roccoschili Chapter 759 Advancing from North to South
Chapter 759 Advancing from North to South
Liu Zhenjie nodded.
"Four thousand five hundred. How many kilometers can our tanks travel in a day?"
"A normal march yields 150 miles a day. If you're rushing, you can reach 200."
Liu Zhenjie did some mental calculations.
"Four thousand five divided by two hundred equals twenty-two and a half days. Adding the time for rest, fighting, and dealing with prisoners, it's at least a month."
He gazed at the endless coastline in the distance.
"One month. In one month, I'll run to Darwin. In another month, I'll run to Cairns. In another month, I'll run to Sydney."
He turned to look at Zhang Haiyang.
"Three months. Three months to cover these thousands of kilometers. Tell the brothers, this is a journey, not a tour. Run as fast as you can, save as much time as possible. The British won't wait for us."
Zhang Haiyang stood at attention and saluted.
"yes!"
The troops on the northern front began their march.
Tanks, lined up in a long column, drove eastward along the coastline. The dust kicked up by their tracks blotted out the sun, like a giant yellow dragon crawling across the desert. Trucks followed behind, crammed with soldiers. No one spoke; only the roar of engines and the crunch of tracks grinding through the sand filled the air.
Liu Zhenjie sat in a jeep, watching the troops drive past him.
A young soldier leaned out of the truck and waved at him.
"Commander! Where are we going to fight?"
Liu Zhenjie smiled.
"Darwin! Then Keynes! Then Sydney!"
The soldier's eyes lit up.
"Sydney? I've heard it's a beautiful place!"
Liu Zhenjie nodded.
"Beautiful. Let's take a good look when we get there."
The soldier laughed and shrank back into the carriage.
The jeep continued forward.
Behind us, the port of Pidmara receded into the distance, eventually disappearing completely into the dust.
Meanwhile, troops on the southern front also landed 50 kilometers south of Pidmara.
Yang Guoyan, commander of the 5th Division, stood on a sand dune, looking through binoculars at the distant troops also landing. Chief of Staff Fan Pupu stood beside him, holding a map.
"Commander, we've separated from the northern front. They're heading northeast along the coastline, while we're heading southeast. It's over two thousand kilometers to Perth."
Yang Guoyan nodded.
"More than two thousand. Add the distance from Perth to Adelaide, then from Adelaide to Melbourne, and finally to Sydney—seven or eight thousand kilometers. It's even farther than the northern route."
He lowered his binoculars and looked at the troops that were gathering.
"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 20,000. It has a port and a military garrison. Intelligence says there's a brigade there, with over 3,000 men. The British will likely defend it."
Yang Guoyan smiled.
"Three thousand men. We have twenty thousand. If we charge with tanks, how long can they hold out?"
Fan Pupu also smiled.
"It won't last long."
Yang Guoyan nodded.
"Then hurry. The sooner the better. Once we take Perth, we'll have a port and supplies. Then we can keep heading east and run straight to Melbourne."
He jumped down the sand dune and walked toward the troops.
"Order all regiments to prepare for departure. Destination—Perth."
At 3 p.m., the troops on the southern front began to depart.
Both routes involved tanks in front and trucks behind, with billowing dust obscuring the sky. The difference was that they were traveling the southern route, which was more desolate, more open, and hotter.
A soldier sat on a truck, looking at the endless desert in the distance, and asked the old soldier next to him a question.
"Squad leader, why is this place so desolate? There isn't even a single tree."
The veteran smoked a cigarette, squinting as he looked ahead.
"It's a desert. The whole of Australia is desert. We're still walking along the coast, so at least there's some grass."
The soldier swallowed hard.
"How long will that take?"
The veteran thought about it.
"It's over 2,000 kilometers to Perth. At 150 pesos a day, it would take half a month to get there."
The soldier's face turned pale.
"Half a month? Just keep walking like this?"
The veteran glanced at him.
"Walking for half a month is nothing. Fighting for half a month is what's deadly. Walking won't kill you, but fighting will."
The soldier thought for a moment and nodded.
"Too."
The truck continued forward, kicking up a trail of dust.
In the distance, the sun was setting, turning the entire sky blood red. The outlines of the tanks were exceptionally clear in the sunset, like a herd of migrating steel behemoths.
10 Downing Street, London.
Asquith sat in his office, a thick stack of telegrams spread out in front of him. He had been reading them for two hours, and his face grew increasingly grim.
The first telegram: A large landing fleet has been spotted off the west coast of Australia and is landing in the Pidamara area.
The second telegram stated that the landing force, numbering at least 20,000 men and equipped with tanks, trucks, and artillery, was advancing inland.
The third telegram: Perth is in dire need of help and requests urgent reinforcements.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth copies—each one said the same thing: the people from Lanfang have arrived.
He slammed the telegrams on the table and covered his face with his hands.
Army Minister Kitchener entered, his expression equally grave.
"Prime Minister, have you read the telegram from Australia?"
Asquith looked up at him.
"I've seen it."
Kitchener walked up to the map and pointed to the west coast of Australia.
"The Lanfang army landed in Pidamara. They split into two groups, one heading north and the other south. The northern group's target was Darwin, and the southern group's target was Perth. Once they captured these two places, they would continue eastward and eventually meet up in Sydney."
Asquith remained silent for three seconds.
How many of us are there in Australia?
Kitchener lowered his head.
"Less than 30,000. They are scattered across Perth, Darwin, Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. Sydney, the largest city, has only 5,000 people."
Asquith stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, anti-war marches were passing through the streets of London. People held up signs and chanted slogans, demanding an end to the war, the withdrawal of troops, and a way out.
Listening to the shouts, he suddenly felt very tired.
"Kitchina, do you think Australia can hold out?"
Kitchener remained silent for a long time.
Then he said, "Prime Minister, we can't hold on."
Asquith turned and looked at him.
Why?
Kitchener pointed to the map.
"Australia is too big. Six million square miles, bigger than the whole of Europe. If we send our troops in, it's like throwing a handful of sand into the sea; we simply can't defend it. The Lanfang people have tanks and trucks; they can run faster than us. They can concentrate their forces and eat up our cities one by one. We simply won't have time to come to their aid."
Asquith closed his eyes.
"What should we do then?"
Kitchener did not speak.
Asquith opened his eyes and looked at him.
"explain."
Kitchener gritted his teeth.
"Sue for peace. While we still have leverage, we can still negotiate. Once the Lanfang people reach Melbourne, we'll have nothing left."
Asquith fell silent.
He recalled George V's words: "Whatever it takes, get the Lanfang people to 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 Mirica. Use any channel that can reach Chen Feng's ears."
Kitchener nodded and turned to leave.
Asquith sat there alone, looking out at the gray sky.
He suddenly remembered a question.
Would Chen Feng be willing to talk?
he does not know.
But he knew that if he didn't try, he would have nothing.