roccoschili Chapter 757 War Serves Politics
Chapter 757 War Serves Politics
He turned to look at Lansing.
"If we stop fighting now, who will have the final say after the war?"
Lansing thought for a moment.
"Lanfang?"
Wilson nodded.
"Yes. Lanfang. Chen Feng is the one who calls the shots. He won in Asia, and he has Germany as an ally in Europe. What will Meilika be then?"
He walked back to his desk and sat down.
"But if we let Pershing launch a full-scale attack now and cripple the Germans as well—"
His hand traced across the map.
"Britain is crippled, France is crippled, Germany is crippled. The only ones left who can speak are us and Lanfang."
Lansing's eyes lit up.
"Your Excellency, do you mean—"
Wilson looked at him calmly.
"Lansing, war serves politics."
He paused.
"The British can't hold on any longer, and the Germans won't have it easy either. Once everyone's crippled, we'll sit down and talk with Lanfang. The postwar order will be decided by our two families."
Lansing was silent for three seconds.
Then he said, "Your Excellency the President is wise."
Wilson shook his head.
"It's not that it's brilliant, it's just that there's no other way."
He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, on the White House lawn, gardeners were trimming the shrubs. Sunlight shone on the lawn, and everything looked so peaceful.
"Lansing, do you know that Chen Feng has always avoided direct conflict with us? We also avoid conflict with him. Why?"
Lansing did not speak.
Wilson answered that himself.
"Because we all know that if a real fight breaks out, no one will come out on top."
He turned to look at Lansing.
"Therefore, the postwar world is about who can get more leverage at the negotiating table. Whoever has more cards to play will get more."
He walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and personally drafted the telegram.
Pershing: Launch a full-scale offensive against the German forces immediately. Objective: Fight until the Germans are willing to sit down and talk.
After he finished writing, he handed it to Lansing.
"Send it out. Use the highest priority."
Lansing took the telegram, glanced at it, nodded, and turned to leave.
Wilson stood alone by the window, looking at the bright sunshine outside.
He remembered what Chen Feng had said.
"If it's not on the table, it's on the menu."
Yes, it's either on the dining table or on the menu.
Beautiful cards should never be used as a menu item.
US military command post on the French front.
Pershing was having lunch when he received the telegram from Washington. He glanced at the telegram, then put down his fork and remained silent for a long time.
Hubbard stood to the side and asked softly, "General?"
Pershing handed him the telegram.
Hubbard's expression changed after reading it.
"A full-scale attack? President, this is—"
Pershing stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, American soldiers were training. A young soldier was practicing bayonet fighting, his movements clumsy, his bayonet wobbling. An older soldier beside him was correcting him, over and over again.
"Hubbard, tell me, why did the president have to fight?"
Hubbard thought for a moment.
"For the sake of postwar discourse?"
Pershing nodded.
"Yes. For the right to speak. For so that Mirika can have a voice at the negotiating table."
He turned to look at Hubbard.
"But these words were spoken at the cost of young Melika's life."
Hubbard fell silent.
Pershing walked back to his desk and sat down.
He stared at the telegram for a long time.
Then he picked up the phone.
"Order all units to launch a full-scale attack. The attack will commence precisely at 4:00 AM tomorrow."
A "Yes" came from the other end of the phone.
He put down the phone, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
Hubbard asked softly, "General, aren't you going to say something to the soldiers?"
Pershing opened his eyes.
"What did you say? That you were going to take bullets for the British and French? That you died so the president could get more concessions at the negotiating table?"
He shook his head.
"I won't tell. If I do, they won't want to fight anymore."
He stood up and put on his military cap.
"Let's go check out the front lines."
At 4:00 AM, the US military launched a full-scale offensive.
Hundreds of thousands of Mikhail soldiers leaped from their trenches and, under the cover of aircraft and tanks, pressed towards the German positions. The air was thick with artillery fire and the sounds of battle shook the entire Western Front.
The Germans were caught off guard. They hadn't expected the Merika people to launch such a large-scale attack, even with the British already collapsing. The defensive lines began to crumble, positions began to fall, and soldiers began to retreat.
A German soldier lay prone in the trench, watching the charging American soldiers, his hands trembling.
An old soldier nearby shouted, "Fire! Fire!"
He pulled the trigger, and a Merika soldier fell. But more surged forward, trampling over the bodies of their comrades, and continued their charge.
"We can't hold on any longer!" someone shouted.
"withdraw!"
The German troops began to retreat. First, it was just a few scattered individuals, then groups of people, and finally the entire position.
Ludendorff received one urgent call after another from the front lines in his command post. He was pale and his hands were trembling.
"What about the eastern front? How's it going?"
Staff report: "The eastern front is also under attack. The Merika people are launching attacks on both fronts simultaneously."
Ludendorff slammed his fist on the table.
"They've gone mad! They've all gone mad!"
Hindenburg walked in, his expression equally grave.
"Ludendorff, how's the situation?"
Ludendorff handed him the telegrams.
"The entire operation has collapsed. The people of Meilika have gone mad."
Hindenburg looked at it once and remained silent for a long time.
Then he said, "Send a telegram to Berlin. Tell His Majesty that the front lines cannot hold out."
Ludendorff was stunned.
"Marshal, you—"
Hindenburg waved his hand.
"We must prepare. If the fighting continues, Germany will be finished."
Berlin Royal Palace.
Wilhelm II sat in his study, holding Hindenburg's telegram. He had read it three times already, and his hand was trembling slightly.
Outside the window, the chants of the protesters could be faintly heard. They were people on the streets of Berlin, shouting "Stop the war!" and "We want bread!"
An attendant entered and whispered, "Your Majesty, Marshal Tirpitz has arrived."
Wilhelm II nodded.
Tirpitz walked in, stood at attention, and saluted.
"His Majesty."
Wilhelm II waved his hand, gesturing for him to sit down.
"Marshal, have you read Hindenburg's telegram?"
Tirpitz nodded.
"I've seen it."
Wilhelm II looked at him.
What do you think?
Tirpitz was silent for three seconds.
"Your Majesty, the front lines can't hold out any longer. The country is about to collapse as well."
He pointed out the window.
"Listen to those shouts. The people are rioting, the workers are on strike, and the soldiers are mutinying. If the fighting continues, Germany will collapse from within."
Wilhelm II closed his eyes.
He recalled the time thirty years earlier when he had just ascended the throne. At that time, Germany was the leading power in Europe, its army was invincible, its industry was booming, and its people lived in peace and prosperity.
Thirty years later, Germany was on the verge of collapse.
Dubai, the presidential residence.
Chen Feng stood by the window, gazing at the Persian Gulf bathed in the red glow of the setting sun. On the sea, several warships were slowly entering the harbor, their flags fluttering in the wind.
Wang Wenwu pushed open the door and came in, holding a stack of telegrams in his hand.
"Commander-in-Chief, news is coming from all over. Borneo, Kuwait, and Haldasa are all celebrating. The soldiers are overjoyed."
Chen Feng took the telegram, read it once, and then placed it on the table.
"What about Dhaka?"
Wang Wenwu replied, "Yamamoto Kazuo called to say that Dhaka has been captured. Fifty-three thousand were killed. The Japanese soldiers... have been decimated."
Chen Feng remained silent for a few seconds.
"Return the telegram to him: Lanfang remembers the sacrifices of Japan. After the war, Japan will receive what it deserves."