Possibilities

London nights are never truly dark.

Even with the blackout in effect, even with the entire city huddled in darkness like a lurking beast, the Thames still shimmered silvery under the moonlight, the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral still outlined a silent silhouette against the night sky, and those who had fled from the European continent still sat in the subway stations with their eyes open, listening to the occasional roar of bombers in the distance.

It was 2:00 AM on May 17, 1941. The lights in the Cabinet meeting room at 10 Downing Street remained on all night.

Winston Churchill sat at the head of the long table, his coffee cup already cold. A cigar hung between his fingers, its ash piling up long, which he didn't flick away. Behind him hung a huge map of Eurasia, stretching from the Atlantic to the Ural Mountains, from the Arctic Ocean to the Mediterranean—all the battlefields condensed onto a single sheet. Red marked areas controlled by German forces, blue areas by the Allies, and yellow areas representing neutral countries still wavering in their allegiance.

The map looked like a slice of a spreading malignant tumor, with red spreading outwards from the center of Germany, engulfing Poland, Denmark, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Yugoslavia, and Greece, and now continuing to expand eastward along the northern coast of the Mediterranean.

A dozen or so people sat on either side of the conference table. Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, Secretary of War David Mageson, Chief of the Imperial General Staff Sir John Deal, Chief of the Air Force Sir Charles Porter, First Sea Lord Sir Dudley Pound, and several intelligence officers urgently summoned from various departments. Each person had a stack of documents spread out in front of them, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, and coffee cups emptied and refilled repeatedly.

But the man sitting to Churchill's right was different from everyone else.

Charles de Gaulle wore a faded military uniform, the collar buttoned tightly, the two stars on his collar insignia gleaming dimly in the lamplight. He hadn't slept for two days; his eyes were sunken, his cheekbones prominent, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. But he sat ramrod straight, his back as firm as a nail, his hands flat on the table, fingers interlaced, motionless. His gaze was fixed on the telegram on the table, the one forwarded from Cairo, drafted by Lorrain himself, which he had been studying for a long time.

Churchill finally flicked away the ash, his voice low and deep, as if squeezed from his chest.

"Gentlemen, we must face reality," he began, his gaze sweeping across each face. "The situation in North Africa is worse than we anticipated. No, not just worse, it's as bad as it can get."

He stood up, walked to the map, and pointed with his cigar at the winding coastline on the northern shore of the Mediterranean.

"Crete is lost. Greece is lost. Yugoslavia is lost. Although the German paratroopers have suffered heavy casualties, they have taken the key to the Eastern Mediterranean. Now, their Stuka bombers can take off from Crete and fly over Alexandria in three hours. Our fleet has nowhere to hide, and our supply ships will be bombed and sunk outside the harbor."

His finger suddenly pointed to the long coastline of North Africa.

"And Rommel, that Desert Fox, has been lingering outside Tobruk for almost a month. He has 80,000 men, 300 tanks, and a steady stream of supplies being transported from Tripoli. What do we have? Wavell has 75,000 men, but half of them are remnants evacuated from Greece. We have less than 50 tanks and zero aircraft. The Germans have air superiority and sea control. We don't have a single usable aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean."

He took a deep breath, and his voice suddenly lowered.

This is the situation we are facing now.

The room was deathly silent.

Sir Dill, the Imperial Chief of Staff, cleared his throat and opened the file in front of him. His voice was flat, but every word pierced the ears of everyone present like nails.

"Prime Minister, let me be clearer about the numbers. Rommel's forces in North Africa, after the reinforcements of the past three months, have reached a considerable size. The 15th Panzer Division and the 5th Light Panzer Division, together with the Italian Ariete Panzer Division and several infantry divisions, total more than 80,000 men. In terms of tanks, the Germans have deployed more than 200 Panzer III and IV tanks, plus the Italian M13/40s, bringing the total to nearly 300. In terms of air force, the Germans have deployed more than 400 combat aircraft in Sicily and Crete, including two squadrons of Ju 87 Stuka dive bombers."

He paused, then turned to the next page.

"And what about us? The combat forces that General Wavell can mobilize are as follows: the 7th Armoured Division has been severely weakened in the previous battles, with less than fifty tanks left, a third of which are light tanks, unable to compete with the German Panzer IVs. The Australian 9th Division is trapped in Tobruk, cut off from the outside world for more than six weeks. The New Zealand 4th Brigade has just been withdrawn from Greece, incomplete and with almost all of its heavy equipment lost. The 2nd Armoured Division is still being transported from the British mainland and will not arrive in Egypt until mid-June at the earliest."

He closed the file.

