Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 238 "Debate" (Part 1)

The artillery bombardment of Zion continued all night.

But this kind of artillery fire is more like a meaningless venting, or rather, firing for the sake of firing.

After conducting multiple rounds of effective firing as planned, the artillery positions that Shuangzhi had advanced to were relocated ahead of schedule.

The following morning, at the command post.

Lu Lin entered with a spirited air, and the generals all stood up.

"Good morning." He waved casually, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Taimiye reported, "Your Excellency Marshal, after a night of interrogation, Gorodish has provided a great deal of useful intelligence, including information on the air defense positions in northern and central Zion, as well as the deployment of each army group. However, he is clearly hiding something from us."

Lu Lin nodded: "That's normal. He knows that his most useful assets right now are his identity and the classified information he possesses. If he were to hand them all over at once, they would lose their value."

"Should we intensify the interrogation? We should be able to uncover even more."

"No need."

Lu Lin pondered for a moment: "I've left him hanging all night, so let me go and ask him myself."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

When Lu Lin met the Zion Air Force Commander, the latter was being held in a dilapidated house, guarded by a platoon of guards.

"Marshal!" The guard sergeant saluted solemnly.

Lu Lin nodded slightly and stepped into the dimly lit room.

He immediately saw a middle-aged or elderly man dressed in unassuming clothes, slightly overweight, with dark circles under his eyes.

"Elize Gorodish".

Upon hearing his name called, the former Air Force Commander slowly stood up.

Looking at the young general in front of him, he recognized that face hundreds of times from newspapers and Zion headquarters; there was no way he could be mistaken.

“You must be Amir ibn Mohammed ibn Abdulaziz Al Saud, that angel on earth.”

Gorodish forced a smile: "Should I greet you?"

Lu Lin stepped forward: "Your Arabic is better than I expected."

“Actually, I also know Ant language, Saxon, and a little French. I remember that Marshal, you speak Saxon quite well. If you would like, we can switch to Saxon to communicate.” Gorodish said, “Thirty years ago, I also learned Proscenium in the Drance concentration camp. I have always had a good talent for languages.”

Do you speak Seres?

“Uh,” Gorodish said with a slightly embarrassed expression, “I’ve studied it before, but it was too difficult, I didn’t learn it.”

Lu Lin then said something in Seres.

"I didn't expect you to know Seres. You are indeed as learned as the rumors say."

After listening, Gorodish looked on with longing: "Although I don't understand it, it must be a sentence full of wisdom and philosophy."

Lu Lin calmly replied, "What I just said was, 'I never imagined that you, as the Air Force Commander of Zion, would choose to surrender.'"

A flicker of anger crossed Gorodish's old face, but he quickly sighed, "Yes, you're right. Right or wrong, as a soldier, this is a disgrace."

Fahd brought over a stool, and Lu Lin sat down opposite the former Zion general.

Gorodish stared at Lu Lin for a while before saying, "You really are much younger than I imagined."

Lu Lin replied, “Historically, Suleiman the Magnificent of the Turks took control of the empire at the age of nineteen, Saladin recaptured Jerusalem at the age of thirty, and the Prophet Muhammad enlightened the entire Arab world in the name of God at the age of forty. Age has never been a measure of the establishment of great achievements.”

Upon hearing this, Gorodish nodded thoughtfully: "You know, not everyone in Zion actually supports the war."

"Oh?"

"Since you captured the Golan Heights, two different voices have emerged in the political parties in parliament. One side does not have high expectations for the subsequent war, so it has turned its attention abroad and felt that it was time to move towards peaceful coexistence with the neighboring Arab countries. I think someone must have contacted you when the war started."

How could a country with a land area of ​​only 2.5 square kilometers and a total population of just over three million possibly contend with the Arab world, which is a hundred times larger in both territory and population?

Lu Lin did not answer the question.

Gorodish didn't elaborate, but changed the subject: "So what brings you here?"

Lu Lin spoke up, bluntly saying, "Currently, what's blocking our way is Zion's Fifth and Sixth Armies. Tel Aviv will either conceal the news of your capture or declare that you have betrayed the country. I need you to record a message to tell the soldiers on the front lines the truth."

Fahd, who was standing nearby, handed over the prepared recording equipment and a piece of paper with Hebrew writing on it.

Gorodish's expression immediately became one of struggle.

In fact, he had long anticipated this moment.

He has already betrayed his country, and now he is betraying the soldiers who are fighting so hard.

As a soldier, he still found it difficult to make this decision.

