gnovel Chapter 1 Oil Salesman
Chapter 1 Oil Salesman
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The mountains are verdant and the mountain roads are winding.
The motto of a certain geological university is: "Ten lectures indoors are not as effective as one visit in the field."
That day, Gu Xing and a dozen classmates were taken by the professor to the mining area to do fieldwork and fill in maps, just like they always did.
It was past noon, and they sat sparsely by the roadside, complaining about how difficult the mountain road was while munching on the dry rations they had brought with them and taking a short rest.
An older woman carrying a basket full of vegetables and leading a seven or eight-year-old boy by the hand strolled by slowly.
The boy tilted his head back and innocently tugged at the woman's sleeve: "Mommy, why are they eating by the roadside?"
The middle-aged woman glanced sideways at the group of dusty, disheveled students, making no attempt to hide her disdain, and scolded them in a low voice: "Why are you bothering them? If you don't study hard, you'll end up like them, digging for stones in the mountains every day, getting sunburnt, no future!"
"Oh!" the boy replied, seemingly understanding, and timidly looked at the group of people being used as negative examples, his eyes showing a hint of alienation.
Gu Xing, who was eating bread, choked and coughed a few times.
Feeling so frustrated, he didn't even bother to drink water. He jumped up and quickly caught up with the woman, shouting at her retreating figure:
"Auntie, we're university students, from a geological university, a 985 university!"
"Your child has to study hard to become like us..."
Suddenly, his foot slipped and he lost his balance instantly. Amidst the screams of his classmates, Gu Xing fell down the other side of the mountain wall.
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In August 1942, Gu Xing traveled through Bog-Arab, North Africa.
(Note: Borg Arab was the location of Montgomery's headquarters when he took office. It is about 50 kilometers west of Alexandria. It is now a city, but in 1942 it was a small village with only a few households. It was used by the British Army as a logistics and command node.)
The scorching sun in the yellow sand was like a furnace, and even the wind carried a scalding temperature.
Gu Xing, dressed in a suit and wearing a bowler hat, was eating bread in the shadow of the warehouse. British soldiers wearing helmets and carrying Lee-Enfield rifles kept running past in the dust, and his ears were filled with the noise of footsteps and commands.
After three days of time travel, Gu Xing finally accepted reality. He was no longer Gu Xing, a student at the China University of Geosciences, but had become a 19-year-old rich second-generation Englishman named Thorne.
Thorne's father is the head of the Red Sea Oilfield Company.
This is a company on the verge of bankruptcy due to its unreasonable wartime control system.
Of course, at least a small part of it was lost by Thorne, that good-for-nothing good-for-nothing.
Thorne must obtain a direct access quota from the military, otherwise he cannot save the company or survive in this world.
But after several attempts, Thorne received only cold, curt replies from the guards: "I'm sorry, sir, the general is directing operations and he won't see anyone!"
The guard's eyes held a warning, and he brandished his rifle at Thorne, as if to say, "If you know what's good for you, leave. Don't make trouble for yourself."
Yes, Montgomery is the commander of the Eighth Army. How could a small businessman like myself possibly meet him?
Thorne chuckled self-deprecatingly, grabbed the water bottle, took a couple of sips, and hastily ended this unpleasant lunch.
"Hey, I heard you sell oil?" A clear female voice came from behind.
Thorne turned around.
A captain emerged from the warehouse; she was a female captain.
She held a wrench in her right hand, which was gloved. Her uniform and face were stained with oil, and a thin layer of dust could be seen on her collar, but it still couldn't hide her heroic spirit and beauty.
(Note: More than 60 women served in the British Army during World War II. Most of them served in second-line positions that did not require direct combat, such as maintenance personnel. Queen Elizabeth II later served as a motor maintenance worker during this period.)
"Yes, Captain." After a moment of surprise, Thorne quickly stood up. "How can I help you?"
"Of course." Her answer was short and forceful, almost commanding: "Come with me!"
Following the female captain into the warehouse, Thorne was instantly stunned by the sight before him:
Rows of tall American tanks stood in neat rows, at least fifty in number. Their metal hulls gleamed with a cold, hard luster in the dim light, and more than thirty British maintenance soldiers were busy inspecting the tanks.
