World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Then, the resolution is passed. Wakatsuki-kun, you are in charge of negotiating the price with the Germans. The bottom line is a one-time payment of ten million pounds, with subsequent service fees increasing by twenty percent. Motono-kun, you prepare the diplomatic rhetoric and response plan. Oshima-kun…"

He looked at the Minister of War, his voice softening: "You are responsible for communication and reassurance within the troops. Tell those division commanders that this is a national necessity, a choice made out of necessity. But the nation will remember each and every one of them."

Kenichi Oshima nodded silently, his eyes vacant.

"Meeting adjourned," Saionji said. "All content is top secret. Anyone who leaks it will be charged with treason."

At 2 a.m., the cabinet members began to leave. Only Saionji remained in the underground conference room. The ashtray on the table was overflowing with cigarette butts, and the air was thick with the smell of tobacco and anxiety.

He sat in the chair, motionless for a long time.

Tokyo outside the window was asleep, but the Prime Minister knew that from this night onward, the land of cherry blossoms was embarking on a dangerous new path.

No one knows what lies at the end of the road.

All he could do was keep moving forward.

Because in this cruel world, stopping means being eliminated.

June 20th, Eastern Front, within Poland.

Hidden within a birch grove along the Dniester River was the camp of the Third Division of the Japanese Empire. The morning mist had not yet completely dissipated, and wisps of smoke rose from a clearing in the woods as soldiers gathered around a campfire to heat canned food, conversing in hushed tones in Japanese.

Division Commander Lieutenant General Shiba Goro stood before his tent, watching everything unfold. This 58-year-old veteran, a participant in the Russo-Japanese War and commander of eight months of fighting on the Eastern Front, bore the marks of hardship and exhaustion on his face. He held a newly received encrypted telegram in his hand, reading it three times, still unable to believe its contents.

"Commander, all the regimental commanders have arrived," the adjutant whispered a reminder.

Shiba Goro took a deep breath, folded the telegram, and stuffed it into his uniform pocket: "Take them to the command tent."

Inside the command tent, six regimental commanders sat upright. They were the backbone of the 3rd Division, ranging from young officers in their twenties to veterans in their fifties, each with a face etched with the resilience and vigilance honed by the battlefield.

"Gentlemen," Shiba Goro cut to the chase without beating around the bush, "I have just received orders from both General Headquarters and Berlin. The Third Division, as well as the other seven Sakura National Divisions on the Eastern Front, will undergo... reorganization."

He paused, observing his subordinates' reactions. The tent was quiet, save for the faint sound of distant cannon fire.

"Effective immediately, the eight divisions will be reorganized into the Provisional Tenth Army of the German Army. We will be issued German uniforms, placed under German command, and deployed to the Western Front."

The deathly silence lasted for five seconds.

Then, it erupted.

"What?!" "German uniforms?!" "The Western Front?! Fighting Britain and France?!" "This violates the contract!"

The regimental commanders stood up almost simultaneously, their faces flushed and their voices trembling with excitement. The youngest, the 3rd Regimental Commander, even placed his hand on the hilt of his saber.

"Silence!" Shiba Goro shouted sharply. "This is an order! An official order from His Majesty the Emperor and the Cabinet!"

These words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the initial anger. The officers sat down again, but their eyes were filled with confusion and rage.

"Division Commander," the 1st Regiment Commander, a colonel with graying hair, asked in a hoarse voice, "what's going on? Aren't we fighting as allies on the Eastern Front? Why are we changing into German uniforms? Why are we going to the Western Front?"

Shiba Goro walked to the center of the tent, where a map of the Eastern Front hung. With his back to his men, he spoke in a low voice: "I'm not entirely clear on the specifics. But according to the telegram, this is a decision made by the nation based on 'higher interests.' The German side will provide additional compensation, and the soldiers' treatment will be improved."

"But this is betrayal!" The commander of the 3rd Regiment couldn't help but stand up again. "We're going to fight Britain and France in German uniforms, which is tantamount to declaring war on the Allies! What will Britain and France think of Japan? How can we maintain our standing in the international community?"

"These are not issues we should be concerned with." Shiba Goro turned around, his eyes sharp. "A soldier's duty is to obey orders. As for diplomacy and politics, those are matters for the bigwigs in Tokyo to worry about."

“But division commander,” the 2nd Regiment commander, a relatively calm middle-aged officer, began, “what will the soldiers think? Can they accept wearing enemy uniforms? This…this is too humiliating.”

This question hit the nail on the head. Shiba Goro was silent for a few seconds; he knew his subordinate was right.

"Tell the soldiers," he finally said, "that this is a tactical necessity. German uniforms are better suited to the climate and terrain of Western Europe, and they allow for better coordination with the German army. As for the reorganization... just say it's temporary, and it will be reinstated after the war."

"Will they believe it?" someone muttered quietly.

"We must believe you." Shiba Goro's voice left no room for doubt. "Gentlemen, I know this order is hard to accept. Me too. But we are soldiers of the Empire, and we must put the national interest first. Now, go and relay the order, and reassure the troops. The first batch of German uniforms will arrive this afternoon, and we will begin changing into them and training tomorrow."

The officers exchanged glances, but no one objected further. They saluted their division commander and left the tent one by one.

Shiba Goro stayed behind alone. He walked to the edge of the tent, lifted a corner of the canvas, and looked out at the camp. The soldiers were still preparing breakfast; some were wiping their rifles, some were writing letters home, and some were praying silently.

These people trusted him and followed him across half the world to Europe. And now, he was going to tell them: take off your Japanese uniforms and put on German ones.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, unsure whether he was speaking to the soldier or to himself.

At 2 p.m., the transport convoy arrived at the camp.

Twenty German military trucks, escorted by armored vehicles, drove into a forest clearing. The trucks were not loaded with ammunition or food, but with neatly bundled military uniforms—dark gray German field uniforms, M1916 steel helmets, leather belts, and tall military boots.

The soldiers were assembled and lined up in the open space. They looked at the unfamiliar uniforms, whispered among themselves, their faces filled with confusion and unease.

Shiba Goro stood on a makeshift wooden platform, holding a tin megaphone.

"Attention, all personnel!" His voice echoed through the forest. "By order of superiors, in preparation for the upcoming combat mission, this division will be issued new uniforms! This is for—"

He paused for a moment, then continued: "—In order to better coordinate with friendly forces and maintain combat effectiveness in harsh environments! Now, each company will collect its uniforms in order, and the uniform change must be completed by tonight!"

The order was given, but the soldiers didn't move. They stared at the German uniforms with complex expressions.

"What are you all standing there for!" the regimental commanders urged. "Hurry up! Do it in order!"

Finally, the soldiers of the First Company took the first step. They walked to the truck, took the packages from the German logistics soldiers, their movements stiff and their expressions numb.