pappabearbooks Chapter 696 Squad Leader, why aren't they resisting?
Chapter 696 Squad Leader, why aren't they resisting?
The British soldiers listened without resistance or complaint. They simply walked on, heads bowed. Some collapsed by the roadside, but the people around them ignored them and walked past. The fallen men struggled to get up but couldn't, and finally lay there on the sand, staring at the sky, lost in thought.
A young Lanfang soldier couldn't help but ask, "Squad leader, why aren't they fighting back? There are so many of them, they could easily kill us with just one punch each, right?"
The squad leader glanced at him and exhaled a puff of smoke.
"Resist? Resist what? They're terrified. From Sinai to the canal, they've lost lives on the run, how many have died? They're lucky to be alive now, let alone resist!"
The soldier thought for a moment and nodded.
"Too."
A British captain stepped out of his ranks and stood by the roadside, watching the Lanfang troops drive past. His uniform was still relatively neat, but his face was full of exhaustion and despair. He stood there, motionless, like a statue.
A Lanfang officer jumped out of the jeep and walked up to him.
Why aren't you leaving?
The captain looked at him, paused for three seconds, and then said in fluent English, "I am an officer. I demand that I be given the treatment I deserve in accordance with the Geneva Convention."
The Lanfang officer paused for a moment, then laughed. That laugh sent a chill down the captain's spine.
"The Geneva Conventions?" The officer pointed to the corpses lying by the roadside, to the prisoners still marching east, and to the still-smoking battlefield in the distance. "Look at this. Do you think there are any conventions left?"
The captain opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.
The officer waved his hand: "Go. Head east. Fifty kilometers. Walk into the POW camp yourself. Don't let us see you again."
The captain stood there, hesitated for a few seconds, then slowly turned around and walked east. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and looked back.
The tanks, trucks, and soldiers of Lanfang continued westward. Smoke billowed, obscuring the sky, like a pack of wild beasts that would never stop.
He lowered his head and continued walking.
At 5 p.m., Zhao Dengyu stood on a high ground and convened an impromptu meeting with the division commanders.
Wang Tieshan, Liu Zhenjie (commander of the Second Division), Shen Peng (commander of the Third Division), the commanders of the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Divisions—the six division commanders stood in a circle on the sand. The wind whipped up sand and dust, stinging their faces, but no one complained.
"You've all seen what happened," Zhao Dengyu said, his voice hoarse. "The British got away. They ran for forty-eight hours, faster than a rabbit. We chased them for a day and only caught some who had fallen behind."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over each face.
"But the war isn't over yet. Beyond the canal lies Egypt. After Egypt, there's Libya, then Tunisia, and then the whole of Africa. The British won't give up easily; they'll hold out to the death."
Liu Zhenjie asked, "Commander Zhao, when are we going to cross the river?"
Zhao Dengyu looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.
"Wait for orders. We can't fight unless the President says so. But we need to be prepared—we need to find out about the pontoon bridges, the assault boats, and the firing positions on the other side."
He turned and pointed to the canal that was faintly visible in the distance.
"Send scouts over there tonight. Find out the British troop deployment on the other side. I want to see a report by dawn tomorrow."
The six division commanders simultaneously stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"
The meeting ended, and the division commanders dispersed. Zhao Dengyu stood alone on the high ground, watching the sky grow increasingly dark. The setting sun was sinking into the canal, dyeing the entire sky blood red. That red was like blood, like fire, like the despair of the prisoners still marching eastward.
Wang Tieshan walked over to him and handed him the water bottle.
"Old Zhao, have some water. You've been standing all day."
Zhao Dengyu took the kettle, took a big gulp, and wiped his mouth.
"Old Wang, do you think the British ran so fast because they were afraid of us, or because...?"
"Why?"
Zhao Dengyu thought for a moment and then shook his head.
"I don't know. But I do know that someone must be directing them from behind. And that person is no ordinary person."
He turned and walked down the hill.
"Order all units to advance tonight. They must reach the canal by dawn tomorrow. Tell the brothers, whoever is the first to reach the canal, I'll open a can of food for him!"
Night fell, but the chase continued.
The tank turned on its headlights, creating a long strip of light in the darkness. The trucks followed behind, their headlights blending together like a fiery dragon crawling across the desert. The roar of their engines echoed through the night sky, carrying far and wide.
The soldiers huddled on the truck, wrapped in their coats, dozing off against their comrades' shoulders. No one spoke, only snoring and the occasional cough. They were exhausted—they had been chasing each other for over ten hours straight, since four in the morning.
A young soldier, unable to sleep, leaned against the side of the carriage, gazing at the sky. The stars were bright, countless, like a myriad of eyes watching them.
"Squad leader," he asked in a low voice, "what is Egypt like?"
The squad leader leaned against the wall, his eyes half-closed, it was hard to tell if he was asleep or awake. Hearing the question, he opened his eyes and glanced at the young man.
"I don't know. I've never been there."
"If we go, will there be a war?"
The class monitor remained silent for a few seconds.
"Yes. The British won't let us occupy Egypt for nothing."
The young man nodded and didn't ask any more questions.
In the distance, the light trail from the tank continued to move forward.
At 2 a.m., the advance team reached a point 5 kilometers from the canal.
Wang Tieshan ordered the vehicles to stop and all lights to be turned off. The tanks and trucks concealed themselves in a depression, and the soldiers disembarked to rest, but were forbidden from starting fires, speaking, or making any noise.
The scouts changed into civilian clothes and made their way towards the canal in the dark.
Wang Tieshan leaned against the track of a tank, smoking a cigarette. The glow of the cigarette butt flickered in the darkness, like a firefly.
The adjutant came over and said in a low voice, "Deputy Division Commander Wang, why don't you get some sleep? There won't be any movement before dawn."
Wang Tieshan shook his head.
"I can't sleep."
He stared at the darkness in the distance and remained silent for a long time.
"Do you think the British will be waiting for us on the other side?"
The adjutant thought for a moment: "Probably. The Suez Canal is their lifeline. If they lose the canal, Egypt is gone. If Egypt is gone, Africa is gone. They can't possibly abandon it."
Wang Tieshan nodded.
"Yes, it's impossible not to defend it."
He took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled.
"Then let's fight. Let's fight until they can't hold on anymore."
At four o'clock in the morning, the scouts returned.
They brought intelligence from the other side: British troops were building fortifications on the west bank of the canal, having already dug two trenches and installed over a dozen machine guns. Landmines had been laid near the crossing, and several patrol boats were roaming the river. The garrison on the other side consisted of about two battalions, plus some local Egyptian colonial troops, totaling less than three thousand men.