World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

A young soldier, probably only nineteen years old, stood there holding his assigned uniform. He opened the package and picked up the M1916 steel helmet—its design was completely different from the Japanese Type 90 helmet; it was rounder, deeper, and had raised ventilation holes on the side.

"Try it on," said the sergeant next to him.

The young soldier hesitated, then slowly put the helmet on. It was too big, almost obscuring his eyes. He adjusted the straps, and the helmet settled into place. The helmet was dark gray, with the German eagle insignia painted white on the side.

His companions looked at him with surprise, absurdity, and a hint of unspeakable sorrow in their eyes.

"Turn around," the sergeant ordered.

The young soldier turned around. At that moment, all the Japanese soldiers who saw him fell silent. The dark gray German uniform, the unfamiliar steel helmet, only that Asian face was still familiar—but even that face, against the backdrop of the foreign uniform, looked abrupt and strange.

A soldier from Japan wearing a German military uniform.

The scene was so incongruous, so surreal, yet so real, unfolding right before my eyes.

"Next!" the German logistics soldier shouted in broken Japanese.

The changing of uniforms lasted all afternoon. By evening, the scene in the camp had completely changed. Dark gray figures replaced khaki uniforms, and German steel helmets replaced Japanese iron caps. Only the Type 38 rifles in the soldiers' hands and the Type 30 swords at their waists still retained traces of Japan.

Shiba Goro changed his clothes in his tent. He looked at himself in the mirror: a dark gray general's uniform, gold epaulettes, two rows of medals from Germany and Japan hanging on his chest, and a general's helmet with a gold eagle emblem on his head.

The person in the mirror was both familiar and unfamiliar. He was still Shiba Goro, but he no longer seemed to be the commander of the Third Division of the Sakura Country.

The adjutant lifted the tent flap and came in, also changing into a German uniform. He saluted—his movements were somewhat awkward, because the German and Japanese salutes were slightly different.

"Commander, reports from all regiments: the re-equipment is basically complete. But... morale is very low. Many soldiers refuse to leave their tents, and some are even secretly crying."

Shiba Goro closed his eyes: "Understood. Pass the word down that there will be an extra meal tonight, with each person receiving an extra can of beef and a pack of cigarettes. Tell the soldiers that German instructors will arrive tomorrow for a week of joint training. After a week, we will march to the Western Front."

"Yes, sir." The adjutant hesitated for a moment. "Division Commander, are we really going to..."

"Execute the order," Shiba Goro interrupted him, his voice weary.

After the adjutant left, Shiba Goro walked outside the tent. The setting sun bathed the entire camp in golden light. Soldiers in German uniforms moved among the tents, and in the distance, someone was playing "Cherry Blossom Ballad" on a harmonica; the mournful melody drifted through the foreign twilight.

At that moment, a car displaying a German military flag drove into the camp. After the car came to a stop, several German officers got out, led by a lieutenant general, who was tall, blond, and had blue eyes.

"General Shiba!" the German lieutenant general greeted him in broken Japanese, extending his hand. "I am Hans von Seeckt, the German liaison commander of the Provisional 10th Army. It's a pleasure to work with you."

Shiba Goro grasped that hand and felt that the other person's palm was dry and strong.

"General Seeckt, welcome." He replied in German—having learned basic German during his eight months on the Eastern Front, "The troops are being re-equipped and may need some time to adapt."

"I understand, I completely understand." Seker nodded, glancing around the camp. "But time is of the essence. Verdun desperately needs reinforcements. A week of training, then we must depart."

He paused, then lowered his voice: "General Chai, I know this arrangement... is unusual. But please believe me, Germany is grateful for the help from Japan. His Majesty Emperor Wilhelm personally promised that all participating soldiers will receive the highest level of treatment and respect."

"Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty," Shiba Goro replied in a formulaic manner. "My soldiers will fulfill their duties."

"Very good." Seeker smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then, let's get to work. First, we need to determine the new unit designations, the new flags, and... the new command structure."

The two men walked toward the command tent. The setting sun cast long shadows of them; two soldiers in identical uniforms, but from completely different worlds, walked side by side.

Behind them, more smoke rose from the camp. Dinner time had arrived, and the soldiers sat around the campfire, eating their extra canned food and smoking German cigarettes. Some were silent, some whispered, and some stared blankly at the eagle insignia on their German helmets.

Night fell. Kerosene lamps were lit in the camp, their dim yellow light flickering between the tents. In the distance, the sound of the Dniester River flowing could be faintly heard, like a long sigh.

The outfit change is complete.

The 3rd Division of the Japanese Army, at least on the surface, had become part of the German Provisional 10th Army.

Training will begin tomorrow.

A week later, they would board a train heading west, toward Verdun, toward the place known as the "meat grinder."

And it all began with a luncheon at Sanssouci Palace in Berlin, a late-night meeting at the Prime Minister's official residence in Tokyo, and three words uttered by a man in the Presidential Palace in Dubai:

He added money.

The world is changing, the rules are being distorted, and the old boundaries are becoming blurred.

On June 25, dense fog once again enveloped Port William along the North Sea coast.

Marshal Tirpitz stood by the window on the third floor of the headquarters building, holding a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. He gazed at the ships in the harbor, their silhouettes appearing and disappearing in the mist—some under repair, scaffolding tangled like spiderwebs around their hulls; others, though repaired, sat silently on the water, their smokestacks empty, like sleeping steel behemoths.

It's been three days.

Since Berlin accepted Lanfang's "uniform trick" plan and shifted all its attention to the reorganization and westward transfer of Japanese troops on the Eastern Front, the pressure on the navy seemed to have eased temporarily. But Tirpitz knew this was only the calm before the storm. Wilhelm II would not forget the navy; he was merely temporarily distracted by the army's urgent needs.

"marshal."

Major General Trotta, the Chief of Staff, pushed open the door and entered, holding a telegram he had just received. His expression was not good, and his lips were tightly pressed together.

"Berlin is pressing again?" Tirpitz didn't turn around, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

"It's not a urging, it's an order." Trotta placed the telegram on the table by the window. "It's from the Emperor's Chamberlain, demanding that the Admiralty submit a 'detailed timetable for a full-scale fleet sortie' within forty-eight hours. The wording... is quite harsh."

Tirpitz finally turned around, picked up his coffee cup, and took a sip. The bitter liquid made him frown slightly, but he needed the bitterness to stay awake.

"let me see."

The telegram paper was of the highest official grade, with the Hohenzollern family's eagle emblem printed in the upper left corner. The content was concise and cold:

"To the Admiralty: His Majesty the Emperor requests that the High Seas Fleet be fully prepared for combat by July 10th, and that a detailed attack plan be drafted. Objective: To break the British blockade of the North Sea, sink at least one British capital ship, to boost domestic morale and relieve pressure on the Army. Please submit a detailed plan within forty-eight hours. Chief of Staff, von Miller."

"July 10th..." Tirpitz repeated the date softly, "Fifteen days to go."