Chapter 163: Innocent
Even Chamberlain could no longer keep his expression steady.
He raised a hand quickly, as if afraid Jörg would truly continue down that ridiculous path.
"Please, Mr. Roman, let us not joke about Australia. Our highest offer is fifty million dollars. That is our limit."
Jörg did not answer immediately.
He picked up his teacup, took a slow sip, and looked across the table at Chamberlain with the calm patience of a man discussing the price of cloth rather than medicine that could decide the survival of an army.
"Seventy million dollars, settled in Marks. Deal?"
Churchill's gaze sharpened until it seemed almost murderous.
Chamberlain felt that gaze burning from the side, but after a brief silence, he still extended his hand.
"Deal."
Jörg clasped his hand lightly.
Before letting go, Chamberlain looked directly at him and asked, "Allow me to ask one more time, Mr. Roman. If we agree to the conditions you proposed earlier, there will be no further issues in the Middle East from Germany's side, correct?"
Jörg seemed to consider the question seriously.
Then, as if struck by a new thought, he said, "Of course. However, to avoid repeating past mistakes, I believe the State of Israel should not exist as a fully independent country."
Chamberlain's expression froze.
Jörg continued as if discussing a perfectly reasonable administrative arrangement.
"Political authority should be handed over to the League of Nations. As for military affairs, I believe Israel should not establish its own army. Instead, the League of Nations should deploy troops to protect it."
He smiled faintly.
"Considering the economic burden of maintaining such a force, Germany would be quite willing to send troops to protect the State of Israel."
This time, Chamberlain did not reply.
He stood up at once.
Churchill also rose silently behind him, his pipe clenched so tightly between his teeth it seemed ready to crack.
The two men left the restaurant without another word.
Only after they had returned to the car did Churchill finally explode.
"How the devil did you hold yourself back in there?" he snarled. "Who does he think he is speaking to? Some tribal chieftain from a nameless little country? You represent England! The British Empire! The strongest nation in the world, bar none!"
He slammed his fist against the armrest.
"If he dares demand such a price, then blockade his shipping and see whether he can sell even a single vial of medicine. If he dares withhold technology, send the fleet into Hamburg Harbor! That is the British Empire. That is England!"
Chamberlain, who had already been suppressing his anger to the point of pain, finally snapped.
"If your military were truly that strong, you would have regained the initiative in the Middle East by now!"
Churchill's face darkened.
But Chamberlain did not stop.
"War? If all of Britain cannot produce even a single dose of penicillin, then go and ask the soldiers whether they agree with your idea of fighting Germany to the death! You must understand that all responsibility for this situation lies with you warmongering lunatics. Had we negotiated with the Arabs from the beginning, none of this trouble would have happened!"
His voice grew colder.
"Do you want to know how low public trust in the government has fallen? Even middle school students now think we are the hounds of the Jewish people, bleeding British soldiers for their benefit. The day after you declare war on Germany, the public will storm Buckingham Palace with rifles and pour all their resentment into the halls."
After venting his anger, Chamberlain leaned back in his seat and continued in a quieter but sharper voice.
"To be frank, Churchill, I am giving the military one final chance only out of respect for the Prime Minister. Otherwise, I would have agreed to Roman's conditions from the start. A superficial victory that preserves Oman and our remaining Middle Eastern colonies is far better than sending soldiers into the desert to die for nothing."
He turned his gaze toward Churchill.
"And I am telling you now. In two months, representatives from India will arrive in London to discuss the Indian Independence Act. If the Middle East issue is not resolved within two months after receiving the medicine, and if Britain fails to establish sufficient influence there..."
Chamberlain paused.
"Then you may as well return to your estate and smoke cigars for the rest of your life. And this money will be counted against next year's military budget."
The car remained parked outside the restaurant for a long while.
Upstairs, Jörg watched it through the window.
The corners of his lips slowly curved upward.
After placing a Mark beneath the bowl, he stood and spoke.
"Boss, the bill, please."
A few days later, one ton of penicillin arrived in Britain.
It was quickly shipped onward with an additional twenty thousand soldiers drawn from New Zealand and several independent dominions. The supplies were unloaded at Haifa Harbor, then distributed to the various units on the front line.
