World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Wang Guojian remained silent for three seconds.

Then he suddenly stood up, grabbed the binoculars, and strode down the mountain.

"Order all regiments to advance at full speed. Target—Abadan oil field."

An hour later, Wang Guojian's advance troops reached the British positions.

The sight stunned everyone.

The fortifications were indeed only half-finished—the two trenches were less than a meter deep, only one layer of barbed wire had been erected, and the machine gun emplacements were just sandbags half a person high. The door of the truck cab was still open; a dump truck was parked on the side of the road, its bed full of sandbags that hadn't been unloaded yet; ammunition boxes were scattered everywhere, some open, with bullets and grenades neatly stacked inside.

A soldier walked curiously to an ammunition box and reached out to take a bullet to examine it. The squad leader slapped him on the back of the head.

"Are you looking for death? What if there's a booby trap?"

The soldier shrank back and quickly withdrew his hand.

Wang Guojian stood beside a dump truck, looking at the messy tracks. There were footprints on the ground, dense and stretching into the distance. The footprints were haphazard, some deep, some shallow, indicating that the truck had run away.

Chen Dalei walked over and handed him a water bottle he had found. The water bottle was a British military standard, made of aluminum, and its surface was dented and pitted. He unscrewed the cap and smelled it.

"Commander, the water is still warm. They just left."

Wang Guojian took the water bottle, smelled it, then poured out the water and put the bottle in his pocket.

"Let's go to the port."

The port of Abadan was quieter than the battlefield.

Several merchant ships were moored at the dock, the largest of which had already sailed away and was slowly moving deeper into the Persian Gulf. A flag was flying on board, fluttering in the morning breeze.

Wang Guojian raised his binoculars and looked at the flag.

That's not the British flag. It's red and yellow with other patterns—it's the Spanish flag.

"Damn it," Wang Guojian cursed, "the British even changed their disguises when they ran away."

Chen Dalei leaned closer, also looking at the ship: "Commander, should we attack?"

Wang Guojian hesitated for three seconds.

The ship had already sailed out of the harbor, about three kilometers away. The artillery could hit it, but if they accidentally damaged the Spanish ship... Although everyone knew that the ship was flying a false flag, there was no evidence, and firing would constitute an international dispute.

"Forget it." He put down his binoculars. "Let them get away. It's too late to catch them."

He turned and looked at the intact port facilities—warehouses, cranes, oil pipelines, and oil storage tanks, gleaming silver in the sunlight. Everything was perfectly intact, as if the British had never intended to destroy it.

"Tell the brothers to go into port and take control of all the facilities."

It was later learned that on that merchant ship flying the Spanish flag was the highest-ranking British commander in the Persian Gulf—a major general—and a large box of documents they hadn't had time to take with them. They had slipped out of the Persian Gulf two hours before the Lanfang army arrived, without even having time to pack their belongings.

Ironically, when the major general later disembarked in Spain, he was stopped by local customs and asked for an entry visa. He didn't have one and was detained in a small room for three days before being released only after intervention from the British Embassy.

Of course, this is a follow-up.

At 2 p.m., Wang Guojian was studying a map in the oilfield command post when a communications soldier ran in.

"Commander! A group of people has arrived outside, claiming to be envoys from the King of Iran!"

Wang Guojian looked up and paused for a moment.

"The King of Iran? Which King of Iran?"

The communications soldier scratched his head: "It's... the King of Iran. I think his name is... Ahmed?"

Wang Guojian put down his pencil and stood up.

"Let them in."

A few minutes later, a group of people entered the command post. Leading them was a middle-aged man in a traditional Persian robe, with a neatly trimmed beard and a black lambskin hat, carrying an exquisite wooden box. Behind him were several attendants and two Iranian officers in military uniform.

The middle-aged man walked up to Wang Guojian, bowed deeply, and then said in fluent English:

"Your Excellency General, I am Mohammad Khaisan, Chief Foreign Advisor to His Majesty the King of Iran. On behalf of His Majesty King Ahmed Shah Qajar, I extend my sincerest greetings to the Lanfang Republic."

Wang Guojian looked at him but did not speak immediately.

The messenger spoke with great respect, but his eyes—those bright eyes—were constantly observing him, scrutinizing him, trying to read something from his expression.

"Mr. Hai Shan," Wang Guojian finally spoke, "what brings your king here?"

Haishan bowed again, then opened the wooden box. Inside was a document covered in dense writing in Persian and English. He held the document with both hands and handed it to Wang Guojian.

"General, this is a personal letter from His Majesty the King. His Majesty is willing to cooperate unconditionally with all of Lanfang's actions."

Wang Guojian took the document and quickly glanced through it. The letter was simple—Iranian King Ahmed Shah Qajar announced that all British privileges in Iran were abolished immediately, and that Iran was willing to establish the closest friendly relations with Lanfang. Lanfang's troops were allowed to enter any part of Iran at any time, including the capital Tehran.

Unconditional cooperation.

Wang Guojian raised his head and looked at Haishan.

"Unconditional cooperation? Including letting us into Tehran?"

Haishen nodded: "Including. His Majesty the King has ordered all British troops to leave Iran immediately. If the Lanfang army wishes, it can enter Tehran at any time."

Wang Guojian remained silent for a few seconds.

He recalled what Chen Feng had said before he left: "That young king of Iran is only nineteen years old this year. His father died early, and he ascended the throne at the age of eight, serving as a puppet for eleven years. The British treated him like a marionette, and the Russians ignored him. Now that the British have left, he needs to find a new patron."

Looking into Hai Shan's shrewd eyes, he suddenly understood—the nineteen-year-old king was choosing sides at lightning speed. The British were no longer reliable, the Russians were embroiled in civil war, and Lanfang was the new master of the Persian Gulf. Rather than waiting for Lanfang to come knocking, it was better to open the door and welcome him.

"Mr. Hai Shan," Wang Guojian placed the documents on the table, "what are your king's demands?"

Hai Shan paused for a moment, then smiled. It was a smile of unspoken understanding between intelligent people.

"General, you are wise. His Majesty the King has only one request—that Lanfang recognize Iran's sovereignty and territorial integrity and refrain from interfering in Iran's internal affairs."

Wang Guojian nodded.

"I can agree to this request for now. But in the end, our President needs to give his approval."

Haishen bowed again: "Of course. I am ready to go to Dubai at any time to pay my respects to Commander Chen."

Wang Guojian stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the facilities of the Abadan oil field gleamed in the sunlight. The oil pipelines stretched to the horizon like giant silver serpents. The storage tanks were neatly arranged, like rows of silver hills.