A New India
Chapter 214 - 214: Total War - II

As night fell, the sound of distant gunfire and explosions continued to echo across the desert.

The British and French assault was relentless, but the Egyptians, despite their losses, were determined to resist.

At Ismailia, the Indian troops waited in silence.

They knew their orders, but they also knew that war had a way of ignoring boundaries.

----

Near midnight, the first paratroopers began descending over Port Said.

The skies filled with the white canopies of British and French troops, their landing coordinated with precision.

On the ground, Egyptian defenders opened fire, their anti-aircraft guns lighting up the darkness.

The paratroopers, trained for such conditions, adjusted their descent, landing amid the chaos.

"Move, move!" shouted a British officer as his men hit the ground and immediately began advancing toward their objectives.

The Egyptians fought fiercely, their gunfire relentless despite the overwhelming odds.

At Ismailia, Prakash's radio crackled to life. A tense voice came through. "Major Prakash, enemy movement detected north of our position. No engagement yet, but they're closing in."

Prakash's jaw tightened. "Hold your positions. Do not engage unless fired upon."

The soldiers at Ismailia braced for what was to come.

The first shot had not yet been fired, but the war was closer than ever.

Every man in the camp stood ready, their breaths steady but their grips tightening on their weapons.

Major Arun Prakash moved among his men, inspecting their readiness and offering calm, measured words of assurance.

They were prepared.

In the stillness of the desert night, the faint sound of boots crunching sand carried through the air.

It wasn't long before shadows began to appear on the horizons.

Prakash raised his binoculars, his eyes narrowing.

British paratroopers.

They were advancing carefully, their movements deliberate and tactical.

Prakash gestured silently to Captain Mehra, who crouched beside him. "What do you see?"

Mehra observed through his own binoculars. "A platoon-sized group, sir. Scouts, probably. They're probing, testing the area. They're careful not to give themselves away."

Prakash nodded. "They don't know we're here yet, but that won't last long. Keep the men on standby. No one fires without my direct command."

The radio crackled again. "Major, more movement detected. Flanking from the eastern dunes estimate two squads. Possible encirclement strategy."

Prakash tightened his jaw. "Understood. Have the Gurkhas hold their positions. If the flanking party gets too close, they know what to do."

Meanwhile, the British troops moved cautiously. Lieutenant Andrew Spencer, leading the forward unit, held up a fist, signaling his men to stop.

He crouched, scanning the terrain with his night-vision scope.

"Something feels off," he muttered to his sergeant. "Too quiet. No resistance so far, but this area should have some Egyptian presence."

The sergeant glanced at him. "Could be they've retreated, sir. After what we did at Port Said, I wouldn't blame them."

Spencer shook his head. "No. Egyptians don't just vanish. Keep your eyes sharp."

As the British troops crept closer to the Indian position, Prakash leaned into his radio. "Gurkha Unit One, report status."

A calm voice replied. "Gurkhas in position, Major. They're coming closer. We'll hold as long as ordered."

Prakash gave a small nod, though no one could see it. "Good. If they cross the perimeter, you have authorization to engage. Make it count."

The tension in the Indian camp was suffocating.

The soldiers held their positions, their fingers hovering over triggers, their eyes darting between shadows.

One soldier, barely more than a boy, whispered to his comrade, "Do you think they'll find us?"

His comrade, older and battle-worn, replied in a low voice, "If they do, they won't like what they find."

The British scouts were now within a hundred meters of the Indian forward line.

Spencer raised his hand, motioning his men to fan out. He saw through his scope again, scanning the landscape for any sign of movement.

Just as he was about to move forward, a faint sound caught his attention, the click of metal on stone.

His instincts screamed at him.

"Contact!" Spencer hissed, dropping to the ground.

Before he could finish the word, a Gurkha sprang from the shadows, his khukuri gleaming in the moonlight.

The blade found its mark before the British soldier could react.

A brief struggle ensued, but the Gurkha was already gone, disappearing into the dunes as quickly as he had appeared.

Chaos erupted.

The British troops opened fire blindly into the darkness, their formation breaking as they scrambled for cover.

From the eastern flank, the rest of the Gurkhas struck with surgical precision.

Silhouettes darted in and out of the sands, blades glinting before vanishing again.

For every shot fired, a British soldier fell silently.

In the Indian camp, Prakash heard the gunfire and knew the moment had come. "All units, engage! Defensive positions, fire at will!"

The night exploded into chaos.

The crack of rifles and the noise of machine-gun fire filled the air as the Indian soldiers opened up on the advancing British troops.

Prakash moved to the front, barking orders. "Suppressive fire on the center! Don't let them regroup!"

Mehra shouted to his unit, "Focus on the left flank! Keep them pinned down!"

On the British side, Spencer tried to regain control of his panicking men. "Hold the line! Return fire! Flank them if you can!"

But the British troops, unprepared for such a fierce and coordinated defense, faltered.

The Gurkhas were relentless, their ambush throwing the attackers into disarray.

In the chaos, Spencer managed to call for reinforcements over his radio, his voice strained. "This is Lieutenant Spencer! We're under heavy fire, unknown forces, request immediate support!"

Prakash, hearing the distinct crackle of British radios, turned to Mehra. "They're calling for backup. We need to end this before they bring in reinforcements. Push them back now!"

The Indian soldiers intensified their fire, the barrage forcing the British to retreat slowly.

The Gurkhas pressed from the sides, cutting off any attempts at regrouping.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was only minutes, the British troops began a full withdrawal.

Prakash held up his hand, signaling a ceasefire.

The gunfire died down, and an eerie silence fell over the battlefield.

"Status?" Prakash asked Mehra, his voice calm but firm.

"Minimal casualties on our side, sir. Gurkhas report no losses. British forces have retreated at least for now."

Prakash nodded. "Good. Gather the men and tend to the wounded. This isn't over."

In the British camp, Lieutenant Spencer slumped against a sandbag, his helmet askew and his face pale.

The sergeant approached him cautiously. "Sir, what do we tell command?"

Spencer looked up, his eyes hollow. "We tell them the truth. We've stumbled into something far bigger than we anticipated."

Back in New Delhi, Prime Minister Rohan received the news of the skirmish with satisfaction.

His gamble had paid off.

Britain and France had now directly engaged Indian forces.

The world would soon know the truth and the cost of imperial ambition.