World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

At 3:00 AM Tokyo time on August 1st, the Navy Ministry building was brightly lit.

The office of General Yashiro Rokuro was filled with smoke, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. He stood by the window, looking at the dark street outside, holding an urgent telegram that had just been sent from Yokosuka.

There was a knock on the door, three times, very urgently.

"Come in."

The one who pushed open the door was Operations Chief Shigetaro Shimada, his face tired but his eyes shining: "Your Excellency, a telegram from Yokosuka: the Kongo and Hiei have completed all preparations for departure. The Haruna and Kirishima at Kure are also ready. All ships report that they can depart at 4:30 sharp."

Rokuro Yashiro turned around without responding immediately. He walked back to his desk, placed the telegram on it, and unconsciously tapped his fingers on the surface.

"Shimada-kun," his voice was a little hoarse, "do you think we really need to make this decision?"

Shimada paused for a moment. In the past week's meetings, Yashiro Rokuro had been the most steadfast advocate for an attack, but now he suddenly asked this question.

"Your Excellency, you...you're hesitating?"

"It's not hesitation, it's confirmation." Yashiro Rokuro sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "What we're doing is gambling the fate of the entire empire. If we win, we'll be the masters of Asia. If we lose..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Shimada understood.

"Sir," Shimada walked to the table, leaning slightly forward, "I know the risks. But please consider this—what will happen if we don't strike? The war in Europe has given us a once-in-a-lifetime window of opportunity. If we miss this window, and the British are free to act, and the Americans intervene, we will never have another chance."

He paused, then continued, "Lanfang's rule in Borneo is now secure, and their industrial base in the Persian Gulf is expanding daily. Every month, their strength increases. Right now, they only have four capital ships in the Far East. What about a year from now? Two years from now? By then, we may be facing an opponent with eight, ten, or even more capital ships."

Yashiro Rokuro listened in silence, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table.

"Moreover," Shimada lowered his voice even further, "the army is already prepared to land in Borneo. Three divisions, 60,000 men, are on standby in Taiwan and Kaohsiung. As soon as the navy gains control of the sea, they will set off immediately. If we cancel the operation now, how will we explain it to the army? How will we explain it to His Majesty the Emperor?"

That last sentence pierced Rokuro Yashiro's heart like a needle.

He closed his eyes, the scene from his audience with the Heavenly Locust three days prior flashing through his mind. The young Heavenly Locust, seated on his throne, had spoken in a calm yet undeniable tone: "The Empire needs more living space, more resources. Can the Navy open that door for the Empire?"

His reply was: "We will do our utmost."

Now, it's time to keep the promise.

When Yashiro Rokuro opened his eyes, all hesitation vanished, replaced by the decisiveness characteristic of a soldier.

"Send a telegram to Kato." His voice regained its usual composure. "Order: The Combined Fleet shall depart as planned. Operational objective: Destroy the battlecruiser Lanfang Fuxing in the waters near 125 degrees east longitude and 28 degrees north latitude. Further operational plans will be given after the completion of the first phase."

"Yes!" Shimada stood at attention, saluted, and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute," Yashiro Rokuro called out to him. "Let me add one more thing: This battle concerns the fate of the empire for a century. I urge all soldiers to fight bravely. I will be in Tokyo, awaiting your victory report."

Shimada bowed deeply: "Understood. We will not let you down."

The office door closed. Yashiro Rokuro sat alone in his large office chair, taking a bottle of whiskey and a glass from his drawer. He poured himself a small amount, without ice, and downed it in one gulp.

The strong liquor burned down my throat, bringing a brief numbness.

Outside the window, Tokyo was still asleep. But it wouldn't be long before the city awoke and learned that the Imperial Navy had once again set sail. Newspapers would carry jubilant headlines, people would wave national flags in farewell, and politicians would deliver impassioned speeches.

But only he knew that this expedition was different from any other. This was not bullying a weak nation, nor was it the final blow to a declining empire; rather, it was a direct challenge to a rising power.

If they win, the empire will rise.

If you lose, you will be doomed.

He walked to the wall, where a huge map of Asia hung. His finger traced from Tokyo, across Okinawa and Taiwan, finally stopping at the designated battle position in the East China Sea.

"Kato-kun," he murmured to himself, staring at the map, "the fate of the empire rests in your hands."

Yokosuka Port, 4:30 a.m., before dawn.

On the bridge of the battlecruiser Kongo, Vice Admiral Tomosaburo Kato stood ramrod straight. He was dressed in full naval vice admiral's dress uniform, his chest adorned with medals—from the Russo-Japanese War, the Battle of Tsushima, and various exercises and training.

But he knew that if this battle were to begin today, the most prestigious medal on his chest would come from this upcoming naval war.

"Sir, all ships report that they are ready," Chief of Staff Kameto Kuroshima said in a low voice. "We can depart now."

Kato nodded, but did not give the order immediately. He walked to the observation window on the starboard side and looked at the view of the harbor outside.

The four Kongo-class battlecruisers—Kongo, Hiei, Haruna, and Kirishima—were anchored like four steel mountains at the deep-water pier. Around them, eight cruisers and twelve destroyers waited quietly like guarding hounds.

On the dock, military police had set up a cordon, but several hundred people still gathered there. Most of them were military families, but there were also ordinary citizens who had come spontaneously to see them off. Some waved Japanese flags, some held banners that read "May the military prowess last forever," and most simply stood quietly, watching the warships that were about to set sail.

Kato could see an elderly woman, probably in her sixties, dressed in a simple kimono, clutching a string of prayer beads tightly in her hand. Beside her stood a young woman, holding a child of about two or three years old. The child's father must be on one of the ships.

"Sir," Kuroshima reminded again, "the tide is just right, it's time to leave port."

Kato took a deep breath and turned around: "Order: All ships shall depart in the predetermined order. After departure, assemble in the open sea, and then proceed to the designated area in battle formation."

"yes!"

The orders were relayed via light signals and radio. Soon, the tugboats began work, and the massive warship slowly departed the dock.

The "Kongo" was the flagship and the first to depart. As this colossal ship, with a displacement of 30,000 tons, slowly passed the dock, cheers erupted from the crowd on shore. Some shouted "Long live!", some called out the names of the officers and soldiers on board, and many more prayed silently.

Kato stood on the bridge and saluted the shore. His movements were precise and solemn, but there was an indescribable heaviness in his heart.

Do these cheering people, these praying people, know what this departure means? Do they know that their sons, husbands, and fathers may never return?