Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 345 Power
June 7th, 6:50 AM.

A thin fog rose over Saigon.

Daniel looked down through the porthole of the C-135.

Everything was a blur of white; nothing could be seen clearly.

Wallace closed the folder, rubbed his temples, and casually asked:
"Counting from Honolulu, have you slept for half an hour?"

"Nothing much," Daniel shook his head helplessly.

"That coffee was more effective than I expected."

"Air Force coffee can bring the dead back to life. You should have some whiskey."

"Drinking on the plane? I don't have your courage."

"Courage?" Wallace laughed.

"These days, drinking doesn't count as courage."

"True courage is being able to eat after reading their briefing."

The Senate military advisor in the front row turned around when he heard the noise.

“Speaking of briefings, I was just reading your memo from last month.”

"It's written so precisely, I want to use it directly in my report."

Wallace smiled slightly at him.

"I hope you don't actually do that, Kyrie."

"We all want to keep our jobs."

The consultant, seeing his lukewarm tone, still wanted to give it a try.

So, following suit, he continued:

"Then I need to ask you about a detail. Regarding the South China Sea—"

“Owen.” Wallace gently raised his hand.

His expression was gentle, but the words he uttered were a refusal.

"Let's not talk business now. Let me pretend I'm a tourist, okay?"

"After all, we have plenty of time to discuss politics in the next few days."

The consultant paused for a moment, then quickly smiled and nodded: "Of course, Director."

He turned around, and the air returned to silence, with only the low hum of the engine remaining.

"."

"So, I read your final draft before boarding the plane."

Wallace waited a moment before speaking to Daniel.

"There is no need for further improvement in terms of content and methodology."

"As for the theme—forgive my repetition, it's very ambitious and visionary."

"Is that too ambitious?" Daniel asked jokingly.

“No, just right.” Wallace’s response was serious.

“You write like a geographical determinist from thirty years ago.”

"But they are smart enough to know that they are contradicting them."

Daniel took another sip of coffee. "That sounds like a compliment."

“Of course it’s a compliment,” Wallace said.

"You put logistics, trade, shipping routes, and politics together, and then you even wrote a theory."

"For example, the chapter 'The Political Effects of Maritime Connectivity'."

"Tell me again, how did you do that?"

Daniel seemed a little embarrassed at this point.

“I have noticed that each boundary adjustment almost overlaps with the year a new supply radius or oil transport station is put into operation.”

“A nation’s ‘operational radius’ is usually first redefined at sea, and then this maritime accessibility is reflected back onto the land-based political map.”

Wallace hummed in agreement, as if slowly savoring the words.

"You are not restating Mahan's or Spykman's theory of the circum-oceanic zone."

"You're linking numbers to strategic implications, treating them as political variables."

“Those data aren’t mysterious,” Daniel said.

"Most of the data comes from Lloyd's of London's insurance routes, the Navy's publicly available replenishment area tables, and ton-mile statistics from various ports."

"But only when these flows are superimposed on a single graph can policymakers understand that the utility of troop buildup on the coast has significant diminishing marginal returns."

A complex light flickered in Wallace's eyes.

“This paper is worth a close look by RAND’s group of ‘scholars’.”

"They're still using colonial maps to calculate distances, completely unaware that modernity has long since moved to the sea."

He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice:

"My only concern right now is that you don't get trapped by those numbers."

"Politics is sometimes not arithmetic."

“I understand,” Daniel said.

"The quantification of the conditions for action is merely to make political decisions more based on evidence."

Wallace stared intently at him, his gaze a mixture of admiration and concern.

“You’re ahead of most people, Daniel.”

“You belong to the future.” He hesitated for a few seconds after saying this.

"...but people in the future are usually not very safe."

"."

After he finished speaking, the cabin fell silent again.

Daniel opened his mouth, unsure how to react to this assessment.

Fortunately, the sound of footsteps coming from the front cabin saved him from his predicament.

The brigadier general in charge of security for the expedition appeared at the end of the corridor.

"Gentlemen, we will begin our descent in five minutes."

He stood at attention and reported to Wallace.

"Safety procedures confirmed." "Please disembark upon arrival. Your vehicle will be waiting on the runway."

Wallace regained his composure and nodded slightly.

"Thank you for your hard work, Raymond. What did they say on the diplomatic front?"

"They arrived early, and representatives from the Presidential Palace and the Vietnamese military were also present."

"So that means the plan remains unchanged—to observe the execution tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir."

The brigadier looked quite embarrassed when he said that.

He seemed to feel that leading a group of unarmed civil servants to witness a group of people hanging another person, no matter how it was presented, was not in line with humanitarian principles.

“I know this is a consensus within the military,” Wallace said.

"But consensus does not equal correctness; it only means that no one is against it for the time being."

"You're right, sir."

"."

The conversation continues.

Daniel, however, was lost in thought.

It wasn't because of the "danger" or "execution" mentioned earlier.

It's something else entirely.

About Wallace.

At this moment, his mentor seemed to have changed a bit.

It's subtle, yet it truly exists.

Daniel was a little dazed.

My mind is in turmoil, a jumble of emotions.

This state continued until landing.

The announcement came on, and the seatbelt indicator light went out.

The track gleamed white in the sunlight.

The hatch opened, and a wave of heat hit us.

What came into view were groups of people lined up to greet them.

Daniel instinctively wanted to fall behind.

He was clear about his identity—assistant, student, translator.

His role is to record, not to be recorded.

But before he could take even half a step back, Wallace's voice came from ahead:
"Daniel, where are you planning to go?"

Daniel was taken aback.

"I thought--"

“You’re behind me.” Wallace’s tone left no room for argument.

So Daniel walked over and stood to his right rear.

The sunlight outside the gangway was dazzling.

The hot wind made my eyes sting.

The first to greet them were not American officials.

On the contrary, he was an unremarkable-looking Vietnamese man.

He was dressed in military uniform, his chest adorned with medals.

He stepped forward quickly.

Smile, bow, extend your hand, and say welcome and gratitude.

Daniel's gaze involuntarily fell on the epaulettes.

Five stars, with a silver leaf-encircled emblem below.

general.

Only two or three people in the entire South Vietnamese military were allowed to wear it.

"Your Excellency, welcome to Saigon."

"The South Vietnamese government is deeply honored by this visit."

The man's words brought Daniel back to his senses.

Then, before the translator could speak, he naturally responded:
"Thank you for your hospitality, sir."

"We are also looking forward to this visit."

The man was stunned when he suddenly heard fluent Vietnamese.

Immediately, the smile on his face became even more sincere.

He extended his hand, adopting a very humble posture.

Daniel looked at that face.

Shrewd, nervous, humble, and even with a hint of barely perceptible fear.

The warmth of the palm counteracted the coldness of the ring.

Suddenly, he understood the changes in Wallace.

In fact, that change was also happening within myself.

He could feel its outline.

Climbing upwards inch by inch, along the arms, chest, and line of sight.

It is called power.

No.

To be precise, it's an illusion of power.

Daniel released his right hand.

The sun was still shining brightly.

But he could no longer distinguish whether it was the burning heat that stung his skin or a fleeting illusion.

(End of this chapter)