diymy Chapter 752 Launch the All-Out Offensive Tomorrow Morning
Chapter 752 Launch the All-Out Offensive Tomorrow Morning
"Doihara," he said, "order all divisions to prepare. The general offensive will begin at dawn tomorrow."
Kenjiro Doihara was stunned.
"General? The engineers haven't finished clearing the mines yet..."
Kazuo Yamamoto interrupted him.
"We're not waiting for the engineers."
Kendai Doihara's expression changed.
"General, if we charge in without clearing the mines, many people will die."
Kazuo Yamamoto looked at him, his gaze eerily calm.
"I know. But the British are also waiting for us to clear the mines. They know we're afraid of mines, so they've buried them everywhere. If we clear them step by step, advancing one kilometer a day, by the time we reach the outskirts of Dakar, the British will have already recovered."
He pointed to the British positions in the distance.
"News from Sinai has arrived; their morale has collapsed, and their formation is in disarray. If we charge now, they won't be able to stop us. If we wait until they recover and reorganize, even more people will die when we charge again."
Kenjiro Doihara was silent for three seconds. In fact, he understood that he had seen Chen Feng's telegram and knew that Chen Feng didn't care at all how many Japanese soldiers had died in battle.
Then he stood at attention and saluted.
"Yes, General."
The order was given, and the divisions began to assemble.
The soldiers emerged from their tents, inspected their weapons, organized their ammunition, and filled their canteens with water. No one spoke, no one complained; they simply made their preparations in silence.
A young soldier was squatting on the ground, carving something on a bullet casing with his bayonet. An older soldier nearby came over and glanced at it.
"What should we carve?"
The young soldier didn't even look up.
"My sister's name. In case I die, someone can find me."
The veteran remained silent for three seconds.
Does your sister know you're here?
The young soldier shook his head.
"I don't know. But I promised her I would go back alive."
After finishing the last stroke, he stuffed the bullet casing into his pocket.
The veteran patted him on the shoulder.
"Get back alive. Do you hear me?"
The young soldier nodded.
In the distance, the sound of whistles signaling a gathering could be heard.
They stood up and walked back to the group.
At four in the morning, it was so dark in the jungle that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
There was no moon, no stars, only boundless darkness. Occasionally, a breeze would blow, rustling the leaves like countless feet treading on fallen leaves.
Kazuo Yamamoto stood on a high point, holding up night-vision binoculars and looking at the British positions in the distance. Through the binoculars, everything had an eerie green tint. The trenches, sandbags, and barbed wire were all clearly visible.
He saw the sentries yawning, saw people squatting in the trenches smoking, and saw people dozing off against sandbags.
They didn't know that death was approaching.
Kenta Doihara stood beside him, also holding binoculars. His hands were trembling slightly—not from fear, but from nervousness.
"General, all divisions are ready."
Kazuo Yamamoto nodded.
He glanced at his watch.
4:30 a.m.
There are still two hours until dawn.
Two hours, is that enough?
enough.
He raised his right hand.
The hand remained suspended in mid-air for a full three seconds.
Then, it fell suddenly.
The signal flare rose into the sky and exploded in the night sky, bursting into a dazzling red light.
In that instant, a roar like a tsunami echoed through the jungle.
"Onboard!"
"Kill them!"
Countless Japanese soldiers poured out of the jungle, covering the hillsides, carrying Type 38 rifles, and charged toward the British positions.
Yamada Ichiro was at the very front.
His left shoulder still ached from the Battle of Sinai, and it would throb on rainy days. But he ignored the pain and just ran and ran as fast as he could.
The ground beneath my feet was covered in rotten, soft leaves, offering no support. Ahead lay endless darkness, broken only by the occasional flicker of a fire that illuminated the path for a fleeting moment.
He didn't know where the landmines were. Nobody knew.
All he knows is how to run.
If you run fast, you might survive.
If you run too slowly, you will die.
The first landmine exploded.
Just twenty meters to his left. The flames of the explosion shot into the sky, illuminating the figures running around him. He saw several people thrown into the air, then fall back down, crashing to the ground, motionless.
He didn't stop.
Keep running.
The second one, the third one, the fourth one—
Landmines exploded one after another, sending flames flying. Screams, cries of alarm, and curses mingled together, but were quickly drowned out by the subsequent explosions.
As Yamada Ichiro ran, he suddenly felt his legs give way.
He instinctively lunged to the side.
Behind him, the lightning exploded. The shockwave knocked him to the ground, making his ears ring and rendering him deaf.
He struggled to his feet and kept running.
A soldier running nearby suddenly stopped. He looked down at his leg—it was gone. Below the knee, it was all gone, leaving only a bloody, mangled stump.
He froze for a second, then collapsed, screaming in agony.
Yamada Ichiro ran past him without stopping.
We can't stop. Stopping means death.
The British machine guns finally opened fire.
Not just one shot, but dozens rang out simultaneously. Bullets swept across the battlefield like a torrential downpour, and the soldiers at the forefront fell in droves. Some were riddled with bullets, some were hit in the head and died instantly, and some dragged their broken legs on the ground screaming in agony.
"Lie down!" someone shouted.
The soldiers lay prone on the ground, their faces pressed against the dirt, listening to the bullets whizzing overhead. The British machine guns were so powerful that they couldn't even lift their heads.
Yamada Ichiro lay in a shell crater, panting heavily.
A young soldier lay sprawled nearby, his face deathly pale and his body trembling. His left ear had been cut by shrapnel, and blood was streaming down his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.
"Old...old soldier," he stammered, "can we...can we get through?"
Yamada Ichiro looked at him.
The boy looked to be under twenty, his face still bearing the traces of childhood innocence. In his eyes were fear, despair, and something else indescribable—perhaps hope.
"Yes," Yamada Ichiro said.
The child paused for a moment.
"real?"
Yamada Ichiro did not answer.
He peeked out and looked ahead. The British machine guns were still firing, and firefights were flashing in the trenches. But the firefights didn't seem as intense anymore.
He suddenly understood something.
"Mortars!" he roared. "Where are our mortars?"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the muffled thud of a mortar shell being fired came from behind him.
One shot, two shots, ten shots, dozens of shots.
Shells whizzed overhead and landed on the British positions. The machine gun fire became less frequent.
"Rush!"
Yamada Ichiro got up and continued charging forward.
The young soldier also got up and ran beside him.
Bullets whizzed past his ears; he could feel the wind, he could feel death brushing against his skin. But he didn't stop, he just ran, ran, ran.
Thirty meters.
Twenty meters.
Ten meters —
He jumped into the British trenches.
The trenches were filled with dead bodies. British soldiers and Japanese soldiers were all mixed together, indistinguishable from one another. Blood had soaked the mud at the bottom of the trenches into a dark red color, making it sticky and treacherous, each step feeling like walking through a swamp.
A British soldier rushed out from around the corner, brandishing his bayonet and lunging at him. Yamada Ichiro instinctively raised his rifle, parried the blow, and then stabbed the man in the stomach with his bayonet.
The soldier screamed and knelt on the ground, clutching his stomach with both hands, blood gushing from between his fingers. He looked at Yamada Ichiro, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but the blood choked him.
he died.
Yamada Ichiro drew his bayonet and continued forward.
He didn't turn around.