World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"His name is Jabil, and he used to be a falconer," Zhao Dashan said. "He had good eyesight and a steady hand. After three months of training, he became the best machine gunner in the entire division."

"Where is Commander Amir?"

"Over there," Liu Yongfu pointed to the other side of the firing range.

An officer's pistol shooting assessment was underway. An Arab officer in his forties with a thick beard stood at the shooting position, gripping the gun with both hands and firing rapidly. On the target paper fifteen meters away, all the bullet holes were concentrated in the chest area.

"Commander Amir was originally the head of the Hashim family's guard and had been playing with guns since he was a child," Zhao Dashan introduced. "After he took over the Fifth Division, he personally formulated the training syllabus, requiring all officers to have shooting scores higher than the soldiers. He himself was the first to meet the standard."

Chen Feng looked at the Arab officer who was changing a magazine and suddenly said, "Call him over here."

Five minutes later, Amir jogged to the foot of the observation tower. He wasn't tall, but he was very muscular, like a compressed muscle. His face was wrinkled from the wind and sand, but his eyes were bright.

"Mr. President," Amir said in accented Chinese, giving a standard military salute.

"Relax." Chen Feng stepped down from the observation tower. "Commander Amir, how are the troops' preparations?"

"Reporting to the President, the 5th Division has 12,000 men, fully equipped and ready for combat at any time." Amir straightened his back. "Light machine guns are assigned to squads, heavy machine guns to companies, and mortars to battalions. Ammunition reserves are sufficient for a month of high-intensity combat."

"What about morale?"

“It’s very high.” Amilton paused, then added, “Of course, some soldiers weren’t familiar with the place they were going to. But we did some ideological work and told them it was for Lanfang—our country.”

He spoke of "our country" in a very natural tone.

Chen Feng looked at him: "What do you think? Taking Arab soldiers to the distant South Seas to fight a war that seems to have nothing to do with you?"

Amir remained silent for a few seconds. The wind blew across the firing range, stirring up dust.

"President, I am forty-three years old this year." He began slowly. "For the first thirty years, I lived in a tribe. We fought with neighboring tribes for wells, dealt with Ottoman tax collectors, and haggled with British exploration teams. At that time, I thought that was how the world was—you rob me, I rob you, and whoever has the strongest fist calls the shots."

He raised his head: "Later, I came to Lanfang and received officer training. I studied geography and realized how big the world is; I studied history and realized how glorious our Arab civilization once was; I studied politics and realized that a nation is not a simple addition of tribes, but a kind of...contract."

"contract?"

"Yes, a contract," Amir said earnestly. "We—all those who live on the land of Lanfang—have signed an invisible contract. We abide by the same laws, enjoy the same rights, and bear the same obligations. We pay taxes, and the state builds schools and hospitals; we serve in the military, and the state protects our safety; we work hard, and the state gives us fair opportunities."

He pointed to the soldiers training at the firing range:

"These young men, whose fathers may have never seen a car in their lives, can now drive trucks, fix radios, and read maps. Their sisters, who couldn't go to school before, are now studying at the University of Dubai. This is all thanks to the contract."

"So..." Chen Feng understood.

"So this is not a 'seemingly unrelated war'," Amir said, emphasizing each word. "If today we allow the Dutch to suppress the Chinese in Borneo, then tomorrow, someone might come and suppress our families. The core of the contract is mutual protection; if one side suffers while the others stand idly by, then the contract is invalid."

He took a deep breath:

"All officers and soldiers of the Fifth Division understand this principle. We are going to Borneo not to fight for the Chinese, but to fight for Lanfang—to fight for the treaty we jointly signed."

Chen Feng looked at the Arab officer, then suddenly reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

"Okay." He said only one word, but it carried great weight.

On the way back to the city from the firing range, the car was very quiet.

After driving for a while, Liu Yongfu suddenly said, "Commander-in-Chief, do you really believe what Amir said?"

"Why don't you believe me?" Chen Feng retorted.

"He is Arab, and we are Han Chinese. Blood is thicker than water; this kind of divide cannot be bridged with just a few words."

Chen Feng looked out the window. On both sides of the highway, newly built residential areas were under construction. Arab workers wearing headscarves were laying bricks, Chinese people in work clothes were directing the work, and women wearing headscarves were carrying water jugs to deliver water to the workers.

"Chief Engineer Liu, do you remember when we first arrived in Dubai?" he said slowly. "Back then, the Arabs looked at us with curiosity, wariness, and hostility. And now?"

Now, children play football together in the street, merchants haggle over prices in the market, and students attend classes in the same classroom.

"Ethnic integration takes time," Chen Feng continued, "but more importantly, it involves shared interests and a shared destiny. When a group of people build a city together, resist foreign enemies together, and share the fruits of development together—they will gradually become 'us'."

He turned his head:

"Amir is right. A nation is a contract. The basis of the contract is not blood ties, but a commitment. We commit to protecting all those who obey the law, and they commit to loyalty to this nation. This commitment is stronger than blood ties."

Liu Yongfu nodded thoughtfully.

The car drove into the city and passed the newly built "National Square". In the center of the square stands a sculpture: a Chinese hand and an Arab hand, clasped together, holding up a bronze globe. On the base of the sculpture is an inscription: "Unity brings strength, division brings weakness".

"Stop the car," Chen Feng suddenly said.

The car was parked at the edge of the square. Chen Feng got out and walked to the sculpture. The evening sun bathed the bronze statue in a golden light, and many citizens were strolling and resting there.

A seven or eight-year-old Arab boy ran over and looked at Chen Feng curiously. The boy was wearing a new-style primary school uniform and carrying a schoolbag.

"Little friend, are you in school yet?" Chen Feng asked in Arabic.

"I'm in first grade!" the boy shouted. "I can write Chinese characters and do arithmetic!"

"That's great. What do you want to be when you grow up?"

The boy thought for a moment and said, "I want to fly an airplane! Like Uncle Zhou Afu!"

Chen Feng smiled. Zhou Afu, one of the first batch of pilots, is now an air force squadron leader. His story has been written into school textbooks.

Why do you want to fly a plane?

"Because airplanes can fly very high and see very far," the boy gestured with his arms outstretched. "Our teacher said we should have lofty aspirations!"

Chen Feng patted the boy's head, took out a pen from his pocket and gave it to him: "Study hard. When you grow up, Lanfang will have even more amazing airplanes, and you can fly them then."

The boy ran off happily.