diymy Did I say that in Chapter 738?
Did I say that in Chapter 738?
Dubai's fireworks display lasted for a full hour.
As the last firework faded into the night sky, only Chen Feng and Wang Wenwu remained on the terrace.
Saionji Kinmochi, Shinta, and Ahmed have gone back to rest. Tomorrow, they have more important matters to discuss.
Chen Feng stood there, looking at the gradually calming sea in the distance.
Wang Wenwu walked to his side and handed him a cup of hot tea.
"Commander-in-Chief, you've been standing all night. Have some tea and rest for a while."
Chen Feng took the teacup, but didn't drink it; he just held it in his hand.
"Minister Wang, have all the units departed?"
Wang Wenwu nodded.
"Over there, Wang Guojian's 40,000 troops have crossed the border and are advancing towards Grad and Mokran Port. Over there, the 1st Marine Division has begun landing at Karachi. Over there, Yamamoto Kazuo's 270,000 troops are advancing towards Dhaka. Over there, Sher is still holding the line at Kempad Bay."
Chen Feng nodded.
He gazed at the distant sea and remained silent for a long time.
"Minister Wang, how long do you think this war with India will last?"
Wang Wenwu thought for a moment.
"I don't know. But it shouldn't be too long. The British only have 200,000 troops in India, and they have to be divided up to defend different areas. If we attack from both the east and the west, they won't be able to hold out."
Chen Feng nodded.
"Yes, they can't hold out. But not holding out doesn't mean they'll surrender. The British will definitely fight to the death and stall for time. They're hoping Allenby will win in Egypt and then come to India's rescue."
He paused.
"Unfortunately, Allen is in even worse shape than himself."
Wang Wenwu was taken aback: "Commander-in-Chief, you mean—Zhao Dengyu's side?"
Chen Feng smiled.
"That old fox Zhao Dengyu, don't be fooled by his 120,000 men. The key is his mobility. He has 500 tanks and over a thousand trucks and jeeps. If he can't defeat the British, he can retire on the spot. At that point, India will be an isolated island. Jellicoe's fleet won't be able to get out, the British won't be able to hold out, and India will surely fall."
Wang Wenwu took a deep breath.
"Commander-in-Chief, did you anticipate that the British would amass a large army in Egypt?"
Chen Feng looked at him.
"Minister Wang, you've been with me for so long, don't you understand me?"
He turned and looked at the distant sea.
"I can think of anything the British can think of. I can also think of things the British can't think of."
In the distance, the sea began to lighten. Dawn was approaching.
Chen Feng looked at the sky that was gradually brightening and said softly:
"Minister Wang, the new year has begun."
Wang Wenwu nodded.
"Yes, President. A new year, new hope. By the way, President, you mentioned supporting Japan's bid for a permanent seat on the Security Council!"
Chen Feng shook his head.
"Did I say that? I only said that the blood of Japanese soldiers should not be shed in vain!"
He turned and walked into the house.
As he reached the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back to look at Wang Wenwu.
"Minister Wang, remember this day. Today is the day Lanfang begins to change the world."
The door closed.
Wang Wenwu stood alone on the terrace, looking at the increasingly bright sky in the distance.
He remembered what Chen Feng had just said.
"The day Lanfang began to change the world."
Yes, from today onwards, the world has truly changed.
Once things change, there's no going back.
February 9, 1918, the Chinese New Year.
On this day, Dubai's fireworks lit up the night sky.
On this day, 40,000 Lanfang soldiers crossed the Iran-India border.
On this day, the Lanfang Marine Corps landed at Karachi.
On this day, 270,000 people from the Cherry Blossom Kingdom advanced towards Dhaka.
On this day, the German fleet blockaded the port of Mumbai.
On this day, the world began to change.
The sun is rising over the distant sea.
Golden sunlight spilled over the Persian Gulf, over the massive warships, and over the rising city.
February 10, 1918, 50 kilometers east of the Iranian-Indian border.
The sun had just risen above the horizon, scorching the entire desert. The golden dunes stretched endlessly, like a frozen ocean. There was no wind, no clouds, not a trace of green, only boundless yellow sand extending to the horizon.
Wang Guojian stood in a jeep, looking ahead through binoculars.
The sunlight shone on the sand, reflecting a blinding glare. He squinted, wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and continued watching.
His adjutant, Chen Dalei, stood beside him, holding a military map in his hands. Two attack routes were marked in red on the map—one towards Grad in the northeast and the other towards Mokran Port in the southeast.
"Commander, Glad is 180 kilometers from the border. At the current speed, we should be able to arrive by tomorrow afternoon," Chen Dalei said, pointing to the red circle on the map.
Wang Guojian put down his binoculars and nodded.
"What about Makran Port?"
"Commander Yang Guoyan will lead the team, and they should arrive tomorrow afternoon. The British have few troops stationed in these two places: 800 in Grad and 1,200 in Mokran. They are all Indian soldiers, and their combat effectiveness is average."
Wang Guojian's lips curled up slightly.
"Eight hundred people? Twelve thousand? That's not even enough to fill our teeth."
He turned and looked at the marching troops behind him.
More than a hundred tanks, lined up in a dozen columns, were advancing at full speed. Their tracks rolled over the sand, kicking up clouds of dust, like giant yellow dragons crawling across the desert. The tank crews poked half their bodies out of the turrets, their faces covered with sand-proof scarves, only their eyes showing.
Hundreds of trucks followed, crammed with soldiers. The soldiers were jostled about, but no one complained—they knew they were racing against time.
Further behind were the artillery units, with 105mm howitzers being towed by trucks, kicking up a trail of dust.
Wang Guojian jumped out of the jeep and walked to the side of the road.
A tank drove past him, the dust kicked up by its tracks hitting him head-on. He didn't flinch; he just stood there, watching those steel behemoths roll by one after another.
Chen Dalei caught up and shouted, "Commander! What are you doing standing here? You're covered in dust!"
Wang Guojian didn't answer. He just stared at the tanks and the soldiers, his eyes gleaming.
"Chen Dalei," he suddenly asked, "do you know how much these tanks are worth?"
Chen Dalei paused for a moment, then said, "I don't know."
"One Panzer II tank costs 80,000 silver dollars. More than a hundred tanks cost tens of millions." Wang Guojian's voice was soft, but every word was clear. "The Grand Commander spent tens of millions just so that we could stand here today."
He turned to look at Chen Dalei.
"Therefore, we cannot lose."
A rapid engine roared in the distance. A three-wheeled motorcycle sped back from the front and stopped at the roadside. The scout jumped off and ran over to salute.
"Commander! In the direction of Grad! The British are completely unprepared! Their sentries are still dozing off, they haven't even put out any warning posts!"