dognovel Chapter 920 The show is about to begin!
Chapter 920 The show is about to begin!
The autumn rain in the capital always carries a touch of desolation. Under the fine, continuous rain, the red walls and yellow tiles appear even more solemn and dignified.
But today, every brick in this imperial heartland seems to be soaked with the anxiety overflowing in the conference room.
The conference room door was tightly closed. The smoke inside was so thick that it almost obscured the color of the old-fashioned palace lantern hanging from the ceiling, and the ashtray was piled high with half-smoked cigarette butts that had been extinguished before they were finished.
President Lu didn't even sit down.
He paced back and forth in front of the huge world map, holding the translated copy of the urgent telegram that had been secretly forwarded through European comrades and gone through many twists and turns, his hurried steps creating a gust of wind.
"Fifty thousand people... This is insane."
He stopped, his brows furrowing behind his gold-rimmed glasses into a deep, unyielding frown.
He turned to look at the chief sitting at the head of the table, a cigarette between his fingers, remaining silent.
"This is completely different from the previous 'bandit suppression' that we were just joking around with. This is a large-scale military operation!"
"And it's not some colonial auxiliary force, it's the US's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division—their elite, the aces that fought on the beaches of Normandy back in the day."
General Chen sat at the other end of the table, slamming his heavy military cap down on it with a dull thud.
His face turned bright red, and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"Old Lu is underestimating it. This is like hitting ants with a hammer."
The general, who had fought all his life, had a terribly hoarse voice, clearly indicating that he hadn't slept well for the past two days.
"How many men does Castro have? We all came from guerrilla warfare backgrounds; we need to know."
"At most, in that mountainous area, including the farmers we've been mobilizing lately... eight hundred? Or a thousand?"
He spread his large hand, his five short, thick fingers limply open.
"Fifty to one. That's just in terms of kills. If you factor in firepower... they're using tanks, armored vehicles, and heavy artillery to bombard the enemy."
“Even in our most difficult times, the difference between us and the transport team leader was never this great.”
"And there's still time."
A leader in charge of logistics sighed with a worried look on his face and pointed to a shipping schedule that had been read so many times it was worn out.
"The fastest cargo ship, the one carrying building materials and light weapons, the 'Fuxing,' has only just passed the Strait of Malacca and is still adrift in the Pacific Ocean."
"The second batch of large-scale aid, including the technical personnel from Comrade Fang Yu's side... even if we burn down the ship's boiler now, it will still take twenty days to arrive."
"These twenty days..."
He didn't finish his sentence. But everyone present understood the bloody meaning behind that ellipsis.
Twenty days is enough for those steel torrents to plow back and forth ten times in the Maestra Mountains under the tracks of modern mechanized troops.
"Is there really no other way?"
Someone muttered to themselves in a low voice, their despair barely concealed.
"If this fire that we finally managed to start is extinguished by those American bastards' piss... that would be devastating for the newly established Sakura, and even for the morale of the entire Third World."
The meeting room fell into that suffocating silence once again.
Even the leader, who was known for his revolutionary optimism, took a deep drag of his cigarette this time, letting the somewhat pungent smoke swirl in his lungs before slowly exhaling.
He stared at the rising smoke rings as if they were the flames of war burning on that distant Caribbean island.
"It's difficult."
The chieftain's fingers tapped unconsciously on his knees, a habit he had when he was thinking.
“Castro was a promising young man, he had great courage. But no matter how great that courage was, it couldn't withstand a single 155mm howitzer shell…”
He raised his head, and for the first time, a rare look of seriousness appeared in his eyes, a sign that he had lost control of the situation.
"Comrades, I think we need to prepare for both possibilities. If... I mean if, Cuba falls, we must find a way to retrieve those few sparks of hope. As long as we're alive, we have nothing to fear..."
"cough."
A slightly untimely, even somewhat light cough, interrupted the chieftain's heavy words, which sounded almost like he was giving his final instructions.
All eyes were suddenly drawn to the young man sitting in the corner, slowly adding hot water to his thermos. It was as if everyone had found a searchlight in the dark.
Fang Yu blinked innocently, as if the oppressive atmosphere that was about to explode had nothing to do with him.
