diymy Chapter 751 It can't be suppressed anywhere!
Chapter 751 It can't be suppressed anywhere!
The meeting room was filled with thick, choking smoke.
The long table was filled with people—Secretary of State for War Herbert Kitchener, First Lord of the Navy Jellicoe, Foreign Secretary Edward Gray, Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs Walter Long, Secretary of State for India Austin Chamberlain, and a large group of generals, staff officers, and secretaries whose names I did not know. Each person had a thick stack of telegrams in front of them, and everyone's face was ashen, as if they had lost a loved one.
Prime Minister Herbert Henry Asquith sat in the main seat, holding the telegram about the situation in Sinai, which he had already read three times.
My hands are shaking.
He tried to control himself, but his fingers still trembled slightly uncontrollably. The thin telegram felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Four hundred thousand men. Four hundred thousand battle-hardened veterans. Elite troops who came down from the Somme, Verdun, and Passchendahl. Just like that, gone.
He put down the telegram and picked up another one.
That was an urgent military report from Dhaka. News of Allenby's demise had caused the morale of the defending troops to collapse in India. Indian soldiers began to desert, officers couldn't control the situation, and mutinies even broke out in several places. The outer defenses of Dhaka were faltering, and the Japanese were gathering.
He put that one down too.
The meeting room was so quiet that you could hear the clock on the wall ticking.
Finally, Asquith spoke. His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against steel.
"Gentlemen, you have all seen the battle report from Sinai."
No one speaks.
"Four hundred thousand men, all wiped out. Allenby surrendered."
Still no one speaks.
Asquith stood up and walked to the huge world map on the wall. He pointed to the location of the Sinai Peninsula, tapped it with his finger, and then slowly traced the map across the Mediterranean Sea, landing on the Indian subcontinent.
"Now, it's India's turn."
He turned and looked at the silent ministers.
"Can anyone tell me how much longer India can hold out?"
Army Minister Kitchener stood up. The veteran, who had fought in Africa and India for many years, looked ashen-faced with sunken eyes, as if he had aged ten years in an instant. He walked to the map and pointed to the location of Dhaka.
"Prime Minister, at least 200,000 Japanese have amassed around Dhaka. The Burmese Independence Army also has 20,000. In total, more than 200,000 are advancing towards Dhaka."
How many of us are there?
Kitchener was silent for three seconds.
"There are 50,000 troops stationed in Dhaka. There are 200,000 troops stationed throughout India. But they are scattered in various places, and those that can be mobilized are... less than 100,000."
"Less than 100,000," Asquith repeated. "More than 200,000 versus less than 100,000. How long can they hold out?"
Kitchener lowered his head.
"Prime Minister, the outer defenses of Dhaka have crumbled. After news from Sinai reached them, Indian soldiers began deserting in droves. The officers simply couldn't control them. Some units even mutinied, with officers killed and soldiers scattering in disarray."
He looked up at Asquith.
"If the Japanese attack now, Dhaka may not last a week."
The conference room was deathly silent.
First Lord of the Navy Jellicoe suddenly spoke, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
"Prime Minister, the fleet in Mumbai..."
Asquith looked at him.
"What happened to Jellicoe's fleet?"
Jellicoe was his cousin, also named John Jellicoe, but one was a civil servant, while the other was an admiral trapped in Mumbai.
"My cousin called to say that the morale of the fleet had collapsed. The sailors knew that Sinai was finished, that India was doomed, and they were rioting every day. Some wanted to rush out and fight the Germans, some wanted to surrender, and some simply deserted and ran ashore. My cousin couldn't hold them back anymore."
Asquith closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
It can't be suppressed anymore. It's all out of control.
The army can't control it, the navy can't control it, India can't control it, nothing can control it.
He opened his eyes and looked at the world map on the wall. The British colonies, once painted in large swaths of red, were now fading in patches. Singapore was gone, Burma was gone, Iran was gone, Sinai was gone, and now it was India's turn.
One hundred years. It took the British Empire a hundred years to paint so much land red.
And now? In just a few months, more than half of it has been lost.
The door was pushed open, and an attendant walked in and whispered a few words in Asquith's ear.
Asquith's expression changed.
He waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice eerily calm, "I've just received news. The Japanese have begun their attack."
Deep in the jungle on the outskirts of Dhaka.
Kazuo Yamamoto stood under a huge banyan tree, holding up his binoculars to look at the faintly visible British positions in the distance. A thin layer of fog covered the lens of the binoculars; he wiped it with his sleeve and continued looking.
Chief of Staff Kenta Doihara stood beside him, holding a reconnaissance report in his hand.
"General, the scouts have just returned. The British have indeed become lax. After the news from Sinai came in, more than half of the Indian soldiers on their positions deserted. The remaining British are blaming each other, the officers can't control the soldiers, and morale is at rock bottom."
Kazuo Yamamoto put down his binoculars and remained silent.
He recalled the telegram he had received three days earlier. It was from Chen Feng, and contained only one line:
"The Battle of Sinai is over. The British army of 400,000 men was wiped out, and Allenby surrendered. The Indians are not in a hurry."
He looked at it three times, then folded it and put it in his pocket. He knew that Chen Feng said he wasn't in a hurry, but in his heart...
Four hundred thousand men. The entire army was wiped out.
Allenby, the veteran who had fought for four years in the European theater, surrendered.
He relayed the news to the division commanders. No one cheered, no one was excited. Everyone remained silent, then turned back to tell the soldiers the news.
Then, a miracle happened.
Those soldiers, terrified of landmines, leeches, and malaria in the jungle, suddenly found strength. Those units that could only advance one or two kilometers a day, and whose every meter of progress required risking their lives, suddenly began to volunteer for battle.
The British have collapsed. India cannot hold out.
As long as you charge in, you'll win. Everyone knows how to kick a man when he's down!
"Doihara," Yamamoto Kazuo finally spoke, "what do his followers say?"
Kenta Doihara replied, "Mr. Nobuhiro is personally leading the team. Two divisions of the Burma Independence Army have already deployed on the left flank. They are familiar with the terrain and can launch an attack at any time."
Kazuo Yamamoto nodded.
He looked at the dense jungle in the distance, at the faintly visible British fortifications, and at the figures moving back and forth in the trenches.
He recalled Mount Bendal during the Malayan campaign. In that battle, Japan lost 12,000 men but captured the hill defended by 8,000 British troops.
He recalled the jungles of the Burma campaign. In that battle, Japan lost 53,000 people!
Dhaka is just ahead now.
More than 200,000 Japanese soldiers and 50,000 British troops.
A troop advantage of four to one.
But jungle warfare isn't about numbers. The landmines the British laid were far more terrifying than sheer numbers.