World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Something's approaching!" the sonar operator's voice was tense. "Two targets, from the northeast, at eight knots, at a distance of... 1,500 meters, rapidly approaching!"

"What model?"

"Too small, doesn't look like a ship. Maybe... a submarine? Or a large fish?"

"There aren't any large fish at this depth." Harris's face darkened. "Prepare for an emergency ascent. Is the cut complete?"

"Just one last layer of copper core is needed!"

"Never mind, cut off the existing parts. Surface immediately!"

The operator slammed the lever. The cutter increased its power, and the saw blade emitted a piercing shriek. The cable was brutally severed, exposing dozens of copper wires at the break, like severed nerve endings.

"Severance complete! Ascend!"

The workboat jettisoned its ballast, injected compressed air into the ballast tanks, and began to rise rapidly. In the deep sea, rapid ascent is dangerous—it could lead to decompression sickness or loss of control—but at this moment there was no other choice.

At the sound of the screech, the two unidentified targets had already approached within 800 meters.

The Albion at sea.

Colonel Turner stood on the bridge, watching the workboat's descent. Thirty-five minutes had passed; they should be surfacing according to plan.

"Is there a signal?"

"No, Captain. Radio silence, and no response from underwater communications."

Suddenly, the soprano shouted, "Underwater explosion! Approximately 150 meters deep! Two explosions!"

Turner rushed to the sonar screen. It displayed two bright sonic signals, located near the workboat.

"An explosion? A German submarine?"

"Uncertain, but definitely not a natural phenomenon."

Just then, a column of water exploded on the sea. The "Sea Monster III" was thrown out of the sea as if by a giant hand, flipped in the air, and crashed back into the water. The hull was deformed, the portholes were shattered, and seawater was rushing in frantically.

"Rescue team! Quickly!"

The lifeboat was lowered, and the sailors rowed frantically. Turner saw through his binoculars that the hatch of the workboat opened, and several people climbed out and jumped into the sea. Four, five… only five? There were six people when it dived.

The lifeboats pulled the survivors aboard and hauled them back to the mothership using slings. Lieutenant Harris, soaking wet and deathly pale, collapsed onto the deck as soon as he reached the deck.

"The Germans..." he gasped, "It's a German submarine, equipped with small explosives. They've spotted us..."

"Has the cable been cut?"

"The connection has been severed, but... the other side may have recorded our voiceprints. This is no longer a covert operation, Captain."

Colonel Turner's face turned ashen. The plan was to secretly cut the cables and create the illusion of "natural damage." Now that it had been discovered, the Germans would certainly protest, and perhaps even retaliate.

"Return to base," he finally ordered. "Full speed back. Send a telegram to the Admiralty: Mission accomplished, but exposed. Recommend that the other two cables be cut immediately, before the Germans can react."

The Albion turned and headed east through the storm. Behind it, the severed cable lay silently on the seabed, like a dead giant snake. Communication between Berlin and the Americas had been severed.

But this is only the beginning.

Three days later, on December 18, at the Associated Press headquarters in New York.

Editor-in-Chief Edwin James sat in his office, staring at three almost identical telegrams on his desk. One was from Reuters in London, one from Havas in Paris, and one from Wolff in Berlin—more precisely, the pre-war telegram line used by Wolff, now effectively censored and forwarded by the British.

The three telegrams reported the same thing: the German army used poison gas on the French front, causing civilian casualties.

But the details are completely different.

Reuters' version: "German troops used mustard gas on a large scale on the Verdun front yesterday. The gas cloud drifted behind French positions and into villages, killing at least two hundred civilians, including many women and children. Survivors wept as they described the horror..."

The Havas news agency's version: "The barbaric German army has once again violated international law by releasing poison gas in civilian areas of no military value. According to the Red Cross, the affected villages are like hell on earth, with mountains of corpses..."

Wolff's version: "French artillery mistakenly fired on its own front lines, detonating a chemical weapons storage site and causing civilian casualties. The German Foreign Ministry expressed regret and called on the international community to investigate the truth."

James took off his glasses and rubbed his sore eyes. This 55-year-old veteran journalist had experienced the Spanish-American War and the Russo-Japanese War, but he had never seen such systematic information manipulation.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Tom Wilson, the director of the International News Department, walked in with a serious expression.

"Editor-in-Chief, here we go again." He placed a telegram on the table. "Notification from the British Admiralty: Due to a 'technical malfunction' in the submarine cable, the Atlantic telegraph line can only be relayed through London for the time being. All telegrams originating from Europe must first be sent to London for review and forwarding by the British Post Office."

"A technical malfunction?" James sneered. "The sixth 'technical malfunction' in three years, each time occurring when the Germans are in control. Which cable is it this time?"

"North Atlantic No. 7, one of the main cables from Germany to Merica. The other two, one was 'accidentally' snagged by a fishing net last week, and the other was 'damaged by a storm.' Now, ninety percent of the telegrams from Europe to America pass through London."

James stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the winter street scene of New York, with pedestrians hurrying by and streetcars clanging. The city's residents read news of the European war every day in the New York Times, the New York World, and the New York Tribune, but they had no idea how many layers of filtering that news had gone through.

"Tom, have there been any problems with the recent articles sent back by our reporter in London?"

Wilson pulled out several original manuscripts from his briefcase and compared them with the published versions.

"This is a huge problem. This is McCarthy's complete report from London on the Battle of the Somme." He pointed to the original document. "It contains a comparison of casualty figures for both sides, an analysis of the new German tanks, and details of British command errors. But what appeared in the newspaper..." He opened the newspaper, "only 'British troops bravely resisted the German offensive and achieved a strategic victory' remained."

Who deleted it?

"The British Press Censorship Office. Every telegram sent from London had to be reviewed by them. Anything that didn't conform to 'war efforts' was deleted or modified. If we insisted on sending uncensored articles, they would cut off our telegram lines and even expel journalists."

James walked back to his desk and stared at the three contradictory telegrams.

"So now, the war in Europe that the people of Mecca are seeing is the war that the British want them to see."