200: Chapter 110 Landing and Anti-Landing

January 15, 1908. Southeastern coast, Sansha Bay. Early morning.

A thin layer of mist drifted over the sea, blurring the distant coastline into a grayish-white silhouette. The sea breeze was gentle, the swell moderate, and the water surface resembled a vast sheet of gray silk, with only tiny white waves dancing among the rocks near the shore. It was good weather for a landing—visibility was low, with thin mist providing cover, and the swell was not threatening enough to endanger the landing craft. A few seagulls paced on the beach, occasionally pecking at the sand, then lifting their heads to look around vigilantly.

After the Allied forces suffered a devastating blow in the East China Sea naval battle, their commanders did not completely abandon their operational plan. Although the main naval force had been routed, their Marine Corps and some small vessels had already been deployed to the vicinity of the coast from the flanks before the decisive naval battle. When news of the main fleet's destruction arrived, these troops, already approaching the coast, did not choose to retreat. Instead, they decided to launch the landing operation according to the original plan, attempting to establish a beachhead on the coast of the Tang Country to secure a foothold for subsequent reinforcements.

Their commander was a Meijian Country Army Brigadier General named William McClellan, a veteran who had participated in the Spanish-American War, known for his steady tactical style. He had foreseen the possibility of failure in the naval battle before it began, so he had pre-emptively dispersed most of the landing troops and equipment onto several fast transport ships, approaching the designated coast in small formations to avoid the main shipping lanes where the main fleet was located. This cautious arrangement had now become the only option still available to the Allied forces. He stood on the bridge of the flagship "Mississippi," gazing at the slowly approaching coastline, gripping his binoculars so tightly that his knuckles turned slightly white.

At 6:15 AM, the vanguard of the Allied landing fleet began to approach the beach under the cover of the mist. The sound of the landing craft's engines was largely masked by the sound of the waves. The soldiers on board crouched low, holding their rifles to their chests, their eyes fixed on the coastline gradually becoming clearer ahead. Their faces were painted with camouflage oil, and beneath their steel helmets were tense and focused eyes, their fingers resting on the trigger guards, ready to respond to any unexpected situation at any moment. Behind them, four escort Destroyer vessels were sailing slowly, their guns pointed at the seemingly peaceful sand dunes and shrubs on the shore.

"Sir, the beach ahead appears to have no fortifications." A Marine Corps Major reported in a low voice to McClellan, pointing to the deserted beach in his binoculars, where only a few early-rising seagulls were pacing on the sand, leaving behind strings of tiny footprints. "The locals may have set up defensive lines further inland. According to intelligence, this area is mainly guarded by militia and has no heavy weapons."

McClellan lowered his binoculars, his brow furrowing slightly. The Tang Country's coastal defense system had performed excellently in previous anti-landing operations; those concealed coastal artillery batteries, carefully camouflaged machine gun nests, and dense minefields had caused heavy losses to the Allied forces in multiple attempts. But this time, the landing point he chose was an area that satellite reconnaissance and agent intelligence showed to have relatively weak defenses—at least that's what it looked like. His reconnaissance planes had circled above twice and had not detected any obvious signs of fortifications.

"Send two reconnaissance teams ashore first," McClellan ordered. "Confirm there are no ambushes on the beach and in the rear area. If they encounter no resistance within fifteen minutes, the main force will begin landing. If they encounter resistance, retreat immediately; do not get bogged down in combat."

The first batch of landing craft rushed onto the beach in the morning light. As the ramps dropped, the first boot stepped onto the dry sand, kicking up tiny grains of sand. The carefully camouflaged fortifications along the Tang Country coast did not open fire immediately—Li Ling's order was to let them get close before engaging, waiting until enough Allied soldiers were ashore and unable to easily retreat before launching a lethal counterattack. Those shooters hidden in the sand dunes and shrubs watched the landing soldiers through the gaps in the camouflage nets, their fingers resting on the triggers, waiting for the signal to fire.

After searching the beach for about ten minutes, the two reconnaissance teams confirmed there was no defensive force on the beach front and sent a safety signal to McClellan. Consequently, the main body of the first landing force began to go ashore. More than a thousand soldiers rushed onto the beach under the cover of artillery fire, carrying rifles and ammunition boxes, and advanced toward the low shrubs behind the sand dunes. Their movements were swift and orderly, clearly the result of rigorous training; every soldier was trying to find cover, their formation dispersed and agile, like well-trained hunters approaching an unknown woodland.

