The Twilight of Empire: Starting from Dunkirk

Chapter 162 The Highest Level of Waiting for the Best Price

When Arthur Sterling unhesitatingly rejected President Roosevelt's "generous" deal, Harry Hopkins, the presidential envoy representing the highest will of the United States, wore a face contorted with utter astonishment.

Anger at being offended, and a hint of barely perceptible panic.

He originally thought he was there with five thousand destroyers to liquidate the dying lion of the British Empire, but he never expected that this young heavy industrial oligarch would dare to overturn the negotiating table that Washington had carefully set up with such arrogance and shamelessness.

Hopkins instinctively wanted to leverage the pressure from Capitol Hill and use the horrific data on merchant ship losses in the Atlantic to exert one last, maximum pressure.

But as soon as he finished speaking, he saw that Arthur's elegant aristocratic smile had completely vanished without a trace.

At that moment, Hopkins felt a chill run down his spine; he had a premonition that something very bad was going to happen tonight.

Arthur stopped in front of the giant nautical chart that used the Mercator projection, which exaggerated the area of ​​the Northern Hemisphere and depicted the Atlantic Ocean as a vast, deep blue chasm that could block any foreign invaders.

This is precisely the source of the greatest sense of security for those American isolationists across the ocean.

Arthur slowly turned around, his back against the deep blue sea. His eyes were profound, but to Hopkins they seemed like an abyss that devoured everything.

"If the British Empire falls—"

This was Arthur's opening statement, a plain assumption, delivered in a gentle and magnetic tone, yet it instantly chilled the entire restaurant to a freezing point.

"Mr. Envoy, since the actuaries in Washington, and those isolationist gentlemen on Capitol Hill, are so convinced that we can't hold out in this war of attrition, then tonight, let's cast aside all those hypocritical clichés about defending freedom and democracy: let's strip away all the sentimental speeches of politicians. Let's talk about the purest steel tonnage, the coldest heavy industrial capacity, and what you care about most: our distance from the Germans."

Arthur pulled a silver baton from the mahogany pen holder beside him and casually pointed the tip at the location of London on the map.

"Let's do a brutal, but plausible, scenario: three months from now, the British Empire's anti-submarine escort network will completely collapse, its domestic heavy oil reserves will be depleted, and all its arsenals will cease operations due to a lack of raw materials. The British Empire will be forced to surrender to Germany."

Hopkins' eyelid twitched suddenly.

Although this was precisely the "bankruptcy liquidation" moment that some in Washington had been secretly hoping for, he still felt a strong sense of unease when this heavy topic was so openly and without any psychological barrier laid out on the table by the core decision-makers of the British Empire.

wrong!

Hopkins's rapidly working mind immediately seized upon the fatal logical flaw. He stared intently at the young man opposite him, his mind frantically replaying the top-secret telegrams on President Roosevelt's desk.

Just a few weeks ago, the old fox sitting in the head seat smoking a cigar was passionately assuring the White House that even if the defenses of the British Isles were completely torn apart, the British Empire would never surrender! The Royal Family, the Cabinet, and the entire Royal Navy would cross the Atlantic and retreat to Canada or other overseas dominions, relying on the resources of the New World to continue resisting the Nazis until their last drop of blood was shed!

That poignant assurance was the greatest source of confidence for the gentlemen on Capitol Hill in Washington to stand idly by without a care in the world. In their calculations, even if Britain were destroyed, the massive British fleet would eventually flee to the Americas and become a free watchdog for the United States.

As if he could read Hopkins' mind, Arthur's lips curled up slightly.

"Prime Minister Churchill might choose to die, pistol in hand, in the ruins of the Downing Street air-raid shelter, or burn to the ground along with Buckingham Palace, for the last vestige of dignity of the British Empire. The government-in-exile he so earnestly promised your president in his telegram might actually be established in Ottawa, Canada." Arthur's tone was cold; he didn't even glance at Churchill, who sat in the main seat, as he spoke. The Prime Minister also exhaled a thick smoke ring, as if Arthur were describing someone else's death.

