World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The question was sharp and direct. The surrounding soldiers held their breath, waiting for an answer.

Shiba Goro remained silent for a few seconds. He couldn't tell the truth, couldn't tell the soldiers it was for money, for a political deal. But he also couldn't lie; these were veterans who had faced life and death on the battlefield, they could see through hypocrisy.

"Sergeant Suzuki," he finally spoke slowly, "how many years have you been in the military?"

"Twelve years, Your Excellency."

"What battles have you participated in?"

"The Battle of Lushun, the Battle of Fengtian, and the Battle of Brest-Litovsk on the eastern front last year."

"Then you should know," Shiba Goro's voice deepened, "that war is never a simple matter of right and wrong. National interests are not simply black and white. Now, the Empire needs us to fight on the Western Front. This is a strategic necessity, a consideration at a higher level."

"But the contract clearly states..."

"Contracts can be modified, strategies can be adjusted," Shiba Goro interrupted him. "You are all veterans; you should understand that on the battlefield, the only constant is change. Today's friend may be tomorrow's enemy, and today's enemy may be tomorrow's ally. The important thing is to obey orders and complete the mission."

Sergeant Suzuki opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Shiba Goro had already turned to all the soldiers:

"Listen! I know you have emotions, you're confused. So do I! But we are Imperial soldiers. Our duty is not to question orders, but to carry them out! If you can refuse to fight today because you don't understand, then everyone else can do it tomorrow! What kind of army will that be? How will the Empire survive?"

His voice rose, carrying the authority of someone who had seen many battles:

"I assure you: on the Western Front, you will receive the best equipment, the most ample logistics, and the most appropriate combat missions. Every fallen soldier will be buried with the highest honors of the Imperial Army, and their families will receive double the compensation. Your sacrifice will bring the Empire much-needed funds, technology, and international standing!"

He paused, scanning each face: "Now, choose. Continue to be an Imperial soldier and obey orders. Or, lay down your weapons and be treated as a deserter."

Silence. Only the faint sounds of commands drifting from the training ground in the distance.

Sergeant Suzuki lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly. A few seconds later, he bent down, picked up his rifle from the ground, and slung it back over his shoulder. Then, he turned to Shibagoro and gave a crisp military salute.

"I'm sorry, Division Commander. I... I was wrong."

The other soldiers also picked up their weapons and lined up again.

Shiba Goro nodded, a barely perceptible hint of pain flashing in his eyes: "Return to your units. Remember, no matter what uniform you wear, you are all soldiers of the Sakura Nation. No matter where you fight, you are serving the Empire."

The soldiers dispersed and rejoined their training. Shiba Goro stood there, watching their retreating figures. His adjutant walked up to him:

"Division Commander, you handled it very well. But other regiments are showing similar signs, and with all eight divisions combined, I'm afraid..."

"I know." Shiba Goro turned and walked towards the division headquarters. "Summon all regimental commanders, as well as divisional commanders. We'll have a meeting tonight. This problem must be resolved thoroughly, otherwise, there will be major chaos on the western front."

"Yes."

That evening, the tents of the 3rd Division headquarters were brightly lit.

All eight division commanders were present, along with their respective chiefs of staff and senior staff officers. The tent was crammed with more than thirty people, filled with smoke, creating a tense atmosphere.

Shiba Goro, as the commander of the Third Division and the most senior of the eight division commanders, presided over the meeting.

"Gentlemen," he said, getting straight to the point, "we've all encountered similar problems today: soldiers are resistant to changing equipment and being transferred to the Western Front. This is normal, but it must be addressed. The Western Front is not the Eastern Front. Verdun is known as the 'meat grinder,' and we must ensure that the troops are in stable morale and united in thought before engaging in combat."

The commander of the 1st Division, a 60-year-old veteran, spoke first: "Mr. Chai, the problem isn't how we convince the soldiers, the problem is that we ourselves can hardly convince them. Wearing German uniforms to fight the British and French... that really goes against the spirit of Bushido."

"But it's an order," said the commander of the 2nd Division. This relatively young general was more pragmatic. "And the compensation the Germans offered was indeed generous. I heard from Army Minister Oshima that in addition to labor costs, there was also technology transfer."

"Can money and technology win the hearts of 200,000 soldiers?" The commander of the 5th Division sneered. "There are already deserters in my unit. Three ran away last night. Although they were caught, this kind of thing is contagious."

"Then tighten discipline!" The 7th Division commander slammed his fist on the table. "Deserters will be executed! Extraordinary measures for extraordinary times!"

"Will execution solve the problem?" The commander of the 6th Division shook his head. "Killing one will discourage a hundred. What we need are soldiers who can fight, not walking corpses driven by fear."

The tent was filled with a cacophony of noise. Everyone had their own opinions and their own difficulties. Shiba Goro listened quietly without interrupting. Only when the argument gradually subsided did he speak:

"Gentlemen, there's no point in arguing here. The fact is: the order has been given and cannot be changed. The troops must move out within a week and be deployed to the Western Front. The question now is not whether it should be done or not, but how to get the troops to accept reality and how to keep them combat-ready on the Western Front."

He stood up and walked to the center of the tent:

"I propose the following measures: First, all officers must lead by example and fully accept their new roles. From tomorrow onward, all officers will wear only German uniforms and use only German military etiquette. Second, strengthen ideological education—not by preaching grand principles, but by explaining practical benefits: the pay for operations on the Western Front is twice that of the Eastern Front, and the compensation for those killed in action is three times that of the Eastern Front. Third, coordinate with the German side to allow soldiers to retain some traditions of the Japanese army, such as silent prayer before meals and wearing amulets. Fourth…"

He paused, his voice growing heavier: "Fourth, tell the soldiers the truth—not the whole truth, but a partial, embellished truth. Tell them the empire needs this money for development, for ensuring future security. Tell them their sacrifice is to make the Sakura Nation stronger, so that future generations will never have to wear someone else's uniform again."

Silence fell over the tent. The officers pondered the plan.

"Can it be done?" the commander of the 4th Division asked.

"We have to," Shiba Goro replied. "We have no choice. We either succeed in persuading the troops, or we watch 200,000 men collapse on the western front. Gentlemen, we are all professional soldiers; we know what to do in a desperate situation. And now, we are in a desperate situation."

He looked around at everyone: "Those who agree, please state your opinion. Those who disagree, you may leave now, and I will report to Berlin to replace the commander."

No one moved.

After a long silence, the commander of the First Division slowly nodded: "Alright. We'll do as Chai Jun says. But all eight of our divisions must act in unison; no division can take any different measures on its own."

"agree."

"agree."

Several people expressed their opinions. In the end, the eight division commanders reached a consensus: to adopt Shiba Goro's plan, do everything possible to stabilize the troops, and ensure a smooth departure a week later.

The meeting continued late into the night. As the officers gradually left, Shiba Goro was the last to emerge from his tent. The night sky was clear, dotted with stars, and the Milky Way stretched across the horizon. In the distant camp, the campfire was still burning, and the faint sound of soldiers playing folk songs on harmonicas drifted through the air, their melancholic tunes lingering.