World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

On the morning of July 7, Chen Feng finally "ended his inspection" and returned to Dubai.

But instead of going directly to the administration building, he went to the naval headquarters first. Li Te was already waiting for him, along with Zhao Haitao, the newly established commander of the submarine force.

"Latest situation on U-3," Li Te handed over the telegram.

Chen Feng quickly skimmed through the information, and when he came across the section on "detected by French sonar," his brow furrowed. (The information he found was about sonar in the early 20th century.)

"What about the losses?"

"No," Zhao Haitao said. "They descended quickly, and the French might have thought it was a false alarm caused by whales or the thermosphere. But... this is a warning. Our submarine technology advantage may not last long."

Chen Feng thought for a moment: "Have the technical department analyze the sonar frequency data. If the French really have something new, we must develop countermeasures."

"It's already underway," Litt said. "Also, the captain of U-3 is requesting instructions on the next steps. They're currently east of Sicily; should they continue reconnaissance or withdraw?"

"Continue," Chen Feng said without hesitation, "but change the strategy. During the day, lie in wait in the deep sea, only listening underwater using passive sonar. At night, surface to periscope depth, quickly observe, and then immediately dive back down. Report only once a day to reduce the risk of radio exposure."

"Yes."

Chen Feng then looked at the Mediterranean chart. The positions of the various fleets were marked on it: the British fleet in Malta, the French fleet in Toulon, the German fleet in Pola, and the Italian fleet in Taranto. And among them, the small U-3 resembled a chess piece, poised to be swallowed up at any moment.

"Tell them," Chen Feng said, "that safety comes first. If they feel there is danger, they can retreat at any time. I need intelligence, not martyrs."

"clear."

After leaving the Naval Headquarters, Chen Feng finally returned to the administration building. Wang Wenwu was waiting for him in his office, where the desk was piled with meeting records, telegrams, and memoranda from the past three days.

"They're all here," Wang Wenwu said. "The British, French, German, Ottoman... even the Italian consul has come to sound them out."

Chen Feng didn't look at the documents immediately. He walked to the window and looked at the cars and pedestrians passing by below. Dubai had transformed from a small desert town into a city with hundreds of thousands of inhabitants. The streets were wide, the buildings were neat, and factory chimneys emitted white smoke. All of this had been built in just three years.

"What do you think?" Chen Feng suddenly asked, "which side should we be on?"

Wang Wenwu paused for a moment: "Commander-in-Chief, this question..."

"Just say it."

"I think... we shouldn't take sides." Wang Wenwu carefully chose his words. "Helping Germany would offend Britain and France. Helping Britain and France would offend Germany. We still need their technology, capital, and markets. Offending either side would seriously affect our development."

"What if they force us to choose?"

"Then let's stall," Wang Wenwu said. "Stall until the situation becomes clear, until they offer an even higher price."

Chen Feng laughed: "You think the same way I do."

He returned to his desk and began to peruse the documents. When he saw the threat from British Major General Fitzgerald, a cold smile crept across his lips.

"To consider it unfriendly behavior... that's as if we care about their opinions."

"My Lord, Britain is still the world's leading naval power."

"It's like this now," Chen Feng said, "but it might be different in five years."

He continued reading, and his eyes narrowed when he saw the Frenchman let slip something about the "Allied Powers."

"The Tripartite Alliance of Britain, France, and Russia has been formed. Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy are also in a Tripartite Alliance. Europe is now a powder keg, and Morocco is the fuse."

"So what do we need to do?"

Chen Feng closed the file and glanced at the clock on the wall—11:30 a.m.

"Get the car ready," he said. "At two o'clock this afternoon, I'll first meet with the British and French consuls. In the evening, I'll meet with Major General Muller."

"Want to meet up?"

"No, we'll meet separately," Chen Feng said. "The order is important."

At 1 p.m., Chen Feng was preparing to leave for the consulate area when his secretary suddenly knocked on the door and came in.

"Your Excellency, the Ottoman envoy Ali Pasha has arrived again. He says... there is an emergency."

Chen Feng and Wang Wenwu exchanged a glance.

"Let him in."

Ali Pasha seemed even more anxious this time than before. As soon as he entered, he said in French (assuming Chen Feng didn't understand Turkish): "Mr. Chen, the Italians have made their move!"

Chen Feng's heart tightened, but he remained outwardly calm: "Mr. Pasha, speak slowly. What did the Italians do?"

"They're assembling a fleet off the coast of Tripoli!" Ali Pasha pulled out a telegram. "This was sent this morning from Istanbul. The Italian Navy Minister has announced that the 'annual exercise' will be held in the Mediterranean, off the coast of Libya!"

Chen Feng took the telegram; it was indeed in Turkish and bore the seal of the Ottoman Navy. The content was roughly as follows: Italy had dispatched two battleships and four cruisers to Tripoli, and marines were also boarding ships in the port of Naples.

"What are you planning to do?" Chen Feng asked.

"We need warships!" Ali Pasha said. "The sooner the better! If Italy really attacks, our navy... is too old. The youngest battleship was built twenty years ago."

Chen Feng thought for a moment and said, "Mr. Pasha, I can sell you warships. But there are two problems."

"Please speak!"

"First, the delivery time. Even if we sign the contract now, the design, construction, sea trials... it will take at least eighteen months. That's not enough to solve our immediate problem."

Ali Pasha's face turned pale.

"Secondly," Chen Feng continued, "if Italy really goes to war, Germany and Austria-Hungary, as its allies, should theoretically support it. But we have a cooperation agreement with Germany. This will create a diplomatic dilemma."

The office fell silent. Ali Pasha slumped down, covering his face with his hands.

"God... is the empire truly going to be dismantled...?"

Chen Feng looked at him. The old Ottoman envoy's sorrow was genuine—the Ottoman Empire had once spanned three continents, but now it had become the "sick man of Europe," being torn apart piece by piece by the great powers.

"Mr. Pasha," Chen Feng began, "I have a suggestion."

Ali Pasha looked up, his eyes still glistening with tears.

"I can sell you warships. And I can speed things up—use spare modules from the cruisers we built for Brazil to assemble two simplified versions. Delivery in twelve months."

"Really?" Ali Pasha's hope was rekindled.

"Really. But the price will be high, and you'll have to pay 80% upfront."

"No problem! Oil extraction rights..."

"Let's put that aside for now," Chen Feng waved his hand. "More importantly, I can help you train your naval personnel. Your officers and sailors can come to Dubai and train on our ships. That way, when the warships are delivered, they will be combat-ready immediately."

Ali Pasha stood up and bowed deeply: "Mr. Chen, you will be a friend of the Ottoman Empire forever!"

"But there's a condition," Chen Feng said. "This matter must be kept secret. At least until the Moroccan crisis is resolved, it cannot be made public."

"I understand! I completely understand!"

After seeing Ali Pasha off, Wang Wenwu couldn't help but ask, "General, are you really going to help the Ottomans? This might offend Italy, and Germany too..."

"So we have to keep it a secret," Chen Feng said. "Besides, the collapse of the Ottoman Empire wouldn't be good for us. A weakened Ottoman Empire that depends on us is better than one that's been partitioned by Britain and France." (The Ottoman Empire still nominally controls the Middle East at this point; the future belongs to us.)

He glanced at his pocket watch: "It's time. Go see the British and French consuls."