roccoschili Chapter 761 Tomorrow, We'll Take Melbourne
Chapter 761 Tomorrow, We'll Take Melbourne
Dubai, the presidential residence.
Wang Wenwu pushed open the door and came in, holding a telegram in his hand.
"President, the British are here again. This time it's Cecil, the former Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs."
Chen Feng was reading the battle report from Australia, without even looking up.
"Let him wait."
Wang Wenwu hesitated for a moment.
"Commander-in-Chief, should we meet him sooner this time? I've heard Cecil is a very difficult person to deal with."
Chen Feng looked up at him.
"Difficult to deal with? No matter how difficult, can it be more difficult than the centuries-old arrogance of the British?"
He put down the documents in his hand.
"Tell him to wait two days. We'll talk again once we get news from Melbourne."
Wang Wenwu nodded and turned to leave.
Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, the Persian Gulf shimmered, and several merchant ships were slowly entering the port. In the distance, workers were busy on the dock, and cranes creaked and turned—everything was as usual.
But Chen Feng knew things were different now.
Australia is almost taken. India is almost taken too. British influence in Asia is about to be uprooted.
The British were in a hurry because they knew that if they delayed any longer, they would have nothing left.
But he wasn't in a hurry.
He shouldn't be the one in a hurry.
Two days later, Cecil finally entered the Presidential Palace.
He was left out in the state guesthouse for a full forty-eight hours. No one saw him, no one paid him any attention, only the waiters brought him food on time and told him, "The President is very busy, please wait a moment."
He thought a lot during those forty-eight hours.
He thought of his father, the Marquess of Salisbury, the old-fashioned nobleman who had served as Prime Minister of England three times. His father, on his deathbed, held his hand and said, "Robert, the British Empire will rule the world forever. Remember that."
He recalled his thirty years working in the Colonial Affairs Department. From Africa to Asia, from India to Australia, he had seen countless colonies and handled countless affairs. At that time, he thought that the British Empire would truly rule the world forever.
Now, he sits in Dubai's state guesthouse, awaiting an audience with an Easterner.
Fate is truly ironic.
The door to the reception room opened, and Chen Feng walked in.
Cecil stood up, straightened his back, and bowed slightly.
"Your Excellency, Commander-in-Chief."
Chen Feng nodded and sat down in the main seat.
"Mr. Cecil, please have a seat."
Cecil sat down and looked directly into Chen Feng's eyes.
"President, let's get straight to the point."
Chen Feng looked at him calmly.
"Okay. Let's get straight to the point."
Cecil took a deep breath.
"Britain can accept India's autonomy. It can accept Burmese independence. It can recognize Lanfang's status in Malaya and Singapore. But it cannot give that to Australia."
Chen Feng remained silent.
Cecil continued.
"Australia is the land of white immigrants, the jewel in the crown of Britain. If we give it to you, Britain will be utterly finished in the eyes of the world. We can lose India, we can lose Burma, but we cannot lose Australia."
Chen Feng looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.
Then he spoke, his voice very soft.
"Mr. Cecil, are you aware of the current situation in Australia?"
Cecil paused for a moment.
Chen Feng stood up and walked to the huge world map on the wall. He pointed to the location of Australia.
"On the northern front, our 4th Division has advanced to within 200 kilometers of Darwin. On the southern front, the 5th Division has crossed Adelaide and is advancing towards Melbourne."
He turned to look at Cecil.
"You say Australia can't be lost. Then tell me, how are you going to defend it?"
Cecil straightened his back.
"We have 5,000 men in Melbourne. We can fight street battles there for three months, six months. We have Sydney, we have Brisbane, we have the whole of Australia in depth. We can keep fighting until you don't want to fight anymore."
Chen Feng smiled.
That kind of laughter sent chills down Cecil's spine.
"Mr. Cecil, do you know how many men our Fifth Division has?"
Cecil did not speak.
Chen Feng answered it himself.
"Twenty thousand men. Twenty thousand mechanized infantrymen armed with tanks, trucks, and artillery. How long can your five thousand men hold out in the city? A week? Two weeks? A month?"
He walked back to his seat and sat down.
"Besides, do you think we're foolish enough to fight you in street battles? We can besiege the city. We can besiege you for three months, six months. Where will you get your food? Where will you get your ammunition? Where will you get reinforcements?"
Cecil's expression changed.
Chen Feng continued.
"You say Australia has depth. How deep is that? From Melbourne to Sydney, it's 800 kilometers. Our tanks can travel 150 kilometers a day. In five days, they can travel from Melbourne to Sydney. How many days would your depth be enough for us to travel?"
Cecil sat there, unable to utter a single word.
Chen Feng looked at him, his eyes showing no smugness, only an indescribable calmness.
"Mr. Cecil, I know you want to maintain appearances. But appearances aren't earned with words; they're earned with strength."
He stood up.
"That's it for this negotiation. Go back and think it over, then come back when you've made up your mind."
Cecil stood up and staggered out of the drawing room.
That evening, Cecil received a telegram at the state guesthouse.
It was sent from Australia, or more precisely, from the front lines in Melbourne.
"Lanfang's Fifth Division has reached a point 50 kilometers outside Melbourne. They are currently resting and are expected to launch an attack tomorrow or the day after."
He watched it three times, his hands trembling.
Fifty kilometers. Tomorrow or the day after.
He recalled Chen Feng's words: "How long can your five thousand men hold out in the city? A week? Two weeks?"
He closed his eyes.
It can't be held. It really can't be held.
He walked to the window and looked out at the pitch-black night. In the distance, on the Persian Gulf, the lights of several warships flickered in the darkness. Those were Lanfang's warships, the warships of the victors.
He suddenly remembered a question.
If Melbourne falls, how long can Sydney hold out?
he does not know.
But he knew it wouldn't be long.
He picked up his pen and sent a telegram to London.
"Melbourne is in grave danger. Please authorize me to conduct final negotiations. Cecil."
Outside Melbourne, the Fifth Division headquarters.
Yang Guoyan stood on a high point, holding binoculars and looking at the faintly visible city in the distance. The sun was setting, bathing the entire city in a golden-red hue. The outlines of the buildings were exceptionally clear in the sunset—the spires of churches, the domes of government buildings, and the chimneys of houses.
Chief of Staff Fan Pupu stood beside him, also holding up binoculars.
"Commander, the scouts report that there are indeed about five thousand men in the city. The British have dug trenches, set up machine guns, and laid landmines outside the city. It seems they intend to hold out to the death."
Yang Guoyan put down his binoculars and nodded.
"Five thousand men. Enough to keep us fighting for a while."
He turned to look at the troops behind him. Twenty thousand men, scattered among the sand dunes, were resting. Tanks stood in neat rows, their metal surfaces gleaming coldly in the setting sun. Soldiers sat together, eating, drinking, and checking their equipment. No one spoke, only the occasional laughter and the clanging of pots and pans.
Fan Pupu asked, "Commander, when do we attack?"
Yang Guoyan thought for a moment.
"Tomorrow is dawn. Let the brothers get a good rest tonight. Tomorrow, we'll take Melbourne."
He paused.
"Tell all regiments to minimize deaths. We've covered thousands of kilometers; we can't afford to give up at the last hurdle."
Fan Pupu nodded and turned to relay the order.
Yang Guoyan continued to look at the city in the distance.
Melbourne. The last major city in southern Australia. Take it, and Sydney will be an island.
He suddenly remembered a question.
What are the British doing now?
Shivering in the trenches? Praying in the church? Or holding a meeting in the command post?
he does not know.
But he knew that the answer would be revealed tomorrow.