"However, Mr. Special Envoy, please face reality." Arthur's eyes were filled with compassion for the lower classes: "A real empire with tens of millions of people, a vast bureaucracy, and intricate capitalist interests will absolutely not be buried with a political leader or a helpless exiled cabinet."

Hopkins' pupils suddenly contracted.

"You Washingtonians haven't experienced the devastation of the last World War, so you have far too romanticized views of the nation's fate. Do you really think that once the homeland's defenses are completely torn apart, those centuries-old aristocratic families and the heavy industrial conglomerates that control the nation's lifeline will foolishly abandon their London estates, Birmingham steel mills, and Manchester arsenals, and slink away to the icy wastelands of Canada to become refugees, all for a hollow slogan of resistance?"

Arthur slowly shook the silver baton. He was frank and straightforward, but to Hopkins it sounded like blatant harassment: "Mr. Envoy, I can give you a precise answer—at least our Sterling family would never do that."

Arthur's eyes revealed absolute loyalty to the British Empire and the King: "Sixty percent of the British Empire's heavy industrial capacity, the most crucial radar tube production line, are firmly fixed to the bedrock of this island by millions of rivets."

"Do you expect me to noblely destroy the hard work of generations of heavy industry, rebuild a logging camp in the wilderness of the New World, and then act as if nothing ever happened? You know, these things are more precious than our lives!" Arthur's voice became somewhat agitated as he said this.

Hopkins's withered cheeks twitched noticeably.

"Even if we take a step back and say that a few powerful figures in the cabinet and the royal family can board the escape battleships with dignity, what about the more than 40 million civilians left on this island? The workers who toil day and night in the arsenal, the farmers who till the land in Yorkshire, the ordinary families who can't even afford a third-class ticket across the Atlantic—the vast majority of them absolutely do not want to, and simply cannot, abandon the homes where their ancestors have lived for generations to start over on a strange, cold continent."

Arthur mercilessly pronounced the death sentence on the so-called "Canadian exile plan": "When the defenses of the homeland are completely torn apart, and air raid sirens blare mournfully over every street, in order to save these tens of millions of civilians with nowhere to retreat from being slaughtered by SS machine guns and armored vehicles, and even more so to preserve the core tangible assets of us pragmatic capitalists on this island—"

With each word Arthur spoke, Hopkins's eyes twitched: "Those utterly abandoned citizens, and the remnants of parliament remaining on the homeland, will inevitably overthrow the legitimacy of the exiled government that fled to Canada. They will elect a new leader to sign a humiliating, but life-saving, peace treaty with the Führer in Berlin."

Hopkins tightened his grip on the wine glass, and a slight spasm began to ripple through his stomach, where a portion of the diseased tissue had just been removed.

The American envoy finally realized with horror that all of Churchill's previous boasts were nothing more than a poor-quality strategic smokescreen.

That's exactly what I wanted to say; that's exactly the kind of nonsense those politicians spout.

After cruelly stripping away these false promises, his intuition began to scream alarm bells: what this young man was about to say would utterly shatter the fate of the United States of America, leading to a terrifying abyss.

"So, Mr. Special Envoy, based on your understanding of that madman Little Mustache and those Junker aristocratic generals in the German High Command, what do you think would be the sole and most crucial prerequisite for His Majesty's agreement to a ceasefire and his signing of the armistice agreement after our homeland defenses have been completely destroyed?"

Without waiting for Hopkins' reply, Arthur swung his silver baton and struck the map heavily on the locations of Scapa Flow in Scotland, as well as Alexandria and Gibraltar in the Mediterranean.

"It's not about war reparations, nor is it about ceding a few insignificant African colonies. What Little Mustache truly covets and dreams of is absolute control of the entire Royal Navy fleet!"

Arthur's voice suddenly rose, catching Hopkins off guard: "If the British Empire surrenders, as a defeated nation, the King George V-class battleships, the Illustrious-class aircraft carriers, and hundreds of cruisers and destroyers docked in port will all be flying the Nazi swastika! This is an inevitable consequence of the logic of international law regarding the reckoning of defeat!"

Hopkins felt his breathing becoming somewhat difficult.

