World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Nine o'clock in the evening, at the German Consulate.

The atmosphere in the study was completely different from that in the drawing room that afternoon. There was no tension, no diplomatic rhetoric, only the smoke of cigars and the aroma of Riesling wine.

Major General Müller wasn't wearing his military uniform today, but rather a dark civilian outfit. He poured wine for Chen Feng, his movements as practiced as if they were old friends at a gathering.

"Mr. Chen, how was today's meeting?" he asked in German.

"As expected," Chen Feng replied in fluent German. "The British and French are still using the same old tactics: threats, pressure, and final bargaining. But they know in their hearts that the situation in Europe does not allow them to take risks in the Far East."

Müller smiled, a smile tinged with complex emotion: "You see things very clearly. Berlin... sees it the same way."

He put down the wine bottle, walked to the desk, and picked up a document:

"This is the latest assessment from the Imperial General Staff. They believe that if war breaks out in Europe, Britain will redeploy the main force of its Far East Fleet back to the homeland, leaving only a symbolic force in Singapore. France's fleet in Indochina is even weaker and not a concern."

Chen Feng took the document and quickly scanned it. It was all in German, but that posed no problem for him. The document was very detailed, even estimating the speed, firepower, and range of each ship in the British Far East Fleet.

"This intelligence..." He looked up at Muller.

"It's a gift." Müller sat down. "Berlin wants Lanfang to understand that the Reich sees you as... an important partner, especially in the Far East in terms of containing British and French power."

That's very straightforward.

Chen Feng put down the documents, picked up his wine glass, and swirled it. Fine, tear-like streaks of golden liquid clung to the glass.

"Major General, let me be frank," he said, looking at Muller. "Lanfang will not willingly get involved in the war in Europe. Our core interests are in Borneo and the Persian Gulf. As long as Britain and France do not threaten these interests, we will not clash with them."

"But what if they threaten us?" Muller asked. "For example, what if the British Far East Fleet actually sails north, or French troops in Indochina actually land in Borneo?"

"Then let's fight," Chen Feng replied decisively. "We have four Bismarck-class destroyers, eighty submarines, and five full divisions in Borneo. I can't say we'll definitely win, but we'll certainly make them pay a price they can't afford."

Müller nodded and took out an envelope from the drawer:

"This is the second gift."

Chen Feng opened the envelope; inside were three photographs. The first was a line drawing of the British Queen Elizabeth-class battleships, marked with their main dimensions and armor thickness. The second was a side view of the French Brittany-class battleships. The third… was a photograph showing the construction progress of the Japanese Kongo-class battleships, clearly taken inside the Barrow shipyard in England.

"These are..."

"The latest findings from the Imperial Naval Intelligence Service," Muller said in a low voice. "The Queen Elizabeth-class: Britain is building four, with the first ship entering service next year. The Brittany-class: France is building three, entering service the year after. The Kongo-class: Japan is building four, with three being built domestically."

He paused:

"Mr. Chen, I know your Bismarck-class ships are very advanced. But the arms race won't stop. Britain, France, and Japan are all building ships like crazy. If Lanfang wants to maintain its advantage, it must continue to invest."

Chen Feng looked at the photos, especially the one of the Kongo-class destroyers. The warship in the photo was already complete, and the outline of the main gun turrets was clearly visible. They were armed with eight 356mm guns, smaller than the 380mm guns of the Bismarck-class.

"Major General, what do you want to say?"

"I want to say," Muller leaned forward, "that the Reich is willing to offer further assistance. Krupp can transfer more advanced armor steel technology, Siemens can provide the latest fire control systems, and Mauser can provide the design blueprints for automatic cannons. There is only one condition—"

He stared into Chen Feng's eyes:

"If a European war breaks out, Lanfang must ensure a continuous supply of oil from the Persian Gulf, and... when appropriate, exert pressure on British and French interests in the Far East."

"What kind of pressure?"

"For example, submarines could harass their merchant shipping routes. Or, friction could be created at the border to tie down their colonial armies. No need for a large-scale war, just distract them."

Chen Feng fell silent. He slowly sipped his wine, gazing out the window at the palm trees in the consulate garden. Moonlight cast their shadows on the ground, swaying in the breeze.

"Major General," he finally spoke, "you are a soldier, and I am a practical man. Let's be clear: if Germany goes to war with Britain and France, Lanfang can do the following—"

He held up his finger:

"First, Germany can purchase oil from the Persian Gulf at market prices, and we guarantee the supply. Second, our submarines will not attack German merchant ships proactively, but they will also not openly attack British and French merchant ships—unless they attack us first. Third, we will maintain a military presence on the borders of Borneo and the Malay Peninsula to contain British and French colonial forces."

He lowered his hand:

"But apart from that, Lanfang will not formally enter the war, will not publicly declare support for Germany, and will not allow Germany to use our ports and bases to attack third parties. This is the bottom line."

Müller thought for a moment, then nodded: "That's fair. Berlin will accept it."

Two wine glasses clinked together.

"For cooperation," Muller said.

"For peace," Chen Feng replied.

Both of them laughed—they both knew how luxurious the word "peace" was in the summer of 1914.

After finishing his drink, Chen Feng prepared to take his leave. As he reached the study door, Muller suddenly called out to him:

"Mr. Chen, there's something... it's something I'm just curious about."

"Speaking."

Do you really believe that a major war will break out in Europe?

Chen Feng stopped at the doorway, his back to Muller. The light from the study cast a long shadow over him.

"Major General, have you studied history?" He didn't turn around. "When two great powers both believe they must win, and both believe they can win, war is difficult to avoid. The situation in Europe now is..."

He turned around:

"Germany believed it had to break British maritime hegemony, or it would forever remain a second-rate power. Britain believed it had to suppress the German challenge, or its empire would decline. France wanted revenge and to reclaim Alsace-Lorraine. Russia wanted expansion and to control the Balkans. Austria-Hungary wanted to maintain its position and intimidate the Slavic peoples."

He paused:

"Everyone thinks they're right, everyone's ready. At that point, all it takes is a spark—a border conflict, an assassination attempt, or even a misunderstanding—and the whole powder keg explodes."

Muller remained silent, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.

"What would happen if it really exploded?" he asked softly.

Chen Feng looked at him, this German naval rear admiral, this man who might soon don military uniform and go to the battlefield.

"Many people will die," he finally said. "More than you can imagine. The way war is waged will change—no more cavalry charges, no more line-ups of soldiers, but machine guns, poison gas, tanks, and planes. The battlefield will extend from the front lines to the rear, and civilians will die alongside soldiers."

He took a deep breath:

"Major General, if that day ever comes, I hope you will live to see the war end. Then tell future generations: some battles are not worth fighting."

After saying that, he pushed open the door and left.

The corridor was quiet, save for the sound of his footsteps. Outside the window, the Dubai night sky was dotted with stars, just like any other day.

But Chen Feng knew that some things were about to change.