"Simply put, our troop strength in North Africa is only one-third of Rommel's. Our tanks are only one-sixth of his. Our air force is practically nonexistent."

Jason frowned and spoke.

"Prime Minister, I understand the situation in North Africa. But we must consider the bigger picture. The Germans are about to attack the Soviet Union. Our intelligence confirms that Operation Barbarossa will launch within six weeks. By then, Hitler's main forces will have turned east, and the pressure on North Africa will be greatly reduced..."

"Relieve it?" Churchill interrupted him, his voice suddenly rising. "Tell me, how can the pressure in North Africa be relieved? How long will it take the Germans to fight the Soviet Union? Six weeks? Or another six weeks after that? What can Rommel do in those six weeks? He can take Tobruk, Alexandria, Cairo, and the Suez Canal! By then, even if Hitler can't take Moscow, we've already lost!"

Jason's face turned pale.

Churchill didn't look at him again. He turned around, picked up a telegram from the table, and held it up in his hand.

"Gentlemen, I have something to tell you. This afternoon, Wavell sent a telegram. It wasn't about troop deployments, nor about supply lines; it was a plan by one man."

He lowered his head and read aloud:

"Major Loran proposes: use the defenders of Tobruk as bait to lure Rommel's main force to the south of the city. At the same time, Brigadier General Campbell will lead the remnants of the 7th Panzer Division on a long-range raid on the port of Brega to destroy all the fuel reserves of the German 15th Panzer Division. If successful, Rommel will be forced to retreat across the board due to the lack of fuel. Expected launch time: early morning of May 18th."

He put down the telegram and looked at everyone present.

"This is Loran's plan. Use the three thousand men of the Tobruk garrison as bait, and send the remaining forty-seven tanks to raid the German rear four hundred kilometers away. If they win, Rommel will retreat. If they lose, Tobruk will fall, the 7th Panzer Division will be annihilated, and the entire North Africa region will be lost."

He paused.

What do you think?

The meeting room remained silent for a long time.

Foreign Secretary Eden was the first to speak. His voice was soft, but clear.

"Prime Minister, this plan is too risky. The garrison in Tobruk has only three thousand men, of whom less than a thousand are combat-ready. Sending them to draw Rommel's main force is tantamount to sending them to their deaths. Moreover, Campbell's forty-seven tanks will have to cross four hundred kilometers of desert to attack a heavily fortified rear base without any air cover. The success rate is extremely low. If we fail, we will have no more usable armored forces in North Africa."

Army Secretary Majesen nodded in agreement.

"I agree with Mr. Aiden's assessment. From a military perspective, the probability of this plan succeeding is no more than twenty percent. Major Loran is an excellent guerrilla commander, and he performed admirably in harassment operations in Libya. But this time he is facing Rommel's main force, not the Italian supply lines. Using three thousand men to lure the enemy and forty-seven tanks for a raid is not tactics; it's gambling."

Air Force Chief of Staff Sir Porter also spoke up.

"Moreover, we lack air superiority. Rommel's reconnaissance planes patrol the desert every day. Campbell's tank column will be difficult to detect undetected. Once detected, the German Stukas will swoop down from the sky, forty-seven tanks, possibly not even reaching the edge of the port of Brega."

Churchill listened to these opinions without saying a word.

He turned around and looked at de Gaulle.

"General, what do you think?"

All eyes were on the tall, thin Frenchman.

De Gaulle did not answer immediately. He sat there, his hands flat on the table, fingers interlaced, staring at the telegram on the table. The light shone on his face from the side, illuminating the complex expression in his deep-set eyes.

After a long time, he finally spoke.

"Gentlemen, you are all right." His voice was hoarse but steady. "This plan is indeed risky, the success rate is indeed very low, and Tobruk's three thousand men could indeed all perish. But I want to ask you a question."

He raised his head and looked at everyone present.

"What would happen if we didn't take the risk?"

No one answered.

De Gaulle stood up and walked to the map. His legs were long, and he reached the huge map of Europe in just a few steps. He turned to face everyone.

"Gentlemen, let's face reality. In the past twelve months, we have lost every battle. Norway lost. The Netherlands lost. Belgium lost. France lost. Greece lost. Crete lost. Every time, we thought we could hold on, and every time, we lost. Now, we stand on the last line of defense in North Africa. Tobruk is the gateway to Egypt, Egypt is the gateway to the Suez Canal, and the Suez Canal is the gateway to the Indian Ocean. If Tobruk is lost, Egypt is lost. If Egypt is lost, the Suez Canal is lost. If the Suez Canal is lost, the Indian Ocean is lost. If the Indian Ocean is lost, this war is lost."

He paused, and his voice suddenly became very soft.

"Do we have any way out?"

