Chapter 733: London's

The soldiers formed columns as ordered and walked toward the few massive transport ships at the port.

A young soldier walked to the ship's rail, suddenly stopped, and turned back to glance at the Yingguo coastline behind him.

The grayish land was the home he had left two years ago.

The veteran beside him gave him a push: "What are you looking at? Get on board! It's not like you won't come back."

The young soldier lowered his head and boarded.

A Lieutenant Colonel stood on the gangway, watching the soldiers boarding, his brows tightly knit.

He was the logistics officer in charge of this unit's transfer. But the problem was that the destination wasn't a rest camp, but—North Africa.

"Sir," a staff officer ran over, handing over a document, "this is the supply list for the unit. They have taken all equipment—ammunition, machine guns, mortars—all present."

The Lieutenant Colonel took the document, glanced at it, then looked up again at the boarding soldiers.

"All equipment? Weren't we supposed to be resting? Why bring so much ammunition for a rest?"

The staff officer shook his head: "I don't know. That's the higher‑ups' directive; we just carry it out."

The Lieutenant Colonel was silent for a few seconds.

"How many are in this batch?"

"Five thousand. This is the third batch today. The first two have already departed; this one should soon reach Gibraltar."

The Lieutenant Colonel returned the document to the staff officer and turned toward the office.

He walked a few steps, then suddenly stopped, turned back to glance at the boarding soldiers.

A young soldier stood on the deck, watching the land receding in the distance. The wind blew his hair; his face was expressionless as he stared.

The Lieutenant Colonel suddenly wanted to ask him: Do you know where you're going? Do you know who you'll be fighting?

But he didn't ask.

He turned and walked away.

The transport ship slowly left the port, heading southwest.

The soldiers on board crowded the deck; some smoked, some stared into space, some whispered.

"Where are we going?"

"Don't know. Anyway it's not a rest."

"How do you know?"

"Can a rest camp carry this much ammunition?"

The man fell silent.

An old veteran leaned against the rail, smoking, squinting at the coastline receding farther.

Next to him, a young soldier leaned in, whispering, "Veteran, have you been in battle?"

The veteran gave him a look and exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Yes. The Somme, Verdun, all of them."

The young soldier's eyes lit up: "Then you must know where we're headed, right?"

The veteran was silent for three seconds.

"Don't know."

The young soldier was stunned.

The veteran looked at the gray horizon far away and said softly, "But I know, wherever we go, it's goddamn better than staying here taking Deguo Shells."

He took a drag and exhaled slowly.

"Here, we're cannon fodder. In another place, maybe we could still be human."

The young soldier nodded as if half‑understanding.

In the distance, the Faguo coastline grew increasingly vague, finally vanishing entirely in the mist.

February 3, London.

Outside No. 10 Downing Street, two guards in black coats stood motionless. The gray sky drizzled fine rain, striking their hat brims and then sliding down.

The conference room was filled with choking smoke.

On both sides of the long table sat a full house—Army Minister Kichinna, Navy Minister Jieliko, Chief of Staff Joint Conference Chairman, and a large group of staff officers and secretaries. Thick files lay before each person, and every face bore varying fatigue.

Asquius sat in the head seat, holding a telegram and studying it for a long time.

It was a report from Egypt, General Allenbi's dispatch: the troop assembly was progressing smoothly, the first batch of 50,000 had arrived, the second batch was at sea, and all 400,000 should be in place within a week.

He set the telegram down, lifted his head, and looked at those present.

"Everyone, Allenbi's side is progressing smoothly. The current problem is—Faguo."

Army Minister Kichinna spoke, his voice hoarse: "Prime Minister, from January 31 to today, we've withdrawn eight divisions, 120,000 men. All are battle‑hardened veterans."

He stood, walked to the massive European map on the wall, and pointed at the northern French front.

"Towards Verdun, we withdrew three divisions. Towards the Somme, two divisions. Towards Arles, three divisions. The forces taking over are all Meilika men."

Navy Minister Jieliko nodded: "The transport ships are ready. Over at Dover, four ships run daily, ferrying soldiers to Gibraltar, then transferring to Egypt. The first batch of 50,000 will reach Alexandria Port the day after tomorrow."

Asquius stood and walked to the map.

He gazed at the blue Mediterranean, at the narrow Suez Canal, at the vast Sinai Peninsula.

"Zhao Dengyu has 120,000 men," he said softly, "We will face him with 400,000. Four hundred thousand veterans from the European front, each has fought and seen blood. That should be enough."

Kichinna furrowed his brows: "Prime Minister, over at the Faguo side… our rapid withdrawal will surely raise suspicion."

Asquius turned and looked at him.

"Raise suspicion? What can they do?"

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Meilika men have already arrived. They've taken over our positions. The total hasn't decreased; what can the Faguo say?"

A staff officer whispered, "But Prime Minister, the Meilika have no experience. They simply don't know how to fight. If the Deguo attack—"

Asquies waved a hand: "Deguo? The Deguo are on the brink of starvation themselves; do they even have the strength to attack? Ludengdaofu wants to fight, but he needs soldiers, needs artillery, needs food. He has none of those."

Asquies paused briefly, their voice tinged with a hint of smugness.

"Moreover, once we win in Egypt, the Deguo will be even less daring to attack. They are counting on Lanfang to send troops to rescue them. Until Lanfang arrives, the Deguo can only shrink back."

Jieli Ke asked, "Prime Minister, if the Faguo press further, what should we say?"

Asquies thought for a moment.

"Just say we're rotating for rest and recuperation. The Meilika have just arrived and need to get used to the positions. Our veterans are tired, so we pull them back to rest for a while, and they'll return once they're accustomed."

Asquies let out a cold laugh.

"Rest and recuperation—such a useful term. How long will the rest last? No one knows. Will they return after the rest? No one knows either. In any case, right now, they can't control them."

The conference room fell silent for a few seconds.

Ji Qin Na asked again, "Prime Minister, what about the Deguo side? If they learn that we are withdrawing troops from the Western Front, will they seize the opportunity to attack?"

Asquies looked at Ji Qin Na, a flash of impatience in their eyes.

"Ji Qin Na, I already said that the Deguo lack the ability to attack. They're barely able to bake bread, let alone attack?"

Asquies stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, on the streets of London, a few children in tattered clothes were chasing a leather ball. In the distance, a long line stretched out at a bakery's entrance, disappearing from view.