xymnovel Chapter 112 The Republic of Iraq, Is It Real? The Middle East is in Utter Chaos
Chapter 112 The Republic of Iraq, Is It Real? The Middle East is in Utter Chaos
Chapter 112 The Republic of Iraq, Is It Real? The Middle East is in Utter Chaos
The young King Faisal II of Iraq sits on a red velvet cushion in the royal palace. This youngest son of a branch of the Hashemite family is related to the royal family of Transjordan.
His eyes remained fixed on the two arguing people in front of him.
The one wearing the white robe is his uncle, Prince Abdul, and the other is Prime Minister Rashid.
"You shouldn't do this; we'll anger Britain."
The British prince was somewhat worried when he heard that Rashid had sent police forces to attack the port of Basra.
"Do you want to remain puppets forever?"
Rashid was a nationalist who had had enough of Britain’s dominance. “Now is the best opportunity. Germany is attacking British military bases and is also sending aid. Italy is attacking Egypt and will also send air support to us. France has joined the war, and Iran is seeking independence.”
If we succeed, we will become pioneers in the Arab world's resistance against colonialism, and other countries will follow suit. If we unite, we can drive out the British, and Iraq will become the leader of the free Arab world.
"No, you don't understand the power of Britain."
The prince lowered his head and shook it repeatedly, inwardly cursing, "You're just the prime minister, you'll be replaced. We are the masters of this country. In dealing with Britain, it's the Hashem family that will suffer."
"But we've already taken action."
"Then we should secretly contact the British and tell them that as long as our rights are respected, Iraq will not side with Germany."
Rashid looked at the other man coldly. "You have neither the courage nor the resolve to be a king. You only know how to grovel before the British and enslave the Iraqis. I was wrong. I shouldn't have placed my hopes on you. This world doesn't need kings."
"I'll consider it," Rashid said before leaving the palace.
Standing in the palace on the second floor, the prince secretly looked down through the window and noticed that the royal guards had changed; they were not people he recognized.
"Faisal, we need to escape."
"Uncle, where are we going?"
"Go to Basra port. There are Royal Navy warships there. We'll be safe once we get there."
In the early morning at the Port of Beirut, Lebanon, the sun shines warmly, and the blue waves of the St. Joan of Arc coast lap against the beach.
Several Frenchmen were smoking with rifles on their backs near the coastal defense guns in the Port of Beirut.
A long, drawn-out whistle sounded in the distance.
"What is that?"
The soldier, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, turned to look at the sea.
Large and small black dots appeared on the sea surface.
Another soldier ran to the bunker and observed the sea through binoculars.
*Thud*, the cigarette fell to the ground.
"Enemy attack, enemy attack, it's the British Navy."
The soldiers immediately shouted, rushed into the bunker, and sounded the alarm.
The mournful sound echoed far and wide along the coast of St. Joan of Arc.
Several ships approached on the sea.
The ship's guns were aimed at the coastline.
The fleet commander was also observing the coastline through his binoculars.
A large number of troop transport ships followed behind the fleet.
The Royal Navy, which had absolute control of the Mediterranean, did not take the Italian Navy seriously at all.
"Fire! Prepare for landing!"
Bang bang bang!
The main guns of several ships began to tremble.
With a deafening roar, a cloud of sand and gravel was hurled from the coast, and a barrage of explosions erupted around the two gun emplacements.
The ground was shaking.
Several black dots flew over the sea as SBD bombers swooped down from the sky, their bombs landing precisely on the fortress.
With a loud bang, the coastal defense gun was charred black.
The French soldiers inside were reduced to fragments before they could even call for air support.
A group of Australian soldiers, rifles in hand, sprinted through the water.
December 1940, 9.
Sean watched as the tomboy put on his new clothes, picked up his backpack, and followed Hanni out.
I went to buy breakfast myself, something I hadn't done in a long time.
As he went downstairs, Heidett was chatting with his old subordinate Forman in the lobby. The moment he saw Sean, he immediately followed.
As he stepped out of the apartment, the man reading the newspaper on the street subconsciously stopped and looked at Sean in the distance.
"Hey Sean."
"Hi."
"It seems that because of your prediction, Britain launched the first attack on Vichy France's Lebanon. You said Free France couldn't win, so what about Britain? The newspapers say that the Australian 7th Division has landed at Beirut Port under the cover of an aircraft carrier fleet."
Beirut, that's the capital of Lebanon, no wonder they're asking themselves that.
"Has Beirut been occupied?" Although not particularly curious, Sean still moved closer to the other person.
The neighbor nodded, waving the newspaper in his hand, "The French army has withdrawn from Beirut. The Royal Navy is too powerful; France doesn't have any spare air power."
