Eagle Sauce: The 055 destroyer was launched into the sea just after the founding of the country?

Chapter 901 Aid (Part 1)

The singing gradually subsided, but the surge of emotion in their hearts lingered for a long time. As everyone followed President Lu through a series of solemn and dignified doorways and finally stepped into the not-so-spacious office, which exuded a profound sense of history, everyone subconsciously held their breath.

There were no luxurious decorations, no extravagant furnishings. Only rows upon rows of bookshelves, reaching to the ceiling and crammed with all kinds of books, and a huge world map hanging on the wall, marked with countless symbols by red and blue arrows. A faint scent of ink and tea filled the air.

An elderly man, dressed in a similarly simple grey Zhongshan suit, tall and with eyes as deep as stars, was already standing behind the desk with a smile. He did not sit in the chair that symbolized power, but instead walked around the desk and came to greet him.

Inside the office were several other equally composed leaders, including General Chen, who had recently concluded a press conference regarding the Pennsylvania campaign, and Fang Yu, the young genius who had been quietly following behind the leader. They all stood quietly to the side, leaving the spotlight to this great man who was the center of attention.

"Welcome, comrades from afar."

The chieftain's voice was loud yet gentle, carrying a power that could instantly soothe people's hearts. He extended his large, calloused, yet warm and strong hands, shaking hands with each person.

Castro was trembling slightly with excitement. He gripped the Great Chieftain's hands tightly, his lips moving as a thousand words welled up at his lips, but in the end, they all condensed into a heartfelt cry: "Great Chieftain..."

The chieftain smiled and patted the back of his hand, then turned his gaze to the young man beside Castro, who had a signature long curly hair and sharp, eagle-like eyes.

"You must be Comrade Che Guevara?" The chieftain's eyes were filled with admiration. "You're even younger than I imagined."

This seemingly casual remark, like that of a respected elder from next door, instantly dispelled the last vestiges of tension in the office. Even Guevara's usually tense face broke into a shy smile. He straightened his back and gave the chief a somewhat awkward salute: "Reporting, sir, it's a pleasure to meet you."

After a warm exchange of pleasantries, the chieftain gestured for everyone to take their seats. There was no distinction between host and guest, no hierarchy; everyone sat around an old wooden round table, on which were several cups of freshly brewed hot tea, steaming gently.

Castro held the cup of hot tea in both hands, feeling the warmth in his palms, his excitement still overwhelming. He looked at the leader opposite him, chatting and laughing, occasionally exchanging views on the night view of the capital with Guevara and Allende, and felt as if he were in a dream. This was the revolutionary mentor he had read about in books since childhood, the one he had admired countless times. He wasn't like Joseph, sitting in the Kremlin, always with a stern face, his expression one of suspicion and authority; he was more like a true elder, emerging from the people, who would surely lead them to a brighter future.

As the atmosphere grew more lively, the leader put down his teacup, his gaze slowly sweeping over each South American revolutionary present. His gentle smile gradually faded, replaced by a knowing calm.

"Comrades," the chief began slowly, his voice not loud, but it instantly silenced the entire room, "I think you are all wondering what we went through all this trouble to invite you all from South America, thousands of miles away."

He paused, poured himself another cup of tea, and then continued in a certain tone:

"To put it simply, it's quite simple."

"I just want to ask everyone for a favor, to join us in dealing with our common enemy—the United States."

The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the office froze.

Che Guevara abruptly raised his head, a sharp wariness flashing in his deep eyes. Almost instinctively, he looked at Castro beside him. His gaze seemed to silently question: Fidel, didn't you say they were different from the Russian bears? Didn't you say they wouldn't use us as pawns or cannon fodder?

Castro's heart sank. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found his throat dry. The idealistic fire that had burned so brightly in the car seemed to be instantly doused with a bucket of cold, realistic water, causing it to flicker.

Allende shifted uneasily, his fingers tightening slightly around his teacup. As a staunch parliamentary fighter, his greatest fear was being drawn into such an armed conflict between major powers.

However, the chieftain seemed oblivious to their complex expressions. He remained calm, leisurely blowing on the tea leaves in his cup before speaking again. His next words, however, were like a thunderclap piercing the sky, completely shattering the fog in everyone's minds and leaving them utterly stunned.

"However, the 'dealing' we're talking about might be different from what you're thinking."

The chieftain raised his head, his wise gaze meeting Guevara's, whose eyes were filled with doubt, and said, word by word:

"Comrade Guevara, I'd like to ask you a question. What do you lack most in the jungles of your Sierra Maestra mountains? Is it rifles and bullets?"

Guevara paused, not answering immediately, but pondering for a few seconds before saying in a deep voice, “We lack rifles and bullets. But what we lack most is medicine, especially quinine to treat malaria and penicillin to treat wound infections. We also lack clean food and warm clothing. More than half of the warriors in the jungle do not die from enemy gunfire, but from disease and hunger.”

“Well said.” The Grand Chief nodded, then turned his gaze to Castro. “Comrade Castro, tell me, even if you drive out Batista and liberate all of Cuba, who will be your biggest enemy next?”

Castro replied almost without hesitation: “It’s poverty and ignorance. It’s the mess left by the capitalists of the US. We have hundreds of thousands of illiterate people, and our land is full of sugarcane and cigars for the US, yet our own people can’t even get enough bread. We can’t even make a decent hoe.”

"And what about Comrade Allende?" The chieftain finally looked at the refined-looking doctor-politician.

Allende adjusted his glasses and said with a wry smile, “My situation is more complicated. Even if I become president through the election, I will be facing a country that has been completely infiltrated and controlled by American capital. They control our copper mines and our economic lifeline. Any decree I issue that attempts to return wealth to the people will be met with their fierce backlash and sabotage. And we ourselves do not have any industrial base that can compete with them.”

After listening to the three men's words, the chieftain smiled with satisfaction. He gently placed the teacup on the table, crossed his hands, leaned forward slightly, and looked at them intently.

"So, comrades, do you see, is our common enemy really that faraway American government? No, that's just a facade. Our real enemy is poverty, backwardness, and the old world order built on exploitation and inequality!"

“I invited you here not to give you tens of thousands of guns and hundreds of cannons, and then send you to fight the American army to the death. Joseph is doing that kind of thing, but it has proven to be ineffective. That’s using your own resources to hurt others, and it’s the most foolish way.”

"What we need to do is to eradicate the very soil from which this global cancer, the United States, thrives!"

The chieftain stood up, walked to the huge world map, picked up a long pointer, and pointed to the vast South American continent on the map.

"Our aid program, codenamed 'Spark,' includes, but is not limited to, the following aspects."

"First, the spark of industry."