World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Liu Qinian felt his throat go dry. This idea was too crazy, but also... too shrewd.

"But President, this requires extremely precise timing," he said. "If we build it too early, it will consume a lot of money and resources. If we build it too late, we will miss the post-war demand window."

"So I want you to start preparing now." Chen Feng handed the pen back to him. "Four new ships, codenamed 'J1', 'J2', 'J3 Jiang', and 'J4'. I don't require you to start construction immediately, but you must complete all the preliminary preparations: refine the design drawings, procure materials, expand the slipway, and train the workers. I want all four ships to be under construction simultaneously within three months of receiving this order."

"Three months..." Liu Qinian quickly calculated in his mind, "We need to recruit at least another 8,000 workers, expand four large shipyards, and order 150,000 tons of steel in advance... This will require at least 15 million in upfront costs."

"I'll give you twenty million," Chen Feng said. "And I'll tell you a secret—the first installment of eight million marks that the Germans paid for our artillery has already arrived in our account."

Liu Qinian's eyes lit up: "Use German money to build ships to sell to Germans or British?"

"Exactly." Chen Feng smiled. "That's what we call a circular economy."

They both laughed. The laughter echoed on the observation platform, mingling with the industrial noise in the sea fog.

"There's one more thing," Chen Feng said, his smile fading. "The design of the new ship needs some adjustments."

"What adjustments?"

"Leave room for future modifications," Chen Feng said. "I will require that the hull structure, electrical system, and compartment layout of new ships all be designed to accommodate the possibility of installing new weapons in the future. Especially..." He paused, "...aviation equipment."

"Aviation?" Liu Qinian asked, puzzled. "What would a warship need aviation equipment for?"

"It's okay if you don't understand now, just do as I say." Chen Feng patted him on the shoulder. "Remember, Minister Liu, we're not just building today's warships, but tomorrow's platforms. Ten years from now, these ships may be completely different."

Although Liu Qinian was puzzled, he nodded and said, "I've got it."

The sea fog began to dissipate, and sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the skeletons of the two steel behemoths in the dry dock. The sound of rivet guns grew more frequent, like a march of the industrial age.

"Go ahead and get to work," Chen Feng said. "I want to see a detailed plan in two weeks. Remember, this is top secret. Besides you and me, only Wang Wenwu, Zhou Tieshan, and Zhang Zhen can know the whole thing."

"yes!"

Liu Qinian left in a hurry. Chen Feng stood alone on the observation platform, watching the busy scene below.

He knew what he was doing—he was playing a very long game. Eight Bismarck-class battleships were an unparalleled force in this era. But he didn't intend to use them to conquer the world; he intended to use them for business.

Because conquest requires blood and lives, while business only requires wisdom and courage.

The former reflects the logic of the old empires, while the latter represents the choice of emerging nations.

February 18th, Persian Gulf, deep in the mountains.

Four black sedans wound their way along the mountain road. The road was newly built, paved with asphalt, and only wide enough for two cars to pass each other. Steep cliffs lined both sides of the road, and occasionally, armed soldiers could be seen guarding posts.

Chen Feng sat in the back seat of the second car, resting with his eyes closed. Beside him was Lin Huaimin, the head of the Air Force Preparatory Office—a 38-year-old officer, not tall, but with a lean build and sharp eyes like an eagle.

"President, we'll be there in ten minutes," Lin Hwai-min said.

Chen Feng opened his eyes and looked out the window.

"How's the secrecy going?" he asked.

"Absolutely safe," Lin Huaimin replied. "A 50-kilometer radius around the base is designated as a military restricted area, garrisoned by a regiment of handpicked, loyal soldiers. All technical personnel and workers are not permitted to leave once inside, except in exceptional circumstances. Their families are housed in the suburbs and are cared for by dedicated staff."

"How did the test flight go?"

Lin Hwai-min's expression turned serious: "The 'Kunpeng' No. 1 prototype aircraft conducted its third test flight last week. When it climbed to 3,000 meters, the fuselage began to vibrate, and the right engine caught fire. The pilot attempted an emergency landing, but... he failed. The aircraft crashed in a valley, and Major Wang Mingde, the pilot, was killed in action."

There was a few seconds of silence in the car.

"Have you found out the cause?" Chen Feng asked.

"The initial assessment is that the problem stems from a design flaw in the engine mount, with high-speed vibrations causing metal fatigue fracture," said Lin Hwai-min. "The second prototype has been reinforced and is scheduled for test flight today. The 'Falcon' is in better condition; it has completed twelve test flights and its basic performance meets the standards, but its bombing accuracy still needs improvement."

Chen Feng nodded without asking further questions. He knew that the start of the aviation industry was bound to involve sacrifices, just as a baby learning to walk is bound to fall. The key was not to be intimidated by failure.

The convoy entered a tunnel. The tunnel was long and dimly lit, and it took a full three minutes before the sun came out again.

The view before me suddenly opened up.

This is a valley nestled among mountains, covering an area of ​​at least five square kilometers. The valley floor has been leveled and paved with concrete running tracks—three tracks, each over two kilometers long. Alongside the running tracks are hangars, factories, laboratories, and dormitories, all painted in camouflage.

The most eye-catching thing was the two planes parked at the end of the runway.

The one on the left is enormous, with four engines, a wingspan exceeding thirty meters, and a sleek fuselage, resembling a giant bird poised to take flight. The one on the right, however, is small and compact, with a single engine, gull-shaped wings, and robust landing gear.

"The Kunpeng and the Falcon," Lin Hwai-min introduced, his tone filled with pride.

The convoy stopped in front of the control tower. A group of people were already waiting there, led by Zhao Xuecheng, the base's chief engineer—a 42-year-old aviation expert who had returned from studying in Germany and wore thick glasses.

"Commander-in-Chief, welcome to our forum!" Zhao Xuecheng greeted him, his voice trembling with excitement.

Chen Feng shook hands with him: "Chief Engineer Zhao, thank you for your hard work. Let's go straight to the airport; I'd like to see some airplanes."

The group walked towards the runway. The closer they got, the more awe-inspiring the two planes became.

"The 'Kunpeng' No. 2 aircraft has an empty weight of 13 tons and a maximum takeoff weight of 20 tons," Zhao Xuecheng began to explain. "It is powered by four 800-horsepower liquid-cooled engines, with a maximum speed of 380 kilometers per hour, a service ceiling of 8,000 meters, and a range of 3,000 kilometers. It is designed to carry a payload of 3 tons, and can carry ten 250-kilogram bombs or four 500-kilogram bombs."

He pointed to the turrets on the wings and fuselage: "The self-defense armament consists of six 12.7 mm machine guns, distributed in the nose, back, belly and tail turrets, forming an all-around fire coverage. The crew consists of seven people: the pilot, co-pilot, bombardier, navigator, mechanic, and three machine gunners."

Chen Feng walked around the plane. This early version of the B-17 was practically alien technology in 1916. But thanks to the detailed blueprints he printed from the "computer," the engineers at Lanfang managed to build it.