He was certainly aware of the possibility of this scenario, because Washington had conducted similar simulations, and it was the possibility they feared most. An unprecedented fear began to creep up his spine.

Compared to Hopkins, Arthur remained unfazed, his deception befitting his role: "Consider our massive Royal Navy Home Fleet and Mediterranean Fleet; consider the entire main force of the French Navy that we just acquired a few months ago at Oran and the Dakar Rim; consider the Italian battleship groups in the Mediterranean, tactically rigid but with considerable tonnage; and finally, the Bismarck-class super-battleships being fitted out in the Germans' own shipyards, as well as Dönitz's massive and deadly U-boat force."

With each name Arthur uttered, Hopkins' face grew paler.

"Once this armistice covering the entire European continent is signed, the entire shipyard capacity across Europe, spanning three time zones, hundreds of thousands of skilled heavy industry workers and shipbuilding engineers, and all active naval forces will be completely integrated by the Nazis into a terrifying steel behemoth unprecedented in the history of warfare—the European Combined Fleet!"

Arthur tapped his baton three times heavily on the east coast of North America, producing a chilling "thump, thump, thump."

A "thud" sound.

"This super-invincible fleet, consisting of more than twenty capital battleships equipped with 14-inch to 15-inch or even 16-inch guns, a dozen aircraft carriers, hundreds of heavy cruisers, and a vast array of destroyers and submarines, will effortlessly cross the Atlantic Ocean, a sea that appears wide to you but is merely a narrow channel in the face of modern steam turbines."

"They will then rightfully and legally take over those naval bases you just wanted in Newfoundland, Bermuda, and the Bahamas, using them as springboards for attack. Then, this super-fleet will appear without any hindrance at the Statue of Liberty in New York, in the harbor of Boston, and off the Potomac River in Washington!"

The restaurant was deathly silent, with only the faint crackling of burning wood in the fireplace.

As a key strategic figure at the highest level in the United States, he understood better than anyone the fatal weaknesses in the underlying structure of the American defense system. And Arthur, this devilish British nobleman, was cruelly wielding a scalpel, peeling away layer by layer the false sense of security Americans held in their "two-ocean barrier."

"And at that time, facing the combined European fleet besieging the city, what could the United States of America, on which you placed such high hopes and who prided itself as the beacon of the world, do?"

"Your Pacific Fleet, which Capitol Hill considers the absolute main force, will be firmly pinned down in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, by the equally large and rigorously trained Japanese Combined Fleet, along with the hundreds of fighter planes under Yamamoto Isoroku's command. It won't dare to make the slightest move. Because if your Pacific Fleet were to withdraw its main force to defend the Atlantic, your geopolitical interests and colonies in the Philippines and throughout the Far East would be completely torn apart and devoured within forty-eight hours by those Asian dwarfs with their chins!"

"As for your pathetic Atlantic Fleet?" Arthur scoffed. "Besides a few old battleships built during World War I—slow as turtles, with paper-thin armor, and outdated fire control radars—what do you have? Are you expecting those laughable, outdated coastal guns with a range less than half that of modern naval guns to stop the heavily armored charge of a 30,000-ton battleship?"

Arthur stared intently at Hopkins's face, which was covered in cold sweat.

"Faced with the fully integrated steel torrent and absolute naval supremacy of Europe, Mr. Envoy, the thousands of miles of prosperous, virtually defenseless coastline of the United States' East Coast will become a perfect firing range!"

"Manhattan in New York, the financial district in Boston, and Capitol Hill in Washington—those bustling cities flowing with gold and piled high with the wealth of Wall Street capitalists—will be reduced to a burning inferno and ruins in less than 24 hours, under the crossfire of dozens of 15-inch cannons and the baptism of high-explosive shells!"

"Your skyscrapers will crumble like building blocks, your proud industrial production lines will be reduced to scrap metal. At that time, Mr. Envoy, I would like to ask you—" Arthur took a step forward, leaning slightly forward, exuding a terrifying aura as he stared directly into Hopkins' eyes: "When German armor-piercing shells precisely strike the dome of the Washington Capitol; when Wall Street bankers watch in despair as their stocks turn into burning scraps of paper; when massive European armies begin landing on the East Coast, will those arrogant isolationist gentlemen on Capitol Hill still have the leisure to comfortably recline on their Persian-carpeted leather sofas, idly chanting the slogan, 'Death to the Europeans! The war has nothing to do with America!'"

