World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Matsuo's gaze swept over everyone in the shop:

"So please don't talk about honor, the future, or rise. My son is dead, and your sons may die too. They die, we get the money, and the country gets foreign exchange. It's that simple, don't make it sound so noble."

After saying that, he turned around, opened the door, and stepped into the cold winter night of Tokyo.

The izakaya was deathly silent. Yoshida opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he just lowered his head and drank.

Miura silently walked to the cashier, looking at the money Matsuo had left on the table. A ten-yen note, enough to buy twenty jugs of shochu. It was one-thirtieth of the money a father had earned by sacrificing his son's life.

The shop door was pushed open again, and a blast of cold air rushed in. This time, two young officers entered, an army second lieutenant and a navy lieutenant. They scanned the shop and then went straight to the counter.

"Two cups of sake, and some snacks to go with them," the army lieutenant said curtly.

Miura recognized them as young officers from the nearby Army and Navy ministries who frequently visited the shop but rarely appeared together.

"Coming right away." He turned around to prepare.

Two officers sat down at the counter. The naval lieutenant spoke first, his voice low: "Have you seen the news? The army has achieved a 'major victory' in Europe."

The lieutenant snorted, "I saw it. 25,000 casualties, and you call that a great victory? If I were in command..."

"If you were in command, even more men would have died," the lieutenant said bluntly. "I've read the detailed battle reports; your tactics are still stuck in the Russo-Japanese War era. Frontal charges, 'banzai' attacks, using lives to fill the battle lines. The Germans are using you as expendable resources, and you're actually cooperating."

The lieutenant's face flushed red: "Watch your words! Army soldiers are bleeding and sacrificing their lives on the front lines, what right do you have to make sarcastic remarks?"

"I'm just stating the facts," the lieutenant said calmly. "The navy has shed blood in the East China Sea, but we know why we fight—to defend our country, to protect our shipping lanes. And you? You go to Europe to fight for the Germans for money. What's the difference between that and being a mercenary?"

"This is a national decision!" the lieutenant slammed his fist on the table. "The nation needs foreign exchange, and the army will earn it for the nation! If you have any complaints, go talk to Prime Minister Saionji!"

The two men's voices grew louder and louder, attracting the attention of other customers in the shop.

Miura quickly brought out the drinks and snacks: "Please enjoy your meal, gentlemen. Our restaurant is a small business, so please..."

"Don't worry, Miura-san." The naval lieutenant took the glass, his tone softening. "We're just discussing this. After all, the army and navy are both the Empire's armies, it's just... different ideologies."

The army lieutenant realized he had lost his composure and silently drank his wine.

The lieutenant glanced at him and suddenly asked, "Do you know anyone who went to Europe?"

The lieutenant paused for a few seconds: "My cousin, from the 9th Division. He wrote to me last month saying he was wounded in Augustov... but not seriously, and can still fight."

Are you proud of him?

This question came as a surprise. The lieutenant looked up, his expression complex.

"He's a soldier, obeying orders is his duty," he finally said. "But as a family member... I hope he comes back alive."

The lieutenant nodded, and the two continued drinking, but the atmosphere had eased considerably.

After Miura returned to the counter, he listened to their conversation, glanced at the newspaper on the wall, and then looked at the empty seat where Matsuo had just sat.

Tokyo has two temperatures. One is the fervor of victory and the anticipation of the future; the other is the coldness of losing loved ones and the sobering reality.

Both of these temperatures originated from the same war thousands of miles away.

The heating was on full blast in the Prime Minister's study, but Kinmochi Saionji still felt cold.

He sat at a large desk, wearing a thick kimono coat, with three documents spread out in front of him. One was an emergency report on foreign exchange receipts and payments recently submitted by the Ministry of Finance; another was a draft of the second mobilization plan for the European Expeditionary Force sent by the Ministry of Army; and the third was a summary of the families of those killed in the Battle of Augustov compiled by the Ministry of Health and Welfare.

Each document was heavy.

Saionji picked up her reading glasses and opened the first document. It contained a detailed plan for the allocation of the 8.6 million yen that had arrived the previous day, written in dense numbers:

Three million two hundred thousand yen was allocated for emergency food imports (mainly from Siam, Burma, and French Indochina).

Two million one hundred thousand yen will be used to pay the next installment of the Lanfang compensation payment.

1.5 million yen was injected into Sakura Bank to stabilize the financial market.

1.8 million yen was used to pay compensation to the families of the dead and to cover medical expenses for the wounded.

The last item is marked in red: "The actual total amount of pension required is approximately 2.4 million yen, and the shortfall of 600,000 yen needs to be made up from other projects or by issuing government bonds."

Saionji's lips twitched. They couldn't even pay the full amount of compensation for those who died in battle; they had to borrow money.

He opened the draft plan from the Ministry of the Army. The plan was to mobilize a second batch of four divisions, totaling approximately 105,000 troops (taking into account reinforcements), with training and equipment expected to be completed within three months, and troops to depart for Europe no later than early June.

The draft concludes with a brief cost-benefit analysis:

"Based on the combat performance of the first batch of troops, it is estimated that the second batch of troops will cause 150,000 to 200,000 Russian casualties during the twelve-month contract period, while the German side will suffer 30,000 to 40,000 casualties. The total cost paid by the German side is estimated to be 12 million to 15 million marks. After deducting all expenses, the Reich's net income will be about 5 million to 7 million yen."

Beside it is a handwritten note by Army Minister Kenichi Oshima: "Although the cost is heavy, this is a necessary evil in the face of national crisis. The Army should share the nation's burden."

Saionji closed her eyes. Oshima spoke lightly, "A necessary evil." But that "evil" was thirty to forty thousand living young people, sons like Kenichi Matsuo, and families that would cry.

He recalled the questioning he had received in parliament that afternoon. Saburo Shimada, a member of the Seiyukai (Political Friends Association), delivered a passionate speech in the House of Representatives chamber:

"Your Excellency Prime Minister, I have heard that the soldiers who died in Europe received only 300 yen in compensation each! Meanwhile, the government received an average of 800 yen in net income from each soldier for the Empire from Germany! Does this mean that our government treats soldiers as commodities? Each soldier's life is priced at 800 yen, and after death, an additional 300 yen is paid in compensation, resulting in a net profit of 500 yen?"

The hall erupted in uproar. Saionji could only reply, "This is a disgrace to the sacrifices of the Empire's soldiers. All those who died were heroes who gave their lives for their country; their value cannot be measured in money."

But privately, he knew that Shimada's calculations were roughly correct. Cruel, but accurate.

The knocking interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in."

The door opened, and the secretary led someone in. The person was around sixty years old, dressed in a simple black kimono, with his hair neatly combed and a gentle but tired smile on his face.

It was Kato Takaaki, the newly appointed Foreign Minister, and a long-time political ally of Saionji.