World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

After seeing Muller off, Chen Feng returned to his office. Uncle Wang was tidying up the tea set.

"Young Master, are we really going to send a ship to the Mediterranean?"

Chen Feng did not answer. He walked to the window and watched Muller's car drive out of the administration building courtyard before slowly speaking.

"Uncle Wang, send a telegram to the Muscat base."

"Yes."

"Content: Order U-3 to set sail immediately, passing through the Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea, and the Suez Canal into the Mediterranean. Mission: Reconnaissance. Observe the deployment and movements of the British, French, and German fleets. Maintain submersion and do not surface unless necessary. Report once daily at midnight via longwave radio."

Uncle Wang quickly took notes, his eyes showing worry when he looked up.

"U-3...that's our newest submarine, the crew has only been training for three months."

"That's why we need to go even more," Chen Feng said. "Real combat is the best training ground. Tell them that if they are discovered, they should dive into deeper water. Our submarines can dive to a maximum depth of 200 meters, which is beyond the reach of British and French sonar."

"Yes."

After Wang Bo left, Chen Feng stood alone in front of the map. He drew a circle in red on Agadir, and then drew circles on Gibraltar, Malta, and Alexandria.

"The Mediterranean Sea..." he muttered to himself, "is about to become a powder keg again."

Over the next two days, the atmosphere in Dubai became noticeably tense.

Cars from various consulates frequently entered and exited the administration building. First came the French Consul, Dupont, then the British Consul, Howard, and finally even the Austro-Hungarian Consul. Everyone wanted to ascertain Lanfang's attitude, and everyone carried both promises and threats.

Chen Feng didn't see any of them.

"The President is inspecting the oil pipeline project in the Arabian Peninsula," Wang Wenwu told all visitors. "Communication is difficult, so he won't be back for at least three days."

This isn't a complete lie. On the morning of July 3rd, Chen Feng did indeed board a special train bound for the inland areas. But it wasn't to inspect the oil pipeline—at least not entirely.

Inside the special train compartment, Chen Feng, Liu Yongfu, and the newly appointed Director of the State Security Bureau, Zhou Tieshan, sat together. Outside the window, the desert scenery rushed past, with occasional glimpses of Bedouin tents and camel herds.

"Report from Muscat base." Zhou Tieshan handed over a document. "U-3 passed through the Strait of Hormuz and entered the Arabian Sea at 9 PM yesterday. It is expected to enter the Gulf of Aden in the early morning of the 4th."

Chen Feng glanced at the navigation map: "What about the Suez Canal? Will the Egyptians let our submarines through?"

"It's all taken care of," Zhou Tieshan said. "We obtained a 'civilian research submarine' permit for the U-3 through a Greek shipping company. It cost five thousand pounds."

"Worth it." Chen Feng turned to Liu Yongfu, "How's the submarine's condition?"

Liu Yongfu held the complete technical file of U-3 in his hand: "Maximum diving depth of 220 meters, underwater endurance of 72 hours, the data is very good, but... this is its first long-distance voyage."

"Where are the crew?"

"The captain is Lin Haisheng, 28 years old, formerly the torpedo officer of the 'Guangfu'. The deputy captain is Chen Qiming, 25 years old, a graduate of the first class of the Naval Academy. The entire crew consists of 40 people, with an average age of 24, and a total training time of... 600 hours."

Chen Feng nodded, then looked back at the map.

"Tell them that once they enter the Mediterranean, they should focus on observing several areas: the entrance and exit of the Strait of Gibraltar, the waters off Toulon, France, the British base in Malta, and the German port of Pola (now Rijeka, Croatia). Record the type, number, and movements of all warships."

"Yes," Zhou Tieshan wrote down. "Any other instructions?"

"Yes." Chen Feng thought for a moment, "If... I mean if, they see a warship fire—even just a warning shot—they should immediately dive to their maximum depth and retreat at full speed. Don't hesitate."

Zhou Tieshan was taken aback: "Commander-in-Chief, do you really think a war will break out?"

"I don't know," Chen Feng said, "but Europe in 1911 was like a pile of dry tinder, and Morocco was the match."

The special train arrived at the oil pipeline construction site around noon. Located 200 kilometers from Dubai in the inland hilly region of the Arabian Peninsula, what was once a barren desert now boasts drilling rigs, oil storage tanks, and rows of temporary work sheds.

When Chen Feng got off the train, Elder Salman was already waiting on the platform. The old man was wearing a new white robe today, and his headscarf was neatly arranged.

"Mr. Chen," he said in broken Chinese, "Welcome."

"How is the elder doing lately?" Chen Feng greeted him in Arabic.

"Good, very good." Salman smiled. "My three sons all work here, earning five shillings a day. My grandson is studying in Dubai and is already able to read your books."

The two walked and talked. The construction site was very large, divided into three parts: drilling area, oil refining area, and pipeline laying area. Chinese and Arab workers worked together, and although they did not speak the same language, they were able to cooperate through gestures and simple vocabulary.

"How's the progress?" Chen Feng asked the project manager.

"Reporting to the President, Well No. 1 has started producing oil, at a rate of 300 barrels per day. Well No. 2 is currently being drilled and is expected to be completed by the end of the month. Eighty kilometers of the oil pipeline have been laid, and another one hundred and twenty kilometers are still to be laid to reach the coast."

Chen Feng looked at the pipe—a steel pipe with a diameter of twenty inches, welded together section by section, like a giant steel python winding through the desert.

"What about the quality?"

"We use our standard welding process for all applications, and conduct a pressure test every kilometer. So far, there have been zero leaks."

Chen Feng nodded in satisfaction. He walked over to a group of workers who were resting and asked them in Arabic and Chinese, in turn:

"How was the meal?"

"Are you comfortable living here?"

"How is everyone at home?"

The workers were initially a little reserved, but seeing that the president genuinely cared about their lives, they opened up. A young Arab worker said he sent his wages home last month, and his father used the money to buy ten sheep. An older welder from Fujian said his son was an apprentice at the shipyard and would be promoted to a full-fledged employee next month.

Chen Feng listened patiently, occasionally asking a few questions. Uncle Wang followed behind, holding a notebook and writing down the workers' requests one by one.

"Elder," Chen Feng said to Salman finally, "do you think Arabs and Chinese can continue working together like this?"

Salman thought for a moment, then pointed to two workers in the distance who were working together to lift steel pipes—one Chinese and one Arab.

"Mr. Chen, look at them. They don't speak the same language, but if one of them raises his hand, the other knows where to lift it. Why? Because they need to lift the pipe together. If they can't lift it, neither of them will have anything to eat."

He paused, then continued.

"I've lived for sixty years, and I've seen Turks, Englishmen, and Frenchmen. You're the first one who doesn't treat us like barbarians. You give us jobs, send our children to school, and provide doctors when we're sick. That's why my people all say: Mr. Chen's business is our business."

Chen Feng grasped the old man's hand: "Thank you, Elder. I'm relieved to hear you say that."