A long, deathly silent few minutes.

For Harry Hopkins, those few minutes felt like centuries. Beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead, down his sunken cheeks, and onto his pristine white napkin.

His right hand, holding the crystal goblet, was trembling uncontrollably. The glass clinked against the saucer, producing a faint yet jarring "clatter" in the deathly silent restaurant. The massive wound left from his stomach cancer surgery, under extreme psychological fear and mental pressure, began to erupt with excruciating, colicky pain.

But Hopkins didn't even have time to reach up and cover his stomach; his brain was in the midst of a terrifying logical collapse and reconstruction.

Arthur's words brutally and cruelly shattered the absolute sense of security that Americans had long relied on for survival.

The president's special envoy finally realized with horror a fatal truth.

Before tonight, all of Washington, including President Roosevelt and even Hopkins himself, arrogantly believed that the wealthy United States of America, with its vast industrial capacity, was condescendingly handing over a dying British Empire that was bleeding itself dry.

They used fifty wrecked ships to acquire the core assets of a bankrupt empire at a bargain price.

But now, Arthur has presented him with a bloody geopolitical simulation, slapping the harsh truth right in the face.

It's not the US doing charity to Britain at all!

The truth is: the British Empire, which is currently at the forefront of the war, is tragically serving as the last physical shield for the United States of America, which is far across the ocean and has no military defenses, by sacrificing the flesh and blood of millions of its citizens, dozens of expensive battleships and aircraft carriers of the Royal Navy, and its massive merchant fleet being torn apart by torpedoes every day in the Atlantic.

The British Empire is the only bulletproof vest on the east coast of the United States!

If this bulletproof vest is crushed by German treadmills, or, as Arthur suggests, pragmatically betrays it for self-preservation, becoming the sharpest javelin in Nazi Germany's hands, then the bloated, incredibly wealthy, yet utterly defenseless United States will instantly face a terrifying geopolitical catastrophe of national annihilation!

Hopkins' breathing became heavy. He looked at the smiling, devilish young nobleman before him, and his fear reached its peak.

He finally understood that in this brutal international power struggle, the one whose fatal weakness was truly exploited was not the British Empire, but the United States of America!

Arthur took in Hopkins's desperate and terrified expression.

He knew the time was right.

Arthur walked slowly and gracefully back to his seat from in front of the map. He picked up the glass of Bordeaux champagne in front of him and looked through the golden liquid at the pale, lifeless American envoy.

"So, Mr. Envoy." Arthur's tone returned to its usual gentle, even slightly aristocratic, languid manner, but to Hopkins at this moment, this gentleness was a thousand times more terrifying than a barrage of artillery fire.

"Regarding those fifty old, scrap-hard destroyers, this is not a lifeline that the British Empire, in its despair, humbly begged you to spare for us."

Arthur elegantly raised his glass to Hopkins: "The truth is, in order to protect the vaults in the New York skyscrapers, to preserve the comfortable political climate on Capitol Hill in Washington, and to save your own lives, you must, immediately and willingly, respectfully hand over those dilapidated warships to us."

Arthur took a small sip of champagne.

"Because only the Royal Navy sailors of our Great British Empire, with these inferior, dilapidated ships you provided, will brave the frigid waters of the Atlantic, risking their blood and lives to shield you from German torpedoes. Only then can your New York millionaires and Wall Street bankers sleep soundly on their Simmons mattresses tonight. Mr. Envoy, do you understand my explanation of the essence of this deal?"

When a person or a country is completely stripped bare, their most feared and fatal weakness exposed on the negotiating table, the once-powerful pressurer instantly becomes a lamb to the slaughter.

Hopkins is now that lamb.

He swallowed hard, trying to make a final rebuttal from his parched throat, but he found himself unable to find any foothold to fight back.

Because every word Arthur utters represents a terrifying reality that could happen.

