Special Forces: At the beginning, An Ran pulled him to get his certificate.

Chapter 1546 Internal Meeting of the Inkstone Company, the Mysterious General

Just as Chen Jun and Dong Lai were discussing the grand plan for stationing troops at the dock...

In the presidential palace conference room in Indonesia's capital, the discussions were just as heated.

The heavy mahogany doors were tightly shut, shutting out the hurried footsteps in the corridor and the faint shouts of protesters in the distance. The conference room was filled with smoke, making it almost impossible to see the faces of those opposite. The oval table was surrounded by the decision-makers at the core of the country's power.

The bald president sat in the main seat, his sparse hair plastered to his scalp with sweat, glistening under the fluorescent lights. On either side sat high-ranking officials, including the Minister of Defense, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Minister of the Interior, and the Director of Intelligence, each with thick stacks of documents laid out before them, but no one was looking at them. The coffee had long since gone cold, a thin film forming on the surface, but no one had the heart to touch it.

The sunlight outside the window was almost cruelly intense, casting several blinding spots of light through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains, like daggers stuck into the dark wooden floor. The air conditioner hummed softly and continuously, but the cool air blowing out of the vents could not dispel the oppressive heat in the room. A huge military map on the wall occupied the entire wall, with the Indonesian islands like scattered emerald necklaces surrounded by azure waters.

At that moment, several red ship markings were slowly moving across that stretch of sea, each one like a nail driven into the heart.

The bald president's fingers tapped unconsciously on the table, making a dull "knock-knock" sound that was particularly jarring in the silent conference room. Just as he was about to say something, the conference room door was suddenly pushed open.

A communications officer strode in, his leather shoes clicking rapidly on the floor. His face was as pale as paper, large beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks, and the collar of his uniform was soaked with sweat. He even forgot to salute and rushed straight to the president's side. His voice was trembling with tension, and he almost shouted, "Report! The Yan Kingdom fleet... the Yan Kingdom fleet's gun emplacements have been raised!"

"What?!" The bald president stood up abruptly, his chair sliding backward with a piercing creak, the back of the chair hitting the wall with a dull thud.

"The gun emplacements... all the gun emplacements have turned around, their muzzles pointed at our port!" The communications officer swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, his chest heaving. "According to the latest intelligence from the naval reconnaissance aircraft, all their main guns and missile launchers are on high alert and ready to fire at any moment!"

The meeting room erupted in chaos.

"How is this possible?!" The Foreign Minister stood up abruptly, his chair overturning on the ground without him even bothering to steady it. His glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, revealing his wide-eyed stare.

"How dare they?!" The Minister of Defense slammed his fist on the table, making the coffee cup jump and splash brown liquid everywhere.

"Have the people of Yan gone mad?!" The Minister of the Interior's voice was shrill, like a chicken being choked. He slumped in his chair, his hands trembling.

Exclamations and curses rose and fell, like a pack of wild beasts trapped in a cage roaring. The documents in the intelligence chief's hand fell to the ground with a thud, scattering papers all over the floor, but he was completely unaware.

"They...they really pointed their cannons at us?" The president's voice became dry and hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against his throat, each word seeming to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

“Yes, Your Excellency. Our reconnaissance pilots saw it with their own eyes, and the photos have been sent back.” The communications officer trembled as he handed over a stack of photos still warm from the printer.

The president took the photo, glanced at it, and his hand began to tremble violently. In the photo, the turret of the Yan warship had indeed been rotated, and the dark muzzle reflected a cold, cruel light in the sunlight, pointing straight at the coast. The image was so clear that one could almost feel the deathly aura emanating from the steel cannon barrel.

"This...how is this possible?" the president muttered to himself, slumping back into his chair, which groaned under the weight. "The Yan people would never do this...don't they always talk about the principle of peaceful coexistence?"

A deathly silence fell over the conference room, and the hum of the air conditioner suddenly became exceptionally loud. Everyone looked at each other, at a loss for what to do.

After a long silence, the Foreign Minister spoke with difficulty: "Your Excellency, the problem now is... what do we do? Yan is taking a hard line, and the United States is also pressuring us. We're caught in the middle..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood the unspoken meaning—when two elephants fight, it's always the meadow in the middle that gets hurt. They understood this better than anyone else.

"What's the US's attitude?" the Defense Minister suddenly asked.

