Iron Dynasty Chapter 1009

The relentless rattle of machine guns filled the air. A sound utterly alien to the British soldiers, it was not the sharp crack of rifles or the booming roar of cannons, but a continuous, mechanical noise that seemed utterly indifferent to the lives it was cutting short.

In mere moments, the front ranks of the British formation disintegrated. It wasn't a planned retreat, nor a chaotic rout, but an outright collapse. Men dropped in successive rows as if being swept from the shore by an unseen force.

The soldiers positioned behind were trained for such a scenario: plug the gaps, maintain the line, push forward. However, the gaps created were too vast to fill. The machine guns shifted their deadly sweeps from left to right and back again, and any man brave enough to step into the void fell before his boots could even touch the sand.

"Fall back!" Alden's voice, strained and hoarse, bellowed from the rear. "Fall back and regroup—"

His command was lost in the cacophony. The soldiers in the center couldn't discern his words over the din. Those at the front were already dead, and the men at the rear, witnessing the carnage unfolding before them, had already begun to flee.

Within a mere four minutes, eleven thousand men were reduced to a broken tide ebbing in reverse up the beach.

Chang Yuzhu observed from behind the line of machine guns, his expression impassive. "Cease fire."

The sudden silence was profound. The beach before them was a carpet of red coats.

"Advance," Chang Yuzhu commanded.

The pursuit that followed was orderly rather than frantic. Imperial soldiers advanced in disciplined skirmish lines, their Han-style rifles picking off the fleeing remnants with the cool precision of veteran warriors. The British, their formation shattered and their discipline evaporated, scattered into the scrubland beyond the beach.

A handful managed to reach Wales City; the majority never made it that far.

Alden found himself running with a group of approximately two hundred men—all that remained of his once organized force. His uniform bore a tear on the shoulder from a flying splinter, and his hat was lost. Around him, men who had marched out of Wales that morning with proud, upright postures and gleaming equipment were now gasping and stumbling through unfamiliar brush.

"Hold position here," Alden instructed when they reached a slight elevation. "Hold here and count the men." He already anticipated the grim tally.

Kenneth appeared at his side, his breathing labored. The older man's face was pale. "The machine guns," he stated, not as a question or an assertion, but as the only logical explanation for the preceding disaster.

"I had read accounts of them," Alden replied, his voice unnervingly flat. "I dismissed the reports as exaggeration."

Kenneth remained silent.

"We must alert the navy immediately," Alden continued. "If their ships can circle around and bombard the beach—"

"The navy has already departed," a nearby soldier interjected, his voice hollow with shock. "I saw them heading north when the landing commenced. They wouldn't remain within range of those warships."

Alden closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Wales City lay in the distance, its familiar silhouette unchanged, as if the events of the morning had never occurred.

"Fall back to Wales," he ordered. "We will regroup within the city walls." He offered no plans beyond that, uncertain of what the path forward entailed.

Lei Ming stood on the beach, observing his soldiers as they pursued the scattered British forces towards Wales City. Engineers were already diligently at work around him, measuring tide lines, assessing the terrain, and marking out locations for artillery emplacements. A landing beach, he knew, was only truly valuable if it could be secured and supplied, and Lei Ming had no intention of capturing Wales only to surrender it to a counterattack from the interior.

"Casualties?" he inquired.

Shi Yanjun consulted the report he had just received. "Thirty-one dead, one hundred and twelve wounded. Most sustained injuries from the shore battery fire during the initial landing."

Lei Ming paused, contemplating the figures. Thirty-one men lost against a British force that had numbered nearly twelve thousand.

"The machine guns performed as anticipated," he stated finally.

"Even better than anticipated," Shi Yanjun added. "The British possessed no effective counter. None whatsoever."

Lei Ming nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping across the bay where his warships were anchored, and then towards the distant horizon. Australia was a vast continent; Wales, merely a single city on its fringe. Yet, every significant campaign commenced with the conquest of a single city.

"Deploy the infantry," he commanded. "I want Wales secured before nightfall."