Chapter 754: Tomorrow at Dawn, Launch the General Attack

"Tu Feiyuan," he said, "relay the order to all corps, be ready. Tomorrow at dawn, launch the general attack."

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da was stunned.

"General? The engineers haven't finished clearing the mines yet…"

Shanben Yifu cut him off.

"We won't wait for the engineers."

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da's complexion changed.

"General, charging without clearing mines will kill many."

Shanben Yifu stared at him, his gaze calmly terrifying.

"I know. But the Yingguo are also waiting for us to clear mines. They know we fear mines, so they've buried them everywhere. If we proceed methodically, advancing one kilometer a day, by the time we reach Ka City, the Yingguo will have already regained their momentum."

He pointed at the British Army positions in the distance.

"News from Sinai arrived; their morale collapsed, their formation is in disarray. If we charge now, they can't stop us. If we wait for them to recover and reorganize, then charge again, more will die."

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da was silent for three seconds. In fact, he also understood; he had seen Chen Feng's telegram, and he also knew that Chen Feng never cared at all how many Sakura Nation soldiers fell in battle.

Then he stood at attention and saluted.

"Yes, General."

The order was passed down, and each corps began to assemble.

The soldiers crawled out of the tents, inspected their rifles, organized ammunition, filled water canteens. No one spoke, no one complained, they simply prepared in silence.

A young soldier crouched on the ground, carving something onto a shell casing with his bayonet. An older veteran shuffled over and glanced at it.

"What are you carving?"

The young soldier didn't lift his head.

"My sister's name. In case I die, someone can find me."

The veteran was silent for three seconds.

"Does your sister know you're here?"

The young soldier shook his head.

"I don't. But I promised her I'd come back alive."

He finished the last stroke and slipped the shell casing into his pocket.

The veteran patted his shoulder.

"Come back alive. Hear?"

The young soldier nodded.

In the distance, the sound of assembly whistles rose.

They stood and walked toward the ranks.

At four a. m., the jungle was so dark you couldn't see your hand.

No moon, no stars, only endless darkness. Occasionally the wind rustled the leaves, sounding like countless feet treading on fallen foliage.

Shanben Yifu stood on a rise, holding a night‑vision binocular, watching the British Army positions in the distance. Through the device everything glowed with an eerie green: trenches, sandbags, barbed wire, all clearly visible.

He saw sentries yawning, saw someone crouched in a trench smoking, saw someone leaning on a sandbag dozing.

They didn't know Death was closing in.

Tu Feiyuan Xian Da stood beside him, also holding a binocular. His hand trembled slightly—not from fear, but from tension.

"General, all corps are ready."

Shanben Yifu nodded.

He glanced at his watch.

It was 4:30 a. m.

Distance to sunrise was still two hours.

Two hours—enough?

Enough.

He raised his right hand.

The hand hovered in the air for a full three seconds.

Then, it came down sharply.

A signal flare shot up, exploding in the night sky, bursting with a blinding red light.

In that instant, the jungle rang with a roar like a mountain‑tide shout.

"Board!"

"Kill them!"

Countless Sakura Nation soldiers surged from the jungle, covering the hills, wielding Type‑38 rifles, charging the British Army positions.

Shan Tian Yilang charged at the front.

His left shoulder still ached, an old wound from the Sinai campaign that throbbed on rainy days. But he couldn't mind the pain; he just ran, ran, ran.

Beneath his feet lay rotting leaves, soft and yielding, giving no traction. Ahead was impenetrable darkness, only occasional flashes of fire lighting the path for a moment.

He didn't know where the mines were. No one knew.

He only knew to run.

Run fast, perhaps he could survive.

Run slow, certain death.

The first mine detonated.

It was twenty meters to his left. The blast's fireball shot upward, illuminating the surrounding runners. He saw several people hurled into the air, then falling back, crashing to the ground, motionless.

He didn't stop.

Keep running.

The second one, the third one, the fourth—.

The mines exploded in succession, their flames merging into one blaze. Cries of agony, shouts of terror, and curses blended together, but were quickly drowned out by the ensuing explosions.

Shan Tian Yilang kept running when suddenly his foot gave way.

He instinctively lunged to the side.

Behind him, that mine detonated. The blast wave threw him onto the ground, his ears buzzing so loudly he could hear nothing.

He struggled to get up and kept running.

A soldier beside him ran on, then suddenly stopped. He looked down at his leg— the leg was gone. Everything below the knee was missing, leaving only a bloody stump.

He froze for a second, then collapsed, screaming in agony.

Shan Tian Yilang ran past him without stopping.

Can't stop. Stopping means death.

The British Army's machine gun finally roared.

It wasn't a single crack, but dozens of gunshots rang together. Bullets swept down like a rainstorm, the soldiers at the front falling in waves. Some were riddled into shrapnel, some were shot in the head and died instantly, others dragged broken legs on the ground, screaming.

"Prone!" someone shouted.

The soldiers lay flat on the ground, faces pressed to the mud, listening to bullets whoosh overhead. The British Army's machine gun was so fierce it pressed them down so they could barely lift their heads.

Shan Tian Yilang lay in a shell crater, panting heavily.

Beside him a young soldier lay, his face death‑pale and his whole body trembling. A fragment had cut his left ear, blood streaming down his cheek, but he couldn't bother to wipe it away.

"Ol—old veteran," he stammered, "Can we... can we charge through?"

Shan Tian Yilang looked at him.

The kid looked under twenty, his face still bearing a lingering childishness. In his eyes were fear, despair, and something indescribable—perhaps hope.

"We can," Shan Tian Yilang said.

The kid froze for a moment.

"Really?"

Shan Tian Yilang gave no answer.

He stuck his head out and glanced forward. The British Army's machine gun on the trench line was still firing, the trench flickering with firelight. Yet the flames seemed less dense now.

He suddenly understood something.

"Mortar!" he shouted, "Where's our mortar?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, a muffled thud of a mortar firing rang from behind.

One shot, two shots, ten, dozens.

Shells whooshed overhead and landed on the British Army's position. The machine‑gun fire thinned out a bit.

"Charge!"

Shan Tian Yilang scrambled to his feet and kept charging forward.

The young soldier also got up, running beside him.

Bullets whistled past his ears; he could feel the wind, feel death brushing his skin as it flew by. Yet he didn't stop—just ran, ran, ran.

Thirty meters.

Twenty meters.

Ten meters—

He leapt into the British Army's trench.

The trench was filled with corpses—British, Sakura Country, all mixed together, indistinguishable. Blood turned the mud at the trench bottom a dark crimson, sticky underfoot, each step feeling like wading through a swamp.

A British soldier burst from the corner, brandishing a bayonet toward him. Shan Tian Yilang instinctively raised his rifle, parried the thrust, then reversed his grip and drove the bayonet into the man's abdomen.

The soldier let out a horrible scream, fell to his knees, clutching his stomach as blood gushed from between his fingers. He stared at Shan Tian Yilang, his lips moving as if to speak, but the blood poured out and choked his throat.

He died.

Shan Tian Yilang withdrew the bayonet and kept moving forward.

He didn't look back.