Chapter 698: Squad Leader, Why Aren

Those British Army soldiers listened, no one resisted, no one complained. They kept their heads down, step by step. Some could not move, fell by the roadside, and the people beside them did nothing, just walked past. The fallen struggled to get up but couldn't, and finally just lay on the sand, looking at the sky, not knowing what they were thinking.

A young Lanfang soldier couldn't help asking, "Squad Leader, why aren't they resisting? So many of them, even a single punch could kill us, right?"

The Squad Leader gave him a glance and exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Resist? Resist what? They're already terrified. From Sinai to the canal, running and being thrown away all the way, how many have died? To be alive now is already good enough, and they still resist?"

The soldier thought for a moment, nodded.

"Indeed."

A British Army captain stepped out of the formation, stood by the road, watching the Lanfang troops passing in front of him. His uniform was still tidy, but his face was full of fatigue and despair. He stood there, motionless, like a statue.

A Lanfang officer jumped down from a jeep and walked up to him.

"You, why aren't you moving?"

The captain looked at him, was silent for three seconds, then said in fluent English, "I am an officer. I demand treatment according to the Geneva Convention."

The Lanfang officer was stunned for a moment, then smiled. That kind of smile sent a chill through the captain's heart.

"Geneva Convention?" The officer pointed at the corpses lying by the road, at the prisoners still marching east, and at the distant battlefield still smoking, "Look at these. Do you think there's any convention left now?"

The captain opened his mouth but could not speak.

The officer waved his hand, "Go. Head east. Fifty kilometers. Walk into the POW camp yourself. Don't let us see you again."

The captain stood there, hesitated for a few seconds, then slowly turned and walked east. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and glanced back.

The Lanfang tanks, trucks, and soldiers kept moving west. Smoke and dust rolled, darkening the sky, like a herd of beasts that would never stop.

He lowered his head and kept walking.

At five o'clock in the afternoon, Zhao Dengyu stood on a ridge and summoned the commanders of each division for an impromptu meeting.

Wang Tieshan, the commander of the 2nd Division Liu Zhenjie, the commander of the 3rd Division Shen Peng, the commanders of the 7th, 8th, and 9th Divisions—six commanders formed a circle, standing on the sand. The wind lifted sand that stung the face, but no one complained.

"You've all seen the situation," Zhao Dengyu began, his voice hoarse, "The Yingguo fled. They ran for forty‑eight hours, faster than a rabbit. We chased for a day and caught some stragglers."

He paused, his gaze sweeping each face.

"But the battle isn't over. Beyond the canal is Egypt. After Egypt comes Libya, then Tunisia, then the whole of Africa. The Yingguo won't give up easily; they'll hold their ground to the death."

Liu Zhenjie asked, "Commander Zhao, when will we cross the canal?"

Zhao Dengyu looked at him, silent for three seconds.

"We wait for orders. The President hasn't said to attack, so we can't. But we must be ready—floating bridges, assault boats, the enemy fire points on the opposite bank, we must recon them."

He turned, pointing at the faintly visible canal in the distance.

"Tonight, send scouts over. Recon the Yingguo's defenses on the opposite bank. By dawn tomorrow, I want a report."

The six commanders stood at attention together: "Yes!"

The meeting ended, the commanders dispersed. Zhao Dengyu remained alone on the ridge, watching the sky grow darker. The setting sun sank into the canal, dyeing the whole sky blood‑red. That red was like blood, like fire, like the despair of the prisoners still marching east.

Wang Tieshan walked up to him and handed him a water flask.

"Old Zhao, have a drink. You've been standing all day."

Zhao Dengyu took the flask, gulped a large mouthful, and wiped his mouth.

"Old Wang, you say the Yingguo ran so fast—was it because they feared us, or because…"

"Because what?"

Zhao Dengyu thought, shook his head.

"I don't know. But I do know they ran like that because someone was directing them from behind. That commander is no ordinary person."

He turned and walked down the ridge.

"Relay to all units: advance tonight through the night. By dawn tomorrow, we must reach the canal's edge. Tell the brothers, whoever is the first to charge to the canal edge, I'll give them a can of food!"

Night fell, the pursuit continued.

The tanks switched on their headlights, forming a long ribbon of light in the darkness. Trucks followed, headlights merging into a blaze, like a fire dragon crawling across the desert. The roar of the engines echoed through the night sky, carrying far and wide.

Soldiers crowded onto the trucks, wrapped in greatcoats, leaning on comrades' shoulders to nap. No one spoke, only snoring and occasional coughs. They were exhausted—since four a. m. they had chased for over ten hours without stopping.

A young soldier couldn't sleep, leaned against the truck floor, staring at the sky. The stars above were bright, dense, like countless eyes watching them.

"Squad Leader," he whispered, "what do you think Egypt is like?"

The Squad Leader leaned beside him, squinting, unsure if he was asleep or awake. Hearing the question, he opened his eyes and glanced at the young man.

"I don't know. I've never been there."

"If we go there, will we fight?"

The Squad Leader was silent for a few seconds.

"We will. The Yingguo won't let us take Egypt for free."

The young man nodded, asking no more.

In the distance, the tank's light ribbon kept moving forward.

At two a. m., the vanguard reached a point five kilometers from the canal.

Wang Tieshan ordered a halt, turned off all lights. The tanks and trucks hid in a hollow, soldiers got out to rest but could not make fire, could not speak, could not make any sound.

Scouts changed into civilian clothes and felt their way toward the canal in the dark.

Wang Tieshan leaned against a tank track, smoking. The ember's flare flickered in the darkness like a firefly.

The deputy officer came over, lowered his voice: "Deputy Commander Wang, you should rest. There won't be any movement before dawn."

Wang Tieshan shook his head.

"Can't sleep."

He stared at the blackness ahead, silent for a long while.

"Do you think the Yingguo will be waiting for us on the opposite bank?"

The deputy thought and said, "Probably. The Suez Canal is their lifeline; lose the canal, lose Egypt. Lose Egypt, lose Africa. They can't not guard it."

Wang Tieshan nodded.

"Yeah, we can't not guard."

Wang Tieshan inhaled a puff of smoke and exhaled slowly.

"Then we fight. Fight until they can't hold any longer."

At four o'clock in the morning, the scouts returned.

They brought intelligence from the opposite bank: the British Army was constructing fortifications on the west bank of the canal, having already dug two trenches and set up over a dozen machine guns. Landmines were buried near the ferry crossing, and several patrol boats were patrolling the river back and forth. The defending forces across the river numbered about two battalions, plus some local Egyptian colonial troops, totaling fewer than three thousand men.