Chapter 759: Frontline

Capital and gangs are no different in some respects.

For example, when dealing with someone trying to take money out of their pockets.

It's just that the gang's behavioral style is more brutal, while capital is more secretive.

But the goal they want to achieve is consistent, that is, to let those who try to take money from their pockets into their own pockets go see God!

A series of "accidents" caused the popularity of grape bricks, which had just started to explode in Liklai State, to drop suddenly. Although there are still sales on the market.

It is impossible that because of the prohibition of the rules, no one will really take risks.

There are many things that the law does not allow ordinary people to do, whether it is something that can make people rich or something that can quickly change their class, the law does not allow ordinary people to do.

Then, do ordinary people really not do it?

No!

Some people do it, so these people are called criminals, and their behavior is called crime.

Lanse's rules are not laws. In all respects, they are not as good as laws.

There are people who openly do not follow the law, and naturally, not everyone will follow Lanse's rules.

The appearance of grape bricks is a trend of the times. Those who cannot afford to drink but want to drink have more choices.

Although there are few large-scale grape bricks appearing, in Liklai State, there are still some small-scale grape bricks for sale.

But the scale is always very small, because once the scale is large, Lanse will take action.

On the contrary, grape bricks in other states began to flood rapidly. They lack effective countermeasures. Not all gangs have Lanse's courage and ability to dare to strike hard at everyone who reaches out.

Some gangs are even selling grape bricks themselves. They want to grab lower-end customers in their hands.

For the matter of "making money", what you look at is not the specific price, but the rate of return.

As long as its profit meets the gang's demand for benefits, they can also become the vanguard of destroying part of their own business.

This also led to shocks in the liquor market of the entire Federation, and the prices of low-alcohol liquor began to drop significantly.

Some gangs cursed the bastards who made grape bricks while actively producing and selling them to grab the market. The complexity of human beings was vividly displayed at this moment!

The cheapness of grape bricks gave the public more choices. This might be the first good news since the implementation of Prohibition—

An era where everyone is willing to drink and can afford to drink has arrived!

Perhaps the masters in Congress, those gentlemen who advocated that "Prohibition can make society progress faster", never dreamed of it.

Not only did they fail to make this society leave its dependence on alcohol, but they also cultivated more alcoholics.

If they knew this ending from the beginning, would they still insist on promoting Prohibition?

The answer is: Yes.

Because this is not just a policy, a social experiment, but a conspiracy of power and capital!

So even if they know the result, they will continue to promote the implementation of Prohibition.

However, these things did not have much impact on Lanse. He mainly sells high-alcohol liquor.

High-alcohol liquor is the liquor that really makes money.

The brewing cost of seventy or eighty dollars can sell for five or six hundred dollars or more in the hands of terminal sales. With a huge shipment volume, even if Lanse only has a small amount of retail now, mainly wholesale, he can still make a lot of wealth!

Just like the factory manager who died in the factory duty room said, they are not producing goods at all, they are printing banknotes!

After solving this matter, Lanse focused his attention on the movie "Sneak Attack on New Jincheng". Under the massive resources and investment, its shooting plan was much better than Lanse imagined, which also made him devote more energy to doing this.

Just as the male and female protagonists officially appeared and the gears of the plot began to roll, George also arrived at his "destiny battlefield".

This was an unprecedented experience for George. He wore a bulletproof vest and a helmet, and his whole person looked much bloated.

He carried a camera and a video camera on his back, as well as a pile of film.

Riding in a swaying infantry vehicle, looking at the spring outside the narrow window, his nasal cavity was full of the smell of gunpowder smoke left after the war.

Clearly, the sky was clear at this moment, but his mood was gray.

He thought he could shoot whatever he wanted when he came here, but he was told that he could only be with other members of the press corps.

Conduct limited interviews at designated places and at designated times.

And all manuscripts and telegrams sent back to the country must be reviewed by the military before they can be sent out.

He thought other reporters would protest and be dissatisfied, but to his surprise, everyone remained silent.

Under these circumstances, he also remained silent, and this matter made him realize that the real situation on the battlefield was definitely not as good as reported in the country.

Because the driver of the infantry vehicle had limited observation, he didn't notice a shell crater. The car first sank fiercely, and then "jumped" up.

George's head hit the top of the infantry vehicle fiercely, but he was wearing a helmet, so it didn't hurt him.

Other reporters seemed to be used to this bad situation. They returned to their seats, sat down, and continued to remain quiet.

The journey was very dull, and there were no wild animals seen on the species-rich Tanfei Continent mentioned in the reports, as if these little things had migrated to farther places because of the war.