"I need some time to think about it."

"You think that's too cruel?" Lu Lin: "Think about it, at the Ramat David Air Force Base, you pushed two thousand air force soldiers in front of a field brigade to die for nothing. Which is more cruel?"

Gorodish's face instantly turned ashen. He remained silent for a moment before finally slumping back into his chair: "Fine, I'll do whatever you say."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The front-line positions of the Fifth Army Group in Zion.

In a foxhole, recruit Conrad leaned against the damp trench wall, looking at the dawning sky. He hadn't slept for more than 24 hours, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the open field shrouded in morning mist.

Conrad felt as if his head was filled with lead, while his body felt light as a feather.

"Damn it." He shook his head violently.

The veteran Mosh, standing nearby, stuffed a small piece of compressed biscuit into his mouth, took a sip of water, and mumbled, "Kid, when you feel dizzy, take a few quick deep breaths and blink hard a few times. Then eat that piece of chocolate in your pocket, but don't swallow it in big gulps; let it melt slowly under the back of your tongue."

Conrad: "But all I want to do right now is sleep..."

"Don't fall asleep!" Mosh warned. "If you fall asleep, you might not wake up! If you feel like you can't hold on, move your toes to get the blood flowing. If that doesn't work, use this—"

He handed over a small metal bottle. "Smell it, but don't drink it."

Conrad took a sniff, and the pungent ammonia smell hit him right in the head, instantly invigorating him.

As they were talking, the logistics team crouched down and ran along the trench, silently piling boxes of ammunition next to the artillery shelter.

Conrad glimpsed boxes of 5.56mm rifle rounds, RPG-7 rockets, and M67 grenades inside.

A logistics sergeant whispered to Mosh, "The higher-ups have given a strict order: keep a close eye on everyone's performance. Anyone who is passive or avoids combat will be dealt with on the spot."

Veteran Mosh nodded.

"And another thing," the logistics sergeant warned, "don't believe anything you hear on the radio; rely entirely on intelligence from headquarters."

New recruit Conrad couldn't help but interject, "Was General Gorodish really captured and defected?"

Mosh's hand immediately landed on Conrad's helmet: "You can't talk about this! Are you out of your mind?! Do you want to be taken away by the General Staff reconnaissance team?"

The logistics officer pretended not to hear and left after delivering the weapons.

Looking at the boxes of ammunition, Conrad said, "How can we possibly finish this? We're the second-line force; we haven't even seen the enemy yet..."

Mosh did not answer, but silently loaded a rocket into the launcher beside him.

He understood that when the top brass began to use such extreme methods to maintain discipline, it meant that the situation had deteriorated to an extreme degree. It wasn't just the betrayal of the Air Force Commander; the situation in Haifa and on other fronts was probably not optimistic either.

Looking at the wreckage that was faintly visible in the thin mist, those were tanks that had been blown up last night.

Looking at the drowsy recruits in the trenches and the low morale, Mosh sighed inwardly.

What he feared was not fighting a stale war, but that fighting a stale war became their only option when there was no hope of victory in sight.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Inside the front-line command post of the Shuangzhi Expeditionary Force, Bandar paced back and forth like a restless lion, his heavy military boots making a dull thud on the rough ground.

Taimiye, who was reading a book nearby, sighed: "Can you please stop walking around? You're getting on my nerves."

“Hey, Armin (Taimiye’s nickname),” Bandar strode up to Taimiye, “Could you do me a favor and talk to the Marshal so I can go to the front lines and have a good fight with those Zion bastards? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” Upon hearing this, Taimiye shook the book in his hand, “Don’t ask me for this kind of thing. We already agreed that I’ll take care of the living arrangements, and the Marshal will take care of the fighting. If you want to volunteer, go by yourself.”

“Because it was the Marshal himself who called for a halt.” Bandar sighed. “The news of Gorodish’s capture is like a bomb, it has shattered half of Zion’s spirit! Their command system is in chaos, and the soldiers’ morale is wavering! At this moment, we should immediately gather all armored forces, and from here, and from here, we might just completely crush their defenses!”

In Bandar's view, after dealing a heavy blow to the enemy's morale, one should press on and pursue the victory; only in this way will one surely achieve something.

Upon hearing Bandar's words, Tamiya put down the book in his hand and slowly said, "I may not understand war as well as you do, but I certainly understand the Marshal better than you do."

Bandar initially wanted to complain, but then realized that what the other person said seemed to make sense.

Taimiye said, "I don't know if you've noticed, but the Marshal has recently become very interested in Seris's famous works."

