The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 943 The Two Ends of the Noose

The morning mist, shrouded in the smoke of gunpowder, hung heavily over the Johor Strait.

Inside the concrete fortress at the northern end of the Singapore Fortress, Sir Campbell, Commander-in-Chief of the Malayan Legion, held up his binoculars, his pupils trembling slightly behind the lenses—on the Johor Causeway, seventy to eighty thousand British and Indian soldiers were surging forward like mud from a burst dam.

The Sikh soldiers' turbans came undone and were trampled into the mud; the Indian infantrymen's boots had long been lost, and their bare feet bled on the gravel road; the remnants of the Australian brigade dragged broken rifles, their uniforms torn to shreds by jungle vines. An ammunition car stuck in a ditch was overturned, and thirsty soldiers frantically scrambled for the last few drops of rusty, dirty water in their canteens, like a pack of hyenas fighting for food.

"Sir, the 11th Sikh Brigade reports...more than half the unit has been lost!" The Oxford accent of a young British staff officer was drowned out by the cries of the fleeing soldiers.

Campbell lowered his binoculars, a relieved smile playing on his lips. "Thank God, the main force has finally withdrawn!" He turned and pointed to the towering coastal defense turrets behind him. "The Singapore fortress has 280 heavy cannons, and its stockpiled food and ammunition are enough to hold out for five months! After Admiral Hood annihilates that 'hidden dragon,' the Royal Navy will crush the Taiping Army's supply lines! Then—"

“Sir!” another young staff officer suddenly interrupted him, his finger trembling as he pointed to the southeast corner of the fortress.

That was Telok Ayer Street, where rows of shophouses were squeezed in the humid sea breeze, dried salted fish floated on clotheslines, and countless dark eyes silently watched the fleeing army from behind the windows.

“There are 200,000 Chinese in Singapore,” the staff officer said in a very low voice. “Most of them are True Covenant Christians. It was these people who bombed the Taiping army camp when they landed in Kota Bharu.”

Campbell's knuckles were white from clenching his fists.

He knew these Chinese people were unreliable, extremely unreliable!
But he also knew that the empire's colonial endeavors in Malaya could not exist without them—rubber plantations, tin mines, port terminals—every shilling of profit for the British Empire in Malaya was soaked in the blood and sweat of these "yellow-skinned" people. If they were all driven away, Singapore would become a dead city tomorrow!

In addition, these Chinese are also hostages of the Malayan Legion. In case of any unforeseen circumstances, the Malayan Legion can use them to secure their survival.

At least it can preserve the white officers and soldiers in the Malayan Legion.
“For now… there’s no need to expel them.” He gritted his teeth, as if convincing himself, “The fortress is impregnable. If the Chinese dare to make any moves, let the machine guns teach them to respect the British order!”

Tianjing Prime Minister's Office

A huge map of Southeast Asia was spread out on a long rosewood table, with a red arrow biting towards Singapore Island like a venomous snake.

Minister of War Shi Dakai, with his fingers seemingly blessed, traced the Johor Strait and sighed, "One hundred thousand defeated soldiers retreated into their tortoise shell... Yu Cheng's victory in this battle ultimately failed to encircle the enemy!"

"Wing King, General Chen's 80,000 troops defeated 100,000 British and Indian troops, annihilating 20,000 enemy soldiers—an unprecedented victory!" Chief of the General Staff Zhu Ba suddenly stood up, his gaze sweeping over Wang Yan, the Minister of the Navy. "As for Singapore... are we to have the navy use their flesh and blood to ram the fortresses?"

Wang Yan silently unfolded a summary report from the Naval Staff regarding the Battle of Malaya: "In the Battle of Malaya, the South Sea Fleet did its utmost. Three 'Hailong II' class battleships were severely damaged, three 'Zhenyuan' class battleships were sunk, and seven were severely damaged... Now the British have twice as many capital ships as we do!"

Shi Dakai sighed: "If only the Armaments Department could build a few more battleships."

Minister of Armaments Xu Shou immediately replied, "Reporting to Prince Yi, the five 'Qianlong II' class destroyers at the Dalian Shipyard are already on the slipway, their main guns upgraded to 305mm rapid-fire cannons, and their standard displacement is now over 20,000 tons! The Jiangnan Shipyard is currently outfitting five 'Hailong III' class destroyers, each over 17,000 tons, equipped with 280mm rapid-fire cannons, capable of tearing through the main armor of the 'Monarch-class' destroyers from three to four thousand meters away!" His chest heaved like an ox exerting all its strength. "Give us another six months, and the Armaments Department guarantees that all five 'Hailong III' class destroyers can be completed."

“No need to rush.” Luo Yaoguo’s voice came from the window. The Premier, with his back to the crowd, gazed at the glazed tiles of Nanjing’s Golden Dragon City in the twilight outside the window. “Time is the noose around the British’s neck.” He turned around, a cold smile playing on his lips. “Ten thousand frightened birds are crammed onto this tiny island. Food, clean water, disease… every day is wearing down their morale! Even if Hu De returns, do you expect him to send hungry Indian soldiers to fight against armored vehicles?”

He grabbed a red pencil and drew a heavy circle around Singapore: "Singapore is already ours!"

"Tell Yucheng and Qingyuan to repair the damaged ship, stockpile ammunition, and wait for two months! Make the noose... tighten it even more!"

Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean.

The midday sun of the Indian Ocean scorched the lagoon, and the azure seawater overflowed the menacing gap in the bow of the "Tianjing" warship.