He felt a little chest tightness, largely psychological. He couldn't breathe a little.

After another forty minutes or so, there were some sounds around, human sounds.

"A doctor is needed here..."

"Who can help me?"

"Nurse?"

"I need a shot!"

These noisy sounds relieved the stuffiness in the infantry vehicle a lot. George, who was tearing his collar, also put down his hands. He looked outside through the narrow window, but could only see some blurry scenes.

On the grass, on the mud, everywhere, wounded soldiers were lying everywhere, and the number of doctors and nurses was clearly not enough.

He slowly opened his mouth wide, looking at so many wounded soldiers. It was difficult for him to use his imagination to imagine the situation on the battlefield.

The infantry vehicle gradually stopped steadily. The officer responsible for picking them up reiterated the rules for interviews here again: letters not reviewed cannot be sent, and telegrams not reviewed cannot be sent.

Only allowed to send what they let you send, not everything.

"Alright, get off the vehicle!"

George jumped out of the infantry vehicle with his backpack. He stood there, looking at the wounded scattered everywhere, his brain struggling to process it all.

But soon, he pulled out his camera; there was material everywhere here!

He could already imagine himself winning the "Golden Newspaper Award" again, standing on the podium and giving his acceptance speech!

He aimed at a doctor who was in the middle of cutting into a soldier's thigh and pressed the shutter.

The doctor's white coat was covered in bright red blood; he should have been in a sacred profession of saving lives and healing the wounded, but at this moment, he looked just like a devil!

He kept a straight face, and the expression on his face looked exceptionally eerie and twisted.

One hand pressed down on a soldier's thigh while the other gripped a steel saw; the muscles on his face twitched and spasmed as he pulled the saw back and forth.

The soldier, who had only been given local anesthesia, had eyes red from crying; he lay half-reclined, watching the doctor saw off his right leg, yet he was powerless to do anything about it!

Two male nurses held him down tightly, and he kept begging the doctor to stop; he wanted to save his leg...

This scene was too impactful!

He pressed the shutter once, wound the film, and pressed the shutter again.

This time he captured the shot he wanted: as the doctor pulled the saw toward his own direction, fresh blood splattered onto him, even onto his face—he looked like a devil!

At this moment, George had even thought of the title—"The Devil-Like Angel."

He turned his head to look elsewhere. A soldier lay on the ground, breathing shallowly; beside him sat something like a metal tray, and a hole had been torn in his stomach, with his intestines already spilling out.

A nurse was helping him clean the dirt and stains off his intestines; from his ferocious, pained expression, one could feel that the anesthesia really hadn't worked much at all!

George almost threw up.

He gagged violently, feeling nauseous, but forcing himself to endure the discomfort, he took a few photos.

Repeating "My God" under his breath, he walked through the rear of the battlefield, which was like a living hell; it was full of seriously injured soldiers, each one seemingly struggling on the line between life and death.

Some had their legs blown off, some had their arms blown off, and some had been shot several times.

There was also an unlucky yet lucky guy whose jawbone had been completely blown away, but his life seemed to have been saved.

The doctor was suturing his blood vessels and wounds; he looked terribly injured, yet he had unexpectedly survived.

Conversely, a guy who seemed to have only been shot once but kept coughing up blood died not long after, while waiting for surgery.

The smell here was awful—the stench of blood, and with the rising temperature, there were flies everywhere.

It was almost foreseeable that many people would die from infection.

He photographed some of the terrible conditions, hoping that when these were reported, they might bring about some change here.

"Are there no lightly wounded soldiers here?" he asked casually, handing a pack of cigarettes to a nurse who was resting.

The male nurse glanced at him sideways. "The lightly wounded are all at the front line continuing to fight; only those who can no longer fight are sent here."

George was somewhat shocked and shaken. "Those who died... where are they?"

The nurse pointed outside the camp. George looked back and saw a lot of wood piled together there.

He had noticed it when he came in, but he didn't know what it was.

Only when he walked closer did he discover that under the wood piles were layers of corpses.

A layer of corpses, a layer of wood; he turned around blankly to look elsewhere, and there were many, many more such wood piles...

They were stacked together like slaughtered white pigs in a slaughterhouse, standing out starkly against the dark wood.

They had no dignity as the dead, no dignity as soldiers who had died on the battlefield.

They had nothing at all, just as the old saying goes.

They came with nothing, and they left with nothing; this made him feel angry!

These people who came to this land far from the Federation and their families to fight for national interests should be respected!

He felt a chill run down his spine.

Because until now, the country had never reported the specific casualties at the front, nor had it said that for the sake of victory, so many people would die.

