diymy Chapter 745 2 VS 4
Chapter 745 2 VS 4
Allenby did not speak.
He jumped into the trench, crouched down, and touched the sandbags. There were still marks on the sandbags; someone had been lying there. He then went into the shelter, which was lined with dry grass and contained several half-finished water bottles. The water in the bottles was still warm.
He stood up and walked out of the bunker.
"Leighton, why do you think the Lanfang people ran away?"
Layton thought for a moment.
"Scared now? Four hundred thousand men are pressing in, who wouldn't be afraid?"
Allenby shook his head.
"Afraid? If they were afraid, they wouldn't have stayed in Sinai for three months."
He walked to the edge of the trench and looked at the endless desert in the distance.
"Order all units to continue the pursuit. Don't stop."
Layton paused, then asked, "General, could this be a trap?"
Allenby looked at him.
"A trap? What trap? Four hundred thousand people chasing one hundred and twenty thousand, even if it's a trap, what could they possibly find out?"
He leaped onto his warhorse.
"Tell the soldiers that the Lanfang people have escaped. Chase after them, and we will win."
The British troops began their pursuit.
One hundred and fifty thousand men marched eastward in a mighty procession. More troops followed, two hundred and fifty thousand men were crossing the river and catching up.
In the desert, billowing dust obscures the sky and blocks out the sun.
February 13th, in the heart of the Sinai Peninsula.
The sun blazed the sand until it was scorching hot, and the air felt like a sauna. British soldiers marched in long columns, trudging through the desert with great difficulty. The sand beneath their feet was soft and yielding, each step requiring immense effort. Sweat streamed down their faces, stinging their eyes.
Some people are starting to fall behind.
A young soldier sat on the ground, panting heavily. An older soldier next to him kicked him: "Get up! You have to keep going, even if you can't!"
The young soldier shook his head: "I can't walk anymore... I really can't walk anymore..."
The veteran looked at him, remained silent for three seconds, and then extended his hand.
"Get up, I'll help you up."
The young soldier grabbed his hand and struggled to his feet.
The two continued walking forward.
News came from ahead: "The Lanfang people have escaped again! We've chased them for forty kilometers, but still haven't caught up!"
A commotion broke out in the ranks.
"It got away again? We've been chasing it for two days!"
"Can they fly?"
"Damn it, trying to catch up with four wheels on two legs is a joke."
An old soldier smoked a cigarette, squinting at the vast desert in front of him.
The young soldier next to him asked, "Squad leader, can we still catch up?"
The veteran exhaled a puff of smoke.
"We have to chase them, even if we can't catch them. The order has been given."
The young soldier lowered his head.
"How long are we going to keep chasing them?"
The veteran remained silent for three seconds.
"Keep chasing until you catch up."
On the evening of February 13th, at the British Army's temporary command post.
Allenby stood inside the tent, a map spread out in front of him. On the map, a red arrow was extending eastward, already two hundred kilometers into the Sinai Peninsula.
Chief of Staff Layton walked in, his expression somewhat grave.
"General, the troops are exhausted. More than a thousand more have fallen behind today. We're also running out of water, and the supply lines are too long."
Allenby looked up at him.
Where are the people from Lanfang?
"They're still running. The reconnaissance plane reports that they've retreated to a distance of 300 kilometers."
Allenby was silent for a few seconds.
"What about their speed?"
"Very fast. Tanks and trucks are much faster than us. We chased them for two days, they ran for two days, and the distance didn't shorten at all."
Allenby walked to the tent entrance and looked at the soldiers resting outside.
They sat on the sand; some drank water, some smoked, and some dozed off against their backpacks. No one spoke, no one laughed; they just rested in silence.
He suddenly remembered a question.
Why did the people of Lanfang run away?
If they wanted to fight, they could have stopped and fought. They had tanks, trucks, and the advantage. But they didn't. They just kept running and running, like they were luring something.
What are you enticing?
Lure him to pursue.
He turned around abruptly.
"Layton, order all units to cease pursuit."
Layton was stunned.
"General? Halt?"
Allenby nodded.
"Halt. Resume fire and wait for reinforcements to catch up."
He walked back to the map and pointed to the red arrows.
"We're chasing too fast. Supply lines are lagging, and our formation is broken. If the Lanfang people turn back now—"
His hand traced over the scattered arrows.
"We can't stop them."
Layton took a deep breath.
"The general is wise."
Allenby shook his head.
"Brilliant? I just suddenly realized something."
"What is it?"
Allenby looked at him.
"The people of Lanfang aren't running, they're fishing. They want us to chase them as far as possible, to spread out as much as possible. Once we can't keep up, they'll turn around and take a bite—"
His hands clenched shut abruptly.
"We are the dumpling filling." (The editor doesn't know if the British ate dumplings back then, but the people of Lanfang certainly did.)
Layton's expression changed.
"So what do we do now?"
Allenby gritted his teeth.
"Wait. Wait for reinforcements to arrive, wait for supplies to catch up, wait for the formation to be restored. Then—"
He paused.
"Keep chasing."
Layton was stunned.
"Continue the pursuit? General, didn't you say—"
Allenby interrupted him.
"What I'm saying is, we can't chase like this. If we're going to chase, we need to be fully prepared. Supply lines, formations, and escape routes all need to be arranged."
He walked to the tent entrance and looked at the dark night in the distance.
"Four hundred thousand people, chasing 120,000. Even if they want to fish, they'd better have the appetite to handle it. Let's be careful and not let them catch anything."
In the early morning of February 14, news reached Zhao Dengyu's command post that the British army had ceased its pursuit.
Zhao Dengyu was eating breakfast—a can of food, a few biscuits, and a pot of water. Hearing Li Tiejun's report, he paused for a moment, then smiled.
"Has that old fox, Allen, woken up?"
Li Tiejun nodded.
"Reconnaissance aircraft report: The British have stopped. They are waiting for reinforcements and supplies."
Zhao Dengyu put down the can and walked to the map.
He looked at the distance between the red arrows and the blue arrows—about two hundred kilometers.
"Two hundred kilometers. Allenby chased for two days, covering three hundred kilometers. Now we're stopping to wait for supplies."
He turned to look at Li Tiejun.
"Tell Liu Zhenjie that the 7th Division must speed up. They must reach Gennaye before the British resume their pursuit."
Li Tiejun nodded: "Yes!"
Zhao Dengyu returned to his seat and continued eating the canned food.
Li Tiejun hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Commander, what if the British stop pursuing us?"
Zhao Dengyu chewed on a biscuit and mumbled, "No."
Why?
Zhao Dengyu swallowed the biscuit and took a sip of water.
"Because London will pressure him. London is eager for victory. Allenby can afford to wait, but London can't."
He stood up and walked to the window.
"Just wait. At most a day, Allenby will have to continue the pursuit. The accuracy from India is undeniable! We need to gather the British!"