World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Half an hour later, they could see the outline of Singapore's urban area.

The English buildings—the white Governor's House, the spired church, the neat rows of shops and residences—were particularly clear in the afternoon sun. The streets were deserted; shops were closed, windows were shut, and occasionally a few daring locals would peek out before retreating back inside.

Ichiro Yamada raised his binoculars.

On the edge of the city, there were some makeshift fortifications made of sandbags. Behind the fortifications, figures moved about—wearing khaki military uniforms and British-style helmets.

"The British troops are still there." He lowered his binoculars. "Order the first battalion to flank from the left, the second battalion from the right, and the third battalion to advance with me from the front. Once inside the city, form groups of three and take turns providing cover. If you encounter resistance, use grenades to clear a path."

The order was given. The soldiers began to disperse, disappearing into the buildings on both sides of the street.

Yamada Ichiro led the Third Battalion forward along the main street.

One hundred meters, and there was no movement.

Two hundred meters, and there was no movement.

300 meters —

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted ahead. It wasn't coming outwards, but from within.

Yamada Ichiro suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"What happened?"

A scout ran back from the front, his face ashen: "Colonel! Up ahead... the British are fighting amongst themselves!"

Yamada Ichiro paused for a moment, then strode forward.

Turning a corner, he saw that eerie scene—

In the middle of the street, a group of Indian soldiers knelt on the ground, rifles raised above their heads. Beside them, several British officers were yelling at them. A British captain rushed forward, kicked the foremost Indian soldier to the ground, and pointed his gun at his head: "Get up! You are British soldiers! Not cowards!"

The Indian soldier didn't get up. He just knelt, raised his rifle even higher, and shouted something—it was inaudible, but everyone knew what he was shouting.

We surrender. We want to surrender.

The Indian soldiers nearby began to stir. Some stood up, some raised their guns, and some swore in English. Then—

A shot rang out.

It's unclear who fired the first shot, but it instantly escalated into a chaotic melee.

British and Indian soldiers exchanged fire in the streets, while civilians screamed and fled. Bullets pierced the walls, leaving holes. Some fell, some screamed, and some frantically pulled the trigger until they ran out of ammunition.

Yamada Ichiro stood on the street corner, watching the sudden infighting.

The adjutant leaned closer: "Colonel, what do we do?"

"Wait," Yamada Ichiro said. "Let them finish fighting on their own."

The infighting lasted for about five minutes.

Five minutes later, the street was littered with corpses. A dozen British soldiers and dozens of Indian soldiers were dead. The remaining Indian soldiers threw down their guns and scattered. The remaining British soldiers hid behind sandbag fortifications, panting heavily, their guns pointed at both ends of the street.

Then they saw the soldiers from the Sakura Kingdom.

A British lieutenant peeked out from behind the sandbags, looking at the soldiers in their tan uniforms, at the dark muzzles of their guns, and at their expressionless faces.

He was stunned for three seconds.

Then he raised his hands and said in a trembling voice, "I...we surrender..."

Yamada Ichiro looked at him without saying a word.

The sound of horses' hooves came from behind.

Masataro Fukuda rode slowly towards them on his tall, chestnut horse. He reined in his horse, looked at the British soldiers with their hands raised, at the corpses scattered on the ground, and at the street stained red with blood.

"Yamada."

"exist."

"Order all units to shoot anyone carrying a weapon on the spot, regardless of the color of their uniform or their skin color."

Yamada Ichiro was taken aback.

"Division Commander, those Indian soldiers might..."

"They have guns, so they're the enemy," Fukuda Masataro interrupted him. "Execute orders."

Yamada Ichiro remained silent for three seconds.

Then he turned and roared at the soldiers behind him, "Order the entire regiment—shoot anyone carrying a weapon on the spot! Regardless of skin color!"

Gunshots rang out again.

As dusk fell, the Japanese soldiers had advanced into the heart of Singapore.

Ichiro Yamada stood on the roof of a three-story building, observing his surroundings through binoculars. To the west, the flag of the Second Regiment was flying; to the east, soldiers of the Third Regiment were searching the streets; to the south, the Fourth Regiment had already taken control of the port area.

Only the north remained—that was the direction of the Governor's Palace.

"Reporting to the Colonel!" A messenger ran up. "The division commander has ordered: the 1st Regiment to advance towards the Governor's Mansion, rendezvous with the other regiments, and take the Governor's Mansion before tonight."

Yamada Ichiro nodded.

"Pass the order: continue advancing."

As he walked down the stairs, he saw several soldiers crouching in a corner, surrounding the body of a British officer. Beside the body lay a sidearm and a pocket watch.

A soldier picked up the pocket watch, looked at it, and put it in his pocket.

The veteran next to him slapped him on the back of the head: "Are you looking for death? Battlefield spoils must be handed over!"

The young soldier scratched the back of his head, looking aggrieved: "Just a watch..."

"Not even a watch! Who dares disobey the division commander's orders?"

Yamada Ichiro walked over and looked at the young soldier.

"Take out the watch."

The young soldier trembled as he pulled out his pocket watch and handed it to him with both hands.

Ichiro Yamada took the watch and glanced at it. Engraved on the watch case was the message: "To Lieutenant James, with love, your father. 1910."

He returned the watch to the young soldier.

"Keep it. But remember, this is your last time violating military discipline."

The young soldier paused for three seconds, then nodded vigorously, his eyes slightly red.

Yamada Ichiro turned and left.

Behind him, the old soldier whispered, "You're lucky, kid. The colonel's in a good mood today."

The young soldier stuffed the watch deep into his pocket and caught up with the group.

The battle in front of the Governor's Mansion was nearing its end.

The last group of British soldiers hid behind the stone pillars of the Governor's Mansion, blocking the gates with rifles and machine guns. Japanese soldiers lay prone in the opposite building, occasionally peeking out to fire a shot before retreating back inside.

When Yamada Ichiro arrived, he saw a Japanese soldier who had been hit in the forehead and was falling backward.

"Casualties?"

"Reporting to the Colonel, we charged three times and were driven back each time. Seventeen were killed and more than twenty were wounded."

Yamada Ichiro raised his binoculars. The Governor's Mansion was a three-story white building with six massive stone pillars on its facade, and the windows were blocked with sandbags. Machine guns were mounted in the second-floor windows, blocking the entire street.

"What about the mortars?"

"It's being adjusted, it'll be there soon."

Five minutes later, the six 81mm mortars were in place.

Yamada Ichiro pointed to the second-floor window of the Governor's Mansion: "Fire at that machine gun first. Three rapid shots."