Dual wielding volcanoes, killing through the west

According to grade, Roger was the youngest of the four brothers.

His parents' indulgence, the abuse of power, and his early exposure to the benefits of power... all these factors left indelible marks on his upbringing. Barr knew his younger brother all too well; to put it nicely, he was "unruly and dissolute." To put it bluntly, he was a typical arrogant and domineering person in a high position who never respected others.

However, it is precisely this indifference that treats people as less than human that can often be of great use on the battlefield.

We will spare no expense to achieve victory.

Even if it meant trampling his life into the mud, he would never blink an eye.

"Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses."

Zeke said in a deep voice, "You can't do what I ask Rogge to do. Just do what you're good at, and that's enough."

Baal's voice trembled slightly, "Even... decades later, history will record our sins?"

……

Jike gave him a deep look.

Suddenly, he drew his hunting knife, stepped forward, and pressed it against Baal's throat.

"?!"

Even now, Zeke's emerald eyes remained remarkably calm.

“I am saying these words to you not as your superior or officer, but as your father. You should know that if you were not my son, I would have already sent you to a military court for undermining morale. Even if I didn’t go that far, I would never entrust you with any more missions.”

"Your words just now have made it clear that your stance is contrary to this war! Never! Never say such things in front of others!"

"..." Baal was somewhat taken aback, but more so he was terrified; he had never seen his father like this before.

“Listen up, Barr, war has nothing to do with honor, nothing to do with morality, it’s a dirty business.”

"To reiterate, it's a dirty business."

"Our war with the South is not a battle between soldiers, but a clash and confrontation between two massive groups and two different societies. The Northern capitalist groups cannot accept the existing distribution of benefits."

"This conflict started long ago, accumulating over time. With Zeta's removal from office, the position of leader of the Northern Capital Alliance became vacant. The ambitious young and promising newcomer, Albert, rose to power... A series of factors ultimately erupted in the most tragic way!"

"Do you understand? It's not that we chose war, it's that war chose us."

"..."

Barr finally showed a look of shock.

He was born in a peaceful era, and like most young adults, he had never experienced war. In his view, war was a raging flood unleashed, and he had always been cautious and kept his distance.

This was the first time he had heard such radical opinions.

“At this point, there’s no point in running away. They’re here, and if they win, everything in the North will be reshuffled. Everything the Sisley family has painstakingly built up in the military could be wiped out.”

"In that case," Zeke said in a deep voice, "we must ensure that we win this war."

"How to win?"

"War in this era is no longer just about destroying the enemy's manpower, but about destroying their very foundation and everything."

"That is, to completely destroy the enemy's political, social, and economic order."

"As long as Zhang Renfeng is alive, this situation of confrontation between the North and the South will intensify. The South and the North of America will gradually become two different worlds."

"The existing market in the northern homeland has been almost completely divided up. The capital alliance formed by the Krenchikov Industrial Group and the Atlantic Federation Industrial Group has gradually reached its limit of expansion over the past 14 years."

"In contrast, the vast southern land was occupied by the Sanyuan Group. They were never able to extend their reach into that land... After trying all the tricks, war became the last and inevitable means."

Jik's voice deepened, his tone firm, as if he were issuing such an order to himself.

"Therefore, we have no choice but to win this battle, and we will win!"

"Victory by any means necessary!"

Chapter 974: Methods to Heal the Soul

“I am very grateful to everyone in Morocco for the public resources they provided and all the help they offered for this operation.”

Barr wasn't very good at handling these kinds of situations, but in any case, compared to facing gunfire and artillery shells, these well-dressed and elegantly dressed citizens were quite endearing.

During the Civil War, this Moroccan city was a strategic stronghold contested by both the Confederate and Union armies. From here, one could break through Pennsylvania, advance deep into the Old Front states, and then break through again to reach Washington, D.C. Fort Ford was built during that period and held out until the end of the Civil War.

After the civil war, Morocco, like other northern cities, underwent a period of outward expansion. More residential areas caused the city's radius to expand, and fortresses that were originally far apart gradually became visible to the naked eye.

Thirty years have passed, and the fortress has long since ceased to serve its original purpose. Most people living in the city regard it merely as a landmark and have gradually forgotten what its existence actually meant.

And now, war is coming again.

Morocco's well-developed railway system bore the heavy responsibility of transporting wartime supplies, with all train services having to give way to the front lines of the war.