"Now that we have reached a consensus on security issues, Mr. Special Envoy, let's go back to that ridiculous 'Base-for-Destroyers Agreement'."

Arthur set down his champagne glass and placed his hands firmly crossed on the table. At this moment, he completely abandoned his aristocratic pretense, revealing the ruthless and unscrupulous nature of a heavy industrial oligarch who wields absolute pricing power.

He began to establish the absolute price tag belonging to the British Empire.

"I have just made it clear that the British Empire will absolutely not cede or lease any inch of its sovereign territory in Newfoundland, Bermuda, or the Caribbean in any form. This is the Empire's absolute bottom line."

"However, considering the United States' current severe lack of geopolitical security and the impending catastrophe of being struck across the ocean by a massive European war machine, out of sympathy among allies, our British Empire can unilaterally permit your troops and engineers to enter our aforementioned overseas bases."

Arthur emphasized the following wording, a clever diplomatic maneuver of getting something for nothing: "Note that this is not a lease. We are generously granting you a privilege that allows you to build joint defense facilities, expensive airports, and radar stations on our territory at your own expense. The supreme sovereignty and jurisdiction over the core of these bases must belong absolutely and permanently to the British Empire."

Simply put, we are providing valuable outpost surveillance services to the North American continent free of charge.

You Americans should be grateful for this.

However, in reality, once the war ended, the island and its facilities had to be returned to Britain in their entirety.

Hopkins' face turned bright red.

Such a humiliating clause, where one side pays money and labor but receives no sovereignty in return, would undoubtedly be torn to shreds by senators on Capitol Hill. But under the shadow of Arthur's terrifying simulation of a "joint fleet bombarding the United States," Hopkins sadly realized that this was the only fragile straw of security that the United States could currently grasp.

"Second," Arthur said coldly, ignoring Hopkins's ugly expression, and presented the enormous extortion bill.

"Regarding those fifty rusty destroyers in port. They are not bargaining chips for any base. They must be the first batch of unconditional security supplies you pay to the British Empire for your precarious sense of security." President Roosevelt must order them to set sail within forty-eight hours and be immediately delivered to the Royal Navy.

Arthur's cold gaze was fixed on Hopkins's distorted face.

"Mr. Envoy, this is also the core and ultimate demand of tonight's dinner. Please convey my words to President Roosevelt verbatim upon your return to Washington."

Arthur's voice carried a warning: "To keep this crucial armor of the British Empire from being crushed by German treads, Washington must, over the next three months, forcefully overcome the obstruction of isolationists and force through Congress a massive bill with no upper limit—let's call it the Lend-Lease Act."

Act).

""

Hopkins looked up abruptly, staring at Arthur in disbelief.

The term was still in the early stages of development in the minds of a few key staff members in the White House. How could this young man in London have accurately called out the name in advance?!

"Under the framework of this bill, the British Empire needs a massive industrial infusion." Arthur gave Hopkins no time to think and began greedily igniting the industrial production lines across the ocean, reciting a menu of dishes.

"We need the high-quality seamless steel pipes and special armor steel produced by your Pittsburgh steel mills; we need the vast high-octane aviation fuel and valuable heavy oil reserves from your Texas oil fields; we need the precision heavy machine tools and massive truck production capacity of Detroit's Motor City; we need the latest heavy bombers that have just rolled off the production line at your Los Angeles aircraft manufacturing plant."

Arthur packaged this outrageous extortion as a legitimate business security argument: "These massive amounts of industrial materials and raw materials are all security premiums that the United States of America must pay to our Great British Empire on a regular and unconditional basis to ensure the peace of mind of avoiding war reaching its homeland."

Finally, Arthur leaned back elegantly in his chair and, in a calm tone, delivered his ultimate, deadly threat: "Mr. Envoy, the logic of this deal is simple. Either you pay your protection money on time, and the British Empire will do its best to keep the crazed Germans at bay on the eastern shore of the Atlantic; or you refuse to pay—" Arthur smiled slightly, a cruel smile in his eyes, "We are willing to negotiate with Berlin. Then, we will generously let that terrifying European war machine pass through, so that you Americans can personally experience what it feels like to have your skull shattered by a fifteen-inch armor-piercing shell."

