World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"President," Wang Wenwu asked softly, "do you really think Germany will attack again?"

Chen Feng opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the lights of Dubai Harbour outside the window: "Yes. But not because they can win, but because they have to."

Why?

"Because at this stage of the war, it's no longer just a military contest." Chen Feng's voice was calm, but every word was heavy. "It's a contest of wills, a contest of confidence, a contest to see who collapses first. Wilhelm II knew that if he showed weakness now, domestic morale would be hit, neutral countries would waver, and even allies would doubt Germany's resolve."

He stood up and walked to the window: "So even knowing it's risky, even knowing there's a possibility of failure, he would still order the fleet to attack. Because not attacking means admitting defeat. And in war, sometimes admitting defeat is more terrible than actual defeat."

Wang Wenwu was silent for a moment: "Then which side should we bet on?"

Chen Feng turned around, a complex smile on his face: "We're not betting on either side. We're betting on the war itself."

"What do you mean?"

"As long as the war continues, as long as both sides are at a loss, as long as they both need technology, resources, and funds—Lanfang will have a chance." Chen Feng walked back to the table, tapping his fingers on the three letters he had just written. "We sell technology to the Germans, resources to the British, and weapons to the Japanese. We don't want either side to win too quickly, nor do we want either side to lose too quickly."

He paused, his voice growing even lower: "Ideally, this war would last another two or three years. Until Europe is exhausted, until the old order has completely collapsed. By then..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Wang Wenwu understood.

At that time, a brand new world order will be born. And Lanfang, if handled properly, will become an important participant in this new order, rather than a passive recipient.

"But this requires an extremely precise balance," Wang Wenwu said. "If either side discovers that we're betting on both sides..."

"That doesn't matter," Chen Feng said. "Or rather, even if they're discovered, we must make sure they can't give up the benefits we provide."

He picked up Tirpitz's letter and looked at the sentence again: "'Perhaps only someone like you can truly understand the meaning of power.' Tirpitz was wrong. What I understand is not the meaning of power, but the trading of power. In this world, power can be bought and sold, rented and exchanged. And what we need to do is become the greatest power merchants."

Wang Wenwu felt a chill. Not from fear, but from his sudden realization of Chen Feng's magnanimity and ruthlessness.

This is not a simple national survival strategy. It is a game with the entire world as the chessboard, and Chen Feng is learning how to be a player, not a pawn.

"There's one more thing," Chen Feng said, interrupting his thoughts, "Let our intelligence agents in Berlin focus on one thing: the discrepancy between Tirpitz and Scheer's actual actions and what they reported to the Emperor."

Do you think they will outwardly comply while inwardly disagreeing?

"Tirpitz will," Chen Feng said confidently. "He'll use all sorts of reasons to delay, explain, and adjust. But Scheer... I'm not sure. Scheer is a soldier, a pure soldier. He might choose to obey, even knowing it means certain death."

He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to Wang Wenwu: "So we need a backup plan. If the Russians attack again and suffer heavy losses, we can sell two Bismarck-class ships to them..."

He took a sip of his drink, a sharp glint in his eyes: "By the way, we also need to find a way to get the French navy out to fight as well. Our loans to Britain, France, and Germany are almost due."

Wang Wenwu's hand trembled slightly, the wine swirling in the glass: "You mean...?"

"I'm talking about paying off gambling debts with our bodies," Chen Feng said calmly. "If all three countries suffer significant losses, we can use our excess production capacity to repay their loans, which will also make them dependent on our Lanfang equipment!"

The room fell silent. Only the faint sound of ship horns from the distant harbor could be heard.

Wang Wenwu looked at Chen Feng, the man who had transformed a desert into a Southeast Asian power in fifteen years. Sometimes, he felt Chen Feng was cold-blooded beyond human comprehension. But more often, he had to admit—it was precisely this coldness that allowed Lanfang to survive in this cruel world, and even begin to thrive.

"I understand," he finally said, raising his glass, "for Lanfang."

Chen Feng clinked glasses with him: "For survival."

The two drank it down in one gulp. The heat of the whiskey burned from their throats all the way to their stomachs, bringing a brief warmth.

At 3:47 a.m., on the second basement floor of the Dubai Presidential Palace.

The only sounds in the air were the low hum of the ventilation system and Chen Feng's own breathing. This secret room was buried fifteen meters underground, with walls made of half-meter-thick reinforced concrete and a bank vault-grade alloy sealed door. The entire space had no windows, and the only entrance required three separate biometric verifications.

Chen Feng unbuttoned the top two buttons of his military uniform and sat down at the large steel workbench in the center of the secret room. Apart from an adjustable lamp, the workbench was empty. He reached under the table and pressed a specific spot for three seconds; a hidden compartment silently slid open on the side of the workbench.

Inside the hidden compartment was a black metal briefcase. The surface was unmarked, except for minor wear marks on the edges—the result of years of frequent opening and closing. Chen Feng entered the password, and the lid slowly opened with a soft click.

The box was lined with specially made shock-absorbing material, and a laptop was embedded in the center. The machine had a low-key appearance, with a dark gray metal casing that was much thinner than any other electronic device of this era, and a screen made of a single piece of black glass. Chen Feng took the computer out, placed it on the worktable, and connected it to the power supply—the sealed room had an independent power supply system that he had designed himself, completely isolated from the external power grid.

He pressed the power button, and the screen lit up. The blue and white startup interface was reflected on his face, casting a faint light in the dimly lit room.

His fingers slid across the touchpad, browsing through a dense list of documents. Most were dated meticulously, spanning from 1916 to 1945, covering almost all major German armored vehicle designs during the two World Wars. Chen Feng's gaze finally settled on two documents:

Panzerkampfwagen I Ausf.A - Technical Drawings and Data

Panzerkampfwagen II Ausf.C - Technical Drawings and Data

He opened the first file, and the screen was instantly filled with complex technical drawings—three-view drawings, sectional views, and exploded view of components, each labeled with precise dimensions and data. Chen Feng zoomed in on the drawings, carefully examining every detail.

Tank Panzer I. Weighing 5.4 tons, with a crew of two, it was armed with two 7.92mm MG13 machine guns, and its armor thickness ranged from 6 to 13mm. The power system consisted of a Krupp M305 four-cylinder air-cooled gasoline engine producing 60 horsepower. Its maximum road speed was 37 km/h, its off-road speed was 25 km/h, and its maximum range was 145 km. The suspension system was a simple leaf spring type, and the tracks were 28 cm wide.