World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Is it believable?

"As long as the story is well-crafted and the chain of evidence is complete, that's enough to convince the people of Mecca." Ewing walked to the phone. "I need to meet with the First Sea Secretary and the Foreign Secretary immediately. Gentlemen, get back to work. I want every word and every punctuation mark in this telegram to withstand the most rigorous scrutiny. Because soon, it will become a bombshell dropped on international public opinion."

He picked up the receiver and dialed. While waiting for the call to connect, he looked at the telegram draft on the table, knowing in his heart: this telegram would change the war, change the world.

But is it really true?

Ewing recalled what Rear Admiral Hall, the Chief of Naval Intelligence, had told him privately three days earlier: "Alfred, we need intelligence that's 'just right.' It needs to be shocking enough, realistic enough, enough to make the Melaka people abandon their last illusion of neutrality."

At the time, he thought it was just pressure from his superior. Now, looking at this telegram, so perfect it seemed unreal, a terrible thought crossed his mind:

Perhaps this telegram was fabricated by the British themselves from the very beginning?

The call was connected.

"Major General Hall? This is Ewing. We... have deciphered a very important telegram. Yes, very important. I need to report to you immediately."

After hanging up the phone, Ewing took one last look at the telegram. The red handwriting looked like blood under the lamplight. Regardless of the truth, this telegram would become a part of history.

He straightened his suit and walked towards the door. The steel door opened and closed, locking the code-breaking experts inside to continue analyzing the telegram that could change the world.

Outside the door, Ewing knew that a meticulously planned "intelligence leak" operation was about to begin.

January 15, Washington, D.C., the editorial office of The Washington Post.

Editor-in-Chief John R. McLean stared at the newly arrived proof, his brow furrowed. The front-page headline was a striking bold headline:

Germany plots to unite with Mexico against the United States

Diplomatic cables reveal astonishing plans

Subheading: "Berlin proposes an alliance with Mexico, promising to help it 'recapture' Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona; plans to launch unrestricted submarine warfare in February."

The article details the contents of the Zimmerman cable, which was "obtained by chance by British intelligence," and quotes a comment from an "anonymous senior official of the Merica government": "If this cable is authentic, it would be the most serious provocation against Merica's sovereignty."

"Has the source been confirmed?" McLean asked the political news editor standing at the table.

"It's been confirmed three times," the editor replied. "First, the British Foreign Office officially delivered a copy of the telegram to our National Security Council last night; second, our reporters in Mexico City confirmed that the German Embassy has indeed been in frequent contact with the Mexican military recently; third..." He lowered his voice, "The White House press secretary privately hinted that the president is 'extremely concerned' about this."

McLean took off his glasses and wiped them with a soft cloth. It was a habitual action he took when he was thinking.

"What a coincidence," he murmured. "The British lobbied in Merika for three months with limited success. Then suddenly they 'accidentally' obtained such a perfect telegram, the contents of which struck at the most sensitive nerve of the Merika people—territorial integrity."

"You suspect it's a forgery?"

“I’m suspicious of anything that seems too perfect,” McLean said, putting his glasses back on. “But the problem is, even if we’re suspicious, we can’t not report it. If it’s true and we suppress it, the newspaper is finished. If it’s false…” He gave a wry smile, “by the time the truth comes out, the war might already be over.”

He picked up his pen and signed "Agreed to publish" on the proof. The ink smeared on the paper, like a black period, sealing off a certain possibility.

"Print it out. Front page, full page. Also, have the editorial section prepare a commentary with the tone of... 'Serious concern, demanding a thorough investigation.' Leave some room for maneuver."

"Yes, Editor-in-Chief."

The editor hurried away with the proof. McLean walked to the window, looking at the sky gradually brightening outside. This decision could send thousands of young people from Mecca to the battlefield. And he, a newspaper editor, was one of the driving forces behind it.

The newspaper went on sale at six in the morning. By seven, the streets of Washington were in an uproar.

At the same time, at the New York Stock Exchange.

Before the opening bell even rang, the trading floor was already packed with people. Brokers, traders, and investors—everyone was talking about the same thing.

"Did you see the New York Times? The Germans are going to team up with Mexico to attack us!"

"The Wall Street Journal says that unrestricted submarine warfare means all Merica merchant ships will become targets. Transatlantic trade is over!"

"But arms stocks are rising... Look, Bethlehem Steel was up eight percent before the market opened!"

The bell rang. Trading began.

The index plummeted. Shipping companies, import/export trading companies, manufacturing companies reliant on the European market… all stocks related to the transatlantic economy were frantically sold off. The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell 4.7 percent within the first fifteen minutes of trading, marking its largest single-day drop since the outbreak of the war in 1914.

On the other hand, military, steel, and chemical stocks bucked the trend and surged. Speculators smelled the scent of war, and war meant profits.

In the trading floor, a young broker yelled into his phone, "Sell! Sell all shipping stocks! Buy DuPont, buy Bethlehem, buy Remington!"

His client—a Chicago farmer—hesitated on the other end of the phone: “But what if there’s no war? These stocks are already overpriced…”

"No war?" the broker sneered. "Read the newspapers, sir. The Germans are plotting to divide our country. What president of the United States would tolerate such an insult? War is inevitable. Buy arms stocks now, and your assets will double in six months. Trust me!"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Okay. I'll do as you say."

After hanging up the phone, the broker wiped the sweat from his brow and said to his colleague beside him, "See? Fear and greed are always the biggest drivers of the market. And today, we have both."

My colleague shook his head: "Do you really think a fight will break out?"

"It doesn't matter." The broker pointed to the fluctuating numbers on the big screen. "What matters is that people believe a fight will break out. In the stock market, belief is reality."

2 p.m., White House, Oval Office.

President Woodrow Wilson sat behind his desk, six different newspapers spread out before him, all with the Zimmerman Telegram on the front page. Outside the window, thousands of protesters had gathered on Pennsylvania Avenue, holding signs and chanting slogans. The sounds could be faintly heard:

"Defend the beautiful card! Punish Germany severely!"

"Not participating in the war is treason!"