Trains came and went, carrying supplies, military equipment, ammunition, and soldiers across countless distances to the front lines. There was even a professional engineering team that actually built ten new, sturdy fortifications near Fort Ford within five days, which once again impressed Barr.

When the nation's machinery truly begins to operate, the benefits it can generate are actually quite terrifying.

From this perspective, the South's "war machine" has not even been fully activated yet.

Barr didn't know the situation in the South, but he did know that the rulers in the North had an extremely strong will to fight this war. They were not content with merely "suppressing the rebellion," as they publicly claimed; they wanted to erase Zhang Renfeng from the face of the earth!

……

"Um... Captain Sisley?"

In any social situation, the awkward silence can cause people to subconsciously make small movements.

Even the mayor is no exception.

"Um, oh, sorry, I just..." Barr finally snapped out of it, gave an awkward laugh, and looked at the tabloid reporter who had stood up in the crowd below the stage, "What was your question just now?"

"My question is, will the battle for Fort Ford affect the daily lives of the people in Morocco?"

“No.” Baal shook his head, turned to look at the eleven impregnable fortresses at the city’s border, “As you can see, we were fully prepared before the war began. Ford Fort stands firm, and there are ten interconnected defensive fortresses that form a very solid position.”

"We will be there to intercept the rebels and trap them in front of Fort Ford. There are 50 field guns and breech-loading guns on the position, scattered throughout the various bunkers. There are also heavy machine guns, rifles, and crossfire networks."

"The rebels number only about 4000, which is equivalent to a full-strength brigade. This level of firepower is sufficient to ensure that they cannot bypass our defenses. In fact, it would be quite difficult for them to break through Fort Ford."

"We will make sure that the war ends where you cannot see it, that's all."

"Even if the fortress defenses are breached, we still have half of our troops stationed behind the fortress."

"They cannot break through the fortified position unscathed. Such heavy firepower will inevitably cause their infantry and cavalry to suffer heavy losses. Our soldiers, on the other hand, can wait in comfort and easily wipe out the rebels."

His status as a military captain gave his words extra weight.

Of course, it wasn't just his achievement; the eleven proudly standing fortresses also played a significant role. Their existence convinced the people of Morocco that they were being well protected, and while there was some fear about the impending war, there was more excitement and even curiosity.

south.

Rebels.

The number of people is four thousand.

On our side, there are over 10,000 troops, eleven strong fortresses, and ample logistical support.

No matter how you look at it, we're about to witness history.

“Captain Sisley, hello, I’m from the Modern Newspaper. I have a request… a legitimate request.” A man raised his hand and stood up, saying, “Our newspaper is willing to send two reporters as war correspondents to witness your army’s glorious victory from the closest point to the battlefield!”

Since we are witnessing history, we should naturally do our best to leave our mark on this glorious history.

This newspaper owner fired the first shot, and afterwards, business owners from all walks of life in Morocco also enthusiastically signed up.

Shops offered canned food, clinics offered emergency trauma medication, butchers offered high-quality meat... For supplies that couldn't be directly converted into military supplies, they offered to raise funds for Baal's army. Their enthusiasm surprised even Baal.

Of course, it was a good thing that the people were willing to support the army, but he still felt something was off. From this fervent emotion, he vaguely sensed that they weren't taking what was about to happen very seriously.

This seems to be nothing more than a game that suddenly arose from the monotonous routine of the past thirty years.

----

"Captain... Captain, please wait a moment!"

Having finally dealt with the difficult Moroccan locals, and not long after stepping down, someone blocked his only route.

The woman who arrived was a young girl with long, light chestnut hair tied into a neat ponytail.

She wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on her nose and a rather extravagant ladies' hat, specially made by a hatter with gold-striped organza, making it very eye-catching. However, the young woman's clothing was quite understated, like that of a scholar who had come to exchange ideas.

She stood there, carrying a genuine leather suitcase, waving at me.

"..."

Baal was silent for a moment, then waved her hand, signaling the soldiers blocking her way to disperse.

"Hello, Captain."

She seized the opportunity, quickly walked towards Barr, and introduced herself, "Correa Wengner, I am a doctor."

“That’s remarkable, Ms. Wengner,” Barr sighed somewhat helplessly. “But I have a lot of other things to attend to. If you’re trying to sell me your hospital’s trauma medications…”

“No, you misunderstand.” Correa shook her head and said very seriously, “I am a psychiatrist.”

