Chapter 745: Do They Have Four Hundred Thousand Men? No

Shanben Yifu nodded.

"What about the Burmese?"

"More than sixty have died."

Shanben Yifu was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "Tu Fei Yuan Xian Da, you tell me, how much longer must we stay in this damned place?"

Tu Fei Yuan Xian Da thought for a moment.

"I don't know. But it should be soon. Wang Guojian's side is progressing quickly; once they reach Hai De La Ba, the Yingguo in Da Ka will panic. When they panic, they'll make a mistake. Once they make a mistake, we have a chance."

Shanben Yifu nodded.

"Yes. It's close."

He stood up and looked at the pitch‑black jungle.

In the distance, on the Yingguo troops' positions, occasional searchlight beams swept across, illuminating trees and trenches. Those beams were especially glaring in the darkness, like a series of eyes staring at them.

He whispered, "Wait. When Wang Guojian reaches Hai De La Ba, we'll all go in together."

Meng Mai Gang, Yingguo Far East Fleet Headquarters.

Jie Li Ke sat in the office, also watching the night outside the window.

Three telegrams lay before him. He had read them countless times, and each reading added another ounce of despair to his heart.

Ge La De fell. Ka La Qi fell. Yinghua Guo's three hundred thousand troops pressed toward Da Ka.

Qian Zi, the clamps, were closing.

Chief of Staff pushed the door open, his complexion worse than in daylight.

"General, London has sent another telegram."

Jie Li Ke did not turn around.

"What does it say?"

Chief of Staff was silent for three seconds.

"It says, spare no cost, keep India safe."

Jie Li Ke turned and looked at him.

"Spare no cost? What price can we still pay?"

Chief of Staff said nothing.

Jie Li Ke walked to the window and continued watching the night outside.

In the distance, on the horizon, Deguo warships were still patrolling. Those four Bismarck Class ships were like four vicious dogs guarding his doorway.

He suddenly laughed.

That laugh sent a chill down Chief of Staff's spine.

"Chief of Staff, tell me, if I charge out now, how many of us could survive?"

Chief of Staff was stunned.

"General?"

Jie Li Ke turned and looked at him.

"Eight main ships against four Bismarck Class. Their firepower, speed, and armor are all inferior. How many could survive?"

Chief of Staff was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "None of us would survive."

Jie Li Ke nodded.

"Exactly. None would survive."

He walked back to his desk and sat down.

"Send a reply to London: India cannot be held. Your Majesty, please prepare mentally."

Chief of Staff was stunned.

"General, this—"

Jie Li Ke waved his hand.

"Send it. Let them know the truth."

Chief of Staff hesitated for three seconds, then saluted, turned, and left.

After the door closed, Jie Li Ke sat there alone.

He watched the night outside, the faint silhouettes of distant warships, and the warships that were about to become history.

He suddenly recalled General Nelson's final words: "Thank God, I have fulfilled my duty."

Did I fulfill my duty?

He did not.

He failed.

But at least he told the truth.

February 14, 1918, the Western Valentine's Day.

That day, Lanfang's forty‑thousand troops captured Ge La De and Mok Lan Port.

That day, Lanfang's naval infantry seized Ka La Qi.

That day, Yinghua Guo's 270,000 soldiers advanced inch by inch through the jungle toward Da Ka.

That day, Deguo's fleet continued to blockade Meng Mai Gang.

That day, Yingguo Far East Fleet commander Jie Li Ke sent the final telegram: India cannot be held.

February 10, 1918, Egypt, west bank of the Suez Canal.

The sun rose from the edge of the desert, dyeing the entire camp a golden‑red. Tents stretched endlessly, from the riverbank out to the distant dunes, like a white sea. Cooking smoke curled upward, mingling with the morning mist and obscuring the red sun on the horizon.

General Ai Lunbi stood on a rise, holding a telescope and looking at the Sinai Peninsula across the water.

The telescope's lenses reflected a faint glint in the morning light. He stared for a long time, unmoving.

Behind him, a 400,000‑strong army was stirring. Soldiers poured out of the tents, lining up for breakfast—hard bread, salted meat, tea—the same rations as on the European battlefields. Some complained, some were silent, some crouched on the ground smoking, watching the area in the distance that would soon become a battlefield.

Chief of Staff Lai Dun walked to his side, also holding a telescope and looking across.

"General, the reconnaissance aircraft reports that the Lanfang forces are still in place. 120,000 of them, and their positions are heavily fortified."

Ai Lunbi set the telescope down, saying nothing.

He looked at those soldiers, the battle‑hardened veterans who had come down from the European fronts. Every face bore the marks of time—some scarred, some missing fingers, some limping. Yet in their eyes was the same thing.

It was the look that only those who survived possess.

"Lai Dun," he finally said, "do you know how these troops came to be?"

Lai Dun was startled for a moment: "How did they come? They were withdrawn from Faguo."

Ai Lunbi shook his head.

"It wasn't a withdrawal, it was a selection. From the hundreds of thousands in London, they picked these 400,000. All of them have fought, all have seen blood. The Somme River, Verdun, Passchendaele—every hard battle, they've been in."

He turned and looked at Lai Dun.

"Tell me, have the Lanfang ever seen soldiers like this?"

Lai Dun said nothing.

Ai Lunbi let out a cold laugh.

"What wars have the Lanfang fought? In Malaya against those terrifying Indian troops? In Burma against starving colonial units that could barely move? Have they ever seen a real war?"

He descended from the rise and walked toward the camp.

Lai Dun followed behind.

"General, when will we attack?"

Ai Lunbi halted, turned his head and looked at him.

"Wait. Wait until all the forces have arrived. Wait until all supplies are in place. Wait until the Lanfang think they are safe."

He paused.

"Then, in one breath, devour them."

February 11, the command post at the center of the camp.

On a massive sand table, the terrain of the Sinai Peninsula was reproduced with precision—dunes, depressions, a dried riverbed, and the east‑west road that crossed the peninsula. A red flag marked the Lanfang position, a blue flag represented the British Army.

Ai Lunbi stood before the sand table, holding a slender bamboo rod in his hand.

Chief of Staff Lai Dun stood beside him, pointing at the red area on the sand table.

"General, the Lanfang main force is here. The positions have been built for three months—trenches, bunkers, minefields, all of them present."

Ai Lunbi nodded.

"What about our tanks?"

Lai Dun was silent for three seconds.

"Forty‑eight Mark I tanks. All old models, slow, thin armor, guns no better than the Lanfang's."

Ai Lunbi looked at him.

"Forty‑eight against over 500?"

Lai Dun lowered his head.

"Yes."

Ai Lunbi suddenly laughed.

"Lai Dun, do you know how many tanks we saw the first time at the Somme River?"

Lai Dun shook his head.

"Eighteen. Eighteen Mark I tanks, exactly the same as ours now. The Deguo had no tanks, only machine guns, barbed wire, trenches. The result? Eighteen tanks scared the Deguo into a panicked, frantic retreat."

He pointed at the red area on the sand table.

"Tanks are dead, people are alive. The Lanfang have five hundred tanks, but do they have 400,000 men? No. Do they have 400,000 battle‑hardened veterans? Even less."