The lavish banquet ended abruptly amidst a deathly silence and extreme psychological pressure.

As the last piece of dry oak in the fireplace turned to dull ashes, Harry Hopkins, the American envoy who arrived in London with the arrogant mindset of a "bankruptcy liquidator," like a weakened prisoner who had just narrowly escaped execution, hastily submitted his resignation that very night.

He even lost his composure and refused the room arrangement offered to stay at Chequers.

Hopkins' weakened body suddenly unleashed an astonishing survival instinct.

He wrapped his heavy coat tighter around himself and, under heavy escort from the Royal Marines, stumbled into the armored car. He had to fly back to Washington that very night as quickly as possible.

He had to rush into the Oval Office of the White House at top speed to give President Roosevelt a detailed report on this terrible "European Joint Fleet Geopolitical Simulation," which could lead to the demise of the United States.

He had to warn those foolish isolationist senators on Capitol Hill: Stop this ridiculous bickering immediately! Immediately and unconditionally hand over those fifty dilapidated destroyers to the British! Immediately and frantically ramp up America's massive industrial production lines to provide unlimited industrial lifeblood to this crucial armor of the British Empire!

Otherwise, three months later, what will fall on their expensive Persian carpets will be a terrifying German bomb!

Filled with extreme shock and deep apprehension towards the unfathomable Arthur Sterling, Hopkins fled the secluded villa in the English countryside in a disheveled state.

After the muffled engine sound of the armored limousine faded completely into the distance on the country road.

In the empty main dining room, only Winston Churchill and Arthur Sterling remained.

Churchill sat in the head seat and slowly picked up the ridiculous draft of the "Base-for-Destroyers Agreement" left by the Americans. His old face, which had maintained an indifferent, even pretentious, "tapestry-appreciation" demeanor throughout the entire dinner, now completely dropped all pretense.

The Prime Minister roughly crumpled the document into a twisted ball and tossed it into the dim fireplace.

Then, he slowly turned his head and looked at Arthur, who was sitting next to him, elegantly raising a glass of rich after-dinner brandy.

"Hahaha—hahahahaha!"

A powerful, unrestrained laugh erupted from Churchill's broad chest, echoing wildly in the empty dining room. It was the purest, most liberated laugh of the British Prime Minister since the Dunkirk evacuation.

"A perfect, brutal, flawless live geopolitical dissection!" Churchill slammed his fist on the table. "Did you see that, Arthur! Did you see that look of utter disbelief on that arrogant American's face as he left? You scared the soul out of his body with a few cold deductions!"

The Prime Minister excitedly raised his glass and solemnly greeted Arthur.

He knew all too well what an incredible diplomatic miracle Arthur had accomplished that night. With his shrewd geopolitical insight and elegantly ruthless pressure, Arthur had not only perfectly secured fifty precious destroyers for free, but also preserved the British Empire's sovereign territory in the heart of the Western Hemisphere.

Even more fatally, he successfully planted a seed of extreme fear deep within the strategic heart of Washington.

He forcefully and without hesitation bound that massive, invincible American industrial machine to the war machine of the British Empire, turning it into a well-stocked logistics depot with ample bulletproof armor!

"Respect to you, Arthur. Respect to your exceptional art of rogue diplomacy."

Arthur calmly raised his glass and gently clinked it against Churchill's, producing a crisp, clear sound.

"For the Empire, Your Excellency the Prime Minister." Arthur's tone remained calm, as if he had just cruelly extorted a superpower, which was merely a trivial daily matter.

Churchill downed his brandy in one gulp and took a deep drag on his cigar. Through the thick, bluish-green smoke, Churchill gazed at the excessively young yet ruthless man before him with a complex and profound look.

In this long and brutal global meat grinder, the British Empire faced a terrifying storm. But at this moment, gazing upon this cold, ruthless Stirling industrial machine, forever operating with the national interest in optimal calculation, Churchill finally became absolutely certain of an absolute truth:

As long as this terrifying family exists, and as long as this cold-blooded heavy industrial logic serves as its underlying foundation, this colossal ship known as the British Empire will never, ever, be sunk by any storm.

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