He tightened the lid and blew on any non-existent steam.
"Sorry, esteemed leaders. My throat is a bit dry from looking at data too much these past few days."
He put the cup down with a smile.
"However, I think you guys are being a bit too pessimistic. Why are you even using words like 'picking up people' and 'retreating'?"
General Chen's fiery temper was about to get out of control, and he glared at them.
"Hey Fang, stop making sarcastic remarks now! That's 50,000 people! Not 50,000 pigs!"
"Even if it were 50,000 pigs charging, and Castro and his men were to take your few hundred guns and cut them down one by one, it would take them three days and three nights until their hands cramped up! Not to mention the American soldiers who are armed to the teeth!"
"Even 20,000 heads would be too many."
Fang Yu shrugged.
He pulled out a Cuban topographic map from his file bag—a map he'd apparently obtained from who-knows-where, clearly taken with extremely high aerial precision—and casually spread it on the table.
“Old Chen, you’re a veteran. But this account can’t be settled using such an old-fashioned method.”
He stretched out his long, slender finger and pointed to the location of that small peninsula on the map.
"Has everyone forgotten what was in that big plane we sent as a gift to them before?"
“‘Po Jun’, huh?” President Lu pushed up his glasses. “I think there were only… twelve? Or twenty? Plus that submarine, that makes a dozen or so. But that’s a drop in the ocean…”
"This is enough."
Fang Yu interrupted President Lu, his tone devoid of any hint of joking, as calm as if stating an objective truth like 'the earth is round'.
"In the face of an absolute generational gap, quantity is merely a number that makes the surrender list slightly longer."
He looked at the chief, his gaze not filled with madness, but with a kind of unrealistic certainty based entirely on data.
"Rest assured. The 'Broken Army' armor we sent is not just a suit of armor; it's a complete information node."
"Even if there are only a few hundred guerrillas, as long as they don't even need to be fully armed, even if each of them can press a button..."
Fang Yu smiled, but he didn't reveal that it was based on the full-map view and global data link support provided by "Nuwa"—that was his little secret.
"For the still-weaned American army, let alone 50,000, even if they filled their entire National Guard, they wouldn't be able to climb that island..."
He casually pushed the map of the US invasion, covered with bright red arrows, aside as if it were a pile of waste paper.
"Before our submarine develops anorexia, my only worry is whether the sharks in the Caribbean will die from overeating."
The people in the conference room looked at each other in bewilderment.
Several veteran generals clearly showed expressions of helplessness, as if to say, "Is this child delirious from the fever?" or "Those who do scientific research really don't know how dangerous the front lines are."
General Chen was so angry that his beard was trembling. He was about to slam his fist on the table and teach this arrogant brat a lesson.
But the chieftain reached out and stopped him.
The Great Chief's deep eyes, which seemed to see right through people, stared at Fang Yu for a long time.
From the young man's face, which showed no hostility and even had a scholarly air, he saw not a trace of bravado or bluffing.
Yes, but it was the kind of all-encompassing calm that he had only ever seen in the eyes of the greatest prophets or the top chess players of that era.
"it is good."
The chief suddenly stubbed out the remaining half of his cigarette, his voice firm and powerful, setting the tone for the argument.
"Don't doubt people who are suspicious of you, don't doubt those who are employed."
"Since Comrade Fang Yu dared to make this pledge, it means that there are some new things in his little head that we old fogies haven't thought of yet."
The chieftain stood up and waved his hand.
"Pass on my orders! Apart from secretly informing them to prepare a worst-case scenario evacuation plan as a precaution, everything else is to remain on hold for now!"
"We'll be right here, waiting to see how this grand spectacle of 50,000 people turns out!"
He walked up to Fang Yu and patted his slightly thin shoulder heavily.
"Young Fang, this time the stage is all yours to handle, those lumps of iron."
"If things go wrong, I'll have to confiscate your special supply of tea for the next few months."
Fang Yu grinned, revealing a set of pearly white teeth.
"Just you wait and see. We've already collected the ticket money for this play in advance."
The rain outside the window seems to have lessened a bit.
But on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, an even bigger storm is brewing.