World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Well then," Brian finally said, "we have two choices. First, we can insist on not releasing the laborers, risking the loss of Indochina, and fight against Lanfang. Second, we can release them, but demand compensation—a huge sum of money, or some other form of aid."

Joffre sneered: "Compensation? Can money buy back the victory at Verdun? Can it bring back the 300,000 Frenchmen who died?"

"No," Brian said calmly, "but it will allow us to keep fighting. If we lose Indochina, we won't even have money to buy rice."

This is the most realistic consideration. France has exhausted its national strength in this war, and its colonies are its last economic pillar.

Lakaz asked, "Will Lanfang agree to compensation?"

"Chen Feng is a shrewd businessman," Brian said. "The fact that he's willing to fight for laborers means these people have enormous political value to him. For that value, he should be willing to pay."

He stood up and began pacing: "We can propose the following: First, the laborers can leave voluntarily, but Lanfang must pay each person a penalty of one hundred francs—that's fifteen million francs for 150,000 people. Second, Lanfang must guarantee that it will not threaten France's colonies in Asia. Third, Lanfang must provide France with strategic materials such as rubber and oil at preferential prices."

Dumeg quickly calculated: "Fifteen million francs, equivalent to six hundred thousand pounds. That's not much for Lanfang; one of their arms deals with Germany alone exceeded that amount."

"Then it's settled," Brian said. "Send a telegram to Calais, and... send a reply to Chen Feng. The wording should be strong, but leave room for maneuver. We want the French people to feel that the government made this decision after difficult negotiations, not by giving in."

Marshal Joffre sighed heavily and offered no further objection. The veteran general knew that, having fought this far in the war, France no longer had any room for recklessness.

The order was issued at 1:40 p.m. Paris time.

There are 20 minutes left until the three-hour deadline set by Chen Feng's ultimatum.

Porto Calais, 11:40 a.m. (French time).

Li Te stood on the bridge of the "Pearl River"—the battleship was already berthed at berth number three, its massive hull almost parallel to the dock. The gangway was lowered, and three hundred Marines were lined up on the dock, forming a perimeter.

The three thousand laborers inside the barbed wire fence all stood up, crowding around the edge, their eyes fixed on the giant ship and their compatriots in dark blue uniforms. Many had tears in their eyes, and some knelt down to kowtow.

However, outside the barbed wire fence, French gendarmes and British military police remained. The two sides faced each other, separated by several dozen meters, their guns pointed downwards, but their fingers resting on the trigger guards.

Li Te glanced at his pocket watch. Twenty minutes left.

"Commander," Chen Shaoming said in a low voice, "if they still don't give in when the time is up..."

"Then prepare for the landing operation," Li Te said calmly. "The first objective is to control the dock, the second is to open up the labor camp, and the third is to establish an evacuation route. Remember, we will not fire unless the enemy fires first."

"But what if they open fire?"

"Then retaliate." Little looked at the British soldiers in the distance, "and retaliate with the fiercest firepower, so they know what the price is for stopping us."

Time ticked by. The atmosphere at the port was extremely tense. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries piercing the air.

11:50.

A French officer rushed out of the port office building, holding a telegram. He hurried to the front line and said something to the British and French commanders. The commanders' expressions changed—from resentment to helplessness.

Li Te saw it, but he didn't move. He wanted to wait for official notification.

11:55.

A French lieutenant and a British captain walked over together, crossed the line of confrontation, and headed towards the gangway of the "Pearl River". Litt went down from the bridge and waited for them at the gangway entrance.

"Major General," the French lieutenant saluted, speaking in broken English, "a joint order from Paris and London: Chinese laborers are permitted to leave voluntarily. However, you are required to guarantee that the evacuation process will proceed in an orderly manner and will not disrupt the normal operation of the port."

The British captain added, "At the same time, all departing workers must register their name, country of origin, and contract number for subsequent processing."

Li Te finally breathed a sigh of relief, but his face remained serious: "Alright. We will send civilian staff to assist with the registration. Please remove the barbed wire immediately and allow the workers to assemble at the dock."

The French lieutenant nodded and went back to relay the order. A few minutes later, the barbed wire was opened, and the gendarmes and police began to retreat, but remained on guard at a distance.

The laborers were stunned for a moment, then erupted in a huge cheer. Three thousand people surged toward the dock like a flood bursting its banks, toward the giant ship that was flying the red flag.

The scene became chaotic. Many people fell and were trampled. Litt immediately ordered Marines to maintain order: "Line up! Don't push! There's a place for everyone!"

The loudspeaker on the "Pearl River" ship also broadcasted in Chinese: "Fellow countrymen, please maintain order! The Lanfang government has sent us to take you home! Please line up to register and board the ship in an orderly manner! Board the ship in an orderly manner!"

Gradually, the lines took shape. Guided by the Marines, the laborers formed more than a dozen long queues and registered their names at the makeshift registration tables.

Li Te walked into the crowd. He saw faces—young, old, scarred, with vacant eyes. Many were dressed in thin clothing, shivering in the June sea breeze. Many more were injured: bandages oozing pus and blood, some limping and leaning on branches, their eyes red and inflamed…

"General! General!" A man in his fifties suddenly knelt down and hugged Li Te's legs. "Thank you! Thank you so much! I thought I was going to die here..."

Li Te quickly helped him up: "Old man, get up quickly. You've suffered so much."

"It's so bitter, so incredibly bitter..." The old man wept uncontrollably. "We worked sixteen hours a day, ate moldy bread, and slept in leaky shacks. Last month, the Germans shelled us, and more than thirty of our battalion died. Their bodies were just dumped in the mass grave, without even a tombstone..."

A young man nearby chimed in, "French officers beat people at the drop of a hat, and the British overseers withhold wages. I've been here for three months, and they promised me twenty silver dollars a month, but I haven't seen a single penny..."

"I want to go home, I miss my mother..." A boy who looked to be under twenty years old squatted on the ground and cried.

Li Te listened, his fists clenched tightly. He remembered Chen Feng's words: This isn't war, it's a meat grinder. It's hell.

Now he saw it with his own eyes.

Registration lasted two hours. At 2 PM, the first batch of laborers began boarding the ship. But a problem arose—the "Pearl River" was a battleship, not a passenger ship, with limited cabins, and could only carry a maximum of one thousand people. Together with the "Huaihe," the two ships could only carry a total of two thousand people.

There are 3,000 people here, and more laborers are coming from the surrounding camps.

"Captain," Chen Shaoming reported, "laborers from the surrounding camps have heard the news and are rushing here. According to the list provided by the French, the total number of Chinese laborers in the Calais area exceeds 20,000."

Li Te frowned. His orders were to "bring his compatriots home," but they didn't specify how many to bring at once. Now it seemed he definitely couldn't bring them all at once.

"Notify six cargo ships to come as well."

He returned to the bridge and sent a telegram to Dubai for instructions.