Chapter 458: Dawn at Huo Er De Sa

"Prime Minister!" Jiqina finally could not hold back, "This is appeasement! Today they can station troops right under our noses, tomorrow they can establish a base in the Indian Ocean, the day after tomorrow…"

"We'll discuss the day after tomorrow later," Askeis interrupted him, his tone suddenly harsh. "Lord Jiqina, tell me: if we go to war with Lanfang now, how many troops must we divert? How many warships? How many shells will the Western Front lose as a result? Should the Somme River offensive be postponed? To when? Winter?"

A barrage of questions left the Army Minister speechless.

"We have no choice," the Prime Minister's voice lowered. "In the third year of the war, the Empire's strength is stretched to the limit. Russia on the Eastern Front is on the brink of collapse, Faguo can only survive by a daily blood transfusion, Italy is stuck in the Alps. And we… our young men are falling in droves into the mud of the Somme River."

He paused, pain flashing in his eyes: "Yesterday I received a list, a list of fallen officers. Oxford University class of 1913—seventy‑two men went to war, now… only nineteen remain. Cambridge fared worse: one hundred and five, now twenty‑one left. These youths, the Empire's future, died in French fields hundreds of kilometres from home. And we still intend to open a third front? To send even more men into the Middle‑East desert?"

The conference room fell silent. Only the ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle sounded, as if counting down something.

"So, endure," Askeis sat down, as if he had exhausted his strength. "It's not because we're weak, but because we must first win the war at hand. When Deguo falls, when we have a free hand… then every account will be settled, line by line."

He looked at Ge Lei: "Send a reply to Chen Feng, keep the tone courteous, say we understand Lanfang's 'commercial development needs' and hope both sides set up a communication mechanism to avoid misjudgment. Also… privately tell Jie La De to probe Chen Feng's stance: whether Lanfang is willing to sell us tank technology, price negotiable."

"Prime Minister!" This time even Bei Er Fu was astonished.

"Pragmatism, gentlemen," Askeis smiled wryly. "If we can buy it, it's better than letting Deguo have a monopoly. Moreover… it's a way to buy time. Negotiations can drag on, and time works in our favor—provided the Western Front breaks through first."

The resolution was thus passed. Though some were dissatisfied, no one offered a better plan.

After the meeting adjourned, Askeis stayed alone in the conference room. He took a bottle of whisky from a drawer, poured a small half‑glass, and downed it in one gulp. The alcohol burned his throat, but it could not scorch the heaviness in his heart.

He walked to the massive world map on the wall. The red British Empire territories covered a quarter of the globe, from Canada to India, from Australia to South Africa, once a shining empire that never set.

But now, at the edge of the red sector, a fresh hue was seeping in—Lanfang's red, brighter, more glaring, like blood spilling onto the map.

Askeis's finger lightly brushed the point marked Huo Er De Sa.

"Chen Feng…" he muttered to himself, "What exactly do you want? Just oil? Or… more?"

Outside, London's sky was overcast. A late‑summer thunderstorm was brewing.

And on the other side of the world, another storm was quietly gathering.

Huo Er De Sa, 4 a. m. on September 2.

The desert night was bone‑cold. Temperatures plunged from a daytime fifty degrees Celsius to five at night; soldiers wrapped in greatcoats huddled around a makeshift fire lit with diesel—if a few oil‑soaked sticks count as a fire.

At the sentry post of the third company, Recon Battalion, Corporal Liu Changfu cradled his rifle, staring into the western darkness. His night vision was excellent—a talent typical of a child raised in the mountains. At this moment, his eyes moved slowly behind the binoculars, scanning the horizon.

"Movement," he whispered suddenly.

The nearby private, Wang Shuan Zhu, rushed over: "Where?"

"Two o'clock direction, about two kilometers. There's a reflection… metallic reflection."

The two held their breath. A few seconds later, vague shadows emerged in the darkness—vehicles, lights off, but moonlight occasionally struck the hull, reflecting a faint sheen.

"Three… no, four. Wheeled vehicles, possibly jeeps," Liu Changfu set down the binoculars, grabbed the field telephone, "Sentry No. 3 report: four unknown vehicles spotted two kilometres west, moving slowly eastward. Should we make contact? Awaiting orders."

After a few seconds of silence, the company commander's calm voice came through: "Continue observation, do not expose yourselves. If they cross the red line… fire warning."

"Understood."

The vehicles drew nearer. Now they could be seen clearly: indeed jeeps, but a unfamiliar model, not the Lanfang‑equipped "Dongfeng" jeep. No obvious markings.

At a distance of one kilometre, the vehicles halted. Several silhouettes disembarked, set up binoculars and observed toward Huo Er De Sa.

"They're watching us," Wang Shuan Zhu whispered.

Liu Changfu also raised his binoculars. Though faces were indistinct, their movements were professional—alternating cover, swiftly setting up observation gear, someone dedicated to rear guard.

"Soldiers," he judged, "but not Ottoman; their motions are more… efficient."

The two sides thus stared at each other across the darkness, a kilometre apart, like beasts that meet at night, sizing each other up, assessing the threat.

Twenty minutes later, the men in the jeeps packed up their gear, re‑entered the vehicles, turned around, and vanished into the night.

Liu Changfu exhaled, only then noticing his palms were drenched in sweat.

"They're gone."

"Mm." Liu Changfu picked up the telephone, "Sentry No. 3 report: unknown vehicles have withdrawn westward. No contact occurred."

"Received. Continue to keep watch."

After hanging up, Wang Shuan Zhu couldn't help asking, "Corporal, those were Yingguo, right?"

"Probably eight‑tenths."

"Why don't they just come over? We wouldn't fire anyway."

Liu Changfu glanced at the eighteen‑year‑old rookie, shook his head: "They're not here to fight; they're scouting. They want to see how many of us we have, what our equipment is like, how the fortifications are built. Once they've seen enough, they'll go back and report."

"So we just let them watch?"

"The senior officer said: let them watch," Liu Changfu lifted his rifle again, "Only when they see clearly will they understand the price of provoking us."

A pale dawn glimmered on the horizon. Desert sunrise came swiftly; within a dozen minutes the darkness receded, and the world was recolored.

The Huo Er De Sa base was already taking shape. Thirty‑six 105 mm howitzers were split into three batteries, all barrels pointing east, hidden beneath camouflage netting, the gunners conducting morning drills. Infantrymen of the regiment ran their exercises, footfalls and chants echoing across the desert. The engineer company was digging anti‑tank ditches—whether they'd be used remained unknown, but readiness is readiness.

The mess tent raised a wisp of cooking smoke. Breakfast was compressed biscuits with heated soup, the broth dotted with a few pieces of rehydrated vegetables and jerky, but for soldiers six days on the march, it was already a feast.