This is similar to the historical Syrian-Lebanese war. If Britain attacked Lebanon, then the attack on Damascus, Syria, should have been carried out by the First Free French Division.
Unable to defeat them, Britain sent the 5th British Indian Brigade to support Free France.
"Nothing's wrong, we won't decide a winner for now."
"The Italian 5th and 10th Armies have also joined the war, and the British in Egypt are in danger."
Sean was not worried about that; Italy couldn't beat them anyway.
If they were even slightly stronger, Germany wouldn't have been taken advantage of.
"By the way, King Faisal II of Iraq went into exile in Britain, Rashid established a defense government, and founded the Republic of Iraq."
"What did you say? They've established a republic?"
That's not right. The Republic of Iraq should have been established in 1958.
Almost twenty years ahead of schedule?
Is this another of Göring's outrageous moves?
Sean then considered the possibility that a coup in Iraq would be devastating for British rule in the Middle East.
It could even shake the very foundations.
If Iraq is playing such a big game, what about Germany?
It is absolutely impossible for someone to remain neutral and preserve their strength as a bystander.
Holy crap, are they going to force an attack on the western front?
If you do the math, it's only September 1940. Oh no, the Russians are doomed.
Seeing that Sean was not speaking, the neighbors thought he had something on his mind.
He asked cautiously.
"Could things change? The British said today that they will defeat Vichy France, and they seem quite afraid that your prediction will come true."
"Haha, how could that be?" Sean's expression betrayed his thoughts.
"Indeed, they are afraid of your prophecy, so they plan to defeat Vichy France first, so that Free France will not lose."
Even the neighbors couldn't help but laugh this time; Britain was actually pulling some crazy stunts.
When has a war between nations ever been influenced by mere rhetoric? Sean is unique in this regard.
"Do my words really have that much power?"
"Believe in yourself, you are a prophet."
After the neighbor finished speaking, he gave Sean a thumbs up.
It's getting funnier the more I think about it.
Sean kept suppressing a laugh as he walked. Was Churchill afraid of me?
What about Old Mo? Is Little Mustache also afraid of him?
It's too late. It's no use sending people to assassinate me now. My own security forces are already up and running. I'll just bring out the CIA later. Do you think I'm afraid of your underhanded tactics?
Sean had a sudden inspiration: because they were afraid of me, Germany cancelled the Battle of Britain.
The moment Sean stepped into the fast food restaurant, even the people in line stopped.
Just as I found a seat, the waiter picked up his notebook and asked, "Will France lose in Vieux?"
Sean looked up, both amused and exasperated. "What did you say? What are you recording?"
"Will Vichy France lose? You said Free France couldn't defeat them, but now the British have taken advantage of the loophole in your prediction and launched a preemptive attack."
"My God, I came here for breakfast."
"Sir, what would you like?" the shop assistant kept asking a customer in line.
The man kept his head turned toward Sean's table.
He even raised his index finger at the shop assistant, "Shh, let me hear it first."
The shop assistant stared at him speechlessly, tilting his body to the side and looking at the back of the line.
It would have been better if I hadn't looked at it, because once I did, I immediately put down the notebook I was holding.
The people behind also turned towards Sean's location, waiting for an answer.
"Now that Vichy France's opponent has changed to the British, what will the outcome be?"
The shop assistant asked the question as a matter of course.
"Are you serious? You can't be serious, I came here for breakfast."
Sean pursed his lips and quietly looked at the other person.
The shop assistant still maintained a longing look in his eyes.
"Alright," Sean said, conceding. "You know, Syria and Lebanon are two different countries, but they're on the same battlefield."
Whether it was the British landing in Beirut or the Free French landing in Syria, the two battlefields were essentially one.
"But the situation now is not one-on-one."
Yes, historically the Free French couldn't win, but Britain did.
Sean was careful in his previous comments; he never mentioned Britain.
Because he was unsure whether history would change.
But now, he is certain that history has changed, and the Republic of Iraq is proof of that.
Germany will likely intervene, which will then lead to a protracted tug-of-war.
"This is a long battle," Sean offered as an excuse.
However, the crowd did not seem satisfied.
"But you said Free France would lose."
Many people perked up their ears again.
"Yes, Free France can't win." Sean played with words; not winning doesn't necessarily mean losing, and the result isn't the same as the process.
"No, Free France will not lose." A serious voice came from the doorway.
Everyone turned around curiously.
Sean squinted at the direction of the door. He was dressed in a black suit and vest, with a white shirt and his hair was neatly styled.
The tall de Gaulle stood at the restaurant entrance, looking straight at Sean with a fiery gaze.
"Free France will not lose, it will even defeat the Vichy government, we will gain Lebanon and Syria, and even become stronger and have more territory. Free France will rebuild France."
De Gaulle spoke slowly as he walked.