Bandar: "So what?"

"I've borrowed and read almost every book the marshal has ever read." Taimiye: "Don't you usually read?"

Bandar paused for a moment, then shook his head: "The Marshal has read too many books, how could I possibly remember them all?"

Taimiye ignored the crude fellow and said, "Many of the books the Marshal read are Seris's 'military treatises.' Although they are very simple, the general direction is correct. There is one principle that impressed me deeply, which is called 'strike while the iron is hot, then weaken, and finally exhaust.' It refers to the tactic of wearing down the enemy's morale."

Bandar was a pure soldier and didn't care much for such academic things, but he chose to respect what the marshal was learning.

He asked patiently, "What do you mean? Isn't this their lowest point right now?"

"Not yet."

Tamil held up the first finger: "In my opinion, the first morale boost for the Zionians since the start of the war came from their Prime Minister Hilbert's speech on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, vowing to defend it to the death."

Then, he held up a second finger: "The second time, I guess it was just now. In response to the situation of Gorodish being captured alive, the Zionians will definitely use slogans such as 'revenge,' 'save their compatriots,' and 'expose the enemy's brutality' to beat the drums a second time and reignite the army's fighting spirit."

This is what is meant by 'decline after decline'.

Bandar seemed thoughtful: "So, you mean they're currently in this 'decline' phase?"

“That’s right,” Tamiye affirmed. “This point in time is neither good nor bad. If you have to say, it’s actually quite appropriate. But the problem is that the Zionians’ military strength and scale are no less than ours.”

In fact, Bandar also realized this. If they fought head-on, they would most likely not achieve the same surprise attack effect as last night, and it would most likely turn into a meat grinder.

The only advantage is that this battle is taking place on Zion's territory, so it's not a big deal if the fighting is bad.

"Although I do not know the Marshal's specific plans."

Taimiye smiled slightly, "But according to the Marshal's style of warfare, he has always been good at delivering the most fatal blow to the enemy in the most unexpected place and at the most unexpected time."

After listening, Bandar's impatience gradually subsided, replaced by an understanding and expectation of a higher-level strategy.

He slapped his thigh hard and grinned, "Alright, I'll wait and see what the Marshal is planning to do!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Over the next few days, the Arab allied forces engaged in a low-intensity war of attrition with Zion's Fifth and Sixth Armies.

The specific damage to Haifa has been tallied. Although the port is still maintaining basic operational capacity, the industrial heart of the city has been destroyed.

Key production lines involved in weapons manufacturing, aircraft assembly plants, and core chemical industrial parks have all been reduced to ruins. At the same time, several main oil pipelines have been systematically damaged, plunging energy supply into crisis.

Ramat David Air Force Base is now in ruins, and the remaining Zion Air Force can only travel to temporary airports in Tel Aviv and Tiran Airport in the Sinai Peninsula.

However, it is foreseeable that in future wars, Zion will lose their most powerful means.

Lu Lin is listening to reports from other fronts.

"In the Sinai Peninsula direction, Masr's army is under tremendous pressure, but they are fighting very tenaciously."

A staff officer reported, "Although they are on the defensive against the superior forces of the First Army Group of Zion, they are holding their line and there are no signs of a rout yet."

"Al-Iraq's army group performed exceptionally well in the Hasim River direction," another officer added. "They used flexible and aggressive tactics to continuously apply pressure on the outskirts of Jerusalem, successfully tying down a large number of Zion's main forces."

Lu Lin nodded slightly. The situation on the three fronts was currently tense, and it was just a matter of who would give in first.

Just then, the indicator light on a dedicated telephone line lit up. Ibrahim took the phone, spoke in hushed tones for a moment, then covered the receiver with his hand and turned to Lu Lin: "Marshal, this is the United Nations line. We hope to communicate with you directly."

Lu Lin was not surprised; when a war reaches a critical juncture, there will always be a peacemaker.

He instructed, "Bring them in."

The call connected, but it wasn't the voice of Elanderson, with whom they often dealt, that came through; instead, it was a gentle, mature female voice: "Good afternoon, Marshal Amir. I am Sofia Volkov, the UN Special Envoy for Conflict Zones. First, please allow me, on behalf of the United Nations, to express our deepest concern for the plight of all civilians in the conflict zone."

Or is he a Slav?
“Ms. Volkov,” Lu Lin’s voice came through the microphone, “Thank you for your greetings. May I ask what you need?”

