Chapter 9 Christopher Wilson

  August 4th, 1965, 9:10 AM, Brighton, England, Air Force Base Headquarters.

  Air Force Commander Gillis sat silently in the empty room of his headquarters, deep in thought. The important documents and military equipment had all been moved out, and most of the personnel had retreated to the rear with the army, but this young commander in his thirties had not withdrawn. He had asked his superiors for permission to stay behind, and they had hastily agreed, after all, Gillis was a low-ranking officer who didn't draw attention to himself, one more or less wouldn't make a difference.

  Of course, his colleagues had also advised him to leave, but he did not agree. Because this is Gilless's home, he grew up here since childhood, even if he dies, he wants to die here, even if it means perishing with the city, he is willing.

  In front of him was a newspaper, the headline was a large photo, the photo showed six corpses hanging upside down on the utility pole, including German Chancellor Hilmann, the news title was: "On October 3rd at dawn, German Chancellor Hilmann and others have been executed by firing squad"

  Jill Ellis was well aware of what the Russians meant by this, they were threatening, and the implication was: if the British did not surrender obediently, their fate would be the same as that of these six people.

  He picked up the half cup of beer on the table, drank it in one gulp, then crumpled up the newspaper and threw it to the ground, before walking out of the house.

  Isn't he afraid? He is also afraid, but he knows that fear and weakness are useless.

  More than five hundred people stood on the lawn in the rain outside the door, a group of air force soldiers wearing blue military uniforms and flying helmets, they were from the 6th Air Force Group of Brighton, under Gillis' command. Like their superiors, they had all grown up here since childhood, and they also disobeyed orders to stay without retreating. They were ready to sacrifice themselves for their hometown.

  As soon as Gillis came out, the noisy crowd immediately fell silent, and everyone stared at him, wanting to hear the final decision of this officer.

  "Will you be with us, sir?" a soldier asked loudly.

  "I will, Captain Merritt," Gillis nodded deeply, his two silver three-star shoulder boards and the silver Allied insignia on his uniform chest shining brightly in the rain, "until the very last moment."

  No one spoke up and no one stood out to question him.

  No one spoke, for they had already made their preparations; no one questioned him, for Gillespie had long since shown his determination by leaving his wife and daughter here, not allowing them to follow the fleeing residents as Brighton became a ghost town. Though he said nothing, he had told everyone what was on his mind: even in death, he would die with his family, die in his hometown.

  Gillies did not see that the soldiers in the rain had been moved to tears; nor did he think that at this moment he had gained their utmost respect and trust.

  "Report, sir!" an air force messenger rushed in from outside the base, "He, they are only fifty nautical miles away from the beach now!"

  "Heh heh, has it finally arrived?" The great war was imminent, and Jillis calmed down instead. He revealed a determined smile, "Listen to my command, prepare for battle!"

  "You're wrong, Jill." Suddenly, a voice he knew all too well came from in front of him. Jill was the nickname for General Gillis. In the past, before he became a soldier, people used to call him by this name often, but after he became the commander-in-chief of the Sixth Allied Air Force, no one dared to say this name in his presence again. So who was it that dared to say this name...

  "Christopher!" Jill Lisle exclaimed, jumping up suddenly.

  His tall and straight figure, the white close-fitting naval uniform wrapped him in a majestic manner like a priest. Compared to him, the people around him became clowns.

  Deep blue eyes, a sharp and clean face as white as a knife cut, golden hair shining brightly.

  He exuded light all over his body, just like the perfect sun god in ancient Greek mythology.

  Looking at his best friend in front of him with an incredulous face, Christopher smiled slightly: "Those who fight with you are not just them, but also me."

  "You, you." Jill's eyes were fixed on Christopher, her mouth open as if to say something, but nothing came out.

  Observing Jill's embarrassment, Christopher revealed a smile of ancient nobility that was elegant yet not pretentious. Then he gave her a belated greeting: "Ah, the weather is really nice today."

  Gilles was speechless.

  "You want to ask me why I'm here, right? Obviously, I should be in that annoying ward for serious illnesses."

  "Ah! Ah!" Jillis suddenly shouted loudly, regardless of his image, and then grabbed the collar of the friend in front of him and lifted him up: "Why did you come to this dangerous place! Your identity is so important! If something happens to you here, how can I report it to the military department? Damn it!!"

  Yes, Christopher Wilson, nephew of current US President Howard T. Ackerman and currently serving as the Deputy Commander of the 2nd Coast Guard District in the United States Coast Guard. His status is not to be underestimated.

  "Yes, I'm very foolish. Obviously this is a city that's about to be attacked by the Soviet Northern Fleet with an army of 15,000 people, but I still rushed here like a madman. You tell me... am I not an idiot?"

  "But what can I do?" Christopher suddenly changed his tone. "Who made me the one who can't stand seeing Marian suffer and face death?"

  Marian is Jill's wife's name and also Christopher's former childhood sweetheart's name.

  Christopher put his hand on Jill's shoulder and said softly, "Count me in, just like we used to play cops and robbers."

  Gillris stared at Christopher's azure eyes for a while, as if seeing the determination in his eyes. Gillris let out a sigh: "Alright, I'll consider you one of us this time. But if you lose, there won't be any reloading or restarting."

  Jill reluctantly agreed to Christopher's request.

  "Haha, it's really fitting for your nickname 'Electronic Boy'. And this time, you can quietly sit with me in the command room and drink tea. I can guarantee that not a single bullet will hit the doorplate of your command room." Christopher's words were filled with thick confidence.

  "Hey, do you know who your opponent is going to be? It's Kukov! That Soviet Marshal Kukov! Following him into battle are not just the 15,000-strong vanguard of naval infantry! Behind him there are even more numerous Soviet landing troops! What kind of joke is this!"

  Looking at Jill's generally anxious expression, Christopher just smiled again and said "You know, I usually don't do things if there's less than a 60% chance of success."

  "... you."

  Jill stared at her friend in astonishment.

  Christopher elegantly lifted the fragrant red tea-filled teacup to his lips and whispered a sentence:

  "Absolutely nothing will happen."

  Christopher said in a matter-of-fact tone that was utterly convincing: "The sky is blue and the grass is green."

  "We'll definitely win! So, can I have another cup of red tea?"

  The chimes of the clock tower in the mist, in this city with Indian colonial-style pagodas, temples and domes, luxurious imperial docks, and beautiful Kingston Gardens, are like heavenly music from a fairy tale world. But now, there are no more tourists strolling along the dock, or playing on the beach, the streets are so quiet, desolate and empty.

  In days of yore, this was the trysting place of Prince Regent and his people; but today, Britain and the Soviet Union are about to clash in a fierce battle here!