World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 762 Australia Changes Hands

That night, in Melbourne.

The British temporary command post was located in a three-story building that had once been a bank. Antennas were mounted on the roof, sandbags were piled up on the ground floor, and two armed sentries stood at the entrance.

Commander Brigadier General McPherson sat in his office, a map spread out in front of him. He hadn't slept for two days; his eyes were sunken, and stubble was sticking out in a mess, but his eyes still shone.

The chief of staff pushed open the door and came in, his face ashen.

"General, scouts report that the Lanfang people are fifty kilometers outside the city. There are at least twenty thousand of them, with tanks, artillery, and trucks."

McPherson nodded.

"I know."

The chief of staff hesitated for a moment.

"General, we only have five thousand men. Can we hold out?"

McPherson looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.

"We have to hold the line, even if we can't. We are British soldiers."

The chief of staff lowered his head.

McPherson stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the Melbourne night was deep, and the distant streets were deserted, without a single person in sight. The residents were all staying indoors, afraid to venture out.

He suddenly remembered his first visit to Australia ten years ago. He was then a young captain, stationed there. Melbourne was bustling and vibrant then, with carriages and pedestrians everywhere. He thought then that this land would belong to England forever.

Ten years later, people from Lanfang arrived.

He said softly, "Tell the soldiers that tomorrow, they are to fight to the death."

The chief of staff was stunned.

"General?"

McPherson turned to look at him.

"We have no reinforcements. No supplies. No way out. We have no choice but to fight to the death."

The chief of staff was silent for three seconds, then stood at attention and saluted.

"Yes, General."

He turned and left.

McPherson stood alone by the window, looking out at the pitch-black night.

He thought of his wife and daughter far away in England. They were still waiting for him to come home.

But he knew he could never go back.

Dubai, the presidential residence.

The next morning, Cecil entered the drawing room again.

This time, his back wasn't as straight. The arrogant glint in his eyes had also dimmed considerably.

Chen Feng sat in the main seat, looking at him.

"Mr. Cecil, have you thought it through?"

Cecil took a deep breath.

"Your Excellency, Britain is willing to make the greatest concessions possible."

Chen Feng remained silent.

Cecil continued.

"India's autonomy, Burma's independence, Malaya and Singapore returning to Lanfang's control. Those are all acceptable. But Australia…"

He paused.

"Australia can be placed under the trusteeship of Lanfang. But sovereignty must remain with Britain."

Chen Feng looked at him calmly.

"Entrustment? Mr. Cecil, do you think I would agree to that?"

Cecil gritted his teeth.

"President, this is Britain's last line of defense. Australia can be handed over to you for administration; you can station troops, develop resources, and control everything. But nominally, it will still be British territory. This way, we can explain ourselves domestically and preserve the last shred of dignity in front of the world."

Chen Feng remained silent for three seconds.

Then he stood up and walked to the window.

"Mr. Cecil, do you know what 'decency' means?"

Cecil did not speak.

Chen Feng turned around and looked at him.

"Dignity is the last bit of face that the winner leaves for the loser. It's not something the loser earns themselves."

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"You've fought and plundered in Asia for a hundred years, killing countless people and shedding a great deal of blood—you know it all too well. Now that you've lost, you want to maintain some semblance of dignity?"

He shook his head.

"Dignity isn't what you need."

Cecil's face turned deathly pale.

Just then, Wang Wenwu pushed the door open and whispered a few words in Chen Feng's ear.

Chen Feng nodded, then said to Cecil.

"Mr. Cecil, we've just received news. Our 5th Division has arrived at the gates of Melbourne. We will launch the attack at dawn tomorrow."

Cecil swayed and almost fell.

Chen Feng looked at him.

"Tell me, how long can your five thousand men hold out?"

Cecil opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

Chen Feng stood up.

"Mr. Cecil, go back and tell your Prime Minister: Talks are welcome, but they must be conducted in good faith, not with empty words."

He turned and walked towards the door.

As he reached the door, he suddenly stopped and glanced back at Cecil.

"Oh, and tell General McPherson that if he wants to surrender, our soldiers will not kill prisoners."

After the door closed, Cecil sat there alone, trembling.

That evening, a telegram arrived in Dubai from London.

Cecil stared at the telegram and remained silent for a long time.

The telegram contained only one line:

"Do our utmost to save Australia. If we can't save it, at least preserve its dignity."

He gave a wry smile.

Decent. Decent again.

He folded the telegram and put it in his pocket.

Then he stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, Dubai was shrouded in deep night. In the distance, on the Persian Gulf, the lights of several warships flickered in the darkness. Those were the lights of the victors.

He suddenly remembered what his father had said.

"Robert, the British Empire will rule the world forever."

forever.

How far is forever?

One hundred years? Two hundred years? Or just a few months?

he does not know.

But he knew that from this day forward, the British Empire was no longer the invincible empire it once was.

During the third negotiation, Cecil walked into the presidential palace alone.

His back was ramrod straight, but his eyes had lost their light.

He looked at Chen Feng and said only one sentence.

"President, Britain agrees to relinquish Australia. But on one condition—Lanfang cannot attack New Zealand."

Chen Feng looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.

"make a deal."

The signing ceremony was held in a small conference room. There were no reporters, no flashbulbs, just a table, two agreements, and a few pens.

Cecil's hand trembled as he signed. After finishing the last stroke, he looked up at Chen Feng.

"Your Excellency, for three hundred years, the British Empire has never ceded land to another. Today is the first time."

Chen Feng looked at him calmly.

"Mr. Cecil, three hundred years ago, there were no tanks, no airplanes, and no million Asian soldiers with guns. Times have changed."

Cecil lowered his head and remained silent.

Chen Feng extended his hand. Cecil grasped it.

Hold hands together, then separate after three seconds.

As Cecil walked out of the Grand President's residence, he stood at the door, gazing at the shimmering sea in the distance, motionless for a long time.

The adjutant approached and asked softly, "Lord?"

Cecil shook his head.

"Let's go. Back to London."

He got into the car, the door closed, and the car slowly drove away.

Berlin, April 1918.

The spring sunshine, which should have been warm and bright, appeared eerily pale as it shone on the streets of Berlin. Buildings lining the streets were riddled with bullet holes, windows shattered, and walls covered in slogans—"Stop the war," "We want bread," "Wilhelm step down."

A long queue stretched from the bakery entrance all the way to the street corner, around the bend, and out of sight. The people in line were of all ages and genders, but all wore the same expression—exhaustion, numbness, and despair.