When most of them had left the beach and entered the shrub zone behind the sand dunes, Li Ling's order was transmitted from the rear to the frontline command post.

"Fire."

The first row of mines was detonated at the edge of the shrubbery. These were not ordinary anti-personnel mines, but a composite minefield specially designed by the Production Base, mixing directional mines and bounding mines, specifically targeted at large-scale infantry advances. The directional mines were set on the front of the sand dunes, their shrapnel spreading in a fan shape, covering the entire front area of the shrubbery; the bounding mines were buried on the flanks, designed to pop up to the height of a person after being triggered before exploding, with shrapnel raining down from above, specifically targeting those soldiers seeking low cover. The violent explosions merged into one, and the shockwaves and fragments stirred up waves of death in the shrubbery. Allied soldiers fled in all directions amidst the explosions; some were knocked to the ground by the shockwaves, others were hit by shrapnel, their screams swallowed and torn by the explosions, echoing through the shrubs.

Immediately afterward, the Heavy Machine Gun nests and Mortar positions hidden behind the sand dunes also opened fire simultaneously. Those Heavy Machine Guns were all Qingyun-07 models provided by the system. The water-cooled heat dissipation structure allowed them to remain stable during continuous firing. The barrels began to glow slightly red from the sustained fire, but the gunners did not stop pulling the triggers. The shell casings fell onto the adjacent sand like raindrops, quickly piling up into a small mound. Dense bullets swept across the shrubs and the beach like a sickle, mowing down in swathes the soldiers who had just been advancing in skirmish lines. Mortar shells landed on the beach, blasting up pillars of sand that reached the sky, forcing the subsequent landing craft that were rushing the beach to spin around on the sea surface.

"There's an ambush on the beachhead! Retreat! Retreat quickly!" McClellan's voice rang out on the radio, carrying a sense of urgency and hoarseness never heard before. He stood on the bridge of the flagship, watching the soldiers struggling on the beach, his face ashen. His judgment had been wrong—this was not an area with weak defenses, but a carefully laid pocket. Those seemingly empty beaches and shrubs were all part of the camouflage.

But retreating was more difficult than expected. Those troops who had already rushed past the minefield were suppressed in the shrubbery by machine gun fire and could not retreat to the beach; while those still on the landing craft could not approach under the coverage of the Mortar fire. The entire beachhead turned into a meat grinder, with soldiers falling every minute. Those soldiers in the shrubbery tried to lie on the ground to find cover, but the arc-shaped shrapnel from the bounding mines rained down from above, leaving them nowhere to hide. Some tried to use smoke grenades to create cover, but the sea breeze quickly blew the smoke away.

"Your Majesty, the Allied commander is ordering a retreat." Chen Zhiyuan stood behind Li Ling, watching the markers on the electronic screen moving toward the sea, his voice calm and precise. "Most of their landing troops are trapped between the sand dunes and the shrubbery, and about half of them have already begun to surrender. The rest are moving toward the beach, attempting to board the landing craft that haven't sunk yet. According to thermal imaging, there are still about four hundred people moving between the beach and the shrubbery, most of whom have lost all organization and command."

Li Ling watched the struggling Allied soldiers on the screen. Many of them had thrown away their weapons, holding up their hands, and were slowly walking toward the Tang Country positions. Their faces were covered in sand and blood, their eyes filled with an unspeakable exhaustion and fear, like a group of travelers lost in a storm.

"Tell the soldiers to stop firing," Li Ling's voice was calm. "Only engage those who are still resisting. For those willing to surrender, let them lay down their weapons and walk to the designated area. The machine gunners and artillerymen are to cease fire for now, but keep aiming—if you see any signs of attempting to regroup or counterattack, open fire immediately. Tell the frontline commander not to push the surrendering soldiers into a dead end; give them a way to live."

After the order was issued, the gunfire on the beachhead gradually thinned out. Those Allied soldiers who were still alive and still resisting, after fighting alone for nearly ten minutes, finally had to lay down their weapons. Some of them still wore expressions of defiance as they laid down their weapons, their hands raised high, their rifles thrown onto the sand at their feet. But their commander, Brigadier General McClellan, had been wounded in the left shoulder by shrapnel from a Mortar shell during the retreat and was helped onto the last evacuating Torpedo boat by a few soldiers. The expression on his face as he left was like a piece of paper that had been crumpled up and then reluctantly flattened out, every crease filled with frustration and unwillingness. Before boarding the boat, he took one last look at the beach sinking into smoke, his lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.