Yes, Sean knew that de Gaulle was talking about history.
After defeating the Vichy regime, he gained control of the government from Churchill.
It was also a turning point in the rise of Free France.
They even managed to win over more French soldiers from the Vichy government, and their forces continued to grow stronger.
"You can't win."
Sean reiterated his previous statement.
"No, I will win, and I must win."
De Gaulle sat opposite Sean.
Heidel, standing behind him, frowned, wanting nothing more than to throw the Frenchman out of the restaurant.
De Gaulle's interference with His Excellency Sean's meal is unacceptable.
Sean kept looking at the other person, a faint smile on his face.
If you want to recreate history, then you should respect history.
"In fact, your command was chaotic and your coordination was disorganized, so you were no match for Vixi."
These words seemed to deeply sting de Gaulle.
"You will regret it, because you underestimated the bravery of the French and the professionalism of the Free French fighters."
"
Yes. You fought bravely, but that didn't change the outcome.
Being unafraid of death in war doesn't guarantee victory. The Japanese weren't afraid of death either, but they still lost.
Free France made a series of farcical mistakes on the Syrian battlefield, comparable to those in Italy.
"This has nothing to do with courage."
Look at this guy, Sean Wayne has looked down on France ever since the Battle of France.
Even now, they are still humiliating us.
De Gaulle's expression turned unnatural. "Do you think you're absolutely right? There's no one who's always right, and there are no prophets in this world. Sean Wayne, are you afraid I'll expose your charlatan act?"
Wow!
The surrounding audience covered their mouths, and de Gaulle at that moment was like a lone hero attempting to provoke an invincible dragon.
"He's very brave."
Sean wanted to laugh when he heard this. This guy is the future president, how dare you talk to him like that?
"My God, he actually provoked Sean! Doesn't he know he'll fail?"
Sean was about to lose his temper.
It turns out I was the one in power.
He really wanted to laugh.
"I feel sorry for him. The French shouldn't have provoked Sean."
No, why do I feel like I've become the villain?
Sean glanced around, and the whispers immediately ceased.
"There is no one in this world who is always right, and I am not a charlatan."
Hearing Sean say this, many people looked surprised.
These words made de Gaulle feel much better, but the next sentence was like a rollercoaster ride.
"But I'm sure I made the right decision this time."
That damn bastard.
De Gaulle clenched his fist. "Remember your words. I will show you with facts that Free France will prevail, and must prevail. I will bring you down from your pedestal at the moment of victory."
Yes, you will win.
Sean knew the outcome. He chuckled.
"You are insulting me, and you are insulting France." The pride of the French seems to be ingrained in their very bones.
"We, the Free French, do not need Britain's help to defeat our enemies."
Haha, you wouldn't win without Britain's help.
Seeing Sean laugh even harder, de Gaulle was like a cat that had been provoked, its fur standing on end.
Sean also wanted to know the answer: Iraq has changed, will history change?
You should know that from the beginning, he never dared to touch it, because his familiarity with history was his greatest weapon for making a name for himself.
But as the deviations increased, Sean lost confidence.
This time, he decided to give it a try.
That is to challenge the trajectory of fate.
"You will lose!" Sean said with certainty. This time, it wasn't that they couldn't win, but that they would lose the war. "Lose? Very well, I'll remember that. We'll see! Let's see if you'll still be as stubborn as you are today." De Gaulle stood up, bowed politely to those around him, and left the fast food restaurant.
"Did you hear that? Sean said Free France will lose."
"Not only that, he said they would lose in the Middle East."
"But Britain intervened early; they exploited Sean's loopholes."
"I don't know either, but I'm more inclined to believe Sean."
"Me too."
Hearing the surrounding chatter, Sean waved to everyone, "Thank you, everyone."
We believe in you.
Is this what it feels like to be recognized?
Sean experienced a completely different feeling from the beginning. There was no repression, no anger, and he didn't laugh in frustration because of their doubts.
"Defeat the British, I want to see if the British Empire will ever fall." The waiter laughed as he pulled out his notebook again.
"I will."
"come on."
"Okay, can you help me order?"
"Oh, sorry, I'll order now. What would you like to eat?"
"A bacon and egg sandwich, a glass of milk, and a chicken wrap."
"Okay, just a moment."
Watching the other person leave, Sean finally felt a sense of peace.
Are the British exploiting my weaknesses?
Okay, let's see how it goes.
On the morning of September 2, 1940.
The British General Staff quickly contacted troops in various locations.
Two hours later, a large formation of aircraft took off from Egypt and Cyprus.
"Attention all formations, our targets are three French air bases in Vichy: Balbec, Madgarouen, and Lajac. Our third formation's target is Balbec."
The French will utterly crush Lebanon and seize air superiority!