Chapter 759: War Serves Politics

He turned and looked at Lansing.

"If we stop now, who will decide after the war?"

Lansing thought for a moment.

"Lanfang?"

Wilson nodded.

"Right. Lanfang. Chen Feng alone decides. He won in Yazhou, and in Europe has Deguo as an ally. Then, what does Meilika count for?"

He walked back to his desk and sat down.

"But if we let Panxing launch a full‑scale offensive now, and cripple the Deguo as well—"

His hand swept across the map.

"Britain is ruined, France is ruined, Deguo is ruined. The only ones who can speak are us and Lanfang."

Lansing's eyes lit up.

"Mr. President, you mean—"

Wilson looked at him, his gaze calm.

"Lansing, war serves politics."

He paused.

"The British can't hold on any longer, and the Deguo won't have it easy either. Once everyone is ruined, we and Lanfang will sit down to negotiate. After the war, the order is decided by our two families."

Lansing was silent for three seconds.

Then he said, "Mr. President, you are wise."

Wilson shook his head.

"Not wise, just no choice."

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, on the White House lawn, gardeners were trimming shrubs. Sunlight fell on the grass, and everything looked so calm.

"Lansing, do you know, Chen Feng has always avoided direct conflict with us. We have also avoided conflict with him. Why?"

Lansing said nothing.

Wilson answered himself.

"Because we all know, if a real fight breaks out, no one will come out well."

He turned and looked at Lansing.

"So, the post‑war world is about who can take more at the negotiating table. Whoever holds more cards can take more."

He walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and drafted the telegram himself.

"Panxing: Launch a full‑scale attack on Degjun immediately. Objective—continue until the Deguo are willing to sit down and negotiate."

He finished writing and handed it to Lansing.

"Send it out. Use the highest priority."

Lansing took the telegram, glanced at it, nodded, and turned away.

Wilson stood alone by the window, watching the bright sunlight outside.

He recalled Chen Feng's words.

"Not on the dining table, but on the menu."

Indeed, not on the dining table, but on the menu.

Meilika must never become a menu.

French front, American command.

When Panxing received the Washington telegram, he was having lunch. He glanced at the telegram, then set down his fork and remained silent for a long time.

Hubbard stood nearby and asked softly, "General?"

Panxing handed the telegram to him.

Hubbard's complexion changed after reading it.

"Full‑scale attack? President, this is—"

Panxing stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, American soldiers were training. A young soldier practiced a stabbing drill, his movements awkward, his bayonet crooked. An older veteran corrected him repeatedly.

"Hubbard, tell me, why does the President want to fight?"

Hubbard thought for a moment.

"For post‑war influence?"

Panxing nodded.

"Right. For influence. So that Meilika can speak at the negotiating table."

He turned and looked at Hubbard.

"But these words are bought with the lives of Meilika's youngsters."

Hubbard was silent.

Panxing walked back to his desk and sat down.

He stared at the telegram for a long time.

Then he picked up the phone.

"Order all units: full‑scale attack. Tomorrow at four a. m., launch on schedule."

A voice on the other end said, "Yes."

He put down the phone, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

Ha Bo De asked softly, "General, aren't you going to say something to the soldiers?"

Panxing opened his eyes.

"What should we say? That you are going to shield bullets for the Yingguo and Faguo? That you died so the president can get better terms at the negotiating table?"

He shook his head.

"Don't say it. If you say it, they won't want to fight."

He stood up and put on his military cap.

"Let's go, go see the front line."

At four o'clock in the early morning, the US forces launched a full‑scale attack.

Hundreds of thousands of Meilika soldiers leapt from the trenches, pressing toward the Degjun positions under the cover of aircraft and tanks. Artillery roared, killing cries shook the earth, and the entire Western Front trembled.

The Degjun were caught off guard. They had not expected that, even after the Yingguo had already collapsed, the Meilika would launch such a massive offensive. The defenses began to loosen, positions were lost, and the soldiers started to retreat.

A Degjun soldier lay in a trench, watching the Meilika troops charging forward, his hand trembling.

An older soldier beside him shouted, "Fire! Fire!"

He pulled the trigger, and a Meilika soldier fell. Yet more surged forward, stepping over comrades' corpses, continuing the charge.

"We can't hold!" someone shouted.

"Retreat!"

The Degjun began to withdraw. First a few scattered men, then groups, and finally the entire position.

Ludengdaofu, in the command post, received urgent calls from the front line one after another. His face turned ashen, his hand trembling.

"What about the Eastern Front? How is the Eastern Front?"

The staff reported, "The Eastern Front is also under attack. The Meilika are launching assaults on both fronts simultaneously."

Ludengdaofu slammed a fist onto the table.

"Crazy! All crazy!"

Xingdengbao walked in, his expression equally grave.

"Ludengdaofu, what's the situation?"

Ludengdaofu handed those telegrams to him.

"The whole line has collapsed. The Meilika are insane."

Xingdengbao read through them and remained silent for a long time.

Then he said, "Send a telegram to Berlin. Tell Your Majesty the front can no longer hold."

Ludengdaofu was stunned.

"Marshal, you—"

Xingdengbao waved his hand.

"We must prepare. If we keep fighting, Deguo will be gone."

Berlin Palace.

Wei Lian Er Shi sat in the study, holding Xingdengbao's telegram. He had read it three times, his hand trembling slightly.

Outside the window, faint chants from a march could be heard. The people on Berlin's streets were shouting, "Stop the war" and "We want bread."

The aide entered softly, "Your Majesty, Marshal Tirpitz has arrived."

Wei Lian Er Shi nodded.

Tirpitz walked in, standing at attention and saluting.

"Your Majesty."

Wei Lian Er Shi waved his hand, indicating him to sit.

"Marshal, have you read Xingdengbao's telegram?"

Tirpitz nodded.

"Read it."

Wei Lian Er Shi looked at him.

"What do you think?"

Tirpitz was silent for three seconds.

"Your Majesty, the front can no longer hold. The home front is also about to collapse."

He pointed outside.

"Listen, Your Majesty, to those shouts. The people are rioting, the workers are striking, the soldiers are muttering. If we keep fighting, Deguo will collapse from within."

Wei Lian Er Shi closed his eyes.

He recalled thirty years ago, when he first ascended the throne. Then Deguo was the foremost power in Europe, its army invincible, industry thriving, and the people living peacefully.

Thirty years later, Deguo was on the brink of ruin.

Dubai, Presidential Palace.

Chen Feng stood by the window, watching the Persian Gulf in the distance, reddened by the setting sun. On the sea, several warships were slowly sailing into the harbor, their flags fluttering in the wind.

Wang Wenwu pushed the door open, holding a stack of telegrams.

"President, messages have arrived from everywhere. Borneo, Kuwait, Hordassa, all are celebrating. The soldiers are overjoyed."

Chen Feng took the telegrams, read them once, then placed them on the table.

"What about Da Ka?"

Wang Wenwu replied, "Shan Ben Yi Fu sent a message: Da Ka has been taken. Fifty‑three thousand killed. Sakura Country soldiers… were maimed."

Chen Feng was silent for a few seconds.

"Send him a telegram: Lanfang, remember the sacrifice of the Sakura Country. After the war, the portion that the Sakura Country deserves will not be less."