Great Power Reclamation

The bloody victory at Red Rock Valley did not deter the surrounding wolves; instead, it fueled their deeper greed and the unease of their "masters."

East Africa’s tenacious resistance and rapid increase in internal cohesion have made some capital and geopolitical manipulators in the far north feel threatened by a “loss of control”.

More "evidence" has been "discovered": "massive human rights violations" exist in East African resettlement camps; teams use "prohibited weapons"; refugees are used for "forced labor" and "military recruitment"...

A meticulously woven noose of public opinion is tightening through mainstream international media and diplomatic channels. Simultaneously, the K-Alliance has acquired a batch of advanced drones and electronic warfare equipment of unknown origin.

The scattered soldiers of the "T Freedom Front" suddenly became well-equipped and tactically organized; even the remnants of the "C Country" that were on the verge of collapse received enough fuel and ammunition and were ready to make a comeback.

A true black tide is forming. This time, it's no longer just border skirmishes, but a full-scale offensive orchestrated by multiple forces with tacit agreement, aimed at completely tearing apart and even dividing up the E Federation.

A secret document, delivered at great personal risk by an anonymous intelligence agent, was placed on Yang San's command post, which was steeped in the smell of gunpowder.

The document prominently displays the coordinates of logistics nodes, communication frequency characteristics in parts of East Africa, and an assessment report summary, all allegedly provided to the coalition by an intelligence agency of a major northern power.
"...The target regime's resilience has exceeded expectations. It is recommended to escalate the conflict, prioritizing the creation of an internal humanitarian catastrophe to undermine its social cohesion..."

After reading it, Yang San tore the secret document into pieces and threw them into the burning tin bucket.

The firelight illuminated his steel-like face, which was expressionless, except for the violent flame deep within his eyes, which burned even more fiercely.

"The master himself stepped in and handed over the knife."

He addressed all the officers in the command post, his voice not loud, yet it drowned out the faint sounds of artillery fire outside:

"You think you can make us kneel down with these things? Dream on!"

He walked up to the rough battle map, slammed his fist into the Sunrise City area, which represented the heart of East Africa, and then swung it outwards, sweeping across the direction of all the invading enemies.

"Order the entire army: The first phase of the 'nail' tactic is over. Now, begin the 'Anvil and Hammer' plan! All defensive units, hold your ground like nails! Not a step back, not an inch yield! Use your lives to crush the enemy's offensive momentum before the defensive line!"

"All strategic reserves, mobile armored brigades, and the 'Desert Scorpion' special operations group will be under my direct command!"

His gaze swept over several eager and fierce warriors. "We're no longer content with just defense. Wherever the enemy shouts the loudest and fights the hardest, I'll lead you guys to smash its fangs and pierce its belly!"

"Target their junctions, attack their supply lines, and destroy their command posts! No prisoners, no mercy! I want these bastards and their masters to understand that running rampant in East Africa will come at a price in blood! A price they'll pay until it hurts, a price they'll fear!"

The orders, carrying the stench of blood and sulfur, spread across the front lines. The soldiers in East Africa, whether veterans who had lived there for generations or new citizens who had just taken up arms, showed no fear in their eyes, only a resolute determination forged even more pure by the crucible of war.

Behind them are homes under construction, newly glimpsed hope, the figures of family members working in the fields, and Her Majesty the Queen's gentle yet firm voice on the radio.

They may not understand the complexities of international politics, but they know perfectly well that if they back down, all of this will be for naught. Thus, in the face of their unwavering belief in protecting what they believe in, life becomes something they are willing to sacrifice generously.

Yang San's "Fire Hammer" was first swung at the "K Alliance" armored assault group, which had just been reinforced and was the most arrogant.

The team is attempting to use its newly acquired electronic jamming advantage to break through the relatively flat hilly terrain on the northeastern flank.

Instead of encountering the expected chaotic garrison, they were met with a meticulously planned death trap.

In the electronic silence, East Africa’s old-fashioned wired communication and simple signal flare systems came into play.

When the K League tank group entered the pre-designated minefield and anti-tank ditch area and its speed decreased sharply, the East African self-propelled artillery and rocket artillery positions, which were lurking in the flank depressions and were well camouflaged, suddenly opened fire.

The artillery fire was not a blanket barrage, but rather a precise strike on the head, tail, and middle of the enemy ranks, instantly severing them.

Almost simultaneously, the armored assault group personally led by Yang San suddenly emerged from beneath a seemingly impassable dry riverbed (the engineering corps secretly opened a passage overnight).

This mixed force, comprised of old tanks, modified armored vehicles, and armed pickup trucks, had no elegant formation whatsoever, but instead possessed a desperate ferocity, crashing into the chaotic enemy ranks like a torrent of red-hot iron.

