Chapter 730: Pleasant Cooperation

Xingdengbao shook his head.

"This war has already exceeded everyone's expectations. Three years ago, everyone said it could be over before Christmas. Three years later, we're still fighting, still seeing deaths, still draining resources. Who will win, only God knows."

He looked at Weng Beito.

"But there's one thing I know."

"What?"

"Germany will not lose."

Weng Beito looked at him.

Xingdengbao's voice was soft, but each word was as heavy as a stone.

"Because Germany can't afford to lose. Lose, and there's nothing left."

At the same time, across the Atlantic, New York.

Unlike Berlin's icy snow, New York's morning was bright and sunny. A sea breeze blew in from the Atlantic, carrying a salty, briny scent. The Statue of Liberty stood tall in the harbor, its torch sparkling in the sunlight.

The docks of the harbor were packed with crowds.

A massive banner hung on the building: "For Meilika! For Freedom!" Another banner read: "Send our children to Europe! Bring victory home!"

Thousands of young people lined up in long queues, waiting to board. They wore brand‑new uniforms, carried fresh rifles, their faces showing excitement and nervousness. Some kissed their girlfriends goodbye, some embraced family members in tears, some stood alone aside, silently watching it all.

A young man of about eighteen or nineteen stood in the line, clutching a photograph. In the picture was a blonde girl, smiling sweetly. He looked at the photo repeatedly, then folded it carefully and slipped it into the pocket over his chest.

An older veteran beside him patted his shoulder.

"First time?"

The young man nodded.

The veteran smiled, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Don't be afraid. When you get there, you'll find war isn't that terrifying."

The young man's eyes brightened: "You've been in battle?"

The veteran nodded.

"I have. In Mexico. Back then we boarded the same way, set off the same way, said goodbye to family the same way. After we went, we realized it wasn't a big deal. Bullets can't hit you, shells can't explode you; as long as you're lucky, you can come back alive."

The young man was about to speak when a long whistle sounded from afar.

A massive troop transport ship slowly docked, its decks already packed with people. They were the first wounded returning from Europe—missing arms, broken legs, faces wrapped in bandages, some seated in wheelchairs being pushed down. They remained silent, expressionless, a stark contrast to the fresh recruits about to board.

The young man watched the wounded, his complexion turning a bit pale.

The veteran patted his shoulder again.

"Don't look. Let's go."

On the dock's observation deck, Jack Morgan stood there, holding a glass of champagne, watching the sea of people below.

Rockefeller stood beside him, also holding a glass of champagne, also watching that sea of people.

"Morgan, how many are in this batch?"

Morgan glanced at the documents in his hand.

"The fourth batch, fifty thousand, departs today. The first two batches have already reached France, the third is at sea."

Rockefeller nodded.

"Has the budget been approved over at Congress?"

Morgan smiled.

"Approved. Thirty billion dollars. Enough to send a million people over, with plenty left over."

Rockefeller also smiled.

"Thirty billion. Morgan, do you know how much profit this thirty billion can generate?"

Morgan thought for a moment.

"Loan interest, arms orders, post‑war reconstruction contracts—at least double."

Rockefeller raised his glass.

"To doubling."

Morgan also raised his glass.

"To doubling."

The two glasses clinked, producing a crisp sound.

In the distance, the troop ship began to slowly leave the harbor. The deck was crowded with soldiers, waving their caps, bidding farewell to the crowd on shore. The crowd on shore waved back, shouted, cried. The sounds mingled together like a chaotic, heroic symphony.

Morgan watched the ship's silhouette recede and suddenly asked.

"Rockefeller, what do you think, how many of those people will make it back?"

Rockefeller was silent for a few seconds.

"I don't know. Maybe half, maybe a third."

Morgan nodded.

"Then let's say a third. The living will remember the chance we gave them. The dead will remember nothing."

He turned and walked down from the observation deck.

Rockefeller followed behind.

The two got into a car, the doors closed, and the vehicle slowly drove away from the harbor.

Behind them, the troop ship grew farther, smaller, until it vanished on the horizon.

January 2, Dubai.