At the British and French Joint Headquarters, General Keel still frowned as he studied the map spread across the operations table.
The medicine problem had been solved.
But medicine could not cure fear.
The soldiers' dread of the desert remained. After the disaster in Oman, Keel no longer dared to order those two divisions to launch another deep pincer movement through the southern desert. The wound had been too ugly, and the report had been too humiliating.
He needed a safer approach.
A more traditional one.
A frontal offensive supported by air superiority.
After several minutes of thought, Keel finally said, "Order the air force to coordinate with the army and launch a frontal assault from the Nefud Desert. The advance must be rapid."
His adjutant immediately began recording.
Keel pointed to the flank of the map.
"The New Zealand Third Mountain Division and Second Infantry Division will outflank them from the left through the Arabian Plateau and cut behind the enemy."
He pressed two fingers against the map.
"Encircle them directly. Destroy them. Dismantle Saudi Arabia's armed forces as quickly as possible."
The adjutant finished writing, closed his notebook, and stood at attention.
"Yes, sir."
Whether because of penicillin, the change in tactics, or the sudden abundance of supplies, the British offensive in the Nefud Desert soon achieved visible progress.
With reconnaissance aircraft and bombers working together, the Saudi Army, lacking any proper antiaircraft defenses, suffered greatly. Every time they tried to gather, aircraft would appear overhead. Every time they attempted to form defensive lines, bombs would tear through their positions before the British infantry even arrived.
The Nefud Desert was not as vast or complex as the deserts near Oman. It did not provide the same narrow corridors for ambush, nor the same endless depth for disappearance.
The British advance came in broad waves, making guerrilla harassment far less effective. If the Saudi forces scattered, they lost control of the front. If they gathered, the air force tormented them from above.
For the first time since the war began, the British Army obtained results worthy of its name.
Within half a month, they had almost crossed the Nefud Desert.
The Saudi Army retreated again and again.
At the same time, the mountain division began moving across the Arabian Plateau, preparing to slip behind the resistance forces and deliver a fatal blow from the rear.
Yet large scale military operations came with a price.
The longer the front advanced, the longer the supply line became.
The temporary stability in the cities, combined with the relentless heat, gradually made the logistics troops careless. Exhausted by transportation work and desperate to reduce pressure, they began entrusting the most troublesome supply duties to local laborers.
What they did not know was that the resistance had never truly been eliminated.
It had merely gone quiet.
On Kara Al's map, countless small red circles marked supply depots, transport stations, storage yards, and weak points in the British network. A considerable number of resistance fighters had already infiltrated the ranks of those hired to transport British supplies.
And in the unseen depths of the sea, two submarines that had sailed silently from Hamburg completed their own work.
Under the cover of darkness, they laid a considerable number of mines along the main shipping lanes of the Mediterranean, then disappeared as quietly as they had arrived.
Riyadh.
Vorbeck stood in the operations room, reading reports from the front.
Not only was there no panic on his face, there was even a faint excitement in his eyes.
The British advance looked imposing.
But to him, it was merely a beast stretching its neck into the noose.
He placed the report down and ordered, "Have all troops in the Nefud Desert withdraw. Let the British advance a little further."
A Saudi officer standing beside him hesitated.
"General Vorbeck, if they advance any further, there will be no desert terrain left to shield us. They will also be very close to Riyadh. In addition, residents on the Arabian Plateau have already reported sightings of British soldiers. They may have sent a flanking force to cut off our rear."
Vorbeck did not seem troubled at all.
A British movement through the Arabian Plateau had already been within his calculations.
"But their supply speed will also slow," he said calmly. "A rapid advance can only be maintained with abundant reserves. Without supplies, they will have only one fate, to die in the yellow sand."
He tapped the map.
"Send telegrams to all resistance forces. They may begin."
Then he pointed toward the Arabian Plateau.
"As for the flank, we shall see who outflanks whom. Send two elite divisions there. If they intend to infiltrate us, then we shall infiltrate them as well."
The Saudi officer still did not fully understand why they had to retreat voluntarily.
But King Ibn had already made it clear.
This German officer represented his will.
And so, the officer could only lower his head.
"Yes, sir."
.....
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