Yang San's command vehicle was at the forefront, with the heavy machine gun on its roof spitting fire.

He no longer remained in the safety of his command position, but became the spearhead of the attack. This was not recklessness, but a gesture, a transmission of a belief:
The commander-in-chief shares life and death with his soldiers.

The battle quickly escalated. The East African soldiers displayed astonishing close-combat courage. Tanks exchanged fire, armored vehicles rammed each other, infantrymen jumped onto enemy vehicles and threw grenades through the hatches, and opened fire with anti-tank rocket launchers at extremely close range.

An East African soldier with both legs blown off crawled and used his last two grenades to destroy an enemy troop transport vehicle that was trying to escape.

After the bunker collapsed, the young machine gunner dragged his scorching gun barrel to the shell crater and continued firing until he was engulfed by artillery fire.

The K Alliance's armored assault group collapsed under this attack, a blend of meticulous planning and primal brutality. The surviving vehicles retreated in disarray, leaving behind a large amount of burning wreckage and casualties.

Yang San did not pursue. He calmly ordered his troops to quickly disengage, recover usable equipment and wounded soldiers, and disappear into the complex hilly terrain.

He knew that "Firehammer" had to keep moving, looking for the next prey, to maintain its intimidation, and not get bogged down in attrition.

Bloody reports of victories from the front lines, along with equally bloody lists of casualties, were simultaneously transmitted back to the rear.

International outcry reached its peak. Representatives of certain major powers to the United Nations began to publicly call for "humanitarian intervention," demanding an "immediate ceasefire and the opening of access to an international investigation" in East Africa.

Prime Minister Yang Dae's response was a well-written white paper with a wealth of data, including evidence of the enemy's use of prohibited cluster bombs and intelligence summaries showing that the serial number of the downed drone could be traced back to a northern country.

It also announced the full implementation of the "national survival economic model" in East Africa, freezing non-essential business dealings with all unfriendly countries, while signing secret material exchange agreements with several southern continental countries that had also suffered similar interference.

He used facts and the law to build a cold iron curtain, keeping unreasonable accusations out.

Ye Mei and Ye Rou's responses were even more direct and touching.

At an emergency press conference broadcast globally, when a Western journalist aggressively questioned whether East Africa was "using refugees as human shields," Ye Rou, who had always maintained an elegant and calm demeanor, revealed her sharp edge in public for the first time.

She looked directly at the reporter and the countless eyes behind the camera, some feigning, some indifferent, and slowly said:
"Human shields? No, sir. Here, there are no 'shields,' only warriors and families. Our warriors fight to protect their families. Our families include everyone who has chosen to build and resist alongside us."

She paused briefly, then raised her voice, making it clear and strong:
"As for you, and the forces you represent that hide far away, weaving swords of lies, you know nothing of protection, nothing of home. You know only plunder and destruction. But I want to tell you—"

Ye Mei stepped forward and stood beside her sister. She picked up the conversation, her words sharp and cutting, like a drawn sword:
"We, the Ye family, have understood one thing since our fathers built the first laboratory in the Gobi Desert:"

"Dignity and homeland are not something we beg for, but something we build with our own hands and defend with our own blood! Try to crush us with public opinion? Try to destroy us with force? You can try!" She held up a photocopy of a frontline soldier's blood-stained diary, on which were scrawled:

"It's worth it for my sister to be able to go to school without worry, for my mother to no longer have to flee, and for the tomorrow the Queen spoke of."

"Look! This is the 'human shield' you wanted to destroy!" Ye Rou's voice was filled with suppressed anger and immense pride.

“We have the bravest warriors, the most resilient people, and we have each other! We are one family, from the Supreme Commander to the youngest soldier, from the Queen to the new citizens working in the fields, we all stand together!”

"The Ye family has tough bones, and so do everyone in the Eastern Federation! You think you can just push them? You'll break your teeth!"

This scene, this resounding declaration filled with a sense of family honor and collective will, resonated with countless people through the airwaves.

Within East Africa, it transformed into an even stronger wave of patriotism and fervent support for the front lines. Internationally, it at least rendered those hypocritical accusations pale and powerless, and prompted many onlookers to re-examine this nation that fought so valiantly.

At the front lines, the soldiers, receiving full support and morale boost from the rear, were even more determined to fight.

Yang San's "anvil" endured immense pressure on all fronts, yet remained steadfast; his "fire hammer" appeared and disappeared unpredictably, continuing to bleed the Allied forces dry.