The sun had just risen from the horizon, bathing the whole city in golden‑red. The distant mosque minarets stood sharply in the morning light, while the nearby docks were already bustling. Workers moved cargo, vendors shouted their wares, fishing boats left the harbor; everything looked much the same as usual.

On the second floor of the Presidential Palace, in Chen Feng's office, the scent of tea wafted.

La Wa Er sat opposite Chen Feng, with a freshly brewed cup of Dragon Eye Network tea before him. He had been in Dubai for a long time; these days he had met Chen Feng five times, each conversation lasting four or five hours, all about postwar matters.

Today is the sixth time.

It is also the last time.

Chen Feng lifted the teacup, took a sip, and then set it down.

"Mr. La Wa Er, have we heard back from Prime Minister Ke Lie Meng Suo?"

La Wa Er took a telegram from his briefcase and pushed it in front of Chen Feng.

"President, this is the Prime Minister's handwritten reply."

Chen Feng took the telegram, read it once. Then he lifted his head and looked at La Wa Er.

"The Prime Minister agreed to my proposal?"

La Wa Er nodded.

"Agreed. Faguo is willing to establish a postwar strategic partnership with Lanfang. African affairs can be discussed. Matters concerning a permanent seat on the International League can also be discussed."

Chen Feng smiled.

"Good. Very good."

He stood up and walked to the huge world map on the wall. He pointed at the massive landmass of Africa.

"Mr. La Wa Er, do you know how many colonies Faguo has in Africa?"

La Wa Er walked to his side.

"I know. West Africa, Equatorial Africa, Madagascar, Djibouti—total area exceeds ten million square kilometers, population over fifty million."

Chen Feng nodded.

"Ten million square kilometers. Fifty million people. Rich resources, strategically important location. If these resources can be developed, Faguo can not only feed itself but also feed half of Europe."

La Wa Er looked at him without speaking.

Chen Feng continued, "After the war, Europe needs reconstruction. Deguo needs coal, Yingguo needs grain, Faguo needs money. All of these, Africa can provide."

He turned and looked at La Wa Er.

"But the premise is that Africa must be stable. No rebellions, no independence movements, no other countries intervening."

La Wa Er's eyes narrowed.

"The President means—"

Chen Feng walked back to his desk, took a document from a drawer, and pushed it in front of La Wa Er.

"This is the draft agreement I prepared. Take a look."

La Wa Er took the document and skimmed it quickly.

The agreement's core contains only three points:

First, Lanfang acknowledges Faguo's colonial sovereignty in Africa. Lanfang will not support any African independence movements nor contact any anti-colonial forces.

Second, Lanfang's enterprises may enter Africa to partake in resource development and infrastructure construction, but must form joint ventures with French companies, with Faguo holding at least fifty‑one percent of the shares.

Third, in the postwar International League, Faguo will become a permanent member with a veto right. Lanfang will fully support Faguo's stance in international affairs.

La Wa Er finished, lifted his head, and looked at Chen Feng.

"President, this agreement—very fair."

Chen Feng smiled.

"Fairness is fine. I was just afraid you would think it unfair."

La Wa Er was silent for a few seconds.

"President, may I ask a question?"

"Ask."

"Why are you so interested in Africa? Lanfang already has such a huge foothold in Yazhou; isn't that enough?"

Chen Feng walked to the window and gazed at the sparkling sea outside.

"Mr. La Wa Er, do you know what a 'global strategy' is?"

La Wa Er shook his head.

Chen Feng turned and looked at him.

"A global strategy means you cannot focus on just one region. Occupy Yazhou, advance into Africa, draw Europe, and defend the Americas. Only by casting a wide net can you catch the biggest fish."

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Africa is a treasure land. Rich resources, a large population, strategically important location. But Faguo has been operating there for a hundred years, its roots are deep. If Lanfang forces its way in, both sides will be harmed. So cooperation is better. Faguo provides the territory, Lanfang provides capital. Develop together, profit together."

La Wa Er was silent for a long time.

Then he extended his hand.

"President, pleasant cooperation."

Chen Feng grasped his hand.

"Pleasant cooperation."