Chapter 168: Surrender 2

Language was a barrier, but goodwill was universal.

Khalid walked up to a Chinese shop. The owner was a man in his sixties, shakily cleaning up a smashed counter—probably the work of retreating Dutch soldiers.

"Old man, do you need help?" Khalid asked in halting Chinese—he had learned a little, but only knew a few simple phrases.

The old man looked up, saw a group of Arab soldiers, and jumped in fright.

"Don't be afraid." Khalid signaled the soldiers to step back and crouched down himself. "We are the Lanfang army. We came to help you."

"Lan... Lanfang?" The old man's eyes went wide. "You are... Lanfang's army?"

"Yes." Khalid pointed to the badge on his chest. "Look, this is Lanfang's national flag."

The old man stared at the badge for a long time, then tears streamed down his face.

"They're back... they're really back..." He grabbed Khalid's hand, his own trembling. "Forty-four years... we waited forty-four years..."

He turned toward the house and shouted: "Old woman! Come out quick! Lanfang's army is here! They're really here!"

An old woman came out, saw the scene, and began to cry too.

Soon, more Chinese residents gathered around. They looked at these Arab-faced soldiers, their expressions shifting from initial wariness to curiosity, then to gratitude.

A middle-aged man asked Khalid in Chinese: "You... aren't Chinese?"

"I am Arab," Khalid replied in English, then pointed to the soldiers behind him. "They are too. But we are all Lanfang soldiers."

"Arabs... why help us?"

Khalid thought for a moment, then said in the simplest English: "Because Lanfang is our country. You are our compatriots."

These words were translated by a Chinese man who understood English. The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in cheers.

"Compatriots! They said we're compatriots!"

"Lanfang is a country for all peoples!"

"Thank you! Thank you all!"

Some people brought food and water and pressed them on the soldiers. Some found overseas Chinese who knew Arabic—very few, but they existed. More people simply stood there, shedding tears and applauding.

Khalid returned to the soldiers' side.

"Did you see the answer?" he asked.

The soldiers nodded. Many had red eyes too.

"Remember this feeling," Khalid said. "This is the meaning of why we fight: not to conquer, but to protect. Not to plunder, but to go home—to our shared home."

Just then, a communications soldier ran over: "Division commander! Emergency notice from headquarters! Elder Wang Bo is going to deliver a speech at the site of the old General Hall, and all units are required to organize personnel to listen in! The broadcast frequency is..."

The news spread quickly.

At eleven in the morning, in many corners of Kunian, soldiers and residents alike gathered around radios—field broadcast systems brought in by the Lanfang army.

After the crackle of static, an aged but firm voice rang out:

"Fellow elders and friends of Kunian, I am the son of Wang Shunfa, Wang Bo..."

The speech began.

Before the ruins of the General Hall, on the military parade grounds, in streets and alleys, that voice which had waited forty-four years finally reached every corner of the city.

June 26, 1914, the President's office in Dubai.

Outside the window was a typical summer afternoon by the Persian Gulf—the sky was blindingly blue, the sun baked the port's steel structures until they scalded, and heat waves made distant objects shimmer slightly. But inside the office, the air conditioning system maintained a constant temperature of 22 degrees, with only the low hum of ventilation fans proving the machinery was running.

Chen Feng sat behind a broad oak desk, three reports spread out before him.

The first came from Borneo, a progress report written in Wang Wenwu's own hand: "As of June 25, the Lanfang administrative apparatus is fully operational in seven major towns including Kunian, Shan'gang, and Sanfa. Household registration completion rate is 82%, land survey completion rate is 65%. The Fifth and Sixth Arab Divisions have completed sweeps of the interior regions, and remnant Dutch resistance forces have been largely eliminated. The First and Second Divisions are currently training and organizing the newly formed Borneo Militia Division, expected to reach combat readiness by August."

Attached to the end of the report was a photograph: the groundbreaking ceremony for the new Lanfang General Hall. Wang Bo stood in the front row, wearing that dark gray long gown, the badge on his chest gleaming. The old man looked weary, but his eyes were bright.

The second was a half-year summary from the Ministry of Petroleum Industry: "From January to June, the Borneo oil fields produced a cumulative 1.8 million barrels of oil, slightly below expectations, mainly because some equipment needed to be transported from Dubai. However, exploration teams discovered new oil deposits in the Tarakan area, with preliminary estimates of reserves exceeding five hundred million barrels. Recommend additional investment to build a second refinery."

Chen Feng drew a line under "five hundred million barrels" with a red pen. Another strategic reserve.

The third was the thickest, a European situation briefing from the Security Bureau. Written by Zhou Tieshan personally, the handwriting as neat as print: "On June 24, Austro-Hungarian Empire heir Archduke Ferdinand arrived in Sarajevo, beginning his inspection of Bosnia. The Serbian nationalist organization 'Black Hand Society' has been active frequently, and the Austro-Hungarian military has strengthened security... German Emperor Wilhelm II has recently convened consecutive military meetings, and the General Staff has updated the revised version of the war plan against France, the 'Schlieffen Plan'... The French National Assembly passed a new military bill, extending the service period from two years to three... The British Admiralty secretly assessed potential losses from going to war with the German Navy..."

The last page of the report stated in bold font: "Based on intelligence from all sources, the major European powers have all entered a quasi-wartime state. Any unexpected incident could become a trigger."

Chen Feng closed the report, picked up his cooled tea, and took a sip. The tea was Fujian Lapsang Souchong, with a faint smoky flavor. Wang Bo was away, and the new attendant couldn't get the water temperature right.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Wang Wenwu pushed the door open and entered. He had been back from Borneo for a week, his skin noticeably tanned, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deeper, but in good spirits.

"President, British Consul Howard and French Consul Dupont are requesting an urgent meeting." Wang Wenwu's tone carried some helplessness. "This is already the third time this month."

"What's the reason this time?"

"They say it's 'regarding the latest developments in the Borneo situation.'" Wang Wenwu paused. "But I suspect they may have heard some rumors."

"What rumors?"

"German Consul Müller went to Singapore yesterday and just returned today. Howard has an informant at the airport—he definitely knows."

Chen Feng set down his teacup, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. The oak surface gave off a dull sound.

"It seems the Germans can't sit still either." He rose and walked to the window, looking toward the port. There, the Bismarck Class battleship lay quietly at anchor, its dark gray hull like a mountain range of steel under the blazing sun. "Have them come over in half an hour. Notify Zhou Tieshan to come as well, sitting in as recorder."