By around 10:00 AM, when the smoke on the beachhead had completely dissipated, rows of prisoners were already laid out on the beach and in the shrubbery. A total of more than 2,300 Allied officers and soldiers had chosen to surrender, including several of their captured senior officers. More than a dozen of the landing craft that transported them were seized by the Tang Country Navy, still loaded with a large amount of unloaded weapons and ammunition—rifles, machine guns, ammunition boxes, field telephones, and even several small-caliber artillery pieces that hadn't had time to be set up. Those weapons were neatly stacked on the beach, waiting to be collected into the Tang Country military supply warehouse.

Li Ling stood before the window of the control center, watching the figures of the prisoners being escorted on the screen, and remained silent for a moment. On the distant sea, those few Allied Torpedo boats that had managed to escape were disappearing beyond the horizon. They took away hundreds of wounded soldiers and that wounded Brigadier General, and they also took away the last trace of the Allied forces' presence on the East Asia coastline.

"Your Majesty, the battle result statistics are out." Chen Zhiyuan's voice sounded on the communication channel. "The Allied landing force totaled about 3,500 men, of whom about 800 were killed in action, about 2,200 were captured, and the rest retreated with the commander. Our casualties were minor: over 70 killed and over 100 wounded. The captured weapons and ammunition are enough to equip two light infantry regiments. Additionally, several field radios and codebooks were seized."

Li Ling nodded, his gaze still not leaving the screen. A young prisoner was being helped across the beach by two Tang Country soldiers; his leg was injured, his entire leg covered in dark red bloodstains, and with every step, he left a blurry red mark on the sand. He looked up, seemingly locking eyes with Li Ling across the screen—there was no hatred in those eyes, only a kind of aimless confusion, like a lamp blown out by the wind.

"Pass the order," Li Ling finally spoke. "Arrange food and medical care for the prisoners of war. All prisoners must be registered, and the wounded should receive priority medical assistance. This is a war that has already ended; there is no need to let needless deaths continue. Tell the medical team to treat them just as they would our own wounded."

When the sun rose to its zenith, the beach that had once been soaked with artillery fire and blood had already been cleared of a large open space by the rescue team. The prisoners sat on the sand, some tending to their wounds, others eating the rations distributed by the Tang Country soldiers—steaming hot steamed buns and pickled vegetable soup. Although simple, for people who had been drifting at sea for days, it was a rare meal. Others just stared blankly at the sea, like a group of lost children, their eyes empty and dazed. On the distant sea, a Tang Country rescue vessel was transporting the last batch of salvaged survivors back to the shore—they were Allied sailors who had fallen into the water during the retreat, each wrapped in a gray military blanket, their faces wearing the daze of having survived a disaster.

Li Ling turned around, walked back to the console, and picked up the communicator: "Tell all units to strengthen coastal vigilance. Although the Allied forces have been temporarily repelled, their main naval force still has remnants cruising in the periphery, and their supply lines have not yet been completely cut off. As long as their flag is still flying on the sea, we cannot let our guard down. Especially for the anti-submarine patrols of the ports in the south, maintain the highest frequency."

He put down the communicator, his gaze falling once again on the sea surface outside the window, which had been made to sparkle by the afternoon sun. Seagulls circled in the sky, emitting long cries, as if seeing off those lost lives, or as if announcing that a long storm had finally subsided for the moment. On the sea, a gentle breeze blew, kicking up tiny white waves, as if the earth were breathing slowly.

And on the further sea, the Torpedo boat carrying Brigadier General McClellan was speeding southward, its stern trailing a long, thin white wake, like a healing scar. At the side of the boat, McClellan leaned against the cabin wall; the wound on his left shoulder had been simply bandaged, but blood was still seeping out. He gazed at the receding coastline and said a sentence to the adjutant beside him in a low voice.

"Tell headquarters, we were wrong. The Tang Country's coastal defense is far more solid than we imagined, and their preparations were far more thorough than ours. This war should never have been fought from the very beginning."

Twilight was descending, and the last gleam of gold on the sea was slowly sinking into the water. And beyond the horizon in the northeast, new dark clouds were gathering, as if another storm were brewing in the distance, waiting for its moment.