Chapter 758: All‑Front Assault, Full‑Force Assault

Chen Feng answered on his own.

"This means that from today onward, no one dares to look down on Lanfang. No one dares to bully Lanfang's people. No one dares to say that Yazhou people cannot defeat Europeans."

A stir began in the audience.

Some gripped their guns tightly, some puffed out their chests, some's eyes began to redden.

Chen Feng continued.

"Among you, some have lost arms, some have broken legs, some still have shrapnel embedded in their bodies. Yet you won. You exchanged your lives for victory."

He paused.

"Those fallen brothers never had the chance to stand here. But they stand in our hearts."

Tears began to flow among the audience.

Silently, they flowed without a sound.

Chen Feng looked at those people, at those tears, at those clenched fists.

Then he said, "Zhao Dengyu."

Zhao Dengyu stepped forward and stood at attention.

Chen Feng took a delicate wooden box from Wang Wenwu's hand and opened it. Inside was a brand‑new shoulder insignia, gold‑backed with two golden stars.

He personally placed the insignia on Zhao Dengyu's shoulder.

"Zhao Dengyu, promoted to Major General. He will fully command the operations against Egypt."

Zhao Dengyu stood there, motionless.

Then he saluted.

"President Xie!"

In the audience, 120,000 people raised their right hands simultaneously.

In that instant, the entire square was filled only with orderly salutes and the rustling of flags in the wind.

Chen Feng returned the salute.

Then he stepped down from the review platform and walked toward the wounded soldiers.

The first wounded soldier sat in a wheelchair, both legs missing. He saw Chen Feng approach, tried to stand, but couldn't.

Chen Feng crouched down and pressed his shoulder.

"Don't move."

The wounded soldier was stunned.

Chen Feng looked into his eyes.

"What is your name?"

"Report to the President, I am Zhang Dashan, First Company, Second Battalion, Seventh Regiment, Third Division!"

Chen Feng nodded.

"Zhang Dashan, you have earned merit. Lanfang remembers you."

Zhang Dashan's tears surged out at once.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but something seemed stuck in his throat; not a single word could come out.

Chen Feng patted his shoulder.

"Recover well. When you're healed, go home and have a look."

He stood up and moved to the next one.

The second wounded soldier lay on a stretcher, his whole body swathed in bandages, only a pair of eyes exposed. Those eyes looked at Chen Feng, sparkling.

Chen Feng crouched down and grasped his hand.

The hand, wrapped in bandages, had only a few fingers left exposed.

"Does it hurt?"

The wounded soldier shook his head, slowly and forcefully.

Chen Feng stared into his eyes for a long time.

Then he asked, "What is your name?"

The wounded soldier opened his mouth, emitting a hoarse sound: "Li… Li Tie… Third Division…"

Chen Feng nodded.

"Li Tie, live well. To live is to win."

Tears welled up in the wounded soldier's eyes, streaming down his cheeks and soaking the bandages.

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the next one.

One, two, ten, dozens.

He went to each wounded soldier. Some could speak, some could not. Some had names, some could not even articulate a name. Yet for each person, he crouched down, looked into their eyes, said "Thank you," and said "Live well."

Wang Wenwu followed behind, his eyes reddened.

Zhao Dengyu stood aside, watching all this, without speaking.

A young staff officer whispered, "Chief of Staff, the President's this…"

Li Tiejun shook his head.

"Don't ask. Just watch."

Chen Feng finished with the last wounded soldier and returned to the review platform.

He looked at the tens of thousands below, at the standing, seated, and lying soldiers, at the crippled limbs and bright eyes.

Then he raised his right hand.

"Long live Lanfang!"

Ten thousand people raised their right hands simultaneously.

"Long live Lanfang!"

The shout rang thunderously, lasting for a long time without ceasing.

Chen Feng stood there, watching the boiling sea of people, and suddenly thought of a question.

Of these people, how many could live to return home?

He didn't know.

But he knew that as long as he was present, he had to let them live like real people.

Northern France, U. S. command headquarters.

Panxing sat at his desk, holding the battle report that had come from Sinai. He had read it three times, each time with his brows tightly knit.

Chief of Staff Ha Bo De stood opposite him, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, Panxing set the telegram down and lifted his head.

"Four hundred thousand. The entire army annihilated."

Ha Bo De nodded.

"Ai Lun Bi surrendered. The British Egyptian Corps is gone."

Panxing stood up and walked to the window. Outside, American soldiers were training, and shouts of battle drifted faintly. The young men wore brand‑new uniforms, their faces bearing the innocence of those who had never seen combat.

"Ha Bo De, tell me, how much longer must this war be fought?"

Ha Bo De thought for a moment.

"I don't know, General. But the British are finished, and the French won't hold out much longer."

Panxing turned and looked at him.

"So, what are we still fighting for?"

Ha Bo De was stunned.

"General, you mean—"

Panxing walked back to his desk and sat down.

"This is a European war. The British and the French have been fighting the Germans for four years, killing millions. Why are we here? To collect their corpses?"

He picked up the battle report and waved it.

"Now the British are finished. The French cannot hold on alone. Over in Italy, Bo Sai Li, that two‑faced scoundrel, will surely betray again. The Germans, though close to collapse, are still fighting."

He paused.

"Tell me, if we keep fighting, what do we gain?"

Ha Bo De was silent for a few seconds.

"General, you mean… a ceasefire?"

Panxing nodded.

"It can end now. If we keep going, the ones who die are our Meilika boys. On what authority?"

He stood up and walked to the telegraph machine.

"Send a telegram to Washington: recommend halting the offensive and preparing for negotiations."

Ha Bo De hesitated for a moment.

"General, the President…"

Panxing looked at him.

"I am the front‑line commander. I have the authority to make a suggestion to Washington."

Ha Bo De nodded and began drafting the telegram.

Panxing stood at the window, watching the gray‑hazy sky outside.

He recalled three years ago, when the First World War had just broken out. At that time he was a Colonel fighting on the Mexican border. He had thought then that the Europeans' war was far from Meilika.

Now, hundreds of thousands of Meilika soldiers are on the French front, shielding the British from bullets.

He didn't know whether this was right or wrong.

But he knew it was time to stop.

Washington, the White House, the Oval Office.

Wilson sat behind his desk, holding Panxing's telegram. He read it once, then placed it on the desk.

Secretary of State Lansing stood before him, waiting for him to speak.

Wilson was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "No. Reply to him: full‑scale attack, all‑out assault."

Lansing was stunned.

"Mr. President? General Panxing's suggestion is—"

Wilson interrupted him.

"I know, but I disagree."

He stood up and walked to the massive world map on the wall.

"Lansing, look."

He pointed at Europe.

"The British are finished. The French won't hold much longer. The Germans are still holding on stubbornly. That Italian opportunist will surely turn traitor again."