World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The briefing lasted three hours. Lanfang engineers showcased the radar system, sonar system, damage control system, and even the ergonomic design of the galley and living quarters. Every detail impressed the German officers—this was not just two warships, but a complete, cutting-edge technological system.

After the meeting, Tirpitz invited Ritter to speak privately. The two went to the foredeck of the Tirpitz, where they had a wide view of Wilhelmshaven.

"General Li, I must admit," Tirpitz said, gazing at the distant dock where the Seydlitz was still undergoing repairs, "that these two ships have exceeded all my expectations. Lanfang's shipbuilding technology... is awe-inspiring."

"Marshal, you flatter me." Li Te maintained a polite distance. "Lanfang is still a young country; we have simply invested more resources in certain areas."

"It's not just about resources," Tirpitz turned to look at him, "it's about vision. While everyone else was chasing larger caliber artillery and thicker armor, you chose integration, systematization, and intelligence. This isn't just simple technological superiority; it's a leading concept."

Li Te did not deny it. This was something Chen Feng particularly emphasized: the Germans needed to see the gap, not just in technology, but also in mindset. Only when they saw the gap would they be more eager to cooperate, learn, and gain more.

"Marshal," Litt said, "Commander-in-Chief Chen Feng asked me to convey a message: 'Technology should serve peace and development, not destruction and conquest.' He hopes these two ships can help Germany end the war sooner, rather than prolong it."

Tirpitz smiled wryly: "A beautiful wish. But once the war begins, it's difficult for it to go according to anyone's wishes. However... please convey to the Grand Commander that the German Navy will use these weapons responsibly. At least, I myself will do my best to ensure they are not used for meaningless adventures."

The two remained silent for a moment. The sea breeze blew across the deck, bringing with it the distinctive salty smell of the North Sea.

"General," Tirpitz suddenly asked, "if... I mean, if Germany and Lanfang were to one day be on opposing sides, would you regret delivering these ships today?"

Liddell looked at the veteran German naval commander and saw the genuine worry in his eyes. This was not a test; it was an old soldier's fear of the future.

"Marshal," Li Te replied slowly, "I am a soldier, and I follow orders. But as an individual, I believe in Commander-in-Chief Chen Feng's judgment: a multipolar world is more stable and peaceful than a world dominated by one or two major powers. And Lanfang aspires to become one pole in a multipolar world. For this, we are willing to take some risks, including risks like the one we are facing today."

Tirpitz nodded thoughtfully. He didn't say anything more, but he understood: this Eastern general before him, and the Grand Commander behind him, were playing a very long game. And Germany, at least for now, was an important piece in this game.

In the afternoon, the technical handover officially began. Two hundred German sailors boarded the two new ships and learned how to operate them under the guidance of Lanfang technicians. They had to master these complex systems within a month, after which the two giant ships would officially join the High Seas Fleet and sail to the North Sea.

In Dubai, Chen Feng received a coded telegram from Li Te: "The ship has been delivered, and the ceremony was successfully completed. Wilhelm reassured Tirpitz with the naming, reigniting the old coach's fighting spirit. The technological impact exceeded expectations, and the Germans have realized the comprehensive gap. The time is ripe to move on to the next step."

Chen Feng put down the telegram and walked to the world map in the strategy room. He planted another small red flag at the Somme River location—according to the latest intelligence, the British artillery preparations would begin in two days, and the battle was about to enter its bloodiest phase.

"Very good," he murmured to himself. "Let the blood flow a little longer. Then we can bring out the next chip."

Outside the window, the sunset over Dubai Port was like blood. But this time, the blood wasn't flowing in Dubai, but in the fields of France, seven thousand kilometers away.

There, 150,000 Japanese soldiers dressed in German uniforms awaited the arrival of the steel storm.

索姆河地区，阿尔贝镇以北，1916年7月28日凌晨5时15分。

The darkness before dawn was thick as ink, swallowing even the starlight by the low-hanging clouds. But the earth itself was glowing—not natural light, but an eerie halo formed by thousands of campfires, searchlights, and signal flares, illuminating the entire front line as an orange-red border of hell.

Five kilometers behind the British lines, in an artillery observation post, Australian artillery captain Jack Morrison stubbed out his last cigarette on a sandbag. His fingers trembled, not from the cold—the July night was warm—but from what was to come. Through his scope, he could see the outline of the German first line of defense: barbed wire like a vicious thicket of thorns, gleaming coldly in the flares; trench lines like scars ripped into the earth; and further away, the ruins of Albert looked like a pile of toys crushed by giants.

"Five more minutes, sir," the observer said in a low, hoarse voice.

Morrison nodded and picked up the field telephone receiver. The line led to the entire Fourth Army Artillery Command, and beyond that, to the positions of 2,900 artillery pieces—from 60mm mortars to 380mm railguns—like a pack of lurking steel behemoths, awaiting the same command.

He glanced at his pocket watch: 5:18. The second hand ticked away, each tick feeling like a blow to his heart.

This wasn't his first time experiencing a massive artillery bombardment. At Gallipoli, he had commanded six 18-pounder guns to support the landings. But that lasted at most a few hours. This time… seven days. A full seven days of relentless saturation bombardment, meant to wipe the German lines off the map.

"God forgive us," he murmured.

The voice from command center came through the phone: "All gun positions, prepare! Final confirmation of firing data!"

Morrison repeated his orders into the microphone, his voice relayed through the communications network to every gun position. He could picture the scenes: gunners shoving heavy shells into the breech, closing the breechblock, adjusting the elevation. Loaders wiping sweat from their brows, despite the cool morning air. Officers performing a final check of the firing tables.

"Australia's 1st Artillery Brigade is ready!"

"The New Zealand Field Artillery Regiment is ready!"

"Canadian heavy artillery battalion is ready!"

"Indian mountain artillery battery ready!"

Reports from various units mingled on the telephone. Accents varied—London, Scottish, Australian, Indian, and Canadian with a French accent. This was an imperial army, drawn from every corner of the earth, gathered on this French field for the same goal.

5:19:30.

"Attention all personnel!" The command center's voice shrilled. "A historic moment! For the Empire! For victory!"

5:20 AM.

The command consisted of only one word: "Fire."

Morrison closed his eyes. The next second, the world exploded.