Chapter 763: Tomorrow, Capture Melbourne

Dubai, Presidential Office.

Wang Wenwu pushed the door open, holding a telegram.

"President, the Yingguo are back. This time it's Cecil, former Colonial Affairs Minister."

Chen Feng was reading Australia's battle report, without looking up.

"Let him wait."

Wang Wenwu hesitated for a moment.

"President, should we meet him earlier this time? I've heard Cecil is hard to deal with."

Chen Feng lifted his head and looked at him.

"Hard to deal with? No matter how hard, can anyone be harder than the Yingguo's centuries‑long arrogance?"

He set the document down.

"Let him wait two days. When the Melbourne news arrives, we'll talk again."

Wang Wenwu nodded and turned to leave.

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the Persian Gulf sea glittered, a few merchant ships slowly entering the harbor. In the distance, dockworkers bustled, cranes creaking as they turned, everything just as usual.

But Chen Feng knew things had changed.

Australia was close to being taken. India was close too. The Yingguo's influence in Yazhou was about to be uprooted.

The Yingguo were anxious because they knew that if they delayed further, they'd lose everything.

But he was not anxious.

The one who should be anxious was not him.

Two days later, Cecil finally walked into the Presidential Office.

He was left in the State Guesthouse for a full forty‑eight hours. No one saw him, no one attended to him; only a servant delivered meals on schedule, telling him, "The President is very busy, please wait."

During those forty‑eight hours, he thought a lot.

He recalled his father, Marquis Solzberg, the old‑fashioned aristocrat who had served as Yingguo Prime Minister three times. At his deathbed, his father grasped his hand and said, "Robert, the Great British Empire will rule the world forever. Remember that."

He remembered his thirty years in the Colonial Affairs Department. From Africa to Yazhou, from India to Australia, he had seen countless colonies and handled countless matters. Back then he believed the Great British Empire would truly rule the world forever.

Now, he sat in Dubai's State Guesthouse, waiting for an audience with an Eastern man.

Fate truly is ironic.

The reception room door opened, and Chen Feng walked in.

Cecil stood, straightened his back, and gave a slight bow.

"President."

Chen Feng nodded and sat down in the main seat.

"Mr. Cecil, please sit."

Cecil sat, staring directly into Chen Feng's eyes.

"President, let's get straight to the point."

Chen Feng looked at him, his gaze calm.

"Fine. Straight to the point."

Cecil took a deep breath.

"Yingguo can accept Indian autonomy. It can accept Burmese independence. It can recognize Lanfang's status in Malaya and Singapore. But Australia, it cannot give up."

Chen Feng said nothing.

Cecil continued.

"Australia is a land of white settlers, a jewel on the Yingguo crown. If you take it, the Yingguo will be finished before the world. India can be discarded, Burma can be discarded, but Australia cannot be discarded."

Chen Feng looked at him, silent for three seconds.

Then he spoke, his voice very soft.

"Mr. Cecil, do you know what the situation in Australia is now?"

Cecil was taken aback for a moment.

Chen Feng stood, walked to the huge world map on the wall, and pointed to Australia's location.

"On the northern front, our Fourth Division has advanced to within two hundred kilometres of Darwin. On the southern front, the Fifth Division has passed Adelaide and is pushing toward Melbourne."

He turned and looked at Cecil.

"You say Australia cannot be discarded. Then tell me, what do you have to defend it with?"

Cecil straightened his back.

"We have five thousand men in Melbourne. We can fight street battles there for three months, for half a year. We have Sydney, we have Brisbane, we have the whole depth of Australia. We can keep fighting until you no longer wish to fight."

Chen Feng smiled.

That smile sent a chill down Cecil's spine.

"Mr. Cecil, do you know how many troops our Fifth Division has?"

Cecil said nothing.

Chen Feng answered himself.

"Twenty‑thousand. Twenty‑thousand mechanized infantry with tanks, trucks, and artillery. Your five thousand, how long can they hold the city? One week? Two weeks? A month?"

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"And you think we'd be foolish enough to fight street battles with you? We can besiege the city—besiege you for three months, for half a year. Where does your food come from? Where does your ammunition come from? Where does your reinforcements come from?"

Cecil's complexion changed.

Chen Feng continued.

"You said Australia has strategic depth. How deep is it? From Melbourne to Sydney, eight hundred kilometers. Our tanks can travel one hundred fifty kilometers a day. In five days, we can go from Melbourne to Sydney. Your depth, how many days can we run?"

Cecil sat there, unable to say a word.

Chen Feng looked at him, his gaze lacking any smugness, only an indescribable calm.

"Mr. Cecil, I know you want dignity. But dignity is not won by words. It is earned by strength."

He stood up.

"This negotiation ends here. Go back, think it over, and come again when you have decided clearly."

Cecil stood up, stumbling and swaying as he walked out of the reception hall.

That night, Cecil received a telegram in the State Guesthouse.

It came from Australia, more precisely from the front line in Melbourne.

"Lanfang's 5th Division has arrived fifty kilometers outside Melbourne city. It is resting, and plans to launch an attack tomorrow or the day after."

He read it three times, his hand trembling.

Fifty kilometers. Tomorrow or the day after.

He recalled Chen Feng's words: "Your five thousand men, how long can they hold the city? One week? Two weeks?"

He closed his eyes.

They cannot hold. They really cannot hold.

He walked to the window, looking at the pitch‑black night outside. In the distance, on the sea of the Persian Gulf, the lights of several warships flickered in the darkness. Those were Lanfang's warships, the warships of the victors.

He suddenly thought of a question.

If Melbourne falls, how long can Sydney still hold?

He didn't know.

But he knew it wouldn't be long.

He picked up a pen and sent a telegram to London.

"Melbourne is in imminent danger. Please authorize me to conduct a final negotiation. Cecil."

Outside Melbourne city, 5th Division Headquarters.

Yang Guoyan stood on a high ground, holding a telescope and looking at the faintly visible city in the distance. The sun was setting, dyeing the whole city golden‑red. The outlines of the buildings were especially clear in the sunset — the spire of the church, the dome of the government building, the chimneys of the houses.

Chief of Staff Fan Pupu stood beside him, also holding a telescope.

"Division commander, the reconnaissance report says there are indeed about five thousand people in the city. Yingguo troops have dug trenches outside the city, set up machine guns, and laid mines. It looks like they intend to hold to the death."

Yang Guoyan lowered the telescope and nodded.

"Five thousand. Enough for a fight for a while."

He turned to look at the troops behind him. Twenty thousand men were scattered among the dunes, resting. Tanks were lined up in neat rows, their metal surfaces gleaming coldly in the sunset. The soldiers sat together, eating, drinking water, checking equipment. No one spoke, only occasional laughter and the clatter of pots and pans.

Fan Pupu asked, "Division commander, when will we attack?"

Yang Guoyan thought for a moment.

"At dawn tomorrow. Let the brothers rest well tonight. Tomorrow, take Melbourne."

He paused.

"Tell each regiment to minimize casualties. We've marched thousands of kilometers; we cannot fall on this last stumble."

Fan Pupu nodded and turned to give the orders.

Yang Guoyan continued to stare at the distant city.

Melbourne. The last great city in southern Australia. Capture it, and Sydney becomes an isolated island.

He suddenly thought of a question.

What are the Yingguo doing now?

Shivering in the trenches? Praying in the church? Or holding a meeting in the headquarters?

He didn't know.

But he knew that tomorrow, the answer would be revealed.