“I dare not presume to offer advice, Your Excellency Marshal.” Sofia’s voice carried a calming power: “My purpose in calling is based on humanitarian principles. We have detected that a large number of civilians are still trapped in the Haifa region due to the conflict, and their living conditions are deteriorating rapidly.”

We are fully aware that war is the duty of soldiers, but civilians should not be the casualties. We hope to establish a temporary humanitarian corridor to assist these innocent women, children, and elderly people in evacuating from the war zone.

"For Zion?"

Sofia sensed the mockery in Amir's tone, after all, the United Nations had initially chosen to stand idly by when the Arab world was being invaded.

But at this point, all she could answer was, "Not just for Zion, but also for the Arabs; we want to save as many innocent people as possible."

Lu Lin replied, “Everyone has a heart of compassion. However, Ms. Volkov, you should know what this ‘pause’ means. It will give the trapped beast a chance to regroup and cause our soldiers to shed more blood in the future.”

We feel sorry for the innocent victims of war, but we need to see more substantial sincerity.

"What kind of sincerity are you referring to?" Sophia asked cautiously.

"It's very simple."

Lu Lin laid out his conditions: "For true peace, Zion must take concrete actions. First, its First and Second Armies must withdraw unconditionally and completely from the Sinai Peninsula. Second, it must immediately relinquish and end its illegal military control over southern Phoenicia; this is the basis for negotiations."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone; clearly, the price demanded far exceeded the scope of her authorization.

“Your Excellency Marshal,” Sofia’s voice carried a hint of difficulty, “the conditions you have proposed concerning sovereignty and territory are extremely significant and far exceed the scope of this humanitarian call. I am not authorized to make any commitments on behalf of either party. My primary and urgent task is to save lives.”

"Therefore, I cannot agree to any actions that might strengthen its defenses, including so-called humanitarian moratoriums, until Zion demonstrates a willingness to end its aggression."

Lu Lin's stance remained unwavering: "Every minute of ceasefire is being exchanged for the future lives of my soldiers."

Sofia attempted to find a compromise, saying, "Perhaps we can explore an opportunity solely for civilian evacuation, overseen by international observers to ensure it is not used militarily? In the meantime, I will immediately report your conditions to the Secretary-General and urgently convey them to the Tel Aviv side."

Lu Lin's answer was simple: "My conditions are clear. If the Zion authorities value the lives of their civilians, they know what to do. There's no point in discussing details until you get a clear response from the other side."

"I understand, Your Excellency Marshal."

Sofia said, "Please give me a moment. My colleagues are in urgent consultations with Tel Aviv, and I will get back to you with their feedback as soon as possible."

This issue was originally raised by Zion, but Sofia didn't dare risk letting the two sides negotiate terms directly, as they might end up arguing and blowing up over the phone.

About fifteen minutes later, Sofia's voice came through the line again, clearly indicating that she had received approval: "Your Excellency Marshal, after urgent mediation, Tel Aviv has given an initial response. They have agreed to immediately and completely relinquish military control over southern Phoenicia."

She paused, then continued, "Regarding the Sinai Peninsula, they insist on retaining control of the Mitra Pass, but in exchange, they promise to return full control of the Suez Canal to the Republic of Maas and demand a ceasefire in Maas."

Masr's original plan was to retake the Suez Canal and the Sinai Peninsula, which was more like a secondary condition.

So, is this a plan to use a ceasefire to bring over two army groups?

Lu Lin listened as Sofia continued, "In exchange for this concession, and based on urgent humanitarian needs, Zion requests that the Arab allies, especially the troops under your command, immediately cease shelling Haifa for 72 hours to ensure the safe evacuation of civilians. This is not a total ceasefire, but only for this specific area and purpose."

Cease bombardment of Haifa does not equate to a ceasefire.

Lu Lin finally responded in a deep voice, "Fine, I agree to a 72-hour suspension of shelling within Haifa City to allow civilians to evacuate. However, any attempt to use this window for military mobilization or fortification will be considered a breach of the agreement and will provoke our fiercest counterattack."

"Thank you for your decision and humanitarian spirit, Your Excellency Marshal."

Sofia's tone revealed a sense of relief, "I will coordinate with all parties immediately. The call record will be compiled into a formal memorandum."

The moment they hung up the receiver, everyone in the command center realized that the core demands of the two allies had been half fulfilled in this way.

“Connect the dedicated line,” Lu Lin suddenly said.

Fahd immediately grabbed the red microphone: "Marshal, where should we connect?"

Lu Lin's lips curled into a meaningful smile:

"My father."

(End of this chapter)