; Dhaka will be an isolated island."

Chen Dali nodded, turned around and went to issue orders.

Wang Guojian continued to stare at the distant sky.

The setting sun was sinking below the horizon, dyeing the whole sky blood‑red. In the distance, at the edge of the desert, faint black specks could be seen moving — they were follow‑up troops gathering toward Glade.

He suddenly recalled a question.

What are the Yingguo doing now?

Over in London, they should have already received news of Glade and Karachi falling, right?

That old fox Asquith must be cursing his mother right now.

He smiled.

Go ahead and curse. After that, there'll be even more for you to say.

Karachi, the former British colonial government office building.

Li Te sat behind his desk, with three maps spread before him — a city map of Karachi, a topographic map of western India, and a strategic overview of the whole of India.

Chief of Staff Lin Huaiyuan pushed the door open and entered.

"General, Division Commander Wang Guojian is on the line. Glade and Moklan Port have both been captured. Division Commander Yang Guoyan is advancing to the northeast, targeting Hyderabad."

Li Te nodded.

"What about Yamamoto Kazuo's side?"

"Still in the jungle. Today they advanced another three kilometers."

Li Te was silent for a few seconds.

"Three kilometers. In three days they covered three kilometers."

Lin Huaiyuan gave a wry smile.

"Jungle warfare, there's no way around it. The Yingguo have planted too many mines."

Li Te stood up and walked to the map. He looked at Dhaka's position, then at Karachi's, then at the red line running west to east, and the black line running east to west.

The pincers were slowly closing.

"Tell Yamamoto Kazuo, no rush. Take it slow. We're moving faster here; when the time comes we'll strike in central India!"

Lin Huaiyuan nodded, "Yes."

Li Te turned and looked out the window. Outside, night was falling over Karachi; in the distance a mosque lit up, and a long chant resonated from the horn on the minaret.

He suddenly recalled a question.

How much longer will this war last?

He didn't know.

But he knew it was nearing its end.

Toward Dhaka, deep in the jungle.

Yamamoto Kazuo leaned against a tree, looking at the telegram.

"No rush. Take it slow."

He gave a wry smile.

No rush? Soldiers of the Sakura Nation are dying one after another in the jungle—how can it not be urgent?

But he also knew that haste was useless. In jungle warfare, haste means a death sentence.

He folded the telegram and slipped it into his pocket.

Tsuchihara Ken walked over and sat beside him.

"General, another thirty‑seven died today."