World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Three thousand men," Wang Tieshan repeated. "Just three thousand men?"

The scout nodded: "The main force on the other side is still behind, being transferred from Cairo. It will take about three days."

Wang Tieshan's eyes lit up.

Three days. If they can cross the canal within three days, they can take advantage of the British army's unstable foothold and advance all the way to Cairo.

He stood up and strode towards the communications vehicle.

"Telegram to Division Commander Zhao: Reconnaissance complete. There are approximately 3,000 troops defending the opposite bank, and the main force will arrive in three days. Request permission to cross the river."

Five minutes later, Zhao Dengyu called back:

"Wait for orders. Remain in place until dawn."

Wang Tieshan stared at the words and remained silent for a few seconds.

Waiting for commands. Again, waiting for commands.

But he knew Zhao Dengyu was right. Without the Grand Commander's order, they couldn't fight. To fight would be to disobey military orders.

He sighed, leaned back against the tank, and looked at the increasingly bright eastern sky.

almost.

It's almost dawn.

At 5:30 in the morning, the sky began to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

Zhao Dengyu stood in the jeep, holding up binoculars to watch the canal grow clearer in the distance. He hadn't slept all night; his eyes were sore and felt like they were filled with sand, but he didn't want to sleep. He wanted to see that river with his own eyes, to see the land on the opposite bank that was about to become a battlefield.

Chief of Staff Li Tiejun walked over and handed him a steamed bun.

"Commander, please eat something. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday."

Zhao Dengyu took the steamed bun and took a bite. The bun was cold and hard, but he chewed it slowly and carefully.

"Are all units in position?"

"All in position. The 1st Mechanized Infantry Division is on the left flank, the 2nd Infantry Division is on the right flank, and the 3rd Division is in reserve. The 7th, 8th, and 9th Divisions are on standby in the rear."

Zhao Dengyu nodded.

"Any new information from the scouts?"

"Another group crossed the river at four in the morning and should be on the other side now. We'll have the latest intelligence when they return."

Zhao Dengyu didn't ask any more questions. He continued chewing his steamed bun, watching the sky grow brighter and brighter.

In the distance, the canal's surface began to reflect the sunlight, like a golden ribbon stretching across the desert. On the opposite bank, figures could be vaguely seen moving about—British soldiers reinforcing their fortifications.

"Commander," Li Tiejun suddenly said, "do you think the Commander-in-Chief will let us cross the river?"

Zhao Dengyu remained silent for three seconds.

Yes. But not now.

"When was that?"

Zhao Dengyu looked at him and suddenly smiled. That smile sent a chill down Li Tiejun's spine.

"When the British thought we wouldn't cross the river."

He jumped out of the jeep and strode toward the temporary command post.

"Order all units to rest during the day and continue surveillance at night. Tell the brothers to get a good night's sleep and be well-rested. Once the order is given, cross the river."

Li Tiejun stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

The morning sun shone on the desert, dispelling the chill of the night. Soldiers, wrapped in their coats, slept soundly in the shadows of the tanks. Sentry stood on high ground, binoculars raised, vigilantly watching their surroundings.

In the distance, the canal's surface shimmered like a giant piece of jade.

Zhao Dengyu stood outside the command post and took one last look at the river.

"The Suez Canal," he murmured. "Almost there, almost there."

He turned and walked into the command post, lay down on the cot, and closed his eyes.

Three seconds later, snoring began.

At nine o'clock in the morning, Zhao Dengyu was awakened by a series of urgent telegrams.

He sat up abruptly and grabbed the telegram.

It was sent by Chen Feng, and it only contained one line of text:

"Prepare to cross the river. Wait for the signal."

Zhao Dengyu read the telegram three times, then folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket.

He stepped out of the command post and looked at the rising sun. The sunlight warmed his face, a stark contrast to the chill of the early morning.

In the distance, towards the canal, a few white sails can be faintly seen—those are Egyptian fishing boats, fishing.

He suddenly thought of a question: Which side would the Egyptians be on?

The British ruled them for decades, and they hated them. Now that Lanfang has arrived, will they welcome him?

he does not know.

But he knew that no matter which side the Egyptians were on, the war had to be fought.

We must cross the canal.

Egypt must be attacked.

Africa must be conquered.

He took a deep breath and said to the communications soldier beside him:

"Order all units to enter combat readiness. Conduct a final check on the river-crossing equipment. Floating bridges, assault boats, engineering equipment—all must be ready."

The communications soldier snapped to attention: "Yes, sir!"

Zhao Dengyu gazed at the shimmering canal and remained silent for a long time.

"The English," he muttered, "wait, I'm coming."

The morning heat at the northern end of the Persian Gulf was suffocating.

Wang Guojian lay prone on a sand dune, peering through binoculars at the distant highway leading to the Abadan oil field, having watched for a full twenty minutes. The sun rose above the sea, turning the entire expanse of water golden-red, and making him drenched in sweat. Sweat streamed down his face, stinging his eyes, but he paid no heed to wipe it away.

His adjutant, Chen Dalei, lay beside him, also holding binoculars and drenched in sweat. The two of them lay there motionless, like two lizards on a sand dune.

"Commander," Chen Dalei finally couldn't help but ask, "Have the scouts returned?"

Wang Guojian did not answer, but continued to look at the highway.

Three days ago, scouts reported that the British were digging trenches and building fortifications around Abadan. Two trenches, three lines of barbed wire, and a dozen machine gun positions. The fortifications were half-finished, and the British were still transferring troops from Basra, saying they were determined to hold the oil field at all costs.

But today, that highway is deserted, without a single person in sight.

"Something's not right," Wang Guojian murmured.

Chen Dalei was taken aback: "What's wrong?"

Wang Guojian put down his binoculars and rubbed his eyes, which were stinging from the sweat.

"It's too quiet. If the British were really building something, there should be people working by now. But look—" he pointed to the faintly visible construction site in the distance, "there's not a soul in sight."

Chen Dalei looked in the direction he was pointing. The construction site was indeed quiet; an excavator was leaning to one side, a dump truck was parked on the road, and sandbags were piled up everywhere. But there was no one there. Not a single person.

A rapid engine roared from afar. A three-wheeled motorcycle burst out from behind a sand dune, kicking up a cloud of dust. The motorcycle stopped at the foot of the dune, and Zhou Dayong, the reconnaissance platoon leader, jumped off and scrambled up the dune.

"Commander!" he gasped, his face beaming with excitement. "The British have fled! All of them!"

Wang Guojian's eyes lit up, but he quickly narrowed them again.

"They all ran away? What about the fortifications?"

"The fortifications are only half-built, the tools are still lying on the ground, and the ammunition boxes haven't even been opened!" Zhou Dayong grinned. "The scouts sneaked in and found only a dozen or so Indian soldiers on the position. They ran away as soon as they saw us, and we couldn't catch them!"