Chapter 453: London's Tremor

"Name?" Wang Dashan asked.

"Li Erwa, from Sichuan, enlisted this March," the clerk replied.

Wang Dashan took the identification tag off the soldier's neck and brushed off the sand. The aluminum plate read: First Mechanized Infantry Division, 3rd Regiment, 2nd Battalion, 4th Company, Li Erwa, 1916.

"Write it down. When we reach the site and erect a monument, put his name at the very front," the battalion commander stood up, "because he is the first Lanfang soldier to die on this land."

The soldiers silently buried their comrade, piled stones into a simple mound, and stuck a sharpened wooden stake as a marker.

When the convoy set out again, the atmosphere was heavier, yet something was coalescing—not sorrow, but a near‑cold resolve. They had paid a price; therefore this land must be worth that price.

On the sixth afternoon, the navigator suddenly shouted, "Commander! Coordinate check! We've arrived!"

Wang Dashan raised his binoculars. Ahead, at the desert's edge, a thin dark‑blue line appeared— it was the Persian Gulf.

Farther away, along the coastline, faint outlines of several mud‑brick houses could be seen. The map marked: Huo Er De Sa.

He grabbed the radio microphone, his voice hoarse yet clear:

"All companies, attention: target ahead. Slow down, form up, check weapons and gear. We will enter properly and honorably."

Over three hundred vehicles re‑formed; the dust‑cleansed army flag unfurled on the vehicle fronts. Engine roars merged into a chorus as tracks and wheels rolled over the final sand dune.

When the first jeep entered Huo Er De Sa Village, dozens of Bedouin people stared in stunned silence at the army that seemed to descend from the heavens. They wore tattered robes, led gaunt desert camels, their eyes full of terror and bewilderment.

Wang Dashan leapt from the vehicle and, via a translator, said, "Tell the locals we are Lanfang Republic troops. From today this place is under Lanfang protection. We will not harm civilians nor loot property, but we need to requisition this land to build a military base."

The Bedouin elder trembled and asked, "Are you... going to drive us away?"

"No." Wang Dashan shook his head, "You may stay, even work for us—build houses, dig wells, we will pay wages. But there is one condition: you must obey Lanfang law."

He turned, took the folded flag off the jeep.

"Find the tallest pole."

The soldiers removed a truck antenna, bound it to a shovel handle with wire, making a makeshift flagpole. Wang Dashan personally unfurled the flag—red field with a golden dragon poised to soar.

There was no music, no ceremony. The pole was driven into the central sand of Huo Er De Sa Village; Wang Dashan pulled the rope, and the flag rose slowly.

Noonday sun poured down unimpeded, the red‑and‑gold dragon flag flapped in the Persian Gulf wind. Near the Sinai Peninsula, at a British Navy observation post, a British Army Lieutenant raised his binoculars and saw that stark red dot on the horizon.

He rubbed his eyes, confirmed again, then rushed to the telephone:

"Command! This is Observation Post No. 3! In the Huo Er De Sa direction... an unknown flag has appeared! Repeat, Huo Er De Sa has an unknown flag! Color... red, with a golden emblem, looks... looks like a dragon!"

The line was silent for a few seconds, then a calm yet tense voice replied:

"Continue observation. Do not fire, do not engage. I will report to Cairo Command immediately."

The Lieutenant put down the phone and raised his binoculars again. The flag stubbornly fluttered in the desert wind, like a drop of blood on the flank of a British Empire map.

Back in Huo Er De Sa Village, Wang Dashan spoke into the radio, sending a message to Dubai 1,200 kilometers away:

"Dragon flag raised. Coordinates: 29°47' N, 48°31' E. Time: August 28, 1916, 12:17."

The signal crossed desert and sea. Twenty minutes later, the telegram lay on Chen Feng's desk.

After reading it, he rose and walked to the world map, affixing a tiny red dragon‑flag sticker to the north‑west coast of the Persian Gulf.

Beside the sticker was a dense cluster of British Union Jacks. The nearest one was less than five centimeters away—scaled, that equated to exactly fifty kilometers.

Chen Feng's finger lightly tapped the map.

"The game has begun."

Outside the window, in Dubai Harbor, seven Jianghe‑class destroyers being built for Britain were undergoing fitting out. On a farther shipyard platform, the sister ship of the battleship Huang He was laying down its keel.

The clang of steel, sparks of welding, the roar of steam engines—these sounds merged into an industrial‑age battle hymn.

In the distant lands beyond the reach of the song, a brand‑new flag fluttered on ancient soil. It was small, solitary, yet stood upright.

August 29, 1916, 5 a. m., the war cabinet meeting room on Whitehall Street in London was filled with smoke.

Eight men sat around a long oak table, their faces looking grim under the dim chandelier. The ashtray was packed with cigarette ends, empty coffee cups lay scattered, and several telegrams were passed among them—each sheet's edges crumpled and wrinkled.

"Gentlemen," Lord Horace Herbert Kichina, the Army Minister, tapped the tabletop with his knuckles, his voice hoarse like sandpaper, "let us reconfirm the accuracy of the intelligence."

Sir Mansfield Smith-Kaming, Director of Military Intelligence Section Six—a fifty‑seven‑year‑old intelligence chief renowned for his composure—now unusually showed signs of fatigue. He adjusted his single‑lens glasses and opened the documents before him:

"First report: August 28, 12:17 p. m., about fifty kilometers east of the Sinai Peninsula, in the Huo Er De Sa area, a red‑field gold‑dragon flag was raised. The witness was an observation post of the Royal Army's 42nd Division, later approached by reconnaissance units. The flag measured roughly three meters by two meters, material appearing to be nylon blend, fully unfurled in the desert wind."

He paused, turned to the second page.

"Second report: same day at 2:30 p. m., a force of roughly 18,000 troops established a camp in the area. Designation confirmed: Lanfang Republic Army First Mechanized Infantry Division. Equipment included: over three hundred wheeled and tracked vehicles, thirty‑six 105 mm howitzers, more than a hundred mortars, machine‑gun count unknown but estimated over five hundred. Discipline was strict; within two hours of arrival they erected simple fortifications."

"Third report," Smith‑Kaming's voice lowered, "received at three a. m. today. Our informant in Istanbul confirmed that on August 20, Ottoman Sultan Muhammad V, bedridden, signed the 'Mesopotamia Charter Development Agreement.' Lanfang, in exchange for arming ten Ottoman divisions, obtained a ninety‑nine‑year charter for thirty‑two thousand square kilometers of land around Basra. Huo Er De Sa... lies on the charter zone's border."

Deathly silence.

Navy Minister Arthur Belfort was the first to break the silence; he took a cigar, cut off its tip, lit it, and drew a deep breath. Smoke rose before his aged face: "So, Chen Feng used a few ships of armaments to buy half of Arabia from the dying Ottoman Empire?"

"It's not a purchase, it's a 'charter development'," Foreign Minister Sir Edward Gray corrected, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "In name the Ottomans retain sovereignty, but in practice... ninety‑nine years. By then, who will still remember the Sultan of Constantinople?"