World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

After hanging up the phone, Lansing immediately began drafting a reply telegram. But he knew in his heart that the significance of this meeting might go far beyond what appeared to be. At this moment, with tensions between the United States, Britain, and Germany high and the shadow of war looming, the intervention of a third party could change the course of the entire game.

After he finished writing the draft, he called the coder.

"Encrypt using Eagle-4 code and send to Dubai. At the same time, notify the Pacific Fleet Command that Pearl Harbor will be hosting a special diplomatic delegation in early January next year, and request them to make security and reception preparations in advance."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary."

After the coder left, Lansing walked to the window. Outside the State Department building, Pennsylvania Avenue was bustling with traffic and pedestrians hurrying by. Most of the city's residents were completely unaware that, far across the Pacific, a meeting that could potentially influence war—and even the world order—was brewing.

This is how power operates: decisions made by a select few, unseen by the public, over encrypted radio waves, and in secret meeting rooms, can alter the fates of countless people.

Lansing suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion. He was fifty-three years old, his hair was beginning to turn gray, and his energy was not what it used to be. This war, this endless diplomatic game, was draining everyone's lives and enthusiasm.

But he can't stop. Nobody can stop.

History is like an out-of-control train; once it starts moving, it can only rush forward until it runs out of fuel or crashes into its destination.

November 22, Berlin, Naval Headquarters.

Field Marshal Tirpitz sat behind his desk, reading two documents that had just arrived. The first was a complete report compiled by Dr. Zimmerman on the situation related to Merika. The second was a report submitted by Admiral Behnke entitled "Implementation Plan and Expected Effects Assessment of Unrestricted Submarine Warfare."

Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes floating in the office. Tirpitz was nearly seventy, an age when he should have been enjoying the peace and quiet of a life of military service, surrounded by his grandchildren. But the war had changed everything. His hair was completely white, his back slightly hunched, but his eyes remained sharp, like an eagle's, able to see through appearances.

The numbers in the report are cold and precise:

Currently, Germany possesses 142 operational submarines, 68 of which are designed for long-range operations.

—Estimated monthly sinking tonnage of merchant ships: 60-80 tons.

—Minimum monthly import demand for the UK: 120 million tons.

—It is estimated that it will take 4-6 months to force Britain to surrender.

—The probability that this could trigger Mirika's participation in the war: According to mathematicians' calculations, it exceeds 80%.

Tirpitz put down the report, took off his glasses, and rubbed his sore eyes. 80% probability. Almost inevitable. Once unrestricted submarine warfare begins, it's only a matter of time before Milica joins the fray.

But what if it wasn't initiated? At the current rate of attrition warfare, Germany might not survive until the summer of 1917. Food shortages had already sparked numerous riots, factories were reducing production due to insufficient raw materials, and soldiers at the front were beginning to complain about outdated equipment and inadequate supplies.

Dilemma.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Wilhelm II entered. The Emperor was not in his military uniform today, but rather in simple grey civilian clothes, and his face showed obvious signs of fatigue. He was followed by General Behnke and Dr. Zimmerman.

"Marshal." Wilhelm II walked to the desk, without exchanging pleasantries, "Lanfang's reply has arrived."

Tirpitz sat up straight immediately: "What do you mean?"

Zimmerman handed him a document. Tirpitz read it quickly, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

The core message of the telegram was clear: Lanfang was willing to help, but with guarantees. Specifically: First, if Lanfang successfully delayed Merika's entry into the war, Germany needed to guarantee that, regardless of the outcome after the war, all of Lanfang's investments and contractual rights in Germany would be fully respected; second, Germany needed to provide more mining rights for rare metals as a "good faith" gesture; third, regarding the supply of Japanese soldiers, Germany needed to accept a 15% price increase.

"He's taking advantage of the chaos," General Behnke said coldly.

"No," Tirpitz put down the telegram, "he's doing business. Open pricing, fair dealing. That's Chen Feng's style."

Wilhelm II walked to the window, his back to the room.

"Do you really think he has the ability to influence Miraika?"

silence.

Zimmerman spoke first: "According to intelligence, Chen Feng doesn't have deep connections in America, and Lanfang's trade volume with the United States is also very small. But he has one advantage: he is a completely neutral third party, and is known for his shrewdness and pragmatism. If he can propose a seemingly feasible peace plan, Wilson might be interested—after all, the president has been looking for reasons not to go to war."

"But the British will sabotage it," Behnke said. "Asquith will not allow anything to interfere with the plans for Marilyn to enter the war."

"So Chen Feng requested that the meeting place be in Hawaii," Tirpitz said, pointing to the last paragraph of the telegram, "far from the mainland of Melaka and far from Europe. This means the meeting can be relatively confidential, at least initially."

Wilhelm II turned around, his eyes bloodshot.

"So we should agree to his conditions?"

"We may have no choice, Your Majesty," Tirpitz said calmly. "If Mica joins the war, we are doomed. If we accept Chen Feng's terms, there is at least a glimmer of hope—he can buy us time or propose some kind of peace plan, giving us a chance to negotiate better terms at the negotiating table."

"And the price?"

"Some mining rights, some money, and some postwar promises—if we still exist after the war." Tirpitz's bluntness startled everyone in the room. "Your Majesty, we are now fighting for survival. There is no room for negotiation on survival."

The emperor closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he opened them.

"Agree to his terms. Tell Chen Feng that Germany thanks him for his help and looks forward to good news from him." He paused. "Also, inform the General Staff that the start date for unrestricted submarine warfare... is tentatively set for February 1, 1917. If the trend of Merika entering the war has not changed by then, we will proceed."

"Your Majesty!" Behnke wanted to say something.

"This is an ultimatum, General." Wilhelm II's voice held a desperate resolve. "Give Chen Feng two months. If he can create a miracle, all the better. If not…" His eyes turned icy. "Then we'll drag everyone down with us."

The order was given. Zimmermann and Behnke saluted and left. Only Tirpitz and the Emperor remained in the office.

"Alfred," Wilhelm II suddenly addressed the old marshal by his first name, a rare occurrence, "to be honest, do we still have a chance?"

Tirpitz remained silent for a long time.

"Mathematically, the chances are slim. Miracles have happened in history. But regardless of the odds, Your Majesty, we must fight to the end. For for Germany, there is no honorable surrender, only victory or destruction."

Wilhelm II nodded, said goodbye, and turned to leave.