World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The gunner adjusted the angle and loaded the shell.

"put!"

Six mortar shells flew out simultaneously, tracing six arcs in the air before landing precisely near the window. Two hit their mark, and the machine gun fell silent.

"charge!"

Sakura soldiers leaped out from behind their bunkers and charged toward the governor's mansion.

This time, no one fired a shot to stop them.

They burst through the doors and into the hall. The hall was empty except for a few shattered statues and some scattered documents.

Footsteps came from the stairs—someone was coming upstairs.

Yamada Ichiro led his soldiers up to the second floor.

At the end of the second-floor corridor, a heavy wooden door was tightly closed. Above the door hung a sign that read "Governor's Office".

Yamada Ichiro walked over and pushed open the door.

In his office, Sir Shenton Thomas sat behind his desk, a revolver in his hand. He didn't fire, but simply watched the Japanese soldiers rushing in, and the colonel standing at the front with a bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

"Sir Thomas Shenton?" Ichiro Yamada asked in broken English.

Sir Thomas nodded.

"Are you surrendering?"

Sir Thomas remained silent for three seconds.

Then he put down his revolver, slowly stood up, straightened his collar, and put on his hat.

"I request a meeting with your army's supreme commander."

Yamada Ichiro looked at him and suddenly smiled. It was a faint smile, but sincere.

"Come with me."

Downstairs, Masataro Fukuda had already arrived on horseback.

He rode on his tall, chestnut horse, looking down at the old white man being led in by soldiers. The old man was dressed in a white governor's robe and wore a hat with feathers; his gait was fairly steady.

"Sir Thomas Shenton?" Masataro Fukuda asked in Japanese, and the translator next to him immediately translated it into English.

"it's me."

"Are you surrendering?"

Sir Thomas looked up at the Japanese general on horseback. The man's face was expressionless, but his eyes were bright—the kind of eyes that only someone who had killed and seen blood would have.

"On behalf of the British civil servants and government personnel in Singapore, I request that your military guarantee our safety."

Masataro Fukuda shook his head.

My question to you is: Are you surrendering?

Sir Thomas remained silent.

He was surrounded by Japanese soldiers, their guns pointed at him. In the distance, the British flag on the roof of the Governor's Mansion was being torn down, and a Rising Sun Flag was being raised.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he opened his eyes and lowered his head.

"Yes. I surrender."

Masataro Fukuda nodded.

"Game!! Take him away. Put him with the other prisoners."

As Sir Thomas was being led away, he took one last look back at the Rising Sun Flag flying atop the Governor's House.

That flag was particularly dazzling in the setting sun.

8 PM, Singapore City Hall.

Kazuo Yamamoto sat behind the desk that had once belonged to Sir Thomas, a map of Malaya spread out before him. A kerosene lamp sat on the desk, casting his long shadow on the wall in its light.

Chief of Staff Kenjiro Doihara pushed open the door and came in, holding a stack of documents in his hand.

"General, the preliminary statistics are in."

"read."

"British side: 3,123 dead, including 107 officers. 2,041 captured, including Sir Thomas and 17 senior civilian officials. More than 2,000 rifles, 42 machine guns, 16 artillery pieces, and countless ammunition were captured."

Kazuo Yamamoto nodded.

"And what about us?"

Kenichi Doihara remained silent for three seconds.

"1,847 men were killed and 2,039 were wounded. The 5th Division suffered the heaviest losses, with over 800 killed."

Kazuo Yamamoto paused for a moment on the map.

One thousand eight hundred and forty-seven people.

He thought of the soldiers who were mowed down by machine guns on the beach, the soldiers who fell in the streets during the urban warfare, and the soldiers who were killed in front of the governor's mansion.

They are dead.

They can never go home again.

"General?" Kenta Doihara called out softly.

Kazuo Yamamoto raised his head.

"Telegram to Tokyo: Singapore has been captured. 1,847 dead. Request... additional compensation."

Kenjiro Doihara was stunned for a moment, then stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

He turned to leave, but Yamamoto Kazuo called him back.

"Also, send a telegram to General Zhou Zhenguo of Lanfang: Thank you for the naval gun support. Tomorrow, continue northward."

At the same time, on the bridge of the Zhenyuan, Zhou Zhenguo received a telegram from Yamamoto Kazuo.

"Singapore has been captured. Tomorrow, we'll continue northward."

He read the telegram twice and then put it aside.

Lin Huaiyuan walked over and asked softly, "Commander, how many casualties have the Japanese suffered?"

"It wasn't mentioned in the telegram."

"Then...it must be quite severe."

Zhou Zhenguo nodded.

He recalled the Japanese soldiers who had charged onto the beach during the day, the motionless corpses lying on the sand, and the seawater stained red with blood.

"Return the call to them," he said. "Congratulations. Call us anytime if you need artillery support."

Lin Huaiyuan went to relay the order.

Zhou Zhenguo walked to the window and looked out at the pitch-black night. In the distance, the sky in the direction of Singapore was still faintly glowing red—the light of burning flames, a trace left by war.

"Eighteen hundred and forty-seven people," he murmured. "The Japanese are really going all out this time."

It was 10 p.m. Dubai time at the Presidential Palace.

Chen Feng sat at his desk with two telegrams in front of him. One was from Zhou Zhenguo, reporting on the situation in Singapore; the other was from the Japanese ambassador to Lanfang, a formal battle report from Yamamoto Kazuo.

After reading it, he handed the telegram to Wang Wenwu.

Wang Wenwu took it, read it once, and remained silent for a long time.

"1,847 dead... The Japanese have really gone all out this time."

Chen Feng nodded.

"Reply to Zhou Zhenguo: Continue to cooperate with Japan. Reply to the Japanese ambassador: Lanfang thanks the Japanese soldiers for their bravery. Lanfang will pay half of the additional compensation."

Wang Wenwu was stunned for a moment.

"Commander-in-Chief, this..."

"Even though they're cannon fodder, we still need to give them a taste of what's good for them. We can make up for it later through other means." Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window. "Tell Yamamoto Kazuo that after we take Kuala Lumpur, Lanfang will provide them with supplies, medicine, and honors. Let them know that fighting alongside Lanfang is worthwhile."

Wang Wenwu stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

At 3 a.m. Singapore time, Kazuo Yamamoto was sitting in his office, still looking at maps.

Kenjiro Doihara pushed open the door and came in, carrying a cup of hot tea.

"General, you haven't slept all night. Please rest for a while."

Kazuo Yamamoto took the tea but didn't drink it; he simply held it in his hand to warm his palm.

"I can't sleep."

He looked at the red line on the map—going north from Singapore, through Johor, Malacca, Seremban, and all the way to Kuala Lumpur.

"Doihara, where do you think the British will try to stop us?"

Kendai Doihara walked up to the map and thought for a moment.

"Bandar Hill," he said, pointing to a marker eighty kilometers south of Kuala Lumpur. "This is the gateway to the Malay Peninsula; roads and railways cut through the mountains. If I were British, I would build fortifications here."