The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 978: The Beginning of the Final Chapter!
The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and a thin layer of grayish-blue floated on the sea. The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's Third Southern Pacific Task Force drifted silently twelve nautical miles off Cairns, with wisps of pale black soot billowing from the smokestack of its flagship, the "Tianhe," almost invisible in the morning mist.

Rear Admiral Li stood on the bridge, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the chart table. His gaze swept across the map of Australia's northeast coastline, which had been repeatedly folded and unfolded, finally settling on the small dot circled in red pencil—Cairns.

“Brother Wang, look here.” Li He pointed to the terrain of Cairns Harbor marked on the map. “The beach is gentle and the water is deep enough that our landing ships can rush straight up.”

Major General Wang Zhengyi, commander of the 1st Marine Division, came over. He wasn't tall, but he had broad shoulders, and his Marine Corps uniform was taut. He squinted at him and nodded, saying, "It's even better than expected. As long as the 'Zhenyuan Modified' can suppress the coastal artillery, my lads can control the entire port in an hour."

Behind them, the communications officer suddenly stood at attention: "Report! Honghu 12 has sent back a reconnaissance report."

Li He took the telegram, glanced at it quickly, and smiled slightly: "There are no enemy ships in the harbor, and not many troops are stationed on the shore." He turned to Wang Zhengyi, "It seems the British are really planning to abandon the north."

Wang Zhengyi grinned, revealing a row of teeth stained yellow by tobacco: "Then what are we waiting for? Let the young men eat, and then they can go ashore!"

Private Lin Shuisheng, from the 2nd Company, 3rd Regiment, 1st Marine Division, squatted in the landing ship's compartment, clutching a compressed biscuit as hard as a brick. He was in his early twenties, from Chaozhou, Guangdong, and had joined the Marine Corps in Xiamen three years ago.

"Have you heard?" His comrade nudged him with his elbow. "Once we take this place, we can go home."

Lin Shuisheng didn't speak, but took a big bite of the biscuit. He remembered the packet of Chaozhou Lao Xianghuang (a type of fermented rice wine) his mother had given him before he left home, telling him to brew it into tea when he returned. Three years had passed, and that packet was long gone, but he still kept the foil, folded into a small square, and kept it in his breast pocket.

The landing ship's steam engines suddenly roared violently, and the ship began to rock violently. The lights in the cabins flickered, and some people began to vomit, filling the confined space with a sour smell mixed with the stench of diesel fuel.

"Prepare for landing!" Company Commander Wang Desheng's roar echoed from the deck. "Check your weapons!"

Lin Shuisheng stuffed the last biscuit into his mouth, patted the tin foil in his breast pocket, and then picked up his Type 1883 rifle. The three engravings on the stock were still clearly visible in the dim light—those were from the three landing battles he had participated in.

The bow of the landing ship burst open with a roar, letting in blinding sunlight and sea breeze. Lin Shuisheng squinted and saw wisps of black smoke rising in the distance over Cairns Harbor; the heavy artillery of the "Zhenyuan Modified" was bombarding the coastal fortifications.

"Charge!" Company Commander Wang Desheng was the first to jump into the waist-deep seawater.

Lin Shuisheng jumped in after him. The South Pacific waters in February were surprisingly warm; he stumbled and almost fell, but quickly regained his balance. Bullets began whistling from the shore, splashing water onto the surface.

"Scatter! Scatter!" Company Commander Wang Desheng shouted, waving his pistol and firing at the shore.

Lin Shuisheng crouched low as he charged forward, the seawater rising from thigh-deep to knee-deep, until finally he stepped onto solid sand. He collapsed behind a dune, panting as he loaded his gun. Not far away, a 150mm shell whistled down onto the Australian positions, exploding into a black and red fireball—a high-explosive shell fired from a 150mm short-barreled howitzer on the landing ship, very effective at suppressing beachhead targets!
"Forward!" The company commander's voice was already hoarse.

Lin Shuisheng got up and continued the charge. The beach was riddled with shell craters, some still smoking. He saw three Australian soldiers peek out from a trench and immediately raised his gun. One enemy fell, and the other two retreated.

As Lin Shuisheng rushed to the trench, an Australian lieutenant, his face covered in blood, suddenly jumped out, a gleaming bayonet on his rifle. Lin Shuisheng instinctively pulled the trigger, but heard a "click"—the bullet jammed.

The Australian lieutenant's bayonet was already at his face; Lin Shuisheng could even see the bloodshot veins in the man's blue eyes. At the critical moment, a bullet flew from the side, striking the Australian lieutenant squarely in the temple. He fell straight down like a log.

Lin Shuisheng turned his head and saw Company Commander Wang Desheng putting down his still-smoking pistol.

"What are you standing there for? Keep moving!" the company commander roared. "Victory is just ahead!"

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's dragon flag was raised atop the Cairns City Hall. Lin Shuisheng sat on the steps in front of the City Hall, wiping his guns with a cloth soaked in seawater. His trousers, soaked with seawater and sweat, were now half-dry from the sun, clinging stiffly to his legs.

On the beach, engineers have begun constructing a temporary pier. In the distance, on the sea, a transport ship with a carrying capacity of five to six thousand tons is lowering small boats to transport the second batch of troops ashore.

"We've caught an officer." The squad leader dragged the captured Australian lieutenant over. "The company commander says he wants to question him."

Lin Shuisheng stood up and followed his squad leader toward the city hall. The Australian lieutenant looked to be around thirty years old. Half of his rank insignia on his left shoulder was torn off, and his right eye was so swollen he couldn't open it, but his back was still ramrod straight.

