World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The meeting lasted two and a half hours. The debate was intense: the army feared another war of attrition, the navy was eager to redeem itself, and the Foreign Office was concerned about international repercussions and alliances. But ultimately, everyone realized—Britain needed a victory, any victory.

At 7 p.m., a resolution was reached: Britain would mobilize 50 divisions, including troops from the colonies of Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Newfoundland, South Africa, and India, to launch a massive offensive codenamed "Breakthrough" in the Somme region. The campaign was scheduled to begin on July 28, two weeks later.

General Joseph Joffre would coordinate the French operations, but the main offensive and command would remain with Britain. In exchange, Britain would increase its loan to France and commit to taking on more naval escort duties during the campaign.

The resolution required the Prime Minister's signature. As Caudley walked out of the meeting room with the document, he heard General Jackson whisper to Lord Kitchener behind him, "Hopefully we've won this gamble. If we fail again... I don't know how much more bad news the country can take."

Kitchener gazed out the window at the streets of London, where trams clanged and women in black mourning clothes walked silently by, and shop windows displayed signs that read "Save food, support the front lines."

"We have no choice, Henry." The Secretary of War, known for his iron fist, showed a rare look of exhaustion. "At this stage of the war, it has become a contest of wills. Whoever falters first will lose everything."

Meanwhile, in Berlin, Kaiser Wilhelm II was saying almost the same thing.

Berlin, General Staff underground operations room, midnight on July 12.

This place was far more rudimentary than the conference rooms in London: the concrete walls were only painted with a layer of whitewash, the ceiling had exposed pipes and wires, and the only lighting consisted of a dozen or so unshaded light bulbs casting a glaring white light. The air was stagnant, filled with the stale smells of cigarettes, coffee, and men's body odor.

In the center of the room was a huge sand table, accurately reproducing every inch of the terrain along the western front from the North Sea to the Swiss border. Beside the sand table, Chief of the General Staff General Erich von Falkenhayn was bending over to examine the topography of the Somme region. Behind him, a blackboard was filled with unit numbers, artillery quantities, and supply routes written in chalk.

Falkenhayn hadn't slept for forty-eight hours. His eyes were heavy with bags, his stubble was unruly, and his once-crisp general's uniform was wrinkled, with two buttons undone at the collar. Around him, a dozen staff officers busied themselves: answering phones, checking maps, calculating data, and discussing in hushed tones. Everyone was like a tightly wound spring, maintaining operation despite extreme exhaustion.

"General, urgent telegram from the Eastern Front." A young staff officer handed over the telegram: "General Brusilov of the Russian Army is reorganizing his forces and may launch a new offensive in early August. Eastern Front Command requests reinforcements."

Falkenhayn didn't even glance at the telegram: "Reply: The Western Front is the decisive battlefield; there are no troops available. Let them handle it themselves."

"But General, what if the eastern front collapses..."

"The Eastern Front won't collapse." Falkenhayn straightened up, rubbing his aching neck. "The Russians have bled to death. Brusilov's so-called 'offensive' is nothing but a death throes. The Western Front is the key, Verdun is the key."

He approached the head of intelligence: "Has the British movement been confirmed?"

"Basically confirmed, General." The head of intelligence opened a folder. "Reconnaissance aircraft photos show that British positions north of the Somme are being reinforced on a large scale. Rail transport has tripled in the past week, mainly carrying heavy artillery and ammunition. In addition, radio communications we've intercepted indicate that the British are forming a 'Fourth Army,' commanded by General Rawlinson, comprising at least twenty divisions."

"What about the colonial troops?"

"Australian and New Zealand troops have arrived at the port of Le Havre and are advancing towards the front. Indian troops have landed in Marseille. The total force is estimated to be... over half a million."

The room fell silent instantly. All the staff officers stopped what they were doing and looked at Falkenham.

Five hundred thousand. This means that the Somme region will face the most powerful attack since the start of the war.

"General, we must draw troops from other fronts," Colonel Max von Hoffmann, the operations chief, spoke first. "At least ten divisions can be drawn from the Verdun front, five from Flanders, and three from Alsace..."

"Verdun cannot be moved," Falkenhayn interrupted him. "We've finally made progress; the Japanese forces sacrificed ten thousand lives to gain ten kilometers of depth. If we retreat now, all those sacrifices will have been for nothing."

"But General, if the Somme is breached, the British can penetrate straight into our rear! Then, not only Verdun, but the entire Western Front will collapse!"

Falkenhayn walked to the sand table, staring at the complex terrain of the Somme region. It was a network of rivers and rolling hills, a natural defensive formation. But against an army of 500,000 and 2,000 cannons, even the best terrain wouldn't be enough.

"Adopt a 'flexible defense' tactic." He finally made the decision. "Leave only a small number of guard troops at the front, and withdraw the main force to the second line of defense. When the British artillery preparation is over and the infantry begins their charge, our troops will come out of their bunkers and mop up the enemy with machine guns and mortars."

Colonel Hoffman frowned: "This is risky. If the British have enough time to prepare their artillery fire, our second line of defense will also be destroyed."

"Then build a third and fourth line of defense." Falkingham's fingers moved across the sand table. "The Somme region has enough depth. We must trade space for time, and wear down the British morale and manpower with blood and flesh."

He turned to the head of logistics: "How are the ammunition reserves?"

"Barely enough, General. But if the campaign lasts longer than two weeks, there will be a shortage of shells for certain calibers. In particular, the stockpile of 150mm howitzer shells is only enough for ten days of high-intensity use."

"Prioritize machine gun ammunition and mortar shells. Artillery...use them sparingly."

Another telegram was handed over. Falkenhayn glanced at it, his expression changing slightly. The telegram was from Verdun, sent by Lieutenant General Shiba Goro—not through official channels, but through "personal connections."

"The Japanese forces request rest and reorganization. Eight divisions have suffered over 40% casualties, and the soldiers are on the verge of physical and mental collapse. Continuing high-intensity combat could lead to a large-scale collapse or mutiny. We earnestly request to be transferred to the rear for replenishment. — Shiba"

Falkenham crumpled the telegram into a ball and threw it into the wastepaper basket.

"General?" Hoffman asked tentatively.

"The Somme needs reinforcements." Falkenhayn's voice was icy. "Order: The remnants of the eight Japanese divisions in the Verdun direction are to immediately move to the Somme region and be incorporated into the Second Army. They have four days to complete the transfer and deployment."