The room was deathly silent.

De Gaulle returned to his seat, but did not sit down. He stood there, his back ramrod straight, like a flagpole planted in London.

"You say this plan is risky. Yes, it is risky. But I want to tell you something. I know a man named Lorraine. This time last year, he was a lieutenant in the French 55th Division. When the Germans attacked from the Ardennes, everyone ran away. He didn't. He took two hundred men and held out in a small village called Stoney. He held out for three days. Two hundred men against an armored division. After three days, his company was down to just a dozen men. But he made the Germans stop for three days."

He looked into Churchill's eyes.

"Those three days saved 400,000 people in Dunkirk."

The room was extremely quiet.

De Gaulle continued.

"Later he arrived in London. I sent him back to France to contact those who were willing to continue the fight. He went. Alone, with a list, he traversed all of occupied France. He brought back thirteen men. Thirteen men, our entire remaining spark in France."

"Later, I sent him to Africa. He led three hundred men and fought in the desert for three months, cutting off the Italians' supply lines and terrifying two hundred and fifty thousand people. Then he went to Dakar, used the same method, starved three thousand defenders, and captured twenty-three tons of gold. That gold is now in the British vault. The cigars you smoke today, the coffee you drink, and the heating in this room you're sitting in—all of that gold was exchanged for."

His gaze swept across every face.

"Now, he's in North Africa again. He's leading three thousand battered soldiers, besieged for six weeks, and forty-seven tanks nearly out of fuel, to fight Rommel's eighty thousand men. You say it's a gamble. Yes, it is. But I want to ask you, a man who fought his way from Stoney, a man who has never lost, is he betting on luck?"

No one answered.

De Gaulle's voice suddenly lowered.

"He was betting that the British wouldn't abandon him. He was betting that Free France wouldn't abandon him. He was betting that we, sitting in London, safe and with hot coffee, still believed there was something more dignified than surrender."

He walked back to his seat and sat down. His back was still straight, but his shoulders slumped slightly, and he tilted his head to the side with a hint of helplessness.

"Prime Minister," he said, "please approve this plan."

Churchill looked at him for a long time.

Then he turned around and looked at General Deer.

"John, from a purely military perspective, is this plan really only 20% likely to succeed?"

Dill hesitated for a moment.

"Prime Minister, if everything goes smoothly, if Campbell's tanks are not discovered, if the defenders of Tobruk can hold out, and if Rommel really does move his main force to the south of the city, the success rate might reach forty percent. But..."

"Forty percent," Churchill interrupted him. "Forty percent, is that enough?"

No one speaks.

Churchill stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to everyone. Outside was the London night, a city accustomed to darkness. He stood there, motionless, like a statue.

After a long time, he turned around.

"Gentlemen, I'm going to tell you a story."

He walked back to his seat, but didn't sit down. He leaned against the table, his hands in his pockets, and his voice suddenly became very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

"In 1915, I commanded a battle in the Dardanelles. We lost that battle. We lost more than 40,000 men, I lost my position, and I lost all my confidence in military affairs. At that time, I thought that war was like this: you trade human lives for land, and if you can't, you lose."

He raised his head.

"But I later realized something. War is not about trading lives for land, it's about trading lives for time. Time for the enemy to make mistakes, time for allies to send reinforcements, and time for ourselves to come to our senses."

He looked at everyone present.

"Lorraine's plan wasn't about trading lives for land. It was about trading lives for time. Time for Campbell to bomb the oil depot, time for Rommel to make mistakes, time for us to reinforce Egypt. Three thousand lives for stopping eighty thousand. Was it worth it?"

No one answered.

Churchill nodded, as if he had already heard the answer.

"Send a telegram to Wavell," he said, his voice regaining its usual booming tone. "Approve Lorraine's plan. Tell Campbell, forty-seven tanks, not one less. Tell the men in Tobruk that London is watching them."

He paused.

"Also, tell Lorraine that General de Gaulle asked him if he still remembered Stoney."

At four o'clock in the morning on May 17th, a short telegram was sent across the Mediterranean Sea between London and Cairo.

Wavell received the telegram while standing in front of the map in the operations room. He read the few lines three times before handing it to the chief of staff beside him.

"London has approved it."

The chief of staff took the telegram and remained silent for a long time.

"General, this plan..."

“I know,” Wavell interrupted him. “I never asked for approval. When Lorraine sent the telegram, I already gave my permission. I will take full responsibility for this battle.”

He walked to the window and looked at the Cairo night. The city was still asleep, and the Nile flowed quietly under the moonlight. Allied soldiers were hoping that, hundreds of kilometers away in the desert, three thousand men would risk their lives for a single possibility.