diymy Chapter 731 London's "Calculations"
Chapter 731 London's "Calculations"
The soldiers lined up as ordered and headed toward the several huge transport ships at the port.
A young soldier walked to the ship's side, suddenly stopped, and looked back at the British coastline behind him.
That gray, misty land was the home he had left two years ago.
The old soldier next to him shoved him: "What are you looking at? Go up! It's not like you're not coming back."
The young soldier lowered his head and boarded the ship.
A lieutenant colonel stood on the pier, watching the soldiers boarding the ship, his brow furrowed.
He was the quartermaster, in charge of transporting this group of troops. But the problem was, the destination of these troops wasn't a rest camp, but rather—North Africa.
"Sir," a staff officer ran over and handed over a document, "this is the supply list for this batch of troops. They brought all their equipment: ammunition, machine guns, mortars, everything."
The lieutenant colonel took the document, glanced at it, and then looked up at the soldiers who were boarding the ship.
"Full equipment? Weren't we supposed to be resting? Why bring so much ammunition for resting?"
The staff officer shook his head: "I don't know. The higher-ups' instructions are simply to carry them out."
The lieutenant colonel remained silent for a few seconds.
How many people are in this group?
"Five thousand. This is the third batch today. The first two batches have already departed and should be arriving in Gibraltar soon."
The lieutenant colonel returned the documents to the staff officer and turned to walk towards his office.
After walking a few steps, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the soldiers who were boarding the ship.
A young soldier stood on the deck, gazing at the land receding into the distance. The wind blew his hair, and his face remained expressionless as he simply watched.
The lieutenant colonel suddenly wanted to ask him: Do you know where you're going? Do you know who you're going to fight?
But he didn't ask.
He turned and left.
The transport ship slowly sailed away from the port, heading southwest.
The soldiers on the ship crowded on the deck; some smoked, some stared blankly, and some spoke in hushed tones.
Where are we going?
"I don't know. It's definitely not a rest or recuperation period."
How did you know?
"Can you bring this much ammunition for a rest stop?"
The man fell silent.
An old soldier leaned against the ship's railing, smoking and squinting at the coastline that was receding into the distance.
A young soldier nearby leaned over and whispered, "Old soldier, have you ever fought in a war?"
The veteran glanced at him and exhaled a puff of smoke.
"Yes, we've fought there. The Somme, Verdun, we've fought there."
The young soldier's eyes lit up: "Then you must know where we're going, right?"
The veteran remained silent for three seconds.
"have no idea."
The young soldier was stunned.
The veteran looked at the gray horizon in the distance and said softly, "But I know that anywhere is better than getting shelled by the Germans here."
He took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled.
"Here, we're cannon fodder. In another place, maybe we can still be human."
The young soldier nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.
In the distance, the French coastline became increasingly blurred, eventually disappearing completely into the fog.
February 3, London.
Two guards in black overcoats stood motionless in front of No. 10 Downing Street. A fine drizzle fell from the gray sky, pattering on their hat brims before running down their sides.
The meeting room was filled with thick, choking smoke.
The long table was filled with people—Army Secretary Kitchener, Navy Secretary Jericho, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and a large group of staff officers and secretaries. Each person had thick stacks of documents in front of them, and each face bore varying degrees of fatigue.
Asquith sat in the main seat, holding a telegram in his hand, and read it for a long time.
That was a report from Egypt, from General Allenby: the troop assembly was progressing well, the first batch of 50,000 men had arrived, the second batch was at sea, and it was expected that all 400,000 men would be in place within a week.
He put down the telegram, looked up, and gazed at the people present.
"Gentlemen, things are going well with Allenby. The problem now is—the French."
Army Secretary Kitchener spoke, his voice hoarse: "Prime Minister, from January 31st to today, we have withdrawn eight divisions, 120,000 men. All of them are veterans of countless battles."
He stood up, walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall, and pointed to the front line in northern France.
"We withdrew three divisions from the Verdun direction. Two divisions from the Somme direction. Three divisions from the Alas direction. The defenders who took over were all Mikhails."
First Lord of the Navy Jellicoe nodded: "The transport ships are ready. Four ships are going back and forth daily from Dover, transporting soldiers to Gibraltar, and then transferring them to ships for Egypt. The first batch of 50,000 men will arrive in Alexandria the day after tomorrow."
Asquith stood up and walked to the map.
He looked at the blue Mediterranean Sea, at the narrow Suez Canal, and at the vast Sinai Peninsula.
"Zhao Dengyu has 120,000 men," he said softly. "We'll use 400,000 to deal with him. 400,000 veterans from the European battlefields, each one has fought and seen blood. That should be enough."
Kitchener frowned: "Prime Minister, the French... they're bound to get suspicious of our hasty withdrawal."
Asquith turned and looked at him.
"Be suspicious? What can they do?"
He walked back to his seat and sat down.
"The Merlekas have arrived. They've taken over our positions. Their numbers haven't decreased, so what can the French say?"
A staff officer whispered, "But Prime Minister, the Merika people have no experience. They simply don't know how to fight. What if the Germans attack—"
Asquith waved his hand: "The Germans? The Germans are starving themselves, how can they have the strength to attack? Ludendorff wants to fight, but he needs soldiers, artillery, and food. He has nothing."
He paused, a hint of smugness in his voice.
"Moreover, once we win in Egypt, the Germans will be even less willing to fight. They are counting on Lanfang to send troops to rescue them. Until Lanfang arrives, the Germans can only cower."
Jellicoe asked, "Prime Minister, what should we say if the French press us for an answer?"
Asquith thought for a moment.
"Just say it's a rotation and rest period. The people from Meilika have just arrived and need to adapt to the position. Our veterans are tired, so they'll be withdrawn to rest for a while and come back when they've adapted."
He gave a cold laugh.
"Resting, that's a very useful word. How long will the rest last? We don't know. Will we come back after the rest? We don't know either. Anyway, right now, it's none of their business."
The meeting room was silent for a few seconds.
Kitchener then asked, "Prime Minister, what about the Germans? If they know we're withdrawing from the Western Front, will they take the opportunity to attack?"
Asquith looked at him, a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes.
"Kitchina, as I just said, the Germans lack the ability to attack. They're practically starving, how can they attack?"
He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, on a London street, several children in tattered clothes were chasing a ball. In the distance, a long queue stretched as far as the eye could see outside a bakery.