Chapter 748: Fight. Fight Until the Yingguo Kneel

The morning of February 14th, northern Sinai Peninsula.

Division commander Liu Zhenjie of the Seventh Division stood on a truck, holding a binocular and watching the endless dunes ahead. Behind him, eighteen thousand troops were marching at full speed. When there weren't enough trucks, they walked. When they carried too much ammunition, they went light. Every foot had blisters, yet no one stopped.

Chief of Staff Zhang Haiyang ran over, panting heavily.

"Commander, the scouts report that Alishi is thirty kilometers ahead."

Liu Zhenjie set down the binocular and glanced at the map.

Alishi, a small town on the eastern Mediterranean coast. From there, turn south and follow the coastline for two hundred kilometers to reach Genaye—on the east side of the Suez Canal, the Yingguo's rear route.

"Tell the brothers to push harder. Reach Alishi before nightfall."

Zhang Haiyang froze for a moment: "Commander, the brothers have been marching for a day and a night. If we keep going, someone will collapse from exhaustion."

Liu Zhenjie looked at him and was silent for three seconds.

"Even if they die of fatigue, we must keep moving. Arriving a day later gives the Yingguo an extra day. If they get back to the canal, our march will be in vain."

Zhang Haiyang gritted his teeth and nodded.

The order was passed down, and the troops quickened their pace.

A soldier kept running, then suddenly collapsed onto the ground. A nearby comrade hurriedly stopped and helped him up.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?"

The soldier's face turned ashen, his lips bluish, gasping for breath in large gulps.

"Water... give me water..."

The comrade quickly unfastened his water flask and handed it over. He took it and glug glug drank several big gulps, his complexion improving slightly.

"Can you get up?"

He nodded, struggling to rise.

"Move."

Keep running.

At three p. m., the vanguard reached Alishi.

Liu Zhenjie stood on a sand dune outside the town, watching the tiny settlement. Earth‑colored houses, low walls, a few palm trees swaying in the wind. At the gate, a handful of locals were selling wares; seeing the army approaching from afar, they dropped their stalls and fled.

"Send the order: do not enter the town, bypass it and continue."

The troops skirted Alishi and kept heading south.

Zhang Haiyang ran over and handed over a water flask.

"Commander, have a sip of water. You haven't had a drop since this morning."

Liu Zhenjie took the flask, drank a big gulp, and wiped his mouth.

"How are the brothers?"

"Another thirty‑plus have collapsed. All from exhaustion."

Liu Zhenjie was silent for a few seconds.

"Leave a few people to tend them. Once they recover, let them catch up slowly. The main force cannot stop."

Zhang Haiyang nodded.

"Tell the brothers, in two more days we'll reach Genaye. Once at Genaye, we can rest."

Zhang Haiyang turned and went to deliver the order.

Liu Zhenjie watched the marching soldiers and suddenly felt a pang of compassion.

Eighteen thousand men, three days and three nights, covered three hundred kilometers. Some fainted from fatigue, some fell behind, some kept running until they collapsed and never rose again.

Yet no one complained, no one stopped.

Because they knew the destination would decide victory or defeat.

At six p. m., the troops halted by a dried riverbed to rest.

The soldiers lay on the sand, breathing heavily. Some took out dry rations and nibbled them with water. Some leaned against their packs, closed their eyes, and fell asleep. Some removed their shoes; their soles were full of blood blisters, which they pried open with bayonets, squeezed out pus, then wrapped with bandages.

A young soldier leaned against a rock, watching the first star to brighten in the sky.

The veteran beside him asked, "Kid, what are you thinking about?"

The young soldier whispered, "Missing home."

The veteran was silent for three seconds.

"I miss it too."

The young soldier turned his head, looking at him.

"Squad leader, do you think we can make it back alive?"

The veteran lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

"We can. As long as we finish this battle, we will."

From afar Liu Zhenjie's voice rang out: "Assemble! Prepare to depart!"

The soldiers scrambled up, brushed sand off themselves, and kept moving forward.

In the night, eighteen thousand men walked in silence, only the rustle of footsteps echoing, like countless feet treading sand.

In the early hours of February 15th, the column was fifty kilometers from Genaye.

Liu Zhenjie ordered a two‑hour rest on the spot. Two hours was enough for the troops to nap, eat a bit, and regain some strength.

He leaned against a rock, eyes closed, yet did not fall asleep.

He was pondering one thing.

What are the Yingguo doing now? Will Allenbi keep the pursuit? Has Zhao Dengyu's side prepared?

He didn't know.

But he knew that, regardless, the Seventh Division had to reach Genaye.

Reaching Gennaye is victory.

If we reach Gennaye, the 400,000 Yingguo people will have nowhere to run.

9 a. m., February 15, Gennaye.

Liu Zhenjie stood on a high ground, holding a telescope and looking at the faintly visible canal in the distance.

Three days and three nights, 18,000 people, covered 350 kilometers.

Some died of exhaustion, some fell behind, but the main force remained.

In the telescope, the Suez Canal appeared as a thin blue line stretching between desert and oasis. To the north of the canal is the Mediterranean Sea, to the south the Red Sea, to the west Egypt, and to the east the Sinai Peninsula.

Gennaye, on the canal's east bank, is the inevitable route for the Yingguo people's withdrawal.

Chief of Staff Zhang Haiyang ran over, his face full of excitement.

"Division Commander! Recon reports Gennaye has no British Army! An empty city!"

Liu Zhenjie set down the telescope and took a deep breath.

"Good."

He turned to look at the troops behind him. 18,000 people were scattered among the dunes, resting. Some were drinking water, some eating, some lying on the ground sleeping. They were all too exhausted to even speak.

"Order all units to enter the city. Occupy every key point. Set up machine guns and arrange defenses."

Zhang Haiyang nodded, "Yes!"

Liu Zhenjie called him back.

"Wait. Send a telegram to Division Commander Zhao."

Zhang Haiyang took out paper and pen.

Liu Zhenjie was silent for three seconds, then said:

"Arrived at Gennaye. The dumplings are wrapped."

10 a. m., deep within the Sinai Peninsula, Division Commander Zhao Dengyu's command post.

A telegram lay before him. It contained only three characters:

"Arrived at Gennaye."

Zhao Dengyu read it three times.

Then he lifted his head and looked at the staff officers awaiting orders.

"Order all units to cease retreat."

The staff officers were stunned.

"Division Commander?"

Zhao Dengyu stood up and walked to the map. He pointed at Gennaye's location, then drew a line all the way to the British Army pursuers' position.

"Where are the Yingguo people now?"

A staff officer pointed at the map: "Distance from us is about 150 kilometers. Advancing slowly."

Zhao Dengyu nodded.

"150 kilometers. The Yingguo people have chased us for three days, covering 300 kilometers. Now they are tired, slower, their formation scattered. Our 7th Division has already slipped behind them."

He turned and looked at those staff officers.

"What do you call this?"

A staff officer blurted out, "Wrapping dumplings."

Zhao Dengyu smiled.

"Right. Wrapping dumplings. A giant dumpling of 400,000 people."

He picked up the telephone and connected to each division.

"Relay my order: All forces turn around, prepare to counterattack. Tank units lead, infantry follow, artillery provide cover. The target is—Yingguo people."

A burst of cheers came from the other end of the line.

"Division Commander, shall we fight?"

Zhao Dengyu's voice was calm, but each word hammered into the wood like a nail.

"Fight. Fight until the Yingguo people kneel."