xymnovel Chapter 111 Sean's Evolution: From Prophet to Nuclear Weapon of Public Opinion Tactics
Chapter 111 Sean's Evolution: From Prophet to Nuclear Weapon of Public Opinion Tactics
Chapter 111 Sean's Evolution: From Prophet to Nuclear Weapon of Public Opinion Tactics
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This unexpected remark caused O'Connor to cough violently.
He kept patting his chest.
He swallowed hard and looked up.
"I must have misheard you, right? You must have misheard me."
No, you heard me right.
As Sean spoke, he sat down opposite O'Connor and quietly watched him.
Do you think I'm your worker?
Sean crossed his legs, placed his hands on his knees, and sat there.
Are you trying to say that without you, I wouldn't be where I am today, and that my current success is entirely due to your appreciation?
This is what O'Connor said to Sean last time.
The wicked merchant was immediately embarrassed.
That's not what I meant.
"That's what you mean, so you came to my house, waited for me to leave a review, Hanni, buy it."
Hanni nodded slightly and even took out her notebook to write it down.
"clear."
"Are you serious?"
Sean looked at the other person happily, "Yes, I'm serious, because what you're doing makes me a little annoyed."
I find it a bit annoying, so you want to be my boss?
O'Connor sensed Sean's powerful confidence.
If I can't handle you, I'll take away your job.
Sean's smile seemed to say, "I want to see if you'll force your boss to comment."
"Damn it, okay, I'm sorry." O'Connor backed down very quickly because he overlooked the fact that the current Sean Wayne was not the same mover he had initially been.
He was not the well-known commentator he imagined.
Instead, they are military industry giants and military contractors.
He is not an ordinary person who can be manipulated at will, but a future advisor to the White House.
Sean has everything: power, wealth, and even force.
He's just a peaceful person and never thought of using his strength to bully ordinary people.
But now Sean is a little angry. Who told you to come to my house and drink my Coke? He'll have Foreman be stricter with his friends from now on; he's been too lenient with them.
Still deserve to die? I should be the one complaining, not you.
"Are you apologizing? Say it again," Sean said calmly.
"I'm sorry, Sean, there have been so many important things happening lately. You know me, I'm very anxious."
O'Connor immediately changed his attitude and even stood up from the sofa.
In just one year, he looked at the rather different Sean in front of him with surprise.
Is this the aura that wealth and power bring?
Sean put his hands down, loosened his legs, picked up a bottle of Coke, and roughly bit open the cap with his teeth.
For a moment, O'Connor almost had the illusion that the billionaire in front of him had become a real, ordinary person.
Sean took a sip of his cola, held out his hand, and said, "Okay, here's paper and pen."
Monroe laughed loudly, "Uncle O'Connor, don't come into our house so casually in the future, and don't touch our snacks."
"understood."
"I would have thought there was a burglar in my house, and I was even prepared to pull out my gun."
Marilyn Monroe also defiantly pulled out the Ramdo 1935 pistol tucked into her waistband.
Whoa, whoa, whoa!
The evil businessman coughed incessantly again the moment he saw the pistol.
"Sean, is this how you raise kids? Oh my god, you're a girl!"
"Can't girls play with guns?"
Good question!
O'Connor looked at Sean.
"As long as she's happy, that's fine. I'm even thinking of taking her hunting next holiday."
"My God, she's only 14 years old."
"Ah, that's fantastic! Maine or Montana? I want to hunt moose, and maybe even go lion hunting in Africa?"
"You can choose when the time comes, as long as you're happy."
Go to Africa to hunt lions? O'Connor covered his forehead. Who raises a child like that? You'll raise her into a wolf.
The tomboy walked over and happily wrapped her arms around Sean's neck.
"Aren't you spoiling your child too much?"
O'Connor pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and pushed them in front of Sean.
"Shouldn't it be?"
Sean patted the tomboy's arm to signal her to let go, as he had to get back to work.
Bending over, Sean picked up his pen and thought for a moment.
"What do you want to know?"
When the question reached O'Connor's ears, he looked at the person opposite him in surprise.
It's not about what Sean wants to say, but what you want to know?
This means he knows everything.
Or perhaps they had already seen through the situation.
"My God, well, what I want to know most is the French Civil War."
Yes, this war was unusual, a legitimate war between Free France and Vichy France, and also part of a complex series of Middle Eastern wars.
"The Free France led by de Gaulle could not defeat the Vichy France."
As Sean spoke, he wrote down that this was indeed the case in history. The Free French suffered heavy losses in Syria and Lebanon, while the Vichy French fought in a manner more akin to the French army of the past.
It even damaged several British warships.
If it weren't for the British Royal Air Force and Allied forces, Free France would probably have been wiped out.
But that's not necessarily the case now.
Britain has lost air superiority in the Middle East.
"My God, de Gaulle would be heartbroken to hear what you've said."
Why should I care about his feelings?
Sean quickly wrote with his pen.
"What about Italy?" This is the question many people are most eager to know. Both Britain and Italy are powerful forces in North Africa, and their rivalry is even more captivating.
