World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

At 1:20 a.m., Wang Wenwu returned to the reception room. William was still there; the fire in the fireplace had died down a bit, and the waiter had just added some firewood.

"Your Majesty," Wang Wenwu said, "Commander Chen Feng has replied."

William looked up, a hint of tension in his eyes.

"The Grand Commander agrees to your proposal," Wang Wenwu said calmly. "Twelve million gold, to be paid in three installments. The loan will offset one Bismarck-class ship, and the other will be financed over fifteen years at an annual interest rate of three percent, with the Hanseatic League's trading rights as collateral."

A smile appeared on William's lips, a smile of relief.

"Okay," he said. "Very good. So, when can we sign the agreement?"

"The text can be prepared tomorrow," Wang Wenwu said. "But before that, I have one more problem to solve."

"What's the problem?"

"Ship delivery and training," Wang Wenwu said. "The Bismarck-class is a completely new design and complex to operate. We need to arrange for technical personnel from Lanfang to help your navy familiarize itself with the ship. This process will take at least three months."

William frowned: "Three months...that's too long."

"But it's necessary," Wang Wenwu insisted. "Otherwise, even if you acquire the warships, you won't be able to unleash their full combat potential. Moreover, if an accident occurs due to improper operation, it will be a loss for both sides."

William thought for a few seconds, then finally nodded: "Okay. But your men must take our orders and abide by our laws and military discipline while in Germany."

"Of course," Wang Wenwu said. "So, we've reached an agreement?"

"An agreement has been reached." William stood up and extended his hand to Wang Wenwu again. "Mr. Wang, please convey to President Chen Feng that Germany will not forget the help of its friends. In future international affairs, we will remember today."

Their hands were clasped together. In the firelight of the fireplace, their shadows merged on the wall.

An agreement has been reached.

Two of the world's most powerful battleships are about to sail to Germany.

June 15th, noon.

In the Hall of Mirrors at Sanssouci Palace, a long dining table was covered with a snow-white linen tablecloth, and the silver cutlery gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the high windows. Waitstaff moved silently, serving roasted venison, buttered asparagus, mashed potatoes, and Burgundy wine. Wilhelm II sat at the head of the table, with Wang Wenwu to his right, followed by several high-ranking officials from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the General Staff, and the Ministry of Finance.

The luncheon had been going on for an hour, and while the atmosphere appeared harmonious on the surface, undercurrents were actually running deep.

"Mr. Wang, is this venison to your liking?" Wilhelm II cut the steak on the plate, the knife and fork clinking against the porcelain plate. "It was just delivered from the East Prussian hunting grounds yesterday. The meat is tender and juicy, without the fearful smell of the livestock on the battlefield."

"Very delicious, Your Majesty." Wang Wenwu used his knife and fork to cut the meat into small pieces with ease. "Lanfang is mostly mountainous and forested, and there is plenty of wild game, but the cooking methods are not as refined as those in Europe."

"Cooking is an art, just like war," said General Erich von Falkenhayn, Chief of the General Staff of the Army, sitting opposite Wang Wenwu. The planner of the Battle of Verdun had a sallow complexion and heavy eye bags, clearly indicating chronic sleep deprivation. "It requires precise control of heat, the right ingredients, and decisiveness at crucial moments."

Wang Wenwu put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said, "Speaking of war, Your Excellency, I've heard that the battle of Verdun... has been quite difficult."

A hush fell over the table. The waiter's hand, holding the wine bottle, froze in mid-air, while the other officials exchanged glances. Falkenhayn's cheek twitched slightly.

"War is always difficult, Mr. Wang," Wilhelm II began, his tone relaxed, though his fingers unconsciously tapped the handle of his wine glass. "But German soldiers possess unparalleled courage and discipline. It's just..."

He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully: "But sometimes, courage and discipline need more effective tools to support them. Just like a great painter, who needs not only talent but also high-quality paints and canvas."

Wang Wenwu understood the subtext. The pre-lunch meeting had finalized the deal for the Bismarck-class battleships, and now the Emperor wanted to discuss the next issue—the predicament on the Western Front.

"Your Majesty is right." Wang Wenwu picked up his wine glass and gently swirled the deep red liquid inside. "Then, regarding more effective tools... does your country have any specific needs? Although Lanfang's industry is still developing, it may be able to provide assistance in some aspects."

Falkenhayn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table: "We need men, Mr. Wang. The Battle of Verdun has lasted four months, and the Germans have committed thirty divisions, twelve of which have been decimated and need to be replaced. The total strength on the Western Front remains at two million, but less than half of them are available for offensive assaults."

As he spoke, his eyes were fixed on Wang Wenwu, as if trying to read some kind of promise from the face of this special envoy from the East.

"Troops..." Wang Wenwu pondered, "Didn't your country have a victory on the Eastern Front? I saw in the newspaper that the Brusilov Offensive was repelled and the Russians suffered heavy losses."

"The Eastern Front is stabilized, but we can't spare too many troops," Falkenhayn shook his head. "The Russian front is still long, and we need at least fifty divisions to maintain the defense of the Eastern Front. Moreover, the troops on the Eastern Front lack experience in fighting on the Western Front, and they will need to be retrained to adapt to trench warfare if they are transferred here."

The table fell silent once more. All the waiters had left, and the tall doors of the Hall of Mirrors were tightly shut. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the floor.

Wang Wenwu put down his wine cup and leaned back slightly: "Your Majesty, I don't quite understand what you mean. The soldiers of Japan... according to what I know, they are fighting on the Eastern Front as allies of the Entente, cooperating with the German army. Moreover—"

He looked at Falkenham: "And I recall that the contract between Japan and Germany clearly stipulated that Japanese soldiers would not directly engage in combat with British and French troops. This was an agreement between your country and the Japanese government."

"That's the clause!" Falkenhayn suddenly raised his voice, slamming his fist on the table, making the cutlery rattle. "Damn clause! What we need most right now are fresh troops for the Western Front, but the contract stipulates they can only fight the Russians! And the Eastern Front doesn't need any more troops at all right now!"

"Calm down, Erich." Wilhelm II waved his hand, but his eyes revealed the same frustration. "Mr. Wang, this is the situation: we need reinforcements in the Verdun direction, but Germany's manpower is nearing its limit. Men of marriageable age are either on the front lines, in factories, or... already in graveyards."

He flicked the ash from his cigar, his voice deepening: "And Japan has eight divisions on the Eastern Front, nearly two hundred thousand well-trained soldiers. They've seen real combat, are adapted to the European climate and terrain, and could be deployed to the Western Front immediately. But that damned contract clause..."