Chapter 761: North and South Advance Together

Liu Zhenjie nodded.

"Four thousand five. How far can our tanks travel in a day?"

"Normal march, a hundred and fifty a day. If we're hurrying, up to two hundred."

Liu Zhenjie calculated in his mind.

"Four thousand five divided by two hundred is twenty‑two point five days. Adding time for rest, combat, and handling prisoners, at least a month."

He stared at the endless coastline in the distance.

"One month. In one month, we reach Darwin. Another month, we reach Cairns. Another month, we reach Sydney."

He turned to look at Zhang Haiyang.

"Three months. Three months to cover these thousands of kilometres. Tell the brothers this is a forced march, not a tour. Go as fast as possible, save time wherever we can. The British won't wait for us."

Zhang Haiyang stood at attention and saluted.

"Yes!"

The northern‑line forces began to depart.

Tanks formed a long column along the coast, heading east. The sand‑filled dust kicked up by the tracks blotted out the sky, like a yellow giant dragon crawling through the desert. Trucks followed, packed with soldiers. No one spoke, only the engine's roar and the tracks' creaking over sand.

Liu Zhenjie sat in a jeep, watching the units pass by his side.

A young soldier stuck his head out of a truck and waved at him.

"Commander! Where are we going?"

Liu Zhenjie smiled.

"Darwin! Then Cairns! Then Sydney!"

The soldier's eyes lit up.

"Sydney? I've heard it's beautiful there!"

Liu Zhenjie nodded.

"Beautiful. When we get there, take a good look."

The soldier laughed and retreated into the vehicle.

The jeep kept moving forward.

Behind them, Pida Mala Port grew ever more distant, finally disappearing entirely in the sandstorm.

At the same time, the southern‑line forces also landed fifty kilometres south of Pida Mala.

Division commander Yang Guoyan stood on a sand dune, holding a binocular and watching the same landing forces in the distance. Chief of Staff Fan Pupu stood beside him, a map in hand.

"Commander, we've split from the northern line. They're moving northeast along the coast; we're heading southeast. To Perth, over two thousand kilometres."

Yang Guoyan nodded.

"Over two thousand. Add the distance from Perth to Adelaide, then Adelaide to Melbourne, and finally to Sydney—seven or eight thousand kilometres. Farther than the northern line."

He set the binocular down and looked at the assembling troops.

"Fan Pupu, do you think the British will hold Perth?"

Fan Pupu thought for a moment.

"Perth is the capital of Western Australia, with a population of over twenty‑thousand, a port, and a garrison. Intelligence says there's a brigade there, more than three thousand troops. The British should defend it."

Yang Guoyan smiled.

"Three thousand. We have twenty thousand. With tanks in a charge, how long can they hold out?"

Fan Pupu also smiled.

"Not long."

Yang Guoyan nodded.

"Then hurry. The faster the better. Capture Perth, secure the port and supplies, then keep moving east, sprint straight to Melbourne."

He leapt down from the dune and walked toward the troops.

"Send orders to each regiment: prepare to depart. Objective—Perth."

At three p. m., the southern‑line forces began to depart.

Again tanks led, trucks followed, smoke and dust billowed, blotting out the sky. The difference was that they were on the southern line—more desolate, more open, and hotter.

A soldier sat in a truck, watching the boundless desert ahead, and asked the veteran beside him.

"Sergeant, why is this place so barren? Not a single tree."

The veteran smoked, squinting toward the horizon.

"It's a desert. The interior of Australia is all desert. We're still on the coast, at least there's some grass."

The soldier swallowed.

"How long will it take?"

The veteran thought for a moment.

"To Perth, over two thousand kilometres. At a hundred and fifty a day, that's half a month."

The soldier's face turned pale.

"Half a month? Just keep walking?"

The veteran gave him a look.

"Half a month of marching is nothing; half a month of fighting is deadly. Walking won't kill you, fighting will."

The soldier thought, then nodded.

"True enough."

The truck kept moving forward, kicking up a trail of sand.

In the distance, the sun was setting, dyeing the whole sky blood‑red. The silhouettes of the tanks stood out sharply in the sunset, like a herd of steel giants migrating.

London, 10 Downing Street.

Asikuisi sat in his office, a thick stack of telegrams spread out before him. He had been reading for two hours, and his complexion grew increasingly grim.

First telegram: a large landing fleet has been discovered off Australia's west coast, landing in the Pidamara area.

Second telegram: the landing force numbers at least twenty thousand, with tanks, trucks, and artillery, advancing inland.

Third telegram: Perth is in distress, requesting urgent reinforcements.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth telegrams—each saying the same thing: the Lanfang people have arrived.

He slammed those telegrams onto the desk, covering his face with both hands.

Army Minister Ji Qin Na pushed the door open and entered, his expression equally grave.

"Prime Minister, have you read the telegrams from Australia?"

Asikuisi looked up, staring at him.

"Read them."

Ji Qin Na walked to the map and pointed at Australia's west coast.

"The Lanfang people have landed at Pidamara. Their forces split into two routes, one heading north, the other south. The northern line aims for Darwin, the southern line for Perth. Once they capture those two locations, they will push east and finally converge at Sydney."

Asikuisi was silent for three seconds.

"How many of us are in Australia?"

Ji Qin Na lowered his head.

"Fewer than thirty thousand, scattered across Perth, Darwin, Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. The largest concentration is in Sydney, with only five thousand."

Asikuisi stood and walked to the window.

Outside, on London's streets, an anti‑war protest march was passing. People brandished signs and shouted slogans, demanding an end to the war, a withdrawal of troops, and a chance to survive.

He listened to the shouts and suddenly felt exhausted.

"Ji Qin Na, tell me, can Australia hold?"

Ji Qin Na was silent for a long while.

Then he said, "Prime Minister, we cannot hold it."

Asikuisi turned around, looking at him.

"Why?"

Ji Qin Na pointed at the map.

"Australia is too vast—six million square miles, larger than all of Europe. Our troops poured in like sand into the sea; we simply cannot defend it. The Lanfang have tanks and trucks, moving faster than us. They can concentrate forces and devour our cities one by one. We have no time for rescue."

Asikuisi closed his eyes.

"Then what do we do?"

Ji Qin Na said nothing.

Asikuisi opened his eyes, looking at him.

"Speak."

Ji Qin Na clenched his teeth.

"Seek peace. While we still have bargaining chips, we can still negotiate. If the Lanfang reach Melbourne, we will have nothing left."

Asikuisi was silent.

He recalled King George V's words: "By any means, first make the Lanfang stop."

He walked back to his desk and sat down.

"Send a telegram to Switzerland. Ask them to convey our desire for peace. Send a telegram to Spain. Send a telegram to Meilika. By any channel, as long as it reaches Chen Feng's ears, use it."

Ji Qin Na nodded, turned, and left.

Asikuisi sat alone there, watching the gray‑hued sky outside the window.

He suddenly thought of a question.

Chen Feng, would he be willing to negotiate?

He did not know.

But he knew that without trying, there would be nothing left.