Chapter 269: We Are Just Movers

Zhongcun nodded. This is part of the contract—to prevent Sakura Nation soldiers from mutinying at sea, and also to avoid trouble under international law. They are no longer the Sakura Nation Imperial Army, but the "Far East Volunteer Corps", theoretically a private military contractor.

Is it ironic? Very ironic. But it's still better than starving to death at home.

The sound of a car engine came from afar. A black sedan drove into the dock and stopped in front of a hastily erected viewing platform. The car door opened, and Army Minister Oshima Kenichi stepped out, followed by several senior officers.

The viewing platform was simple—a table of a few wooden planks covered with a faded red carpet. When Oshima Kenichi walked onto the stage, his steps were heavy. He looked at the hundred thousand soldiers below, took a deep breath, and lifted the loudspeaker.

"Soldiers of the Empire!"

The voice spread through the loudspeaker, echoing over the harbor. The soldiers stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the platform.

"Today, you will set out for distant Europe to carry out a… special mission." Oshima's voice was a bit hoarse; he paused, as if searching for the right words, "I know you have doubts, unease, even anger. But please believe that your sacrifice is so the Empire can survive."

He raised a document: "This is the joint order of the Cabinet and the military. Every battle you fight in Europe, every cent of foreign exchange you earn, will be used to import food to save the starving citizens at home. Your families, your compatriots, will live because of your contribution."

The audience below remained silent. No one cheered, no one clapped. Only the howling sea wind.

Oshima continued: "I know this mission is hard, very dangerous. The European battlefield is hell, a meat grinder. But you are the Sakura Nation Army, the warriors who defeated the Russian forces in the Russo‑Japanese War! You possess stubborn will, superb tactics, and an unyielding spirit!"

He raised his voice: "In Europe, you will earn respect through combat, wash away disgrace with blood! You will prove to the world that Sakura Nation soldiers remain the finest in the world! Even… even in this manner."

The final sentence was spoken lightly, but the loudspeaker still carried it out. A few officers in the audience lowered their heads.

Oshima set down the loudspeaker, was silent for a few seconds, then bowed deeply: "Please, everyone. The Empire's fate is now entrusted to you."

He maintained the bowing posture for a full ten seconds.

The hundred thousand soldiers watched silently. Then, unknown who went first, then the second, the third… the soldiers began to bow and salute. No sound, only movement, like a field of yellow wheat swaying in the wind.

Zhongcun Jirou also bowed. When he straightened up, he saw a young soldier in the front row wiping his eyes. The boy looked under twenty, his face still childlike.

"Company commander," the adjutant whispered, "that's my brother. He just enlisted this year, was supposed to be discharged soon…"

Zhongcun patted the adjutant's shoulder, said nothing. What could he say? "He will return safely"? That would be a lie. He knew the European battlefield—machine guns, heavy artillery, poison gas, trench warfare… the death rate exceeded thirty percent.

"Board the ship!"

The order was given. The formation began to move, soldiers marching in line toward the gangway. Their footsteps were uniform yet heavy, like a funeral procession.

Zhongcun led his battalion toward the designated transport ship "Tai Shan". It was a Lanfang vessel, its hull brand‑new, the gangway spacious. As they boarded, he saw Lanfang sailors on the ship eyeing them, their gazes complex—curiosity, sympathy, and a hint of condescension.

A Lanfang officer stood at the gangway entrance, speaking stiff Japanese: "Please board in order. Personal items go to the assigned spots, weapons to cabin three. Dinner starts at six, in the mess hall."

Zhongcun nodded, stepped onto the gangway. Beneath his feet was a steel deck, firm and new. He turned back to glance at Nagasaki Port. On the pier, some soldiers' families who were allowed to see them off crowded outside the guard line, waving their hands, crying and shouting.

He saw an elderly woman holding a placard that read, "My son Wu Tianyi, please return safely." The sign swayed in the wind like a dead leaf.

Zhongcun turned his head away, no longer looking. He entered the cabin; the conditions were better than he imagined—no bunk beds, but four‑tiered bunks, each berth with a curtain and a locker. Though cramped, it was clean, with electric lights and a ventilation system.

"Better than our barracks," an old soldier muttered.

"Silence," Zhongcun said, "organize your quarters; inspection in half an hour."

The soldiers began to stow their gear. Zhongcun walked to the porthole and looked out. The fog gradually lifted, sunlight glittered on the sea. In the distance, several Lanfang navy destroyers patrolled, escorting the fleet.

He knew the fleet's commander was Zhang Zhen—the general who had annihilated the Sakura Nation joint fleet in the East China Sea. Now that general was to escort ten Sakura Nation soldiers to Europe to die.

History sometimes is so ironic it makes one unable to laugh.

At the same time, aboard the battleship Chang Jiang, on the bridge.

Zhang Zhen stood at the chart table, studying the plotted course. From Nagasaki to the Persian Gulf, the total distance was twelve thousand nautical miles, with an estimated sailing time of forty days. The route would pass through the Taiwan Strait, the Strait of Malacca, the Indian Ocean, the Arabian Sea, and finally enter the Persian Gulf.

It was a route fraught with risk. Although most of the seas were under Lanfang control, Yingguo had a fleet in the Indian Ocean, the Ottoman Empire had submarines in the Red Sea, there were also pirates and storms.

"The escort formation is in position," Deputy Captain Chen Qiming reported, "'Tai Shan, Hua Shan, Heng Shan, Song Shan'—the four transport ships—form the core, surrounded by two Omaha‑class cruisers and four destroyers. Our Chang Jiang is twenty nautical miles ahead of the fleet, Huang He twenty nautical miles behind, providing long‑range cover."

Zhang Zhen nodded, "What about the submarines?"

"U‑19 is scouting a hundred nautical miles ahead, U‑22 on the left flank, U‑25 on the right flank. Report any suspicious target immediately."

"Very good." Zhang Zhen moved to the observation window, watching the massive fleet on the distant sea. Over a dozen ships formed a neat line, black smoke pouring from their funnels, leaving long wake trails on the water.

"One hundred thousand Sakura Nation soldiers…" Chen Qiming said softly, "Sir, how many do you think will come back alive?"

Zhang Zhen was silent for a few seconds, "That's not a question for us to consider. Our mission is to deliver them safely to the Persian Gulf and hand them over to the Germans. What happens afterward is none of our business."

"But…"

"There is no 'but.'" Zhang Zhen turned, looking at Chen Qiming, "Old Chen, I know what you're thinking. That we are like human traffickers, sending these people to Europe to die. But you must understand, this is their own choice. The Sakura Nation government needs foreign exchange, Deguo needs manpower, these soldiers need work. We are merely middlemen, providing transport services, earning a reasonable fee.