“Mental… what?” Baal frowned.

"Simply put, general practitioners heal the body, while psychiatrists heal the soul." Koreya adjusted her glasses. "The health of people's minds should be just as important as their physical health!"

“Alright, then… Dr. Wengner, how can I help you?”

“War devastates people’s bodies and minds equally. I know that many people who participated in the civil war, a significant number of survivors, are still unable to live normal lives.” Correa’s tone was somewhat somber. “I hope that we can develop methods to heal the psychological trauma left by this war.”

"Go on," Barr said, gradually becoming interested.

“Any new drug needs to be tested on animals at the beginning… However, unfortunately, animals do not have the concept of ‘mind’. Therefore, psychiatrists can only use humans as their experimental subjects.”

Koreya's eyes shone with a pure yet resolute light. "My request is a little more special. What I want is someone who has experienced the trauma of war and whose soul has been damaged."

"...Do you want to provide psychological treatment to prisoners of war?" Baal understood her purpose.

"I know this request might be a bit excessive. But rebels are also human beings, and as such, they have stable mental structures. The findings from studying their mental state can be applied to our soldiers in the future."

Koreya raised her head and said firmly, "Before we can stand on our own sides, I want to heal...more people!"

Chapter 975: We've captured something interesting!

“I was prepared to receive some unfriendly comments because of my dual identity as a ‘woman’ and a ‘psychiatrist’.”

"But to my surprise, no one here looked at me that way. Captain Sisley's discipline was far stronger than some of the military personnel I had met before, even though his rank was far lower than theirs, which I admired."

“In every fort of Ford Fort, garrison troops have been stationed, like ants in an anthill, each busy with their own tasks in an orderly manner.”

"The panic I had anticipated regarding the war did not materialize. It seemed as if they had simply moved to these fortresses temporarily, and continued to eat, train, rest, maintain their weapons, and sleep as usual, occasionally adding a little entertainment like playing cards or dice."

"Captain Sisley tacitly approved of these harmless entertainments, but he abhorred tobacco and alcohol. Therefore, in this army of ten thousand men, tobacco and alcohol were highly dangerous contraband. They could only be circulated and exchanged in private, becoming prizes for entertainment."

"Days passed by in an orderly fashion. In front of Fort Ford, there were still vast open spaces. The Red Omen and his rebels had not yet appeared. Sometimes, when I looked up at the sky, it was such a clear blue that I couldn't help but be moved."

"The human mind is a truly wondrous thing."

"Once the plan is known, no one will find it strange, even though the plan involves killing and capturing more than four thousand of our compatriots in the near future. The plan itself is bloody and cruel, but as long as it is carried out step by step, the atmosphere inside the fortress is surprisingly calm."

"However, when the plan changes and becomes irreversible, perhaps..."

----

"Are you also... a writer?"

A smell of ink wafted over, making Correa frown slightly and feel like sneezing.

Turning her head, she saw a disheveled boy, about fifteen or sixteen years old, with only his bright eyes casting curious glances at the words she was writing. He had a small notebook tucked into his belt, a simple camera hanging around his neck, and a mud-covered baseball cap on his head, weighing down his messy, bird's nest-like hair.

Despite how passionately the newspaper owner spoke just now, the person he ultimately sent to the scene was just this little guy.

However, on the other hand, only young people of this age would have such fearless courage to go to the front line of the battlefield and do such a thankless task.

“No.” Correa shook her head, closed the notebook, and answered very seriously, even to this bewildered child, “I am a psychiatrist.”

"A psychiatrist?"

“Just like the human body, the human mind can also get sick,” Koreya explained. “People today don’t really understand what ‘mental illness’ is. Most mental problems are simply covered up with excuses like going crazy or being possessed by a demon.”

"But sooner or later, people will realize that the mind and the body are just as important."

Koreya patted her chest, tilted her head back at a slight angle, and smiled proudly, "At that time, I could call myself a leader in this cutting-edge discipline."

The young war correspondent, clearly uninterested in this emerging field, sighed, slumped onto a nearby stool, and listlessly stared at the fortress's unremarkable dome.

“Unlike you, I don’t have as much to write about. My boss paid me an extra half month’s salary so that I could capture good photos on the front lines.”