"Italy cannot beat Britain."
Oh dear, this result is really...
O'Connor's evil spirit trembled, a blow from both sides, thrilling.
He kept laughing as he read Sean's comments; this inconsistency would have a huge impact on both sides.
Sean put down his pen and pushed the paper in front of O'Connor.
"Is it okay now?"
"Yes, I won't bother you anymore." O'Connor stood up contentedly and carefully put away the comment.
As he left Sean's apartment, the wicked businessman pondered how to maximize his profits.
December 1940, 8.
The ongoing conflicts in Europe and the renewed fighting in the Middle East are attracting widespread attention.
A commentary in the Los Angeles Times has finally reignited public enthusiasm.
[The French Civil War: Free France lost to Vichy France]
Signed Sean Wayne.
O'Connor only posted part of the comment.
He kept the Italian version unreleased; good things can't be revealed all at once.
"Sean Veyone said that De Gaulle's Free France would be defeated?"
"That must be true; Sean never makes mistakes."
"Yes, he was a prophet."
Americans are discussing it like crazy.
Many Americans no longer doubt that Sean won the war.
But when this terrible prophecy came into the hands of de Gaulle, it was not so pleasant.
"Damn it, I shouldn't have said that. Sean Wayne isn't noble or righteous; he's a cancer of war."
The moment De Gaulle saw the comments, his heart sank. Morale was already halved before the fighting even started.
It's not just Americans who think this way; people in many European countries share the same view when they see this news.
Upon seeing this, the wavering French became even more determined: Free France was unreliable, so they decided to stick with Vichy France.
"It seems Free France is going to lose."
"That's impossible, that's in the Middle East, not in Europe."
"But Sean never makes a mistake."
Well, many Europeans have kept quiet.
Upon seeing the news, members of the Free French 1st Division, far away in North Africa, felt saddened as they had already lost half the battle before it even began.
"We're going to lose."
"We won't lose, don't worry."
"Are you doubting Sean's words? I wouldn't doubt his words even if I doubted my mother's words."
Damn.
Before the battle even started, morale had already dropped by half. The commander of the First Division was extremely distressed, knowing that if things continued like this, the division would be doomed sooner or later.
Sean Wayne is no prophet; he's clearly a demoralizing weapon.
"Wow, Sean is on our side."
"Of course, Vichy France will not lose; they are the angels who embrace victory."
This was the nickname given to Sean by the Germans, and now the French use it fluently.
Prime Minister Pétain, who had experienced Sean's terrible prophecy, breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"It seems that the goddess of victory is on our side."
A strange wind called Sean Wayne swept across Europe.
Comparable to a strategic nuclear weapon, even Sean himself was unaware that he was evolving into the ultimate weapon of public opinion.
His single sentence caused a life-or-death struggle between the two sides in the war.
It can not only demoralize one side, but also give the other side a boost.
Adding and subtracting—that's the power of the ultimate propaganda tactic, the nuclear weapon.
Rome, Italy.
Sean Wayne's archenemy, Old Mexican, laughed heartily as he read the comments.
"It feels great to have Sean Wayne around."
Yes, this time, for the first time ever, the Mexican didn't swear.
After all, a Vichy French victory would be advantageous to them.
"Those Free French who dare to help the British, accept the terrible prophecy from Sean."
Ha ha ha, Italy will surely win and restore the glory of the Roman Empire.
Old Mo excitedly waved his fist, as if Sean had said Italy would win.
"Congratulations, Your Excellency, Sean is on our side." Zinoa bowed deeply, his sycophantic manner evident. Having experienced Sean's two prophecies, hearing that this bastard had written another comment almost made him wet himself in fear.
I'm afraid Sean will say something like, "Italy can't beat them."
That's truly a case of losing half the battle before even going into battle. It would be better if it were Germany, since their individual soldiers were highly skilled. But the Italian soldiers were not up to par. Hearing Sean's prediction, the lower-ranking soldiers were filled with trepidation.
Next time, should we send Sean a gift before the battle and have him say something nice to boost morale?
The Black Army's supreme commander also began to follow the path of Himramism.
"Sean is very good." Old Mo happily waved his small leather whip, clearly in a good mood.
She kept pacing back and forth in the office, even humming a song.
London, England, presents a completely different picture.
Although many people are not too superstitious, Sean's comments, well, how should I put it?
It's a matter of probability; what if someone could guess the outcome correctly every time?
The British dared not be blindly optimistic, especially since Sean's mistakes had only happened in Italy, and Britain had not yet broken this ironclad rule.
"It's over, our ally Free France is going to lose, this is a disaster."
"Now I'm starting to worry, what if we lose the whole war?"
Many people had questions; they were not politicians, nor soldiers, but most Britons began to worry about defeat.
You could smell the decadence emanating from the British cabinet even from several streets away.
Looking out at the fog, Navy mate Ramsey sighed, "London is unusually gloomy today; people seem to have lost their vitality."
"That damn Sean Wayne, he demoralized everyone."
Churchill puffed rapidly on his pipe, his feet shaking incessantly on the carpet.
