World War II: Starting with the defeat of the Desert Fox

Chapter 6 Thugs and Spies

When Thorne returned home, he was surprised to find Emma sitting at the dining table chatting with an officer.

"Hey, Thorne." The officer waved and greeted Thorne as he entered.

Seeing Thorne's confused expression, the officer stood up and stepped forward, smiling as he asked, "What's wrong? Don't you recognize me?"

"Oh." Thorne noticed the mustache on his chin and realized, "You're Major Gray? How come you..."

"The general is worried about your refinery," Gray replied. "That's why he sent me to assist you."

He winked at Thorne, indicating that he hadn't revealed anything to Emma.

Thorne put down his suitcase, greeted his mother, and left with Gray; it wasn't convenient to talk at home.

Emma nodded understandingly, a smile on her face, though a hint of worry lingered in it.

As soon as they stepped outside, Gray eagerly asked, "How's it going?"

"It's going very well, Major." Thorne gestured towards the room. "I've secured the loan, recruitment is underway, and it won't be long before things are on track."

"Very good." Gray nodded. "However, there's a problem. With the timeframe reduced to three days, you need to deliver the 'problem oil' to Borg Arabia the night after tomorrow."

"The night after tomorrow?" Thorne looked at Gray in surprise.

"Yes," Gray countered, "Is there a problem?"

Thorne hesitated for a moment: "In principle, it's fine, but..."

"Just what?" Gray frowned.

Is this guy trying to negotiate the price? He probably doesn't realize the seriousness of the situation.

Thorne pulled Gray aside, glanced around, and lowered his voice: "I've heard that the Germans often send spies to infiltrate our lines. Is that true?"

Gray paused, then said, "That's right. They're called the Brandenburg Army. They're good at disguising themselves as the enemy. The ones operating in North Africa are their 'Arabic-speaking units.'"

Then Gray realized something and asked nervously, "You mean, you're being watched by German spies?"

"I'm not so sure, Gray," Thorne replied, "but we all know that oil is crucial to the military; it can even decide the outcome of a battle."

"Of course," Gray agreed.

Thorne continued:

"And recently, something unusual has been happening. I remember there's always a group of scoundrels who cause trouble at the factory every now and then."

"They don't seem very willing to let my oil company continue operating."

"I suspect their aim might be to reduce our army's fuel supply?"

Gray's eyes lit up instantly. If there were German spies among them causing trouble, it would be a first-class achievement for him.

"Possibly." Gray nodded hastily, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and handed it to Thorne: "Tell me what they did?"

Thorne took out a lighter and lit it for the two men, answering through the smoke, "They usually incite the employees to leave the factory under the pretext of resisting British oppression and exploitation."

Gray snorted and cursed, "These bastards, don't they know that we're the ones who bring advanced technology and jobs to this country?"

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A few miles away, at an oil refinery, a turban-wearing, burly-faced man named Bassim, along with about twenty men armed with wooden sticks and iron tools, stormed into the factory gates, cursing and swearing.

The security guards at the entrance didn't dare to stop them and made way for them.

"Hey!" Bassim waved his hand and shouted in Arabic to the busy workers in the factory.

"Do you know how the British treated us?"

"They drove out our king, dug up oil from our land and sold it, but didn't give us a single penny."

"And you're going to work for these vampires?"

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"They also threaten and extort the company's leaders," Thorne continued. "The ringleader is a guy named Bassim, who uses the pollution caused by oil production as an excuse to demand money from the company."

"Shameless scoundrels, despicable robbers." Gray gritted his teeth: "These country bumpkins would never know that so-called pollution is an inevitable part of a country's development. Without it, they might starve to death, freeze to death, or even be eaten by wild dogs."

--------

Wells arrived quickly with several workers, shouting angrily but without any real conviction.

Barshim was emboldened, a disdainful smile on his face.

"Mr. Wells," he called out in broken English, making sure everyone could hear.

"We are not scoundrels, we are reasonable people."

"Everyone knows that once your refinery starts operating, it will spew out thick smoke like a volcano, lots of toxic, black smoke."

"What are we, the people who live nearby, supposed to do? Many of us have fallen ill because of this!"

As he spoke, he glanced at his subordinates behind him.

The subordinates understood, some coughing and others clutching their backs, pretending to be frail and weak.

"So," Barthim said mockingly, looking at Wells, "if you want to get back to work, you'll have to cure us first!"

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"Then they'll smash up the equipment," Thorne said helplessly. "Even if the police come, they'll side with the scoundrels."

"How could this be?" Gray stared wide-eyed at Thorne in disbelief. "This is impossible!"

The Egyptian police are on Britain's side; key positions such as the police chief are all held by British nationals. They are tools for Britain to "control" the Egyptians.

"I don't know either," Thorne said, looking bewildered. "I'm also very surprised, but this really did happen in my factory!"

Thorne knew that this was because the police chief had accepted bribes from oil tycoons.

Gray nodded thoughtfully: "That is indeed strange. In that case, the police station may also have their own people."

Just then, a worker with blood seeping from his forehead stumbled up to Thorne, frantically pointing in the direction of the refinery and blurting out a few English words: "Sir, Basil's, the refinery, Basil's..."

Thorne, his mouth slightly open, turned his gaze toward Gray.

Gray understood what was happening. He gritted his teeth: "That guy's name is Basil? Great!"

Just then, several military vehicles filled with British soldiers wobbled along the road.

Seeing Thorne's puzzled look, Gray explained, "Don't worry, they're my men."

As he spoke, he walked towards the convoy, much to Thorne's surprise, and then turned back to shout to Thorne, "Leave the rest to me. You just need to prepare for resuming work, Mr. Thorne!"

The British convoy stopped in front of Gray and, under Gray's command, split into two groups. One group turned around with Gray and headed towards the refinery, while the other group headed towards the police station.

Thorne stood there, watching the military vehicle speed away, kicking up dust, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips.

He didn't want to simply disperse the group of thugs; that wouldn't make any sense.

However, if the military is guided to characterize this as an infiltration and sabotage operation by the German Brandenburg forces, the nature of the matter changes completely; it will no longer be a civil dispute, but a wartime espionage case.

Therefore, the military will thoroughly investigate, interrogate, and dig deep into the mastermind behind the rogue, making it much harder for those oil giants to easily suppress the matter.