As a dabbling military enthusiast, Thorne quickly recognized the tank's model: M3 Grant.
Its most unique feature is that it has two turrets, with the lower turret having a huge caliber cannon, which looks very intimidating.
(The image above shows a US-made M3 Grant tank.)
The female captain stopped in front of the oil drum, a four-gallon tin can. She turned to Thorne and questioned him:
"Look at the gasoline you provided. Not only is the octane rating insufficient, but we can even find sand in it."
"Do you know how much trouble this will cause for the tank? Engine wear, fuel line blockage, and even knocking and stalling."
"This is blatant murder, this is a battlefield..."
(The first three in the picture above are square oil drums used by the British Army in 1942, and the last one is a German standard oil drum that was copied at the end of the same year.)
"This is none of my business, Captain!" Thorne interrupted her helplessly.
"The military's gasoline supply is monopolized by Anglo-Egyptian and Shell, and that's why I'm here."
"What I mean is, we have oil and we can produce better, more standard gasoline, but the military hasn't given us quotas or refining rights."
"so……"
Thorne shrugged.
Without quotas and refining rights, Thorne's oil could only be sold at low prices to those two giant companies, and then turned into this "impurity oil" and sent to the soldiers on the front lines.
This is why Thorne is on the verge of bankruptcy.
The female captain stared at Thorne in disbelief, unable to comprehend such an absurd thing happening on the battlefield.
Thorne sighed inwardly. This was Britain: corrupt, rigid, and controlled by capital. Otherwise, why do you think it was so quickly replaced by the United States after the war?
After thinking for a moment, Thorne added, clinging to a sliver of hope, "Perhaps you could report this issue to the General."
The female captain nodded thoughtfully in agreement, glancing at Thorne with her light blue eyes, seemingly apologizing for her earlier harsh words and actions.
Just then, a guard outside the warehouse shouted loudly, "Salute!"
The captain quickly led her soldiers to line up.
Thorne looked in the direction the sound came from and was surprised to see Montgomery standing in the doorway.
Montgomery, dressed in uniform and wearing a double-badge beret, had sharp, eagle-like eyes. As he walked, he glanced at the tank beside him, his brows furrowing involuntarily.
The female captain seemed oblivious to social cues. She stepped forward, stood up, and saluted: "General, I would like to make a request of you."
Montgomery withdrew his gaze and turned to the female captain, giving a curt "Hmm": "Request?"
"Yes, General," the female captain replied.
"I hope you can provide qualified fuel for the tank. This tank uses an aircraft engine, so we should use high-quality aviation fuel."
"Otherwise, its engine lifespan will be halved, and there will be a whole host of other problems."
"This will have serious consequences on the battlefield..."
Montgomery's face instantly darkened. He stared intently at the captain and coldly retorted, "Do you know what these tanks' nicknames are?"
The female captain shook her head blankly.
"Seven brothers' coffins, Captain." Montgomery's eyes gleamed with suppressed rage.
"The soldiers call these tanks 'coffins.' In the last battle, we deployed 40 of these tanks, and in just 10 minutes, 36 of them were destroyed!"
(Note: Montgomery was referring to the "Knightsbridge Counterattack" during the Battle of Gazala.)
"These are disposable items, understand?"
"They were turned into fireballs before they even saw the enemy, and you're telling me we should be providing precious aviation fuel to prolong the engine's life?"
The female captain was speechless; she knew nothing about these things.
Montgomery, however, refused to let her off the hook, sweeping his gaze across the entire group as he continued his reprimand:
"As maintenance soldiers, you can't just know how to use a wrench or how to install tracks."
"You should learn some things about the battlefield and integrate them with maintenance work."
"Otherwise, we will never be able to stop Rommel's offensive, nor his army!"
The warehouse was deathly silent, an awkward atmosphere permeated the air, making the soldiers afraid to even breathe.
But just then, a calm and unhurried voice rang out: "General, I believe that these tanks are unnecessary to stop Rommel's offensive."
Everyone turned their heads and cast surprised glances at Thorne, who was standing next to the oil drum.
The female captain gave Thorne a look, signaling him to shut up.