The shiny, pointed leather shoes swayed back and forth like a pendulum.
Ramsey glanced at his former naval friend; he knew Churchill was nervous.
"We can't be swayed by a commentator's words, right?"
The comforting words from a friend eased the tension somewhat.
Churchill took off his pipe, threw it on the table, and exhaled a deep puff of smoke.
"Yes, I will win. The British Empire has never faced such difficulties, but we have experienced Napoleon and the Crusades. We will not fail. Britain's current position is the result of three hundred years of institutional and technological progress."
We will not be defeated by a simple statement, much less succumb to so-called bullshit prophecies.
"Yes, that's the former Minister of the Navy."
Churchill forced a smile. "To give the people confidence."
"
Lieutenant General Ramsey smiled slightly. "I know what to do."
December 1940, 8.
"Breaking news! Breaking news! The Times of London has announced that they will not let their allies fail. Britain is ready for a national mobilization, and the Australian 7th Infantry Division and the Indian 5th and 10th Infantry Divisions are about to be deployed to the battlefield."
The newsboys were hawking their wares with heart-wrenching cries.
This is a shot in the arm; Britain is not an aging tiger, it still has a vast overseas colony and a large army.
The impact of Sean was immediately diminished by the news when the public in China saw it.
"Yes, in fact we also have a large overseas force."
The British breathed a sigh of relief, and the Free French 1st and 2nd Divisions, far away in Africa, also rallied somewhat.
The 2nd Free Division rallied even more, sending a brigade to wreak havoc on the road that the Italians frequently traveled.
The First Division also began to assemble in Alexandria for an expedition to Lebanon.
The two motorized divisions of Graznia had already set off, advancing rapidly along the coastline. With the assistance of tanks, the two British companies at Halfaya Pass crumbled at the first contact.
As they watched a line of planes fly overhead, Italians took off their hats and cheered towards the sky.
"It's our plane."
"Haha, the British only have 40,000 men, while we have planes and tanks. How could we possibly fail?"
"Woo-woo-woo!" Soldiers of Libya's 2nd Motorized Division even whistled at the sky.
"They must have blown up those British guys; we can easily wipe them out."
"Yes."
Watching a group of Italians in the distance waving their hats into the sky instead of picking up weapons and firing.
The British pilot glanced down again to confirm.
"We spotted Italians; they were waving at us."
"You must be mistaken; they won't give us a warm welcome."
"Repeat, I didn't misread it."
"Hahaha!" The British pilots suddenly burst into laughter.
"The bombers have begun dropping their bombs."
*Thud thud thud*, aerial bombs fell from below the cabin.
The Italians, who were looking up at the sky, suddenly stopped laughing and cheering.
"The plane is dropping something."
"That can't be right."
Everyone looked at the sky with curiosity.
"Yes, they are losing things."
"Damn it! That's a British plane."
"Damn it." The clueless Italian finally realized that the other side had retaliated.
A whooshing sound came from the sky, and the Italian soldiers, who had just reacted, ran away in fright, abandoning their heavy weapons.
Boom!
A fireball rose from the sand, and the blast wave spread outwards.
The five Italian soldiers were instantly torn to pieces.
A large group of people were thrown into the air after the explosion. Those who were unlucky had their faces covered in shards, while those who were lucky crashed heavily to the ground.
I couldn't get up for a long time.
The bombs kept falling from the sky, and the planes began to dive and fire their machine guns.
Rows of craters appeared in the sand. Italians on the ground kept running. Bullets, like predatory beasts, pounced on a row of people, tearing open their arms, thighs, and abdomens.
Blood was everywhere.
"Ugh, damn it."
One guy, unable to take it anymore, started cursing, and then bang, his head exploded.
Brain matter was scattered all around.
The Royal Air Force arrived quickly and left even faster, turning back as soon as the Italians had set up their anti-aircraft guns.
The commander of the Second Division waved his fist at the sky.
"Those bastards."
The First Motorized Division, located 20 kilometers away, also faced difficulties.
The division commander was furious when he saw the large potholes in the road.
"Those damned Frenchmen, leave two battalions behind to repair the road, and the motorcycles will take a detour to catch up with them."
Seeing the sidecar motorcycle beside him drive around the ditch and forward, the major general was relieved and began to arrange for the soldiers to rest.
Boom! An explosion came from ahead.
A soldier ran back, trembling, his face covered in dust. "Report: A large number of landmines have been discovered ahead."
"Notify headquarters that we need engineers."
Upon receiving the battle report, Grazinia immediately dispatched engineers and ordered five tank battalions to retreat rapidly as a second echelon.
"Sir, doing it this way will not take advantage of the tanks' collective strength."
Grazinia glanced disdainfully at the German liaison officer beside him.
"I don't need you to teach me how to do it." What's wrong with putting my own tank in the back?
This is for safety reasons.
The German liaison officer was thoroughly humiliated and walked out of the headquarters shaking his head.
"A telegram to the Supreme Command: The Italians' combat capabilities are truly appalling. They're a bunch of pigs! Tanks should be grouped together to be effective; they're using them scattered!"
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