World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Have the scouts been sent out?"

"They've sent three groups. They crossed the river last night around midnight. They should be on the other side now."

"Let them find out exactly where the British are deployed, where their strongpoints are, where the reserves are, and who their commanders are. The more detailed the better."

Li Tiejun nodded and turned to send a telegram.

Zhao Dengyu continued looking at the map.

The Kantara crossing is the narrowest point of the canal. It's only a little over a hundred meters wide, and building a pontoon bridge would only take a few hours. Once you cross it, the other side is Egypt, Africa, and the British backyard.

He looked at the ferry crossing, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

almost.

It's almost there.

At the same time, on the border between Kuwait and Iran.

Wang Guojian lay prone behind a sand dune, peering through binoculars at the faintly visible highway in the distance. The sun blazed down on the sand, but his camouflage uniform was soaked with sweat and clung to his body.

A scout was lying next to him, also holding up binoculars.

"Commander, you should go back. It's too dangerous here. What if the British patrol discovers us..."

Wang Guojian ignored him.

"See that truck?" He pointed to a tanker truck driving on the highway in the distance. "It's British. It came from Abadan. It's carrying crude oil, going to the mouth of the Persian Gulf to load it onto a ship, and then it'll be transported back to Europe."

The scout nodded: "I saw it."

How many vehicles are there each day?

"The scouts report that on average, there are about fifty vehicles a day. On some days, there are as many as seventy or eighty."

Wang Guojian put down his binoculars and squinted at the highway.

"Fifty trucks. Each truck carries ten tons of oil, that's five hundred tons a day. That's fifteen thousand tons a month. Enough for the British to fight a medium-sized war."

He got up and crouched down as he walked back. The scout followed behind.

After walking several hundred meters and crossing a sand dune, a cluster of tents came into view. It was their division's temporary camp, set up in a depression between two sand dunes, completely invisible from a distance.

Several officers came forward to greet them.

"Commander, you're back?"

Wang Guojian nodded and walked into the largest tent. Inside the tent hung a map, marking the location of the Abadan oil field, British military outposts, roads, and pipeline routes.

He stood in front of the map and looked at it for a long time.

"The Abadan oil field," he finally began, "has over two thousand British troops here. Two battalions of Indian soldiers, plus some technicians and security guards. The defenses are loose because nobody expected us to attack from Kuwait."

He turned around and looked at the officers.

"The Commander-in-Chief's orders: No attack is permitted until I give the order. But we can prepare. Scouts continue to gather intelligence, artillery sets firing data, and infantry familiarize themselves with the terrain. Once the order arrives, I must take Abadan within one hour."

Several officers simultaneously stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

A communications soldier ran in: "Commander, Commander Yang called. His division has arrived at its designated position and can send reconnaissance troops to join them tomorrow."

"Reply: Agreed. Send his men north, and our men south, to thoroughly survey the entire perimeter of the oil field."

The communications soldier saluted and ran out.

Wang Guojian glanced at the map again.

Abadan. The British oil depot. Cut off his oil supply, and his warships are nothing but scrap metal.

almost.

Borneo Naval Base.

Zhou Zhenguo stood on the bridge of the Zhenyuan ship, watching the Japanese soldiers disembarking at the dock.

The first batch of 50,000 men, aboard 15 transport ships, had just arrived. The dock was packed with people; soldiers lined up to disembark, officers shouted instructions, and translators weaved through the crowd, calling out in broken Chinese and Japanese, "This way! Assemble this way!"

Zhou Zhenguo watched for a while, then turned to face the officers on the bridge.

"Has Commander Yamamoto Kazuo arrived from the Sakura Country?"

"Reporting to the General, they have just arrived. They are waiting at the dock and say they wish to see you."

Zhou Zhenguo nodded and walked off the bridge.

On the dock, a middle-aged man in a general's uniform was waiting for him. The man was of medium build, with little expression on his face, but his eyes were bright—the kind of eyes that only someone who had seen blood and led troops would have.

Kazuo Yamamoto.

The two saluted each other.

"General Zhou," Yamamoto Kazuo said, his Chinese broken but understandable, "Commander-in-Chief Yamamoto Kazuo of the First Army of the Sakura Country is reporting for duty."

Zhou Zhenguo looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.

"General Yamamoto, you must be tired from your journey."

"It's not hard work. The soldiers are eager for battle and want to get there as soon as possible."

Zhou Zhenguo nodded and pointed to the soldiers who were lined up on the dock.

"How are they? Are they adapting to the tropical climate?"

Kazuo Yamamoto smiled—a faint but sincere smile: "Reporting to the general, our soldiers can adapt to any climate. As long as they are well-equipped and have sufficient supplies, they can go anywhere."

Zhou Zhenguo looked at him and suddenly asked, "General Yamamoto, how many years have you been leading troops?"

Kazuo Yamamoto paused for a moment: "Twenty years."

"Twenty years. Do you know what's most important on the battlefield?"

Okamura Neiji thought for a moment: "Obey orders?"

Zhou Zhenguo nodded.

Kazuo Yamamoto remained silent for three seconds.

Then he stood at attention and saluted again.

"General Zhou, I will pass on these words to every soldier."

Zhou Zhenguo nodded and turned to walk towards the dock. Yamamoto Kazuo followed behind.

In the distance, the massive silhouettes of the Zhenyuan and Jiyuan gleamed in the setting sun. Their four twin-mounted 380mm main guns, like four sleeping behemoths, quietly awaited their awakening.

"Those two ships," Yamamoto Kazuo said softly, "are really big."

Zhou Zhenguo smiled.

"You haven't seen them fire yet, have you?"

Kazuo Yamamoto shook his head.

"Once you see it, you'll know what 'giant ships and cannons' really mean," Zhou Zhenguo said. "A single 380mm shell can flatten a building. The British forts they built in Singapore are known as the 'Gibraltar of the East.' When our ships arrive, we'll show them what real cannons are."

Six o'clock in the evening, the Red Sea.

The setting sun was sinking below the horizon, turning the entire sea a golden-red hue. Three massive battleships, lined up in a single column, were sailing north at a speed of twenty knots.

The Nagato was at the very front. The Dingyuan was to the left rear, and the Zhiyuan to the right rear. The six destroyers spread out on both flanks, like loyal hounds guarding their master.

Li Te stood on the bridge of the Nagato, looking ahead through binoculars. In the distance, a faint gray line stretched between the sea and the sky—the coastline of the Sinai Peninsula.

"General," the chief of staff approached, "we just received a telegram that General Zhao Dengyu's troops have all arrived in Hordassa. They're asking when we'll be at our designated positions."

Li Te lowered his binoculars: "Tell them that we will reach the southern entrance of the Suez Canal by tomorrow morning."

He walked to the chart table and looked at the map of the Red Sea. A red circle marked the location of the southern entrance to the Suez Canal.