Chapter 318: The French Are Cowardly Too

"Then," Bai Lian finally said, "we have two options. First, persist in not releasing the laborers, risking the loss of Indochina, and confront Lanfang. Second, release them, but demand compensation—huge economic compensation, or other forms of aid."

Xiafei sneered, "Compensation? Can money buy back the victory at Verdun? Can it bring back the three hundred thousand French who died?"

"No," Bai Lian said calmly, "but it can let us keep fighting. If Indochina is lost, we won't even have money to buy rice."

This is the most realistic consideration. Faguo has already exhausted its national strength in this war, and the colonies are its last economic pillar.

Laka Zi asked, "Will Lanfang agree to compensation?"

"Chen Feng is a shrewd businessman," Bai Lian said, "since he is willing to fight for the laborers, it shows they have huge political value to him. For that value, he should be willing to pay."

He stood up and began pacing, "We can propose: First, laborers may leave voluntarily, but Lanfang must pay a breach penalty of one hundred francs per person—one hundred and fifty thousand people equals fifteen million francs. Second, Lanfang must guarantee not to threaten Faguo's colonies in Yazhou. Third, Lanfang must supply Faguo with rubber, oil and other strategic materials at preferential prices."

Du Meige quickly calculated, "Fifteen million francs equals six hundred thousand pounds. For Lanfang it's not much; their arms deal with Deguo exceeds that amount."

"Then it's settled," Bai Lian said, "provide Jialai with power, and also… send power back to Chen Feng. The wording must be tough but leave room. We need the Faguo people to think the government made this decision after hard negotiations, not out of surrender."

Marshal Xiafei sighed heavily and offered no further objection. The veteran knew that at this stage of the war, Faguo no longer had any capricious capital.

When the order was sent out, it was Paris time 1:40 p. m.

There were twenty minutes left before the three‑hour deadline of Chen Feng's final ultimatum.

Jialai Port, 11:40 a. m. (Faguo time).

Li Te stood on the bridge of the Zhu Jiang, which had moored at berth No. 3, its massive hull almost parallel to the dock. The gangway was lowered, and three hundred marines lined up on the dock, establishing a security line.

The three thousand laborers inside the barbed‑wire fence all stood up, crowding the edge, eyes fixed on the massive ship and their compatriots in dark‑blue uniforms. Many had tears in their eyes; some knelt and kowtowed.

Outside the fence, Faguo gendarmes and Yingguo military police still had not withdrawn. The two sides faced each other across dozens of meters; the muzzles were down, but fingers rested on the trigger guards.

Li Te glanced at his pocket watch. Twenty minutes remained.

"Commander," Chen Shaoming whispered, "if the time runs out and they still don't yield…"

"Then prepare for an amphibious assault," Li Te said calmly, "First objective: seize the dock; second objective: open the labor camp; third objective: establish an evacuation corridor. Remember, unless the enemy fires first, we will not open fire."

"But what if they open fire?"

"Then we return fire." Li Te looked at the distant Yingguo soldiers, "and we must use the fiercest firepower, so they know the price of blocking us."

Time ticked by second by second. The port's atmosphere grew to the extreme tension. Seagulls circled overhead, crying sharply.

11:50 a. m.

A Faguo officer burst out of the port office building, telegram in hand, rushed to the front of the standoff line and said something to the Yingguo‑Faguo commanders. Their expressions changed—from resentment to helplessness.

Li Te saw it, but did not move. They waited for the official notice.

11:55 a. m.

A French Lieutenant and a British Captain walked over together, crossed the standoff line, and headed toward the Zhu Jiang's gangway. Li Te descended from the bridge and waited for them at the gangway.

"Major General," the French Lieutenant saluted, speaking in stiff English, "the joint command of Paris and London: allow Chinese laborers to leave voluntarily. But you must guarantee that the evacuation proceeds orderly and does not affect normal port operations."

The British Captain added, "Also, all departing laborers must register name, origin, and contract number for subsequent processing."

Li Te finally exhaled, but his face remained stern: "Agreed. We will dispatch civilian staff to assist registration. Please remove the barbed wire immediately and bring the laborers to the dock for assembly."

The French Lieutenant nodded, returned to convey the order. A few minutes later, the fence was opened, and the gendarmes and police began to retreat, though they still kept watch from afar.

The laborers were momentarily stunned, then erupted in huge cheers. The three thousand surged like a breached dam toward the dock, toward the massive ship flying a red flag.

The scene became chaotic. Many fell and were trampled. Li Te immediately ordered the marines forward to keep order: "Line up! No pushing! Everyone has a place!"

The Zhu Jiang's loudspeaker also broadcast in Chinese: "Comrades, please keep order! The Lanfang government sent us to bring you home! Please line up to register, board orderly! Board orderly!"

Gradually, the lines formed. Under the marines' guidance, the laborers formed a dozen or so long queues, registering their names at the makeshift registration tables.

Li Te walked into the crowd. He saw face after face—young, old, scarred, eyes hollow. Many wore thin shirts, shivering in the June sea wind. More bore wounds: bandaged gauze oozing pus and blood, a cripple leaning on a branch, eyes red‑swollen and inflamed…

"General! General!" a man in his fifties suddenly knelt, clutching Li Te's leg, "Thank you! Thank you! I thought I would die here…"

Li Te quickly helped him up: "Sir, get up quickly. You have suffered."

"It's suffering, too much suffering…" the old man sobbed, "We work sixteen hours a day, eat moldy bread, sleep under leaky tarps. Last month Deguo artillery bombarded us; over thirty of our camp died, the bodies were just thrown onto the chaotic gravesite, without even a marker…"

A young man nearby added, "Faguo officers beat us at the drop of a hat, Yingguo overseers deduct our wages. I've been here three months, promised twenty silver dollars a month, and haven't seen a single cent…"

"I want to go home, I miss my mother…" a boy who looked under twenty crouched on the ground, crying.

Li Te listened, his fist clenched tight. He recalled Chen Feng's words: This is not a war, it's a meat grinder. It's hell.

Now he sees it with his own eyes.

Registration lasted two hours. At 2 p. m., the first batch of laborers began boarding. But a problem arose—the Zhu Jiang is a battleship, not a passenger liner; its cabins are limited, holding at most a thousand people. Adding the Huai He, the two ships together could carry only two thousand.

But there were three thousand here, and more laborers were rushing in from surrounding camps.

"Captain," Chen Shaoming reported, "the laborers from the surrounding camps heard the news and are all rushing here. According to the list provided by the Faguo, the number of Chinese laborers in the Jialai area exceeds twenty thousand."

Li Te frowned. The order he received was 'bring compatriots home,' but it didn't specify how many per trip. Now it was clear a single trip couldn't finish.

"Notify six cargo ships to come over as well,"

He returned to the bridge and submitted a power request to Dubai.