He was very uneasy; everyone had become a tool for the federal government's elite to profit. These young people, these young lives, should not die like this!

They came here full of passion, but what greeted them was hell!

"Quick, send some anesthesia over, we're running out!"

A nurse shouted loudly, and George was suddenly bumped, stumbling forward a few steps.

If it weren't for the camera strap hanging around his neck, the camera might have already fallen to the ground.

A guy carrying a box of medicine didn't even forget to look back and scold him, "Don't stand in the middle of the road, dammit!"

George, having been bumped, came to his senses. He didn't say anything like "sorry"; he just watched the nurse inject anesthesia into a soldier's body, and the body that had been struggling relaxed completely in a very short time.

He had an impulse: he wanted to go to the real front line!

Everything here gave the fellow reporters a huge shock; they didn't communicate, just remained calm, faithfully recording everything that happened here.

He didn't know what made these colleagues keep their mouths shut, but he felt he had to do something.

He found the officer responsible for bringing them over and proposed this request.

"Go to the front line?" The officer smoked, somewhat uncomprehending. "Do you know what the situation is like at the front?"

"Honestly, the moment you step onto the front line, I can't guarantee you'll come back alive. The enemies in front of you and the comrades behind you will both become your enemies."

"You must have seen those things outside. If you die and we're lucky enough to pick you up, you'll be thrown in there too."

"Maybe half a year or even two or three years later, your family will receive ashes from someone unknown. Are you still sure you want to go?"

The officer looked straight into his eyes, seemingly wanting to read the thoughts in his heart. He wasn't exaggerating; even he couldn't guarantee he could survive on the front line.

The battlefield showed its cruelest side to people; there was no romantic love with nurses here.

The vast majority of front-line nurses were male, and the probability of them punching you was far higher than them being gay with you.

War wasn't romantic either; bullets would never go around you. As long as you were in their path, they would definitely bite you!

"I want to go!" George gritted his teeth and stated his decision.

Originally, he hadn't really wanted to do anything special; he just wanted to report the real situation at the front, but now, he wanted to go to the front to see.

To see how the federal government was deceiving the public, how they were sending the Federation's young people into hell!

The surrounding reporters looked at George with all kinds of eyes. They basically all knew George, the winner of the Golden Newspaper Award.

Every winner of the Golden Newspaper Award was famous in the industry because every reporter would take out the reports that won them the award to see what exactly they wrote that could win the favor of the judges.

So they basically all knew George, but there wasn't much respect in their eyes, especially those reporters who had been there for a while.

They had also been passionate once, but in the end, it had been extinguished.

"I want to go too!" A young reporter suddenly pushed through the crowd and walked to George's side. George glanced at him, and he smiled at George.

Then, he said to the officer, "I want to go to the front line to see too."

The officer looked at the two of them for a moment. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it hard onto the ground. "I'll go report this."

He straightened up, adjusted his uniform, and strode toward the mobile command post in the back.

"I know you!" The young reporter pulled George's attention away from the officer. He turned his head to look at him, and the young reporter continued, "I've read most of your reports; they're written very well."

"They give people a very inspired feeling, but there are also some reports..." He pursed his lips and smiled.

His smile made George feel somewhat embarrassed because he knew that the "some reports" the young man mentioned referred to the ones he wrote for money.

Mainly those commissioned by Lanse and some capitalists in Jincheng.

They paid money, he provided the news, so those reports looked quite a bit different from his true standard.

"Let's get to know each other, George!" George took the initiative to reach out his hand and shook hands with the young man.

The young man gave his name, a very ordinary name: Ian.

"How come you thought of going to the front line?" Ian was very curious.

George didn't hide his thoughts. "I feel we've been deceived by the federal government. They always report news that is favorable for inciting public sentiment."

"How many people we've specifically killed or wounded, how much capital we've already consumed in this war—they never mention it."

"Originally, I just felt the situation might be a bit bad, but until I saw everything happening here, I realized the situation is much worse than I imagined!"

His expression was very solemn and very serious. "People have the right to know the truth!"

Young Ian nodded in agreement. "Yes, people have that right!"

While they were talking, the officer had already returned from afar, and the two temporarily stopped their conversation.

"The command post has agreed to your request, but you need to sign an agreement—a danger notification agreement."

"We've told you the battlefield is dangerous, but you insist on going. If any unexpected situation happens on the battlefield, it has nothing to do with us; you bear all responsibility yourselves."

The more certain he was that the federal government was committing fraud, the less likely George was to back down; he saw all these as obstacles on his path to the truth.

He took the document and signed his name without hesitation, and Ian beside him did the same.

(End of chapter)