World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Wang Wenwu came up from behind and handed him a bottle of ice water: "Minister Liu, take a break. There are still three hours left."

Liu Yongfu took a large gulp of water, his eyes still fixed on the dock: "There's no time to rest. This is the largest diplomatic event in Lanfang's history since the founding of the nation, and also... the most sensitive one. The President must complete a handover ceremony right under the British Prime Minister's nose, demonstrating strength while maintaining restraint. Any mistake in any detail could be interpreted as provocation or weakness."

He looked at the two warships, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "So many years have passed. I watched these two ships go from blueprints to steel, from the slipway to the open sea. Now... they're going to be handed over to someone else."

Wang Wenwu patted him on the shoulder understandingly: "For the sake of a bigger strategy."

"I know." Liu Yongfu took a deep breath. "That's why we need to do it perfectly. We need to make sure the British can't find any fault with it, and we also need to ensure our veterans... can say goodbye with dignity."

As they were talking, a commotion arose at the port entrance. A large group of people were trying to break through the cordon—not to storm it, but to plead. Most of them were middle-aged men, wearing faded old military uniforms with East China Sea naval battle commemorative medals pinned to their chests.

"Let us in! We'll just watch from a distance!" shouted an old man with one arm. "We fought on those two ships! We have the right to see them off on their final journey!"

The young guards on duty seemed somewhat at a loss. According to regulations, the port area was under complete lockdown today, and non-staff members were not allowed to enter. But faced with these veterans adorned with medals…

"Let them in," a calm voice said.

The guard turned and saw Chen Feng getting out of the car. The Commander-in-Chief was unusually dressed today in a white naval summer uniform—not a marshal's dress uniform, just a regular officer's uniform, without even a general's star on his shoulder insignia. But his presence alone made everyone unconsciously straighten their posture.

"Commander-in-Chief! They..." the guard tried to explain.

Chen Feng waved his hand and walked towards the group of veterans. He recognized the old man at the head of the group as Lin Santai, a former engine room crew member on the "Fuxing" high-speed train who worked at the shipyard after retiring.

"Old Lin," Chen Feng walked up to the old man, "did you come to see him off?"

Lin Santai was taken aback by the fact that the President would come in person, and hesitated for a moment: "Yes...yes, President. We're not here to cause trouble, we just want to...take a look from afar. Just one look and we'll leave."

Chen Feng was silent for a few seconds, then turned to the captain of the guard and said, "Designate a viewing area on the open space on the east side of the dock. Prepare chairs, sunshades, and drinking water for these veterans. They can stay."

"yes!"

The veterans were stunned. Lin Santai's eyes instantly reddened: "Commander-in-Chief, this...this isn't in accordance with the rules, is it? What if the British see this..."

"This is my port, my rules," Chen Feng said calmly. "You shed your blood for these two ships, and you have the right to see them one last time. But—"

He looked around at all the veterans: "—Maintain your dignity. No crying, no shouting, and no doing anything that would damage our national dignity. You represent the history of the Lanfang Navy. Show the British what our veterans are like."

"Understood!" Lin Santai straightened his back and gave a standard military salute. Despite having only one hand, his movement was still powerful.

Chen Feng returned the salute, then turned and walked towards the viewing platform. Wang Wenwu followed, whispering, "President, won't the British think we're being sentimental...?"

"What they think is unimportant." Chen Feng continued walking. "What's important is that our soldiers know: the country will not forget their sacrifices, even if it's just a ship, a piece of steel, or a rivet."

He climbed onto the viewing platform and looked towards the port entrance.

At eight o'clock sharp, Asquith's fleet should have arrived.

At 8:15 a.m., the British Royal Navy destroyer HMS Daring guided the Prime Minister's flagship, the battlecruiser KLM Malaya, into the main channel of Dubai Port.

Asquith stood on the bridge of the "Malaya," observing the rising port of the East through binoculars. As a veteran politician who had witnessed the glory of the Victorian era, he had seen the world's major ports: the grandeur of London, the rigor of Hamburg, the bustle of New York, and the chaos of Shanghai. But Dubai... was different.

Everything here is so new. The dock cranes are the latest electric models from Germany, the warehouses are reinforced concrete structures, the roads are smooth asphalt surfaces, and even the lampposts are made of uniform stainless steel. Further away, on the city skyline, several buildings exceeding ten stories are under construction—in this era, apart from major European and American cities, few places would build such tall buildings.

"Like a nouveau riche," commented the First Lord of the Navy, Balfour, standing beside him, "but a very rich nouveau riche."

Asquith did not respond. He noticed the other ships moored in the harbor: two sister ships of the Bismarck-class battleships were being fitted out, and at least four cruisers had their keels laid on the slipway. What alarmed him even more was the scale of the shipyard—twelve large dry docks, all in operation, the sparks from welding flashing like stars in the morning light.

This country's industrial capacity has surpassed Italy's and is approaching that of France.

"Prime Minister, they have prepared a welcoming ceremony," Balfour said, pointing towards the docks.

Asquith looked in that direction. There was indeed a guard of honor, a military band, and even a red carpet laid out on the dock. But... it was too simple. There were no welcoming banners, no flowers, no cheering crowds, only people in military uniforms standing in rows, as if on a mission rather than welcoming distinguished guests.

"They're expressing their discontent," Asquith said, putting down his binoculars. "Because we're questioning their troop presence in Hurdlesa."

Balfour frowned: "This is not in accordance with diplomatic protocol. You are the British Prime Minister and should receive the highest level of hospitality."

"In Chen Feng's eyes, perhaps we are just... clients," Asquith said with a wry smile, "and picky clients at that."

The "Malaya" slowly pulled into its designated berth. The gangway was lowered, and the Royal Marines honor guard disembarked first, lining up on the pier. Then came the Prime Minister's delegation.

As Asquith descended the gangway, the military band began to play—not the British national anthem, nor the Lanfang national anthem, but an unfamiliar march. It took him a few seconds to recognize it: it was the "Grenadier's March," a Prussian military song.

His face darkened. This was intentional.

He was greeted by Wang Wenwu, not Chen Feng. The Foreign Minister smiled politely but distantly: "Your Excellency Prime Minister Asquith, welcome to Dubai. Please rest at your hotel after your journey."

"Where is the President?" Balfour couldn't help but ask.

"The President is preparing for the handover ceremony and will meet with His Excellency the Prime Minister before the ceremony." Wang Wenwu stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. "The car is ready."