Chapter 721: Dollars Are Worth More Than Lives!

Asikuis was stunned for a moment.

Wilson continued, "Lanfang's warships can hit a target with a single shell at night, in fog, up to twenty kilometers away. Our warships rely on optical ranging and the gunner's experience. In clear weather we can fire, in overcast we are blind, at night we are useless."

He turned and looked at Asikuis.

"Prime Minister, in that battle in the Arabian Sea, Jie Li Ke's twelve ships fought two of their training vessels for three hours without winning. How much stronger do you think Meilika's navy is compared to Jie Li Ke's fleet?"

Asikuis fell silent.

Wilson walked back to his desk and sat down.

"So, the Asian affair, you handle it yourselves. If you can hold it, after the war we'll share the cake. If you can't—"

He didn't finish, but Asikuis understood.

If they can't hold it, Meilika won't come to rescue.

Wilson looked at the draft agreement, picked up a pen, and signed his name on it.

"Prime Minister, one million. Within six months, one million Meilika soldiers will cross the Atlantic and appear on the French battlefield."

Asikuis took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

Wilson waved his hand.

"No need to thank me. Thank Morgan, thank Rockefeller, thank those Wall Street bigwigs. It was they who made me realize that dollars are worth more than lives."

He stood up and extended his hand.

Asikuis grasped it.

The two hands clasped for three seconds, then released.

December 3, Asikuis crossed the Atlantic again, sailing eastward.

This time, Asikuis did not lock himself in a cabin. He stood on the deck, facing the sea breeze, watching the North American continent recede in the distance.

Lao He·Qiao Zhi walked to his side and handed him a cup of hot coffee.

"Prime Minister, you look in good spirits."

Asikuis took the coffee and took a sip.

"Lao He, you say, once one million Meilika soldiers reach Europe, what can we do?"

Lao He·Qiao Zhi thought for a moment.

"Hold the Western Front. We might even counterattack."

Asikuis nodded.

"Right. Hold the Western Front. And then?"

Lao He·Qiao Zhi was stunned for a moment.

"And then?"

Asikuis looked at him, his eyes flashing.

"Then we can transfer the five hundred thousand British soldiers stationed in France to Egypt."

Lao He·Qiao Zhi's eyes also lit up.

"Egypt?"

"Right. Egypt." Asikuis pointed eastward, "Lanfang has 120,000 troops on the Sinai Peninsula. The Sakura Nation has over a million in Myanmar. They are preparing a pincer attack on India from east and west. But if we can amass a half‑million army in Egypt—"

His finger traced across the Mediterranean and stopped at the Suez Canal.

"We can then advance eastward from Egypt: the Sinai Peninsula, Palestine, Iran—then all the way to Dubai."

Lao He·Qiao Zhi inhaled a breath of cool air.

"Prime Minister, does this mean a direct confrontation with Lanfang?"

Asikuis nodded.

"Yes. A direct showdown. Lanfang's main force is in Asia, the Sakura Nation's main force is in Myanmar. They have only 120,000 in Egypt. Fifty hundred thousand versus 120,000 gives a 4‑to‑1 manpower advantage."

He paused, his voice low.

"We could drive Lanfang out of Asia back to its home."

Lao He·Qiao Zhi was silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Prime Minister, will the French agree to us withdrawing from the Western Front?"

Asikuis sneered.

"The French? They are now more afraid of the Germans than we are. As long as we leave a portion of our forces in France, they won't object."

"What about the Meilika people?"

"Meilika people?" Asikuis looked at the shrinking North American continent, "Wilson already said they won't fight Lanfang. We fight, they watch. If we win, they get to eat the meat. If we lose, they lose nothing at all."

He turned and looked at Lao He·Qiao Zhi.

"So, Lao He, this battle can only rely on us. If we win, Britain remains the empire on which the sun never sets. If we lose—"

He didn't finish.

But Lao He·Qiao Zhi knew.

Lose, and Britain is finished.

December 10, as the warship slowly entered Portsmouth naval port.

On the dock stood a crowd—George V, Army Minister Ji Qin Na, Navy Minister Jie Li Ke, and a host of generals and officials. They all looked up, eyes filled with anticipation, at the warship gradually pulling into berth.

Asikuis descended the gangway and approached George V.

"Your Majesty, I have returned."

George V looked at him, at the weary yet resolute face.

"Asikuis, how is it?"

A Si Kui Si nodded.

"Done. One million."

A burst of cheers erupted at the dock.

Qiao Zhi Wu Shi tightly grasped his hand.

"Good! Excellent!"

A Si Kui Si did not smile. He looked at the cheering crowd and suddenly felt very tired.

One million. One million Meilika soldiers. It sounds like a lot, but it will take six months for all to arrive. In those six months, what will the Deguo people do? What will the Lanfang people do? What will the Sakura Nation people do?

He didn't know.

But he knew that from now on, Yingguo must race against time.

If they win the race, they can still live.

If they lose—

He did not continue thinking further.

In the distance, Portsmouth's sky was gray and hazy, the heavy cloud layer pressed low. The sea wind was strong, rattling the flags.

A Si Kui Si looked at that sky and suddenly recalled the last words Wilson said.

"Dollars are worth more than lives."

Yes, dollars are worth more than lives.

Meilika people want dollar hegemony, the right to share the post‑war cake. Yingguo people must gamble with five hundred thousand lives, to fight, to bet, to exchange for a chance to remain the top.

And the Lanfang people are waiting for them in Yazhou.

This war has only just begun.

That same night, London and Dubai, two different worlds.

London, 10 Downing Street. A Si Kui Si stood in the office, the huge Europe‑Asia map spread before him. He drew a circle on Egypt with a red pen, then a red line from Egypt stretching all the way to the Persian Gulf, extending to Dubai.

Qiao Zhi Wu Shi sat opposite him, watching the red line.

"A Si Kui Si, do you really think we can win?"

A Si Kui Si was silent for a few seconds.

"Your Majesty, I don't know. But we must try."

Qiao Zhi Wu Shi nodded.

"Then let's try."

Dubai, the President's Office. Chen Feng stood by the window, watching the moonlit Persian Gulf outside. On the sea, several merchant ships were slowly entering the harbor, lights blazing.

Wang Wenwu walked in, handing over a piece of intelligence.

"President, news from London. A Si Kui Si has returned from Washington, and Wilson has agreed to dispatch one million troops."

Chen Feng took the intelligence, read it once, then smiled.

"One million. Wilson finally is willing to spend the blood money."

Wang Wenwu frowned.

"President, will Yingguo move the troops stationed in Faguo to Egypt?"

Chen Feng nodded.

"Yes. Definitely. With one million Meilika people holding the western front, they can pull at least five hundred thousand to fight us."

Wang Wenwu's complexion changed.

"Five hundred thousand? We have only one hundred twenty thousand in Egypt—"