World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

10 PM, Singapore.

Governor Sir Shenton Thomas stood at the window of the Governor's House, looking out at the brightly lit city. But those lights seemed particularly glaring tonight.

Behind him, several colonial officials were engaged in a heated debate.

"We should request reinforcements immediately! London must send a fleet!"

"Reinforcements? London's own fleet is barely holding on, where would reinforcements come from?"

"So what do we do? Just wait to die?"

"Quiet!" Sir Thomas finally spoke.

Everyone shut up.

He turned around and looked at the officials whose faces were full of anxiety.

"Just received news. 100,000 Japanese soldiers have already landed in Borneo. The two Bismarck-class destroyers from Lanfang are on standby there. Where do you think they'll attack next?"

No one answered.

Sir Thomas walked up to the huge map on the wall and pointed to the small red dot.

"Singapore. It can only be Singapore."

He turned and looked at the officials.

"We have 3,000 British troops and 25,000 Indian soldiers. Add to that our coastal artillery and a few old cruisers. How long can we hold out?"

Still, no one answered.

Sir Thomas walked back to the window and looked out at the night.

"I telegraphed London requesting reinforcements. They replied that they were trying to find a way. But I knew they couldn't."

He spoke softly, as if talking to himself:

"God bless the British Empire."

Six o'clock in the morning, the Strait of Malacca.

The sun had just peeked halfway up the sea, painting the eastern sky a golden-red. There was no wind, no waves on the sea, only the deep rumble of the Zhenyuan and Jiyuan as they cleaved through the water—two behemoths of over 40,000 tons slowly moving forward in the morning light, the spray from their bows shimmering like broken gold.

Zhou Zhenguo had been standing on the bridge of the Zhenyuan warship for two whole hours.

He didn't sit or lean against anything; he just stood there, his hands behind his back, holding binoculars and looking southeast. In the viewfinder, there was a faint gray line where the sea and sky met—that was the coastline of the Malay Peninsula, in the direction of Singapore.

Chief of Staff Lin Huaiyuan walked over to him and handed him a cup of hot tea: "Commander, have some tea. You've been standing all night."

Zhou Zhenguo took the teacup, but didn't drink it; he just held it in his hand to warm his palm.

"Any news about the reconnaissance plane?"

"The batch that took off at four in the morning just sent back a telegram." Lin Huaiyuan pulled a piece of paper from the folder. "In Singapore harbor, targets confirmed: three old-style cruisers—probably 'Danaë' class, displacement over 4,000 tons, main guns 152mm. Two destroyers, older models. And six coastal defense guns, located here, here, and here."

He pointed to the three red circles on the sketch attached to the telegram.

Zhou Zhenguo glanced at the telegram, placed his teacup on the windowsill, and took it to study it carefully. The positions of the three cruisers were clearly marked—two were moored at the dock, and one was anchored in the harbor. The coordinates of the coastal defense guns were also marked very precisely, with an error of no more than fifty meters.

"The Danaë-class..." Zhou Zhenguo murmured, "Is this all the British have left in the Far East?"

Lin Huaiyuan smiled and said, "They've all been transferred to Europe. The rest are old ships from ten years ago; the boilers all need their pipes replaced."

Zhou Zhenguo nodded and returned the telegram to Lin Huaiyuan.

"Signal the Japanese: Target confirmed, proceed as planned. Tell them to prepare; we will open fire in thirty minutes."

"Yes."

Lin Huaiyuan turned to relay the order. Zhou Zhenguo raised his binoculars again, looking at the approaching coastline in the distance.

Thirty minutes.

He recalled the telegram Chen Feng had sent the previous night, which contained only one sentence: "Singapore is the first shot. If it's fired well, the rest of the battle will be much easier."

It's done.

He lowered his binoculars and looked at the officers on the bridge. The navigator was staring at the nautical chart, the gunner was checking firing data, the communications officer was adjusting the channel, and the lookout was peering out the window at the sea. Everyone was busy with their own tasks, but everyone knew—it would be soon, very soon.

At the same time, on a large landing ship five nautical miles away, Kazuo Yamamoto stood on the edge of the deck, also looking into the distance through binoculars.

He couldn't see Singapore, nor the two Lanfang battleships, but he could sense their presence—a strange feeling, like a giant beast lurking in the morning mist, ready to bare its fangs at any moment.

Chief of Staff Kenjiro Doihara walked up behind him: "General, both regiments of the 5th Division have boarded the ships. Three thousand men in the first wave, three thousand men in the second wave. The soldiers... are all waiting."

Yamamoto Kazuo didn't turn around: "Waiting for what?"

"Wait for the firing to begin."

Kazuo Yamamoto lowered his binoculars and turned around. The deck was densely packed with soldiers—wearing khaki uniforms, carrying rifles, with bayonets and canteens at their waists. No one spoke, no one moved, they just stood there, like rows of clay sculptures.

He took a few steps closer and looked at the faces. Some were young, looking no more than twenty, with a hint of childishness still lingering on their faces; some were middle-aged, with messy stubble and a worldly-wise composure in their eyes; and there were also a few veterans, their faces scarred, their eyes sharp as eagles.

A young soldier noticed him watching and instinctively straightened his back.

Kazuo Yamamoto walked over and stood in front of him.

How old are you?

The soldier hesitated for a moment, then stammered, "Reporting to the general, nineteen years old!"

Are you scared?

The soldier opened his mouth, wanting to say he wasn't afraid, but the word got stuck in his throat.

Kazuo Yamamoto looked at him and suddenly smiled—a faint but sincere smile.

"It's good to be afraid. Anyone who isn't is either a fool or a dead man." He patted the soldier on the shoulder. "Remember, if bullets come, dodge; if shells come, lie down. Survive and make it to the beachhead, and you've won."

The soldier nodded vigorously, his eyes slightly red.

Kazuo Yamamoto turned and walked back to the edge of the deck. Doihara followed, whispering, "General, won't this...affect morale?"

"It will affect morale?" Yamamoto Kazuo looked at him. "Soldiers aren't stupid. If you tell them they're not afraid to die, they'll be even more afraid. If you tell them it's normal to be afraid of death, they'll fight to the death."

He paused, then said, "The soldiers of the Sakura Kingdom have waited a hundred years for this day. Now, let them prove for themselves whether this hundred-year wait was worthwhile."

In the distance, from the direction of the Zhenyuan, a low rumble could be faintly heard—the mechanical sound of the main gun turret turning. Even across five nautical miles and through the morning mist, the sound remained as clear as if it were right next to one's ear.

Kazuo Yamamoto narrowed his eyes.

it has started.

Inside the bridge of the Zhenyuan, the gunnery officer was giving his final report.

"Turret number one is ready. Armor-piercing shells are being loaded. Target: cruiser number one."

"Turret number two is ready. Armor-piercing shells are being loaded. Target: Cruiser number two."

"Turret No. 3 is ready. Armor-piercing shells are being loaded. Target: Cruiser No. 3."

"Turret No. 4 is ready. High-explosive shells are being loaded. Target: coastal defense artillery group."