Chapter 403: The Sacrificial Spirit of Sakura Nation Soldiers

Dubai, the Presidential Palace underground strategy room, local time 4:30 PM (about three hours ahead of Verdun).

Chen Feng stood before the massive display screen, which was divided into four quadrants: the upper left showed a real‑time situation map of Verdun (updated hourly from frontline intel); the upper right displayed the North Sea and Port William surrounding waters; the lower left presented stock markets and commodity price fluctuations for Berlin, London, Paris, and Tokyo; the lower right showed production data for Lanfang's major industrial zones.

The room had no windows; the air was precisely filtered, temperature and humidity kept constant. This was Chen Feng's self‑designed "war brain," and fewer than ten people in all of Lanfang were authorized to enter.

Wang Wenwu stood behind him, pointing at the screen to report.

"Verdun battle report compilation complete," Wang Wenwu said, "Sakura Nation's eight divisions launched a general assault at 6 AM today. By 1 PM local time, advances of three to five kilometres were confirmed, but casualties were severe. Conservative estimates put deaths at over five thousand, with an equal number seriously wounded."

Chen Feng's gaze moved across the situation map. The blue arrows representing Sakura Nation's forces did pierce the French troops' red defensive line, but the arrowheads were riddled with red "X" marks—casualty indicators.

"How did the French troops respond?" Chen Feng asked.

"Bei Dang has already deployed reserves to seal the breach. But Degjun's main force is pressing the two flanks of the gap opened by Sakura Nation's troops, trying to enlarge the gains. Overall, today's offensive did disrupt the French defensive rhythm."

"Deguo domestic public opinion?"

"A chorus of cheers. Every newspaper's front page read 'Eastern ally displays astonishing bravery' and 'Verdun stalemate about to break.' Wilhelm II delivered a speech this afternoon at the Carefree Palace, lavishly praising the Sakura Nation troops' sacrifice spirit."

A faint, almost imperceptible curve appeared at Chen Feng's mouth: "Sacrifice spirit… that term is so handy; it can wrap any cruelty in loftiness."

He walked to the main console and pulled up a data set: "Has the tactical profile of the Sakura Nation forces been analyzed?"

"Preliminary analysis complete," Wang Wenwu said, swiping the tablet. "Strengths: extremely tenacious offensive will, adept at close‑quarters and melee combat, flexible small‑unit tactics. Weaknesses: insufficient protection against modern artillery, charge formations too dense, outdated communications causing coordination difficulties. Moreover… they seem to have an unusually high tolerance for casualties."

"It's not a high tolerance," Chen Feng corrected, "it's that they have no choice. Once they don the uniform, they must prove they're worth the money Germans pay."

He sat down, fingers lightly tapping the desk: "Minister Wang, how much would today's ten‑thousand casualties be worth to Xi Yuan Si Gongwang?"

Wang Wenwu was momentarily stunned: "That… is hard to quantify."

"I can give you a figure," Chen Feng pulled up another document. "Deguo pays Sakura Nation a labor fee of twenty pounds per person per month; two hundred thousand people equals four million pounds monthly. A one‑time compensation is eight million. Today's ten‑thousand deaths merit a death gratuity of about one hundred pounds each by Deguo standards, i. e., one million. Adding treatment and lifelong pensions for the seriously wounded, the total will not exceed three million."

He paused: "In other words, the blood of ten thousand today is worth less than a quarter of the compensation Deguo pays. And don't forget, that eight‑million was paid in advance; in fact Deguo used future money to buy lives now."

Wang Wenwu felt a chill: "President, your calculation… is too cold."

"War is the coldest mathematics," Chen Feng turned off the screen, and the room dimmed. "Manpower, ammunition, supplies, time, political capital… all are calculable variables. What we must ensure is that Lanfang remains the appreciating side in this equation."

He stood, walked to the wall‑side safe, entered the code, and retrieved a thick dossier.

"Liu Yongfu's 'Prototype No. 1' test report is in. It can cross‑country at 25 km/h, traverse a two‑metre‑wide trench, and its frontal armor can stop machine‑gun rounds. Though many issues remain, the concept proof succeeded."

Wang Wenwu's eyes lit up: "Then we can start contacting Deguo?"

"Not yet," Chen Feng shook his head. "Let Sakura Nation's blood flow a bit more. Let Deguo first taste the sweet of 'force superiority,' then discover that manpower alone isn't enough; they also need new tools that can breach barbed wire and machine‑guns."

He returned the dossier: "Tell our contacts in Berlin to start leaking some 'technical rumors.' Claim Lanfang has made a 'Breakthrough' in heavy engineering machinery that could aid 'complex terrain operations.' The wording should be vague but enough to pique Degjun's Ordnance Bureau's interest."

"Understood."

"Also," Chen Feng added, "send a private letter to Xi Yuan Si. In my name, express 'admiration' for the Sakura Nation soldiers' heroic fighting, and… gently remind him that such a high casualty rate could affect the unit's long‑term combat capability. Perhaps our German friends should consider supplying more 'advanced' equipment to reduce losses."

Wang Wenwu quickly noted: "You are…"

"Laying groundwork for future deals," Chen Feng said as he moved to the strategy room doorway. "Only when Deguo needs both manpower and technology will they truly recognize Lanfang's value. What we must ensure is that we possess whatever both of those they require."

Verdun, local time 6:45 PM, dusk.

Sergeant Jin Cun sat in the freshly captured French trench, mechanically chewing black bread as hard as stone. His squad had set out in the morning with a full complement of thirteen; now only five remained: himself, Sergeant Ji Da, Xiao Lin, and two unnamed new recruits.

Ji Da was checking weapons, Xiao Lin was winding a French pocket watch—it was still ticking. The two new soldiers, wrapped in blankets torn from French corpses, shivered in the corner, not from cold but from post‑battle shock.

Fifty metres ahead of the position lay the French's final defensive line. Lights burned brightly there, and the footsteps of reinforcements could be heard faintly. Tomorrow they would have to press on.

Jin Cun examined his wound: the cut on his arm had scabbed over, but his left rib was struck by a rifle stock during the afternoon melee, possibly breaking one or two ribs, each breath a pain.

He felt for the notebook and pencil in his pocket—his habit of recording combat experiences daily. Yet today he stared blankly at an empty page for a long while, finally writing only one line:

"July 4th. Advanced four kilometres. Squad lost eight men. I don't know if their names will be remembered."

In the distance, artillery rang out—Degjun conducting nocturnal harassing bombardment. Jin Cun closed his notebook, leaned against the cold concrete wall, and shut his eyes.

In his dream, he returned to his hometown in Kyushu. Cherry blossoms were in bloom, pink petals drifting like snow. His sister ran beneath the trees, laughing, "Brother! Brother's back!"

Then a shell fell, and the cherry blossoms turned blood‑red.