World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chen Feng turned around and walked to the sand table in the center of the strategy room. On the sand table, the terrain of Southeast Asia was vividly depicted, and Lanfang's red mark was like a patch, inlaid among the British, French, Dutch, and American colonies.

"Minister Wang, look at this sand table." Chen Feng picked up a pointer. "How big is Lanfang? 1.2 million square kilometers. How many people are there? Twenty-three million. What is the scale of its industry? Less than one-tenth of Germany's, less than one-twentieth of Britain's. What is the scale of its navy? Including the two ships we just sold, we only have four capital ships, while Britain has thirty and Germany has twenty."

He paused, then continued, "Given this disparity in strength, what do we rely on to survive? Morality? International law? Or the benevolence of the great powers?"

Wang Wenwu remained silent.

"We rely on balance." Chen Feng moved his pointer across the sand table. "We'll make the great powers check and balance each other, so none of them can spare a hand to deal with us. We'll make Britain need our rubber, Germany need our technology, Japan need our market, and America need our ports."

He put down his pointer and looked at Wang Wenwu: "So this deal isn't about helping Germany, it's about maintaining a balance. If Germany is too weak, Britain will completely control Europe and then turn around and deal with us. If Germany is too strong, a bigger war will break out in Europe, which might drag us all into it. What we want is a Europe in a stalemate, a war of attrition, where both sides need external help."

"But if we help Germany break the deadlock..."

"So what we're selling are warships, not victories." Chen Feng walked back to the map, pointing to the Bismarck-class ships' course. "Two ships can't change the balance of power in the North Sea, but they can give the Germans hope, keep them committed, and keep them at a disadvantage. Similarly, the Japanese forces went to the western front and might achieve some tactical victories, but they can't change the strategic situation."

He turned around, his eyes sharp: "Minister Wang, the real key isn't now, it's the next step. When the Germans realize that their warships and troops aren't enough to break the deadlock, they'll crave something new. At that point, our tanks, our technology, our 'creative solutions' will become the bargaining chips they desperately need."

Wang Wenwu suddenly realized: "So you're waiting...waiting for them to be at their most desperate?"

"Wait until they need it most," Chen Feng corrected. "Despair can break people, but need can make people pay. What we need is the kind of need that they're willing to pay for."

He walked to his desk, picked up Liu Yongfu's report, and quickly skimmed through it: "Take this 'Panzer I' for example. If we give it to the Germans now, they might be interested, but they won't pay a high price. But if, on the Verdun front, when their infantry are once again falling in rows in front of barbed wire and machine guns, they suddenly see an armored vehicle that can roll over barbed wire and advance under machine gun fire..."

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

"So we have to wait for the battle report from the western front."

"Yes." Chen Feng nodded. "Once the Japanese troops are engaged in battle, once the Germans see the possibilities and limitations of the new tactics, once they truly realize the need for a completely new breakthrough method, then we'll take the samples and blueprints to Berlin."

He put down the report and walked to the window. Outside, Dubai Harbour was still bustling, but on the distant sea, two giant ships had already sailed toward the horizon.

"War is cruel, Minister Wang," Chen Feng said softly, "but war also presents opportunities. The old order collapses in the flames of war, and new forces rise from the ruins. What we must do is not to be sacrificed for the old order, but to strive for a place in the process of establishing the new order."

He turned around, his expression serious: "So tell those officers who have objections: Lanfang's first priority is survival, and its second priority is development. In order to survive and develop, sometimes difficult choices must be made, and one must walk on the edge of morality. If they cannot understand this, then they should not be in key positions."

"Yes." Wang Wenwu nodded solemnly.

"Now," Chen Feng walked back to the map, "let's see what our next move should be."

His finger moved across the map, from Verdun to London, from Berlin to Tokyo, from Washington to Moscow. Each capital was a chessboard, each country a chess piece, and each battle a move.

On this enormous chessboard, Lanfang is merely a pawn.

But even a small pawn crossing the river can threaten the general.

The key lies in timing, in position, in being in the right place at the right time and making the right choice.

Outside the window, the setting sun bathed Dubai Harbour in a golden hue.

A new day is coming to an end, but a new game of chess is just beginning.

In the distance, warships sail the seas, trains race on the tracks, and soldiers wait in the trenches.

All of these are moves on a chessboard.

Chen Feng, meanwhile, was considering his next move.

That step could change the fate of many people, could change the course of war, and could change the future of the world.

凡尔登东北部，马斯河上游森林地带，1916年7月4日凌晨4时17分。

The fog clung to the tree trunks like a shroud for the dead, and last night's heavy rain had turned the trenches into a muddy swamp. Corporal Imamura knelt in the mud at the starting line of the charge, his fingers unconsciously stroking the cold bolt of his Type 38 rifle. To his left was Private Kobayashi, a farmer's son from Hokkaido whose greatest wish before enlisting was to save enough money to buy an American-made tractor; to his right was Sergeant Yoshida, a veteran with three scars from the Russo-Japanese War on his face, who was now muttering sutras with his eyes closed.

They wore dark gray German M1916 field uniforms, with the German abbreviation for "3rd Infantry Division, Provisional 10th Army" embroidered on their sleeves. The helmets were too large, almost obscuring Imamura's eyebrows, forcing him to tighten the straps as much as possible. Only the Type 30 sword at his waist and the small Japanese flag tucked into the side of his backpack reminded them of where they came from.

Five hundred meters away, the outline of the French positions was faintly visible in the morning mist. The barbed wire, like a vicious thicket of thorns, layered upon layer, gleamed coldly in the dim moonlight. Further away, the concrete bunkers of machine gun emplacements revealed dark firing ports.

"Three minutes left." Sergeant Yoshida opened his eyes, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against a metal plate.

Imamura nodded and turned to look behind him. On the muddy slope, over eight hundred soldiers of the 1st Battalion of the 3rd Regiment lay densely packed. All were absolutely still, only their breath dissipating in the cold wind. The youngest among them was only seventeen—a private named Sato who had lied about his age to enlist, just to send the twenty pounds a month back to his family in Hiroshima.