Company Commander Wang Desheng stood in the lobby of the city hall, looking at a map of Australia. He turned and asked in English, "Where are your Royal Navy personnel?"

The Australian lieutenant's lips trembled slightly. "They've all gone back to India." His voice was hoarse and almost inaudible. "We've been abandoned."

Company Commander Wang Desheng's expression suddenly became strange, as if he wanted to laugh but also wanted to cry. He waved his hand: "Take him away, don't make things difficult for him."

Lin Shuisheng stood to the side, suddenly understanding the meaning behind the company commander's expression—this was the last battle. If they won, they could go home. No, if they won, this would be home!
Luo Xinhua gently placed the telegram on the chart table, pointing to the location of Keynes: "Task Force 3 has successfully landed." Deng Shichang leaned over to take a look: "What did the prisoners say?"

"The British fleet has withdrawn to India." Luo Xinhua's voice carried a hint of disbelief. "Do you find that believable?"

Deng Shichang pondered for a moment, then shook his head: "Not very credible. Try a few more points. At the same time, send engineering troops to Cairns to build fortifications and deep-water berths, and tow a floating dock over there." He pointed to the map, "Step by step, force the British out for a decisive battle."

Luo Xinhua nodded, then suddenly smiled: "If all else fails, let Wang Zhengyi lead the 1st Marine Division to Brisbane by land, which is only 1,500 kilometers away."

Deng Shichang laughed as well: "That would take half a year."

"Six months it is." Luo Xinhua turned to look at the sea outside the porthole. "Anyway, this is the last step, I'm not in a hurry. Let's see if the British are anxious."

The sea breeze blew into the bridge, carrying the salty, fishy smell unique to the South Pacific. In the distance, several transport ships were slowly sailing towards Cairns, carrying more soldiers, artillery, and a new era about to begin.

A thick fog, like a heavy blanket, covered the entire Spencer Bay. Sir William Horatio Key stood on the bridge of the HMS Orion, clutching the telegram he had just received, his brow furrowed.

“Darwin and Keynes are both lost.” He handed the telegram to his chief of staff, Major General Montagu, behind him, his voice low. “Even faster than expected.”

Montague glanced quickly at the telegram, a cold smile playing on his lips: "Sir, this is not a bad thing. The prisoners will surely tell the Taiping Army that we have 'withdrawn to India'."

Sir Keith walked to the porthole and gazed at the thick, impenetrable fog outside. The silhouettes of other warships were vaguely visible through the fog, like lurking behemoths. "Do you think they'll believe that?"

“They have to believe it.” Montagu walked to the nautical chart and pointed from Cairns to Port Moresby. “The Taiping army’s most pressing need now is to consolidate their landing ground, build docks and forts, and transport more troops ashore. They have no time to doubt—nor any reason to doubt.”

Sir Keith paused for a moment, then suddenly turned around and said, "Order all ships to prepare for departure."

Montagu's eyes lit up: "Are we going to make our move?"

“Wait for the fog to clear.” Sir Keith’s finger tapped heavily on the port of Nouméa on the nautical chart. “Go here to resupply, and then—” His finger suddenly slashed eastward, stopping at the location of Port Moresby, “…and strike at their forward base.”

Montague quickly calculated: "At 20 knots, it will take five days to reach Nouméa. With the time for rapid resupply, we can launch a surprise attack on Port Moresby in another four days."

“Speed ​​enough,” Sir Key sneered. “The main Taiping fleet is either covering the landing or loitering around Cairns. The defenses of Port Moresby…” He paused, “their batteries were destroyed during the last landing and are certainly not repaired yet.”

Montagu added, "And there will most likely be transport ships, landing ships, shallow-draft gunboats, and escort cruisers and destroyers there—all easy targets."

Sir Key nodded, a ruthless glint in his eyes: "Destroy their logistics base, and the landing force will be like a rootless plant." He turned to the communications officer, "Signal all ships: Maintain radio silence, weigh anchor at 0400 tomorrow."

It was late at night, but the lights were still on in the captain's cabin of the HMS Orion. Sir Key sat at his desk, with the defense plans of Port Moresby spread out in front of him—drawn by British spies six months earlier, every gun emplacement marked with a red cross.

"Sir, aren't you going to rest?" Montagu pushed open the door and came in, carrying two glasses of whiskey.

Sir Keith took the glass and drank it all in one gulp: "I'm wondering if Luo Xinhua might be holding back something."

Montagu shook his head: "He dares not. The Taiping Army's marines have already landed, and he must do everything in his power to secure the supply lines. This is the ironclad rule of amphibious warfare."

“I hope so.” Sir Keith stood up and walked to the huge nautical chart on the wall. “But Luo Xinhua is no mediocre man.”

“Even the smartest person can’t defy the tide of events.” Montagu poured him another glass. “The Taiping army is now obsessed with the idea that victory is in sight. They’ve been waiting for this day for far too long.”

Sir Key stared at the red area controlled by the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom on the nautical chart, stretching from the South China Sea all the way to New Guinea, and now extending to Australia. "Yes, it's been too long," he said softly, "so long that they've forgotten that the outcome of naval battles is never decided on the beachhead."

Outside the window, the fog began to dissipate, and the Southern Cross appeared and disappeared through gaps in the clouds. Sir Keith raised his glass, gesturing slightly towards the starlight:

"To the British Empire's maritime supremacy—cheers!"

(End of this chapter)