Amidst the extreme and brutal attrition, the scales of war began to tip in an extremely subtle yet crucial manner—

It was not a matter of siding with the better-equipped and more covert invaders, but with the army that possessed an indomitable spirit, a clear conviction, and a deep belief from top to bottom that it was waging a sacred war of national defense.

The people of East Africa, with steel, blood, and will, declared to all who covet them:
This rich yet troubled land may welcome builders, but for robbers, it has only one response—beat them to the bone, beat them until their souls are shattered!

After suffering repeated blows from "Firehammer" and backlash from global public opinion, the coalition forces not only did not restrain themselves, but under strong pressure from the mastermind behind the scenes, they launched a desperate all-out offensive codenamed "Thunder".

More than 200,000 troops, under stronger air cover (including stealth drones suspected of being directly operated from outside) and unprecedented artillery preparation, simultaneously pressed into the heart of the Eastern Federation from the west and north.

Their objective was clear: to break through the defenses at all costs, storm Sunrise City, and completely destroy the core of the East African resistance.

The pressure reached its peak instantly. Yang San's "anvil" defense line was in dire straits in many places, and the position built with flesh and blood was reduced to dust under the repeated onslaught of large-caliber shells and precision-guided munitions.

Casualty figures soared, and some newly formed units, replenished by young men from resettlement camps, experienced brief periods of turmoil after suffering losses beyond their wildest expectations.

The atmosphere at the frontline command post was heavy and tense. The staff officers' eyes were bloodshot, and the communication channels were filled with requests for assistance and reports of battle losses.

Yang San stood in front of the map, his back to the crowd, his burly body like a silent reef, bearing the impact of the raging waves.

He held in his hand a newly deciphered enemy telegram, which arrogantly listed the "draft administrative division" after the capture of Sunrise City.

"Commander-in-Chief, the commander of the Third Defense Zone requests a retreat to the second line of defense. They... are almost wiped out." The chief of staff's voice trembled slightly.

Yang San slowly turned around. His face showed no rage, only an extreme, icy calm, a calm more chilling than any roar. He scanned every face in the command post, young or no longer young.

"Retreat?" His voice wasn't loud, but it sounded like a dull knife scraping against rock.

"Tell the Third Defense Zone, and tell all the commanders and soldiers on the front lines: Behind us lies Rising Sun City."

“In the city, there are your parents, wives and children, the factories and schools you built with your own hands, and two Queens watching over you. We have no second line of defense.”

He walked to the communications station, pressed the broadcast button for the entire army, and his voice, through the rudimentary yet tenacious communications network, reached every trench, every foxhole, and every wrecked tank:

"Soldiers in East Africa! This is Yang San! I know you are exhausted, I know you are in pain, I know many of you have lost your brothers!"

His voice paused, and his heavy breathing was clearly audible through the broadcast, like the panting of a wounded lion.

"The enemy thinks we're doomed! They think their cannons, planes, and tanks can crush us! What utter bullshit!"

The voice suddenly rose in pitch, booming like thunder:

"Look at the guns in your hands! Feel the ground beneath your feet! Think about why you're standing here!"

"It's not for me, Yang San, but to prevent your daughters from being enslaved in the future! It's to prevent your homes from becoming ruins! It's to live up to the title of 'E Federation soldier'!"

"I, Yang San, am making this clear today: I am on the front lines! No one is allowed to retreat a single step before I die!"

"If you want to die, I'll take you all with me! Let those bastards and their masters see clearly how an East African man stands and bleeds to the last drop!"

"All units, listen up: Abandon all unnecessary supplies, concentrate ammunition, officers to the front! Unleash all our hidden 'assets' (referring to the small amount of high-value weapons and special ammunition secretly deployed)!"

"Without orders, even if only one person remains on the position, they must be nailed there to the death! For our homeland! For the Queen! Kill—!!!"

This is no longer a tactical order; it is the roar of the soul, a blood oath in the face of desperation.

The voice on the radio was hoarse and cracked, yet it seemed to inject a powerful dose of adrenaline.

On the crumbling front line, the previously unfocused eyes refocused, and a fierce determination emerged from the bones of the body numb from the artillery fire.

"For our homeland! For our Queen! Kill!!!"

The roars echoed from one trench to another, from one position to another.

The seriously wounded soldier strapped grenades to his body and silently crawled to the front line of the position.

The machine gunner ran out of bullets, picked up his bayonet and entrenching tool; the young communications soldier carried his walkie-talkie and rushed to the most intense fighting area to relay orders...

An almost religious atmosphere of martyrdom, mixed with the most primal will to survive and the desire to protect, permeated the crumbling defense line.

They may die, but the enemy must pay ten times, a hundred times, in return. (End of Chapter)