Chapter 457: The British Must Retreat, Retreat, Retreat!

"Then," Gerard made a final attempt, "could you at least promise not to deploy more troops within the concession zone? A division's size… is simply too conspicuous."

Chen Feng pondered briefly, then nodded slowly: "I can promise not to send additional combat forces to that area for three months. But engineering units, geologists, construction workers—those civilian personnel—are not covered by the restriction. We need manpower to build a port, lay roads, and drill oil wells there."

Three months. Gerard calculated in his mind: three months later is December, Europe enters winter, and hostilities usually ease. By then perhaps…

"I need to consult London," he said.

"Of course." Chen Feng stood, signaling the end of the talks, "Please tell Prime Minister Asquith: Lanfang is willing to be a stabilizer in the Middle East, not a troublemaker. We will invest, build, develop, bringing jobs and tax revenue, which benefits everyone—including Yingguo, because a stable Middle East means a safer Suez Canal."

Gerard also stood. The two shook hands again.

"The tea is cold," Chen Feng glanced at the cup, "Next time you come, I'll treat you to better tea."

After seeing off the consul-general, Chen Feng returned to his office. Wang Wenwu was already waiting.

"Did he believe it?"

"Half." Chen Feng walked to the window, watching a Rolls‑Royce pull out the gate, "He knows I'm playing a legal game, but he can't find a way to break it for now. Moreover… he's more worried about tanks."

"Tanks?"

"During the conversation, he mentioned 'new equipment' three times and 'technology transfer' twice. Whatever secret weapons the British prepared on the Somme, they now fear we'll give the Germans something better." Chen Feng turned, "Notify Liu Yongfu to 'leak' a simplified version of the 'Vehicle No. 1' technical specifications—deliberately weakened—through commercial channels to British intelligence. Let them think the Germans only obtained something modest."

Wang Wenwu widened his eyes: "This …"

"We need to make the British anxious, but not desperate," Chen Feng explained. "Anxiety will distract them, make them willing to trade other benefits for technology. Despair… desperate people will do crazy things."

He moved to the map, his finger tracing the arc from Hordesa to Basra: "Our goal isn't to go to war with the British; it's to plant deep roots before they react. Once the wells flow, the port is built, the railway completed… then if they try to pull us out, they'll have to consider the cost of the whole land burning."

Outside, Dubai's sky was a wash of brilliant blue. But Chen Feng knew that 7,000 km away in London, a heated debate over how to deal with Lanfang had only just begun.

And every step he takes must be steady on a knife's edge.

Gerard's telegram arrived in London that afternoon.

The war cabinet reconvened, this time with an even heavier atmosphere. Gerard's report detailed the entire talks, attaching the agreement copies supplied by Chen Feng.

"…In summary, Lanfang is fully prepared on the legal front, and in the short term it is difficult to force a withdrawal through diplomacy. Chen Feng proposes establishing a military communication mechanism and transparency measures—cooperative in posture but firm in stance. Personal assessment: its core goal is to secure Persian Gulf coastal oil resources, not to intervene directly in the European war…"

Sir Grey finished the last paragraph, took off his glasses and rubbed his bridge of the nose: "Everyone, the situation is clear. Chen Feng has exploited a legal loophole—the land is, in law, still Ottoman, and the Ottomans have the right to grant concessions to anyone. We have no legal advantage." (It seems the great powers played the same game with China's leases back then.)

"Then create new laws!" Lord Kichina shouted, "Declare that area a 'military control zone'; any foreign troops without permission must withdraw! If the Lanfang people don't leave, we'll expel them by force!"

"And then?" Belfort asked coldly, "Then we have to fight on a secondary front against a nation that possesses super‑battleships? Our main fleet is tied down by the German oceanic fleet in the North Sea, and our Far‑East fleet can't match Lanfang's navy. Not to mention… the Western front needs thirty‑thousand shells a day, half of the copper and steel for which comes from Lanfang trade."

He picked up a document: "These are the Trade Ministry's figures. In the past year we imported from Lanfang: 80,000 tons of rubber, 15,000 tons of tin, 30,000 tons of copper, 500,000 tons of petroleum products. If trade stops, our arms factories would cut output by 40% within three months, and naval fuel reserves would last only six months."

Lord Kichina opened his mouth but could not speak. He was a soldier and knew logistics are the lifeline of war.

Sir Swanton spoke then: "Prime Minister, there's another factor… tanks."

Everyone's gaze turned to him.

"The first fifty Mark I tanks have already arrived in France, ready to be deployed in the new Somme offensive on September 15. This is our secret weapon, expected to break the stalemate," the armaments chief said, his voice a bit dry. "But if the Germans obtain a better model from Lanfang… our advantage could vanish completely."

He pulled several new photos from his briefcase: "These were taken by our men around the Dubai test site. Though still blurry, the outline is visible—more compact than the Mark I, the turret appears to rotate 360°, and the front hull armor has a pronounced sloped angle."

The photos were passed around the table. Each showed a vague steel silhouette parked in the desert, surrounded by surveyors and engineering vehicles.

"Sloped armor…" Swanton murmured, "That means with the same thickness, protection could improve by over 30%. If the Germans field such tanks, our Mark I would be at a disadvantage in head‑on combat."

The conference room fell into a dreadful silence.

Asquith rose slowly and walked to the window. Outside, Downing Street's garden displayed roses in late‑summer bloom, but no one had the mood to appreciate them.

"Gentlemen," he said, his back to the group, voice weary yet clear, "we face a choice: confront Lanfang now, risking loss of vital resource supplies, a two‑front war, and even giving Germany a technological edge; or endure for now, concentrate forces to defeat Germany first, and after the war free up our hands to address the eastern issue."

He turned, his gaze sweeping each face: "My decision is: endure."

Lord Kichina began to speak, but the Prime Minister raised his hand to stop him: "I know this is humiliating. In three hundred years, the British Empire has never tolerated anyone being so brazen in our sphere of influence. But now… it's not the same as three centuries ago."

He returned to his seat, hands braced on the table: "Order the Sinai front to tighten vigilance but avoid contact with Lanfang forces. Send a telegram to Gerard: accept Chen Feng's transparency proposal, dispatch two observers to Hordesa—under civilian clothes, as 'trade representatives.' At the same time, accelerate development of the Mark II and double its budget."