"Their Seventh Fleet is on high alert, and the carrier battle group is moving toward our waters, but they are 500 nautical miles away and it will take at least 18 hours to arrive."

"Eighteen hours..." Someone gasped.

"Let me ask you something first," the Defense Secretary said, his voice even lower. He looked around at everyone present, his gaze finally settling on the President's face. "Before the United States can react, can we... hold off the enemy's artillery fire?"

This question was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, but it stirred up a deathly silence.

All eyes turned to the Minister of Defense, then to the military map on the wall. The problem was too real, too harsh, but no one could avoid it.

The defense minister closed his eyes in pain and slowly shook his head. His movements were very subtle, but everyone could see them clearly.

“We can’t stop them.” His voice was low and weary. “Our navy’s main warships consist of only a few old frigates with outdated radar systems and virtually no air defense capabilities. Our air force has fewer than thirty fighter jets that can take off, and most of them are second-generation aircraft.”

"Do you remember that news from not long ago? Yan's new missiles can reach the west coast of the United States. Their missiles cannot be intercepted even by the United States' most advanced air defense system. They can reach any corner of the world."

Silence fell again in the meeting room, a silence heavier and more desperate than before, a suffocating feeling like drowning, as if an invisible hand was gripping their throats.

"The military in Yan Country! What's their attitude?! Are they really going to do this?! Haven't they always advocated peaceful coexistence?!"

His voice was almost a roar, as if he wanted to vent all his fear and anxiety. Spit was flying everywhere, but no one bothered to wipe it away.

All eyes turned to the Foreign Minister once again. As the highest-ranking official in charge of external liaison, he should be most aware of Yan's stance.

The Foreign Minister slowly rose to his feet, his movements deliberate, as if each action required immense courage. His legs trembled slightly, and he had to hold onto the table for support. His face was even more ashen than before, and his lips moved a few times before finally uttering a sound:

"Your Excellency, the military in Yan Kingdom... has already expressed its stance."

"What did they say?!" the president asked urgently, leaning forward even more.

The Foreign Minister took a deep breath, his breathing heavy like a bellows. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, his voice trembling: "They said... this evacuation operation is entirely under the command of a general in Indonesia. That general is right here in our country. The commander of the Yan fleet takes orders from only him."

A collective gasp filled the conference room. Some people gaped in shock, some shook their heads in disbelief, and some covered their faces with their hands.

"What?!" The Minister of Defense stood up abruptly. "Entrusting all authority to one person? How is that possible?! Isn't Yan's decision-making mechanism always known for collective decision-making?"

"Who is that general?" the intelligence chief asked urgently. "Where is he? Can we find him?"

"Our people are tracking his whereabouts, but all we know for now is that he's in our country, most likely at the evacuation site. As for that general..."

He paused, his voice trembling even more: "He only said one sentence."

"What did you say?!" Everyone held their breath, waiting for the answer that could determine their fate.

The meeting room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The fluorescent lights hummed softly, and the clock on the wall ticked. Everyone stood frozen like statues, their eyes fixed on the Foreign Minister.

The foreign minister looked up, his eyes filled with complex emotions—fear, confusion, disbelief, and a hint of awe that he himself couldn't quite define. He spoke slowly and deliberately:

"The general said that he was the one who ordered the artillery to be aimed at us. He said that if our troops dared to obstruct the evacuation of our citizens or harm any Yan citizen, his artillery would fall on our land, so that we would never forget this day."

boom--

The meeting room erupted in chaos.

"presumptuous!"

"That's outrageous!"

"Who does he think he is?! Just a general!"

"This is a blatant threat of war!"

Angry roars rose and fell, surging like a volcanic eruption. Some people slammed their fists on the table, scattering documents everywhere; some waved their arms excitedly, almost hitting the person next to them; some people blushed and cursed, spewing out all sorts of vicious words.

But amidst the uproar, everyone noticed one fact—no one dared to say, "Let them fight."

Because they all knew that the general wasn't joking. The cannons aimed at the harbor, the missile launchers, and the fighter jets ready to take off at any moment all silently proved this.

The president suddenly stood up and slammed his hands heavily on the table, causing the teacup to overturn.

"This general! He's far too presumptuous!!!"

He roared, his voice echoing through the conference room.

But everyone could tell that there was no confidence in that roar, only a desperate, impotent rage.