World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Don't move for now," Asquith decided, "but keep a close watch. If they cross the red line of the concession zone, retaliate immediately. If not... just treat them as a mirage in the desert."

He paused, then looked at Gray: "Edward, any new developments from Lanfang?"

Gray pulled a telegram from his briefcase: "Chen Feng sent a formal note this morning, expressing regret over the 'unexpected encounter' at the Somme and reiterating Lanfang's neutral stance of 'not intervening in the European war.' The note specifically mentioned that their military cooperation with Japan is 'purely a commercial activity,' and that the presence of Japanese soldiers on which side is 'unrelated to Lanfang.'"

"Irrelevant?" Belfort sneered. "They sold tanks to the Germans and rifles to those Caoxian people, and now you say it's irrelevant?"

"Legally, they have a valid point," Gray said helplessly. "Chen Feng is a shrewd lawyer; all the contracts avoid clauses regarding direct military intervention. Tanks are exports of 'civilian engineering vehicles,' rifles are 'hunting equipment,' and Japanese soldiers are 'labor export'... We can't find any fault with them."

The firewood in the fireplace crackled and popped.

"Then we'll create leverage," Kitchener's voice was icy. "We can declare Holdesa a military restricted area and demand that the Lanfang army withdraw within a specified period. If they refuse—"

"If we had that capability," Asquith interrupted him, "Arthur, is the navy currently capable of a direct confrontation with the Lanfang navy in the Persian Gulf?"

Balfour fell silent. He thought of the two Hood-class battlecruisers he had just received—no, they were now called HMS Hood and HMS Queen Elizabeth. Excellent warships, but too few in number. Lanfang, on the other hand, had at least four of the same class in the Persian Gulf, with more under construction.

"We need time," Balfour finally said. "At least six months, until the other five River-class destroyers are delivered, and until the HMS Hood and HMS Queen Elizabeth are fully operational."

“We don’t have six months.” Asquith stood up and walked to the world map. “Gentlemen, look at this casualty report. Three and a half months into the Somme campaign, our total casualties have exceeded 420,000. The conscription age has been expanded from 18 to 41 to 17 to 50. Even women and teenagers are filling in at the factories.”

His finger traced the map over northern France: "If we can't achieve a breakthrough by next spring, if the Germans launch a massive counter-offensive with those new tanks... we might lose the entire Flanders region. Then Paris will be exposed to German artillery fire."

The study was deathly silent. The only sounds were the rain and the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace.

"So," Asquith turned, his gaze sweeping over everyone, "we need more soldiers, we need weapons to fight off the new German tanks, we need... a miracle."

"Or, we need even dirtier methods," Gray suddenly said.

All eyes were on him.

"Prime Minister, do you remember Chen Feng's proposal in Dubai?" Gray lowered his voice, "Regarding... the recruitment of soldiers for Japan."

Asquith's face darkened: "Continue to use Asians as cannon fodder?"

"Not cannon fodder, but 'laborers'," Gray corrected, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just like what they're doing now. If the Germans can buy, why can't we? And we can buy even more—Chen Feng hinted that Japan can provide at least half a million more 'laborers'."

"Morally speaking..." Balfour wanted to say something, but couldn't finish.

"Morality?" Kitchener slammed his fist on the table. "Five thousand young British men die in France every day, and you're talking to me about morality? If the lives of five hundred thousand Asians could be exchanged for the lives of one hundred thousand British, I'd think it's worth it!"

"And then?" Asquith stared at Kitchener. "How will postwar history write it? 'The British Empire bought Asian slaves with money and fed them into Europe's meat grinder'?"

"History is written by the victors," Gray said calmly. "If we win, this history can be glorified, forgotten, and explained as 'international humanitarian aid.' If we lose... who cares how history is written?"

The firelight from the fireplace danced on everyone's faces. The rain outside the window intensified.

Asquith walked back to his seat and slowly sat down. He picked up the battle damage report and turned to the last page—the appendix listing the fallen. (Random page, random line:)

"Private Thomas Wilson, nineteen years old, from Manchester. His mother was widowed, and he had two younger brothers. He was killed on September 30, 1916, in the Somme. His body was never recovered."

Nineteen years old. The same age as his youngest son, who is studying at Oxford.

He closed his eyes. After a long while, he opened them.

"Send a telegram to Prime Minister Saionji Kinmochi of Japan." Asquith's voice was tired but clear. "In my name, invite him to 'exchange views on the situation in the Far East and international cooperation.' The wording should be polite, but the pressure should be sufficient."

"Specific conditions?" Gray took out his notebook.

"First, we urgently need to replenish our troops. The quantity... we need 200,000 initially. This can be delivered in installments."

"Secondly, the price is set at two hundred pounds per person according to German standards, but Japan is required to bear part of the transportation and equipment costs."

"Thirdly, politically, we can pledge to support Japan's 'special rights' in XX after the war."

Gray quickly jotted down: "Anything else?"

Asquith paused for a moment: "Tell Saionji privately that if Japan is willing to exclusively supply us with soldiers and stop sending them to Germany, we can... raise the price to two hundred and fifty pounds per person."

Balfour gasped: "That would require fifty million pounds! The national treasury can't come up with that much cash!"

"We can issue war bonds, use colonial concessions as collateral, and promise post-war industrial investment," Asquith said expressionlessly. "Money can always be found. But people, people's lives, are nowhere to be found."

Silence fell again in the study. The only sound was the scratching of the pen on the paper.

"Furthermore," Asquith added, "have MI6 initiate Operation 'Eastern Dragon.' I need to know exactly what technology Lanfang gave the Germans, whether we can develop it ourselves, or... steal it."

"Understood," Kitchener nodded.

"And one more thing," Asquith concluded, "have the Navy expedite the integration of HMS Hood and HMS Queen Elizabeth. If we can't win on land, we'll look for opportunities at sea. Tell Admiral Jellicoe I need a feasibility report on a decisive battle in the North Sea."

"Yes."

The meeting ended. After the three left, Asquith sat alone in his study, watching the flames in the fireplace gradually die down. The milk had gone cold, and a film of fat had formed on its surface.

He picked up the phone: "Connect to His Majesty the King's bedchamber."