World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Gentlemen!" His voice rang out loudly in the drizzle, "I have just received a report from the Berlin High Command forwarded by the division headquarters! Thanks to the valiant fighting of the units on the Eastern Front, the Russian army has suffered a complete rout!"

A low murmur arose from the crowd.

"Since the start of the offensive in May, our army has fought alongside the German army, breaking through three lines of Russian defense! We have annihilated over one million enemy soldiers, captured 150,000, and seized two thousand artillery pieces of various types!"

Colonel Tanaka waved a telegram: "The Russians have abandoned Poland! Abandoned Lithuania! Abandoned Western Belarus! The entire Eastern Front has advanced three hundred kilometers! Three hundred kilometers!"

This time, applause broke out. At first, it was sporadic, then it grew louder and louder, until finally the entire assembly area was filled with the soldiers' tired but excited applause and cheers.

Muto didn't clap. He stared at Colonel Tanaka's excited, flushed face, but his mind was filled with the image of the new recruit carried away yesterday—the boy named Kobayashi, whose abdomen had been ripped open by shrapnel, his intestines spilling out onto the floor, and who kept calling for his mother on the stretcher.

"Gentlemen!" Colonel Tanaka raised his voice, "This is no ordinary victory! This is a glorious achievement of the Imperial Army on the European battlefield! It is a magnificent feat that proves to the world the indomitable spirit of the soldiers of the Great Sakura Empire!"

He paused, his tone becoming impassioned: "Just today, in Berlin, His Majesty Emperor Wilhelm II personally issued an order to commend the troops fighting on the Eastern Front! At the same time, His Majesty the Emperor also issued an imperial edict in Tokyo, praising the bravery and loyalty of the dispatched troops!"

"Long live!" someone shouted.

"Long live His Majesty the Heavenly Locust!"

"Long live the Imperial Army!"

Shouts rose and fell. Muto saw Yamaguchi beside him, his face flushed, shouting with all his might. The other soldiers were the same—the new recruits who had just arrived from the country, the boys who had witnessed the terrible casualties before they had even seen a real battlefield, all seemed to have found some kind of outlet, yelling desperately.

Colonel Tanaka watched this scene with satisfaction. He waited until the shouts subsided before continuing, "To recognize your merits, the division headquarters has decided that all participating units will have two weeks of rest! Meanwhile, supplies sent from the country have arrived at Kiel, including sake, canned goods, cigarettes, and..."

He deliberately dragged out his words, then grinned, "And there are letters of condolence from back home! At least one for everyone!"

This time the cheers were even more enthusiastic.

Muto remained silent. He recalled the letter his brother, Muto Nobutada, had given to Matsumoto Koji at Nagasaki Port, and the words "Come back alive" on it. Three months had passed, and that letter was still tucked in his inner pocket, the paper worn and frayed.

"Furthermore!" Colonel Tanaka abruptly changed the subject, "Each company must compile a list of soldiers with outstanding combat achievements and report it to regimental headquarters! The Empire will award medals! We must let all citizens know who is defending the Empire's glory on the battlefields of Europe!"

The speech ended in a frenzied atmosphere. As the soldiers dispersed, they were still excitedly discussing the medals, the gifts, and the legendary two-week rest period.

Muto was stopped by Sergeant Sato.

"Muto." Sato handed him a cigarette. "Your battle report is up. During the last attack, you led your squad to break through the Russian machine gun positions from the flank, killing at least fifteen men and capturing a fully functional Maxim machine gun."

Muto took the cigarette and lit it. The pungent smell of the cheap tobacco filled his lungs, causing him to cough a few times.

"What's wrong?" Sato looked at him. "Aren't you happy? This is an opportunity to be awarded a medal. If you can get the Order of the Golden Kite, you'll be a hero when you go back home."

"Sergeant," Muto exhaled a puff of smoke, "tell me, what exactly are we fighting for?"

Sato paused for a moment, then laughed: "What, you're starting to think about these things too?"

"I just..." Muto looked at the newly erected wooden sign in the distance, "I just feel, where is the 'glory' of those who died?"

Sato's smile faded. He silently took a few puffs of his cigarette before slowly speaking, "Muto, I arrived before you. I met the veterans of the first batch of dispatched troops. They told me that at the beginning, everyone thought they were there to 'help the German allies.'"

He flicked his cigarette ash: "Later we found out we were here to die. The Germans bought our lives with money, and the Germans used our lives to exchange for foreign exchange. It's that simple."

"Then why fight at all?"

"Because I had no other choice." Sato's voice was calm. "Do you own land? Do you have a business? Can you support your family?"

Muto recalled the contents of his brother's letter—his father's lung disease had improved, his sister was continuing her schooling, and she received a "special allowance for military dependents" of 20 yen per month.

"I can't," he said.

"I can't either." Sato stubbed out his cigarette. "That's why I came. I risk my life for money to support my family. As for imperial glory and martial virtue... those are stories for big shots. We lowly soldiers are lucky to even have any stories to hear."

He patted Muto on the shoulder: "Don't think too much. Being alive, receiving medals, and sending money home is a victory. Nothing else matters."

Sato finished speaking and left. Muto stood there, looking at the battlefield in the drizzle.

A victory over 300 kilometers.

One million enemy soldiers were annihilated.

Awarding medals. Commending. Long live the Emperor!

These words floated in the air like a gorgeous wrapping paper, enveloping the rotting corpses beneath the soil, the intestines spilling from the stretchers, and the ashes of the burned photographs.

Muto took out his brother's letter from his pocket and read it again.

"Come back alive."

He repeated those four words in a low voice, then carefully folded the letter and put it back in his pocket.

The rain intensified.

Berlin, Sanssouci Palace.

Wilhelm II stood before the mirror, two aides adjusting his military uniform. The dark blue Prussian Field Marshal's uniform, the gold sash, and the numerous medals adorning his chest—the Order of Hohenzollern, the Black Eagle, the Order of Merit… each representing a victory, or at least, a successful political performance.

"Your Majesty, Marshal Tirpitz has arrived," the attendant announced in a low voice.

"Let him in." Wilhelm II did not turn around, but continued to examine himself in the mirror.

Grand Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz entered the room. The 67-year-old founder of the navy was still upright, but he had heavy eye bags and a lingering worry between his brows.

"Your Majesty," he bowed.

"Alfred!" Wilhelm II turned around, a bright smile on his face. "Look, how about it? It's specially prepared for today's victory celebration. The soldiers on the Eastern Front have achieved such a glorious victory, and I must pay tribute to them in the most solemn manner."

Tirpitz gazed at the Emperor's gleaming medals, but his thoughts drifted to the silent British battleships across the North Sea. Nevertheless, he nodded: "Very majestic, Your Majesty."

"Tell me, have you seen the battle reports from the Eastern Front?" Wilhelm II walked to the table, picked up a document, and said, "Three hundred kilometers! One million men! The Russian bear has had its spine broken! Now, the entire Eastern Front is under our control!"