World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

A few seconds of silence fell over the room. Hindenburg and Ludendorff exchanged a glance—the kind of look that army generals often gave to naval generals, a look that was a mixture of suspicion and competition.

"A decisive blow?" Wilhelm II narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? Another 'tactical victory' like Jutland?"

"No, Your Majesty," Behnke's voice hardened. "I mean a true decisive battle. Concentrate all our capital ships and seek a decisive battle with the British Grand Fleet in the North Sea. Utilize the technological superiority of the Bismarck and Tirpitz to secure victory before their new ships enter service on a large scale."

"What about the risks?" Ludendorff asked coldly. "If we lose, we will lose not just a few warships, but the entire navy, and the possibility of obtaining any assistance by sea."

“If things continue as they are,” Behnke countered, “by next summer, the army will be unable to launch any large-scale offensives due to a lack of ammunition and fuel. Meanwhile, the British, with the support of Mirika, might launch a counter-offensive that we cannot withstand. Isn’t that a greater risk?”

The argument was about to escalate. Just then, there was a rapid knocking on the meeting room door.

"Come in!"

The door opened, and a young captain strode in, carrying a deep red folder—the highest-level emergency intelligence symbol. He was pale and breathing rapidly, clearly having run all the way.

"Your Majesty, an urgent telegram from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. From...Washington."

Dr. Zimmerman immediately took the folder, opened it, and began reading rapidly. His face turned ashen visibly under the kerosene lamplight.

"Read it," Wilhelm II commanded.

Zimmerman swallowed hard, his voice dry. "The military attaché in Washington has confirmed, through three encrypted relays, that British Prime Minister Asquith secretly arrived in Maryland on November 17th and held a three-hour closed-door meeting with President Wilson that morning. The meeting discussed..."

He paused, as if gathering his courage.

"This involves the Allied debt to the United States and the financial risks that a German victory would bring. That evening, British Ambassador Spring Rice met with Morgan, Schiff, Baruch, and other key figures in the Merica financial community at the Albimal Club. Our intelligence personnel judged that Britain was launching a systematic lobbying campaign with a clear objective: to push Merica to abandon its neutrality and intervene in the war through economic and even military means."

A deathly silence.

The kerosene lamp wick crackled softly. The hands of the huge wall clock ticked, pointing to exactly midnight.

Wilhelm II slowly walked to the window, his back to everyone. His shoulders trembled slightly, whether from anger or fear, it was unclear. Outside, the gardens of Sanssouci Palace were shrouded in the darkness of the winter night, with only a few air raid sirens emitting a dim blue glow.

"When did this happen?" The emperor's voice was soft, but every word was like an icicle.

“Four days ago, Your Majesty,” Zimmerman replied, “due to encryption and transmission time…”

"Four days," Wilhelm II repeated. "Four days ago, the British Prime Minister was already in Washington persuading Merika to join the war. And here we are, arguing about tank production and naval strategy."

He suddenly turned around, his eyes gleaming with a beastly light in the darkness.

"Do you know what this means? Hmm? You generals, marshals, doctors, do you understand?"

No one dared to answer.

"This means," Wilhelm II's voice suddenly rose, turning into a piercing roar, "that if the Merlekas intervene, the war will be over! Not next year, not the year after, but right now! They will fill the Atlantic with warships, darken the skies with planes, and overwhelm our defenses with supplies! By then, tanks, submarines, trenches—they'll all be a joke!"

He grabbed the brandy bottle from the table and smashed it against the wall. The crystal bottle shattered, scattering amber liquid and glass shards everywhere. A military attendant instinctively took a step forward, but was deterred by the emperor's glare.

"Ludendorf!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

"What was the premise of your 1917 production plan? Was it based on the premise that Maryka would remain neutral, right?"

Ludendorff's Adam's apple bobbed. "Yes, Your Majesty. All raw material imports, production capacity expansions, and troop deployments are based on the assumption that Miraca will not directly intervene."

"Then this plan is scrapped." Wilhelm II walked to the map table, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward. "We need a new plan. A plan based on the premise that 'Merica will join the war within three months.'"

Field Marshal Hindenburg spoke in a deep voice: "Your Majesty, if Mikhail does indeed join the war, I believe... we should immediately initiate peace talks. While we still have bargaining chips, we should strive for the best possible terms."

"Peace talks?" Wilhelm II sneered. "With whom? With those who want to hang me? With those who want to dismember Germany into dozens of small countries? No, Field Marshal. Germany must either win this war or be destroyed. There is no middle ground."

He straightened up, took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. Years of training as a monarch had enabled him to quickly regain his composure under extreme emotions—or rather, to return to that ruthless decision-making state.

Zimmerman.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Send a telegram to Chen Feng. Use the highest level of encryption. Tell him everything that's happening here. Emphasize in particular: if the United States enters the war, all his investments in Germany—the technology transfer fees for the tank factory, the design patent fees for the warships, and the commissions for those Japanese mercenaries—will be wiped out. Ask him if he has any suggestions."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Behnke".

"exist!"

"Is the plan for unrestricted submarine warfare ready?"

General Behnke's pupils contracted slightly: "Theoretically... we're ready, Your Majesty. But implementation requires an imperial edict and parliamentary authorization, and it will certainly anger neutral nations, especially—"

"Especially Merika," Wilhelm II finished for him, "but if Merika has already decided to go to war, what is there to hold back? Sink their ships, kill their men, and make them back down before they pay the price. If that doesn't work... at least make Britain kneel before they finish mobilizing."

His gaze swept over everyone present.

"Gentlemen, we are losing this war. Not on the front lines, not in the factories, but in the clubs of Washington, in the stock exchange of New York, in the intrigues woven with money and lies. But Germany will not sit idly by. If this is our last chance, we will risk everything."

He walked to the door, grasped the brass doorknob, and then turned back.