HLM – Chapter 1003 The Bearing of a General

Lancaster also charged forward. He shoved a burly man, but the man was incredibly agile—his body was covered in paint and was slippery as oil. Lancaster’s hand slid right off, and the big man swung a fist and sent him crashing to the ground.

Wang Bo, who was in the middle of protecting the veterans, saw this and immediately dashed forward. He jumped and delivered a sweeping kick to the man.

In the chaos of a brawl like this, it all comes down to speed and strength. Wang Bo had the advantage in both. His kick struck the man’s shoulder and sent him sprawling.

At that moment, the police assigned to maintain order finally rushed over.

Events like this always put law enforcement on alert. When Wang Bo went to register earlier, he had seen Wellington’s AOS special operations team assembled, helicopters circling overhead.

But those flights had been for nothing—their birds-eye view somehow failed to spot people on the ground plotting trouble.

The policing on site wasn’t much better. They had shrunk their defensive line toward the center of the parade, because that was where the British royal delegation and government officials were located.

A lapse like this would be unimaginable in China. If something like this happened, half of the Public Security Bureau would be losing their hats.

But in New Zealand, it wasn’t anything shocking. Wang Bo was a police officer himself—he knew perfectly well what level New Zealand’s police generally operated at.

Several police motorcycles roared in with sirens blaring and joined the fray. Together with the guards already present, over a hundred officers finally managed to get the rioters under control.

Lancaster sprang up with an agile kip-up. He looked back and frowned, shouting at a police inspector: “Fuck! Why is everyone over here? Guard the central area! If this is a diversion, the middle section might already be compromised!”

Wang Bo looked over. Indeed—the central part of the parade was now thinly guarded. Most officers had rushed over in a swarm.

He couldn’t help shaking his head. Damn, New Zealand police really are amateurs.

Then again, he couldn’t fully blame them. New Zealand barely had any major violent attacks throughout an entire year—this place was practically a peaceful utopia. Terrorist groups never paid attention to this region.

Especially on a day like ANZAC Day. From what Wang Bo knew, the holiday had existed for sixty or seventy years, and the last major protest related to it had been in 1967, when New Zealand’s Left-Wing Alliance ran an anti–Vietnam War demonstration.

And even that had happened in Christchurch, not Wellington.

Given the scale of this incident, Wang Bo figured he was witnessing a historical event. This would definitely become an international talking point for the next couple of days.

The men who stormed in were large white guys—built like Māori, bulky and powerful. It took three or four officers to pin one down. Once they resisted, they were like raging bulls.

One burly man broke free from several officers and roared at the veterans on the vehicle: “You think this is glory? Invading Turkey! You’re the descendants of invaders! Invaders! Shame! Shame! Shame!”

The police rushed to restrain him. The veterans on the vehicle looked dumbfounded—one of them trembling, his lips quivering, his whole face full of despair.

A police officer shot Wang Bo a displeased look. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Wang Bo replied coldly, “Look at my attire. I’m wearing a suit—I’m a politician right now.”

Helping out was a favor. Not helping was his right. At the moment, he wasn’t acting as a cop, and it wasn’t his place to intervene.

Some of the other big men were also shouting. Wang Bo finally noticed the painted slogans on their bodies—things like “Abolish ANZAC Day,” “Day of Shame,” “Bandits Who Invaded Turkey.”

If WWII was a global fight against fascist tyranny, then WWI was indeed more like an invasion war.

There was no “justice” or “injustice” in that war—it was the European powers fighting over colonial territories. The righteousness written in history textbooks today came solely from the victors.

Lancaster removed his now-filthy suit jacket and went to comfort the veterans. One of them said bleakly, “That bastard wasn’t wrong. We fought in an invasion war.”

The men on the vehicle were Vietnam War veterans—and that was indeed an unjust war.

After this incident, the parade lost all festive atmosphere. People murmured among themselves, and the mood on site grew strange.

Wang Bo was about to return to his position when Lancaster grabbed him and smiled: “Hey mate, good job back there. Didn’t expect you were hiding skills like that.”

Wang Bo gave a wry smile. “I’d rather I didn’t have to show anything. This whole situation is just depressing.”

The most depressed were the veterans. Most on the vehicle were Vietnam vets—WWII had ended over seventy years ago, and anyone who had survived that war would be at least ninety by now. Not many people lived that long.

As for WWI veterans? New Zealand’s last one had died twenty years ago.

In recent years, with the rise of anti-war sentiment, more and more New Zealanders were re-evaluating the Vietnam War. It had absolutely nothing to do with New Zealand, yet the country still lost more than eighty young soldiers in it.

Seeing the vets so dispirited, Lancaster stepped forward, expression firm, and shouted:

“Everyone! Everyone! Listen up! We were all soldiers once. A soldier’s duty is to obey orders! If the order is to go to war, then we go to war! As for the nature of the war—sorry, but if soldiers had to worry about that too, then what are politicians for?!”

Wang Bo coughed. Great. And he was a politician now.

But Lancaster did have a commander’s presence. His short speech was powerful and sharp. The veterans’ morale gradually lifted.

Governor Peck and Prime Minister Lawrence personally stepped in to handle the situation. The Turkish-descended white protesters were loaded into police vans and arrested under the charge of “offending public decency.”

Wang Bo had always assumed that charge was a uniquely Chinese thing.

The parade was set to continue. Alexander and the senior members of the Green Party and Labour Party were already plotting an interrogation of the ruling party.

“Just watch—the National Party is going to be humiliated,” Alexander said with a cold laugh.

Wang Bo glanced over at the National Party contingent. Their core members indeed looked grim.

The parade entered the cemetery. Howitzers were rolled out on both sides as the memorial ceremony began.

Princess Eugenie was to represent the British Royal Family in offering thanks to New Zealand’s fallen—after all, in both World Wars and the Vietnam War, New Zealand had supported their government.

But the public wasn’t buying it. Even in such a solemn setting, some people booed, and others gave Princess Eugenie the middle finger.

This was something beyond anyone’s control. The princess and the high-ranking New Zealand officials could only pretend not to notice.

At every annual memorial, at any large event involving the British Royal Family, there were always New Zealanders protesting. People were used to it by now.