Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 33 A Conversation

If Lu Lin's guess is correct, the radiant noblewoman in front of him is his birth mother, Musta bin Fahd Ajman.

Judging from his appearance, Musta looks to be only in his early thirties, but he is definitely older than that, after all, he has an older brother who is several years older than him.

Before Lu Lin could say anything, two rows of maids came out from behind Madam Musta and used peacock feathers dipped in rose water to brush the dust off his clothes. Someone knelt down to change his camel hair slippers with gold thread.

Mrs. Musta's eyes never left her son, and her smile grew more and more satisfied. She cupped Lu Lin's cheeks and said with a smile, "The eagle bestowed by God, you are my pride. You will become the sharpest sword in your father's hand and achieve great things for him."

Prince Sultan frowned slightly upon hearing his mother's words and advised, "Mother, let my younger brother change his clothes and rest first."

"That's right."

Although she was answering her eldest son's question, Mrs. Musta's gaze remained fixed on her second son's face.

Lu Lin was then ushered inside, and then he awkwardly realized that he couldn't find his way back to his room.

"Why didn't this diary include a map of the house?"

Even though he knew he was overthinking it, he still complained to himself.

After dismissing the maids, he began to stroll around the manor. The servants and stewards assumed that the young master had been away from home for too long and did not take it seriously. They would respectfully call him "Your Highness" when they met him.

Lu Lin responded politely, but unexpectedly he heard the maid mutter, "Prince Amir never greets us before."

"Yes, His Highness seems much more cheerful since he came back this time..."

Was I so withdrawn before that I didn't even say hello?

Lu Lin pushed open the carved ebony door to the men's reception room, and the rich aroma of cigars filling the air caught his eye.

The walls of the reception room are covered with imported suede, surrounded by camel hair cushions and pillows, as well as some plaster sculptures.

The main seat is occupied by a three-meter-long Brazilian mahogany low table, equipped with a Cuban cigar humidor.

As a heavy nicotine addict, Lu Lin immediately spotted the cigar cabinet. His fingertips brushed over the rows of dark brown Cohiba cigars wrapped in Spanish cedar wood. He picked one up and sniffed it.

Ah, this atmosphere of extravagance.

"I didn't expect you to smoke this."

The sudden sound startled Lu Lin, pulling him out of his reverie.

In the corner of the reception room sat a man dressed in a white traditional robe. Compared to the other Aryans, his skin was noticeably fairer, and apart from the wrinkles around his eyes, he did not look old at all.

The man was relaxed, as if he were at home.

Lu Lin was about to ask who the other person was when he suddenly recalled what Sultan had told him that morning, along with his birth mother Musta's attire and the meticulous decorations in the house. He immediately realized the identity of the man before him—

Mohammed bin Abdulaziz Al Saud.

Shuangzhi was the Minister of Defense and a high-ranking official in Riyadh, his superior. He was also his father.

"Don't worry about it, smoke if you want, you're all grown up now."

Prince Mohammed pointed to the seat next to him, gesturing for his son to sit down.

Lu Lin calmly took out a cigar, cut a V-shape with a cigar cutter, lit it with a cedar match, and the wisps of smoke rose into the hall.

In Prince Mohammed's memory, his son had never been particularly remarkable, always appearing timid and subservient whenever he saw him. But this time was different; he sensed the other's confidence, or perhaps maturity.

Perhaps this is the change that war brings to a person.

Old Muhammad extinguished the half-eaten cigar: "I often tell my family, 'We are a community, we share the same fate.' This time you have brought honor to the family. As the head of this family, tell me, what reward do you want?"

The implication is that he brought shame to his family last time, but this time his merits and demerits have canceled each other out?

Lu Lin didn't know what he should ask for to match the original owner's identity. If he asked for too little, people might find it strange. If he asked for too much, people might think he was ungrateful. After thinking it over, he finally realized that what he wanted most was actually the Chieftain Tank.

A thought struck him: "That's right, this man in front of me is the Minister of Defense. Getting some equipment shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"The 1st Mechanized Infantry Battalion at the Nukoshir outpost was under my command before, right?"

“Until you receive a new appointment, you will remain the commander of this unit,” old Muhammad nodded.

Without hesitation, Lu Lin said, "Alright, I need to make ample supplies to replenish my artillery regiment, and I also need better equipment!"

Perhaps realizing he had been too vague, Lu Lin reorganized his words and explained the specific needs to the old prince, who was also the Minister of Defense:
"I need air defense weapons, preferably radar and missiles, like Ant's S-75. Masr used it in the war reports and had a record of shooting down a Mirage III. I don't want something that's just for show; I want something that can actually be used!"
For ground troops, we need armor that can withstand 120mm smoothbore guns, or anti-tank guns, such as the United States' M60. Since the United Kingdom is willing to provide Zion with second-generation tanks, if we ask for them, we might receive equivalent assistance in return.

Lu Lin was practically ready to hand the weapons list directly to Prince Muhammad; he just hoped his father wasn't a complete waste of space.

Brigadier General Ali had previously told him that the royal family seemed to be interested in purchasing new weapons and equipment. Lu Lin just hoped that Shuang Zhi wouldn't be fooled into buying a bunch of junk that others didn't want at a high price.

Prince Muhammad paused slightly, then said, "I thought you didn't want to go to the front lines anymore. After all, good luck doesn't come often, which is why I suggested that you come to the Ministry of Defense to be my advisor."

But these things are also important. Your troops will be resupplyed, and I guarantee they'll still be first priority. But I mean, is there anything you want?

This is somewhat like a wealthy father trying to get closer to his son, but unfortunately, the Amir in front of him is no longer the Amir he used to be.

“I don’t want anything else.” Lu Lin ignored the conciliatory gesture from his “old father”: “If I really had to make a wish, I hope that next time we encounter the Zionist army, I can beat them so badly that they won’t even recognize their own mothers.”

Prince Muhammad stared at Lu Lin's face for a long time, until the latter felt a little uneasy.

“Ali Sur told me before that you were a good fighter, and at first I didn’t believe it. After all, I know my own son well,” Prince Muhammad muttered to himself. “But if a twenty-year-old brat can defeat Zion, are the armies of Masr and Surya made of paper?”

Lu Lin couldn't help but say, "There are no countries in the entire Arab world that know how to fight."

(End of this chapter)