Chapter 756: Taking Daka

In the distance, cheers came.

It was the cheers of Sakura Nation soldiers, the sound of them capturing the third defensive line.

Shan Tian Yilang leaned against the trench wall and slowly slid down to sit.

Tianzhong Erlang also sat down, leaning beside him.

Neither of them said a word.

They just sat there, watching the silhouettes still running and listening to the gunfire growing more distant.

At dusk, the Rising Sun Flag of the Sakura Nation rose over the central square of Daka City.

Shan Ben Yifu stood in the middle of the square, watching the flag fluttering in the sunset. Around him, the city's ruins still smoked, corpses had not yet been cleared, and the wounded were moaning.

Tu Fei Yuan Xianda walked over and handed a freshly compiled report.

"General, preliminary figures: 53,000 dead, over 40,000 wounded. Ten divisions, half shattered."

Shan Ben Yifu took the report and glanced through it.

Fifty-three thousand.

Adding Malaya's 42,000 and Burma's 53,000, the Sakura Nation has lost nearly 150,000 lives.

He stared at the numbers, silent for a long while.

Then he folded the report and slipped it into his pocket.

"Send a telegram to Dubai."

Tu Fei Yuan Xianda took out paper and pen.

Shan Ben Yifu was silent for three seconds.

"Daka has been taken. Sakura Nation soldiers did not embarrass Lanfang."

After writing, Tu Fei Yuan Xianda looked up at him.

"General, that's all?"

Shan Ben Yifu nodded.

"That's all."

Tu Fei Yuan Xianda turned and went to deliver the orders.

Shan Ben Yifu stood there, watching the distant sky stained red with blood.

He recalled the soldiers who died in the jungle, the youths blown apart during the charge, and the rookie in the trench who asked, "Can we go back alive?"

Fifty-three thousand.

Fifty-three thousand fine young men of the Sakura Nation, forever left here.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Shan Tian Yilang walked to his side and stood firm.

His left arm was wrapped in thick bandages, the bleeding had stopped. His face was covered in ash, his eye sockets hollow, yet his eyes still shone.

"General," he said, "Daka has been taken."

Shan Ben Yifu nodded.

"Did you see the casualty figures?"

"I did."

Shan Ben Yifu turned his head toward him.

"How many men are left in your regiment?"

Shan Tian Yilang was silent for three seconds.

"One hundred twenty‑seven."

Shan Ben Yifu closed his eyes.

One hundred twenty‑seven. Before the assault there were two thousand five hundred.

He opened his eyes, looking at the sky far away that was darkening.

"Shan Tian, tell me, will the dead blame us?"

Shan Tian Yilang was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "General, I don't know."

Shan Ben Yifu nodded.

"I don't know either."

Night fell, and Daka City grew quiet.

Sakura Nation soldiers huddled among the ruins; some smoked, some stared blankly, some leaned against walls to nap. No one spoke, no one laughed, just sitting in silence.

In the distance, an occasional gunshot rang—patrol units clearing the remaining foes.

Shan Tian Yilang leaned against a broken wall, eyes closed. He wasn't asleep, just resting.

Footsteps came nearby. Tianzhong Erlang walked over and sat beside him.

The child's left shoulder was bandaged, his complexion pale, yet his eyes still held light.

"Veteran," he whispered, "we've won."

Shan Tian Yilang opened his eyes and looked at him.

"We won."

Tianzhong Erlang was silent for a few seconds.

"My brother... if he were still alive, how wonderful that would be."

Shan Tian Yilang said nothing.

Tianzhong Erlang lowered his head, looking at his own hands. They were still trembling slightly.

"He once wrote me a letter, saying, as long as we're alive, that's enough. If we're alive, we can return home."

His voice grew softer.

"But he isn't alive."

Shan Tian Yilang reached out and pressed his hand on his shoulder.

"You are alive. You live on his behalf."

Tianzhong Erlang lifted his head and looked at him.

His eyes were a bit red, but no tears fell.

He nodded.

In the distance, stars began to light up in the night sky.

One, two, three—more and more.

Shan Tian Yilang looked at those stars and suddenly thought of a question.

Did those who had died also become stars?

He didn't know.

But he hoped so.

It was nine p. m. London time.

Asikuisi sat in the office, holding the telegram that had come from Daka. He had read it over a dozen times, and each reading added another ounce of despair to his heart.

"Daka fell. The Cherry Blossom Nation's army has occupied the whole city. Most of my defending troops were annihilated, the remaining surrendered."

He set the telegram down and closed his eyes.

India, we can't hold it!

The bright pearl on the crown of the British Empire was lost.

In Dubai's dawn, the sun rose from the sea surface of the Persian Gulf, dyeing the whole city golden‑red.

The sea glittered like a layer of scattered gold. In the distance, the mosque's minarets stood especially clear in the morning light, and the loudspeaker on the minaret emitted a long chant, calling believers to begin a new day. At the dock, workers had already begun their tasks, cranes creaking as they turned, cargo ships whistling, everything just as usual.

But today, it was different from usual.

On the dock, a young worker set down his work and suddenly pointed to the distance, shouting, "Look! Look quickly!"

Everyone lifted their heads and looked in the direction his finger indicated.

At the port entrance, several massive warships were slowly sailing in. They were the Huaihe Hao and Zhujiang Hao, along with a few destroyers. They had just completed sea trials, left the shipyard, and returned to the places where they had fought before.

But what made the crowd cheer wasn't these warships.

It was the flags hanging on the warships.

Flags everywhere.

From bow to stern, from mast to hull, multicolored signal flags covered the entire warship. They fluttered in the morning breeze, like patches of colored clouds.

It was the navy's highest‑level celebration ceremony.

An old worker stared blankly for three seconds, then threw away his tool, raised his hands, and shouted with all his might:

"We won! We won!"

That shout was like a spark dropping into a pot of oil.

The dock boiled instantly.

The workers threw away their tasks, embraced each other, cheered, and jumped. Some tossed their hats into the sky, some knelt to kiss the ground beneath their feet, some clutched each other, crying and laughing.

"We won! Sinai won!"

"Four hundred thousand Yingguo people, all annihilated!"

"Zhao Yanwang, well done!"

The cheers rose wave after wave, shaking the gulls so they flew away.

The young worker stood among the crowd, laughing until tears fell. He recalled three months earlier, when the Huaihe Hao was towed back to the port—the massive breach, the twisted steel plates, the decks stained red with blood. At that time, looking at the wrecked battleship, he had only one thought: could it still be repaired?

Now, it has been repaired. And, we won.

He rubbed his eyes hard and kept cheering.

More and more people gathered on the dock. Not just workers, but also citizens who rushed from the city. Men, women, elders, children—all surged toward the dock, toward the harbor, toward the warships sailing in.

The Huaihe Hao slowly docked. On the deck, sailors lined up at the hull's edge, waving to the crowd on shore. The people on shore grew even more frantic, shouting, calling, jumping.

A young sailor stood on the deck, looking at the sea of people, his eyes a bit sore. Beside him stood an old veteran, patting his shoulder.

"Kid, why are you crying?"

The young sailor shook his head.

"Not crying. Just... just happy."