World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Not only that," Wilson said in a low voice, "I've heard rumors that British intelligence is fabricating evidence. Photos of Belgian civilians being massacred, German soldiers' 'atrocity diaries,' and even 'secret documents' about Germany's planned invasion of Mélica... these things are being leaked to the Mélica media through 'reliable channels.'"

"Purpose?"

"Let the people of Melaka believe that Germany is a barbaric demon and Britain is the guardian of civilization. Then..." Wilson gestured, "let us join the war."

The office fell silent. The distant roar of the printing presses filled the air; tomorrow's newspapers were being printed. The headline was already set: "German Atrocities Escalate Again, Poison Gas Attacks Innocent Civilians."

"Editor-in-chief, what do we do?" Wilson asked. "Continue publishing these...processed news articles? Or try to find a way to break through the blockade?"

James remained silent for a long time. Outside the window, dusk was falling, and the lights of New York City were gradually coming on. The city's media shaped the perceptions of millions, and those perceptions were being manipulated by people in a censorship office far away in London.

"Publish," he finally said, his voice weary. "But add an editor's note: The source of this article was relayed, and our agency could not independently verify it. Also, Tom, activate the backup plan."

"A backup plan?"

"We have journalists in Switzerland and in Sweden. Let them find a way to send back uncensored reports through neutral channels. Not by telegram, but by diplomatic pouches, by private couriers, by any means that can bypass British surveillance. Even if it takes a week or two, let the readers see the other side of the truth."

"That would offend the British, and even the Monica government..."

"The primary responsibility of journalism is to report the truth, not to appease the government." James put his glasses back on. "Go do it. Be careful."

After Wilson left, James sat alone in his office. He took out an old photograph from his drawer—a picture taken in 1900 when he, as a young journalist, was sent to London to study, posing with the grandson of Reuters founder Paul Reuss. Back then, they talked about freedom of the press, information without borders, and the noble mission of the media as the "fourth estate."

Sixteen years later, war distorted everything. The truth became the first victim, and the media became a weapon of war.

The phone rang. James answered it.

"Editor-in-Chief, this is McCarthy." The voice on the other end of the phone was slightly distorted, but urgency was evident. "I just received some explosive news, but the British censorship office won't let me publish it. They said..."

A piercing interference sound came from the line, followed by a busy tone. The call had been disconnected.

James put down the receiver and looked out the window at the New York nightscape. Beneath this dazzling light, a war without gunfire was raging. One side controlled cables, telegraphs, and printing presses, while the other had only pens and paper, and an ever-shrinking space to make their voices heard.

Even so, he still had to make his voice heard.

Even a faint shout is almost inaudible amidst the storm of propaganda.

January 3, 1917, London, basement of the Admiralty Intelligence Office.

The room has no windows, the walls are made of soundproof cork, and the only door is a heavy steel door that requires two keys to open. This is Room 40, the British cryptography center, where the world's top cryptographers work, cracking diplomatic and military codes of Germany, the Ottoman Empire, and even neutral countries.

The atmosphere in the room was unusually tense today.

Sir Alfred Ewing—Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University and head of the Cryptography Centre—stood before the main workbench, holding a newly deciphered telegram. His hands trembled slightly, not from the cold, but from excitement.

"Gentlemen," his voice was hoarse, "we may have obtained...the most important piece of intelligence in the war."

The dozen or so people gathered around the worktable held their breath. Among them were mathematicians, linguists, chess champions, and even crossword puzzle designers—the British government had gathered all the talent skilled in cracking patterns and codes.

Ewing placed the telegram on the table and secured the four corners with magnets.

"This is an encrypted telegram sent three days ago from Berlin to the German Embassy in Mexico City. It was sent through the Swedish Ministry of Foreign Affairs and used Germany's latest '0075' diplomatic code."

He paused, letting everyone see the telegram: densely packed groups of numbers, five numbers per group, totaling one hundred and forty-two groups.

"We only partially cracked the 0075 cipher two months ago, and it's very unstable. But this time..." Ewing's lips curled into a smile, "The Germans made a mistake. They encrypted two telegrams of different lengths with the same key, giving us the opportunity to cross-crypt them."

He pointed to another document, a routine diplomatic briefing from Berlin to the Swedish Foreign Ministry, intercepted in Stockholm and also encrypted with 0075, but whose contents were known—a request from Germany for Sweden's assistance in transferring medical supplies.

"By comparing the two telegrams, Mr. Williams—" he looked at a young man wearing thick glasses, "discovered the pattern in the key. Then, Ms. Mobley—" a simply dressed woman of about forty nodded, "reconstructed the codebook."

Ewing picked up a red pencil and began marking the telegram draft.

"The deciphered content... gentlemen, please see for yourselves."

He took a step back. The nearest cryptographer leaned in to read, his eyes widening. A second, a third person joined in, and suppressed gasps filled the room.

Telegram text:

"To German Minister to Mexico, von Eckhart: Top Secret. We plan to launch unrestricted submarine warfare starting February 1st. This move could lead to Mexico joining the war against us. In this situation, please propose a German-Mexican military alliance, with President Carranza's consent. Proposed solution: Mexico and Germany fight together against the United States, with Germany providing financial aid, and Mexico promising to 'reclaim' lost territories in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and other areas. Please probe the Mexican government's intentions, but be cautious and avoid premature exposure. This matter concerns the survival of the Empire; please proceed with utmost care. Zimmermann."

A deathly silence.

For a full half minute, no one spoke. Only the low hum of the ventilation system and the heavy breathing of someone could be heard.

"My God..." someone finally broke the silence, "This is... a declaration of war. If the people of Milaka see this..."

“They’re going crazy,” Ewing continued. “Texas, New Mexico, Arizona—these states are part of Mexico, territories ceded after the Mexican-American War of 1848. Germany is plotting to divide up Mexico.”

Another cryptography expert—a former British military attaché to Germany, familiar with German diplomatic style—frowned and said, "But this telegram is too... blunt. Zimmermann is a career diplomat, how could he use such explicit language? And with Sweden as the transit point, he knew we might intercept it."

"Maybe he just wants us to intercept him," someone suggested. "To provoke Milika and get her into the war? That doesn't make sense."

"Unless..." Ewing walked to the world map on the wall, "unless Germany has given up hope. They know that unrestricted submarine warfare will inevitably lead to Mexico's entry into the war, so they want to win over Mexico in advance, start a fire in Mexico's backyard, and tie down American forces."

He turned to face the crowd.

"The motive is not important. What is important is that the telegram is now in our hands. And what we need to do is to get it to the people of Merika at the most appropriate time and in the most appropriate way."

"But how do we explain that we intercepted German diplomatic cables?" someone questioned. "This would expose our code-breaking capabilities, and the Germans would immediately change their code system."

Ewing smiled—it was a shrewd, calculating smile.

"Who says we have to admit to intercepting it? We can arrange an 'accidental discovery.' For example... a low-ranking employee at the German embassy in Mexico, who is an informant for British intelligence, 'accidentally' saw the telegram and then, 'out of a sense of justice,' copied it and sent it to us through secret channels."