The 254mm armor-piercing shell that pierced the anchor chain locker tore a four-meter-wide hole in the steel. At that moment, a dozen sailors in overalls were using the crane of the disguised supply ship "Aladdin," which was flying the Ottoman crescent flag, to rivet a carburized steel plate onto the hull. Sparks flew into the seawater, hissing as they went.

"Hood's main force is resupplying in Colombo." Captain Deng Shichang of the Jingyuan kicked away a giant clam shell at his feet. "Among the merchant ships we sank were three vessels of high-quality Welsh coal... enough for his fleet to hunt at full speed for half a month."

Luo Xinhua grabbed a handful of white sand, letting the fine coral fragments slip through his fingers: "He dared not pursue for long. Once the Indian Ocean shipping route was cut off, the stomachs of hundreds of thousands of people in Singapore would be more deadly than cannonballs."

Two women in naval summer uniforms walked in, their bodies swaying on the waves. The sea breeze ruffled the short hair of Lieutenant Commander Onodera Tsubaki, revealing a fresh abrasion scar behind her ear; the navigation officer, Jinguji Kaoru, unfolded a nautical chart before Luo Xinhua, a pencil tip pointing to the Andaman Islands: "If Hudson sails east from Colombo, he'll most likely pass through the Sixth Channel. The South Seas Fleet's reconnaissance airships have already been deployed..."

Suddenly, Kaoru Jinguji stopped using her pencil. She caught something out of the corner of her eye and looked back at the sky.

At the edge of the clouds high in the sky, a silver-gray spindle-shaped object is slowly moving – this is the British Falcon-class airship!

"Our position has been exposed..." Deng Shichang also spotted the airship in the sky. Luo Xinhua, however, smiled. He looked up at the black dot in the clouds, as if admiring the British struggling on the noose.

“Let it see,” Luo Xinhua laughed. “After it sees, go tell Hu De that we’re sunbathing in Diego Garcia and we’ve even received supplies! Now he has a choice: come to Diego Garcia to find us, or deliver food and fresh water to hundreds of thousands of people in Singapore. It’s up to him to choose.”

The two ends of the noose are in Singapore and deep in the Indian Ocean, respectively.

10 Downing Street, London.

Prime Minister Gladstone sat at the end of the long table, his fingers unconsciously stroking the letter in his jacket pocket—a secret letter from Karl Moore, the French People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs.

In the letter, Moore told him: "According to reliable sources, Germany and Russia have made a secret agreement with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, and they will defect once Singapore and Port Moresby fall."

Suddenly, he felt the bow tie around his neck tightening, making it hard for him to breathe.

"Gentlemen," he finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "General Hood's latest report."

First Lord of the Navy Hugh Childs unfolded a telegram: "The battleship 'Tianjing' and the armored cruiser 'Jingyuan' have completed resupply at Diego Garcia Atoll and sunk three coal carriers departing from Colombo. The Indian Ocean shipping lanes have been cut off."

Army Commander-in-Chief Prince George, Duke of Cambridge, slammed his fist on the table: "There are still 100,000 troops defending the Singapore fortress! We must send reinforcements!"

"Reinforcements?" Chancellor of the Exchequer Randolph Churchill smiled wryly. "With the Indian Ocean shipping lanes cut off, how are we supposed to transport troops? By airships?"

"Then send the Hood fleet back to Singapore immediately!" Earl Derby roared.

"And then let the 'Tianjing' continue hunting our merchant ships in the Indian Ocean?" Navy Minister Childers retorted. "Without supplies from the Indian Ocean, Singapore won't last three months. Although Singapore has ample food reserves, there's only one small reservoir on the island, which is simply not enough to provide fresh water for hundreds of thousands of people!"

Gladstone closed his eyes.

He recalled the last sentence of Carl Moore's letter: "The noose of the British Empire is tightening."

"Gentlemen," he began slowly, "we must make a choice."

"Should we let the Hood fleet continue to pursue the 'Tianjing', or return to reinforce Singapore?"

The conference room fell into dead silence.

Gladstone knew that whichever path he chose, the noose would tighten even more.

Colombo Port is shrouded in steam and soot in the early morning.

Admiral Hood stood on the bridge of the battleship "Majesty," clutching the newly translated telegram in his hand, his breathing becoming somewhat rapid.

"The 'Qianlong-class' and 'Jingyuan-class' submarines have been discovered in Diego Garcia Atoll, and appear to have completed resupply."

His lips twitched slightly, and a hint of almost fanatical fighting spirit flashed in his eyes.

“Finally found it…” he murmured to himself, as if savoring the long-awaited opportunity.

"General!" The chief of staff strode over, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. "The fleet's resupply progress has reached 75%, but—"

"Cancel all non-essential supplies," Hood interrupted him, his voice as cold and hard as iron. "Fresh water and coal are priority; load half of the remaining supplies. I want the fleet to leave port within six hours!"

The chief of staff's Adam's apple bobbed: "But... the garrison in Singapore desperately needs supplies, if we—"

"If we let 'Hidden Dragon' escape, the Indian Ocean will never know peace!" Hood turned around abruptly, his eyes sharp as knives. "Order all ships: full speed ahead, target—Diego Garcia!"

The sailors on deck moved with sudden speed, and amidst the roar of the steam cranes, bags of coal were roughly tossed into the hatches, while unsecured supply crates tumbled off the dock in the turbulence. No one dared to question the order—everyone knew that Hood had waited far too long for this moment.

(End of this chapter)