World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Major General Li Te stood on the bridge of the "Huaihe" ship, observing the port scene through binoculars. Calais was the most important supply hub for the British and French forces between Britain and the European continent, with piers stretching for kilometers, piled high with ammunition boxes, food bags, and medical supplies. But now, near berth number three of the main pier, a dark mass of people had gathered.

Those were Chinese laborers.

There were about three thousand people, dressed in tattered cotton-padded coats or thin shirts, many with skullcaps on their heads. They were surrounded by barbed wire in a temporarily designated area, with armed French gendarmes and British military police around them. Some laborers squatted on the ground, some stood looking around, and some tried to push forward but were pushed back by rifle butts.

"Captain, the port authority has sent a signal," the communications officer reported. "Only one supply ship is permitted to berth. Battleships must remain at anchor and are not allowed to enter the port."

Li Te sneered: "Reply: The Lanfang Navy is on a humanitarian mission and requests immediate berthing at the main pier. Repeat, immediate berthing."

After the signal was sent, there was silence on the port side. A few minutes later, a French Navy patrol boat emerged from the fog and approached the "Huaihe". A French Navy lieutenant commander and a British Army major stood on board.

"Prepare to receive visitors." Li Te straightened his military uniform.

The patrol boat approached the gangway, and two officers boarded the battleship. The French lieutenant colonel, about forty years old, looked tired with deep bags under his eyes. The British major was younger, but his expression was stiff, and he clearly displeased.

"I am Lieutenant Commander Leclerc, the French Navy's port commander at Calais," the Frenchman spoke first, his tone relatively polite. "This is Major Smith, the representative of the British Expeditionary Force Gendarmerie Command."

"Rear Admiral Li Te, Commander of the Lanfang Naval Task Force." Li Te shook hands with them. "I think the port authority has already received our notification—we've come to take the Chinese laborers back home."

Leclerc and Smith exchanged a glance.

"Major General," Leclerc said carefully, "the situation is somewhat complicated. Those laborers came to Europe under a contract signed between the Chinese government and the Anglo-French Allied Command. They were employed for logistical work on a two-year contract. Now they suddenly want to leave, which... is not in accordance with procedure."

"What procedure?" Li Te asked.

"The procedure for terminating the contract," Smith continued, his English thick with a London accent. "Each worker has signed an employment agreement. Unilateral termination requires paying a penalty and also needs the employer's—that is, the Anglo-French Allied Command's—approval."

Li Te looked at the young British officer: "Major, do those laborers know what they signed? Many of them are illiterate; they just pressed their fingerprints."

"That's not our problem," Smith said curtly. "Procedure is procedure. Besides, the Western Front desperately needs manpower right now, and if these workers leave, it will seriously affect logistical supplies."

"So you'd rather watch them die under gunfire than release them?"

Leclerc tried to smooth things over: "Major General, you may not be aware of the situation. The labor camps are all located in secure areas, and we have comprehensive protective measures in place..."

"Safe zone?" Lieutenant Colonel Little interrupted him. "On my way here, I saw flashes of artillery fire about twenty kilometers northwest of the port. If I remember correctly, that's the Lis River front, right? How far can the German long-range artillery go? Thirty kilometers? Or forty kilometers?"

Leclerc remained silent. Smith's face turned ashen.

"Major General," Smith raised his voice, "this is a military matter, and as a neutral officer, you have no right to interfere. Our demands are simple: your ships may dock for resupply, but you must not come into contact with the laborers. The resettlement of the laborers will be resolved through negotiations between the Anglo-French Allied Command and the Chinese government."

Li Te stared at him for a few seconds, then turned to the vice-captain and said, "Colonel Chen, order the 'Pearl River' to berth at berth number three, and the 'Huaihe' to maintain alert in the channel. Marines, prepare to land and establish a safety zone."

"Yes!" Chen Shaoming immediately relayed the order.

"Major General!" Smith exclaimed urgently, "Are you planning an armed invasion?"

"This is humanitarian aid," Li Te said calmly. "My orders are: bring our compatriots who want to return home safely. Anyone who obstructs this is an enemy of Lanfang."

"You…" Smith's hands trembled with anger, "Do you know the consequences?"

“I know.” Li Te walked to the porthole and pointed to the laborers on the distant dock. “But I also know that if I don’t take them away today, many of them will die here. Die in this place, ten thousand kilometers from their homes, die in someone else’s war.”

He turned back, his eyes sharp as knives: "Major, have you ever been to the front lines? Have you seen people blown to pieces by artillery shells? Have you seen corpses suffocating to death in gas chambers? Those laborers will soon see, experience, and even become one of them. And you, you're talking to me about 'procedures'?"

Smith was about to say something, but Leclerc stopped him. The French lieutenant colonel took a deep breath: "Major General, I need to consult my superiors. In the meantime, please suspend your operations."

"I can wait an hour." Little glanced at his pocket watch. "In an hour, whether there's a reply or not, my Marines will land."

Leclerc and Smith hurried away. The patrol boat had barely left when the battle alarm sounded on the Huaihe. Sailors rushed to their battle stations, turrets began to rotate, and marines assembled on deck to inspect their weapons.

The thick fog began to dissipate. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, shining on the battleship's gray-blue paint, reflecting a cold, hard sheen.

The standoff at the port has begun.

At the same time, in Dubai, at the Presidential Palace.

At 10:00 AM (Dubai is three hours ahead of France), Chen Feng was chairing a cabinet meeting. Suddenly, his confidential secretary, Chen Wenya, rushed in and handed him a telegram.

"Your Excellency, urgent telegram from Calais."

Chen Feng took the telegram and read it quickly. Everyone in the conference room was watching him—Wang Wenwu, Zhou Tieshan, Zhang Zhen, Liu Qinian, Li Yongguang, and several ministers. They sensed something was wrong from the changes in Chen Feng's expression.

The telegram, sent by Little, was concise and to the point: "Arrived in Calais. British and French troops are preventing the repatriation of citizens and demanding that laborers abide by their contracts and not leave the country. There are approximately three thousand laborers gathered at the port, with more in the surrounding camps. Requesting instructions."

Chen Feng handed the telegram to Wang Wenwu, then stood up and walked to the map. He pointed to Calais, France.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice calm, but the air in the conference room froze instantly, "our fleet has arrived, but we can't bring the people back. The British and French say the laborers have signed contracts and can't leave."

Zhou Tieshan slammed his fist on the table: "Bullshit! That's a contract of servitude!"

After reading the telegram, Wang Wenwu turned pale: "Commander-in-Chief, this...this is worse than expected. Britain and France are determined to stop us."

"They dared to stop us because they thought we wouldn't dare to confront them directly." Chen Feng turned around, his eyes sweeping over everyone. "They thought we would abandon those 150,000 people for the sake of 'international relations' and 'the bigger picture'."