World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Wilson closed his eyes. He had barely slept last night, repeatedly studying the copy of the British telegram. Was the text authentic? Was the codebreaking process reliable? Were the Germans really so insane as to want to split the Merika?

Logically, this was incredibly foolish. Germany was already under immense pressure on the western front, so why provoke Merika on the eastern coast? But emotionally, the telegram touched upon the deepest fears of every Merika—the invasion of their homeland and the trampling of their sovereignty.

The door opened, and Secretary of State Lansing and Secretary of the Army Baker walked in. Neither of them looked pleased.

"Mr. President, this is the latest assessment from the Naval Intelligence Office." Baker handed over a document. "They analyzed the encryption method, wording, and transmission path of the telegrams, and concluded... their authenticity is very high. At least, they found no evidence of forgery."

"The absence of evidence does not mean it is true," Wilson said. "The British may have the best forgery experts."

"But what about the motive?" Lansing continued. "If it was fabricated, why did the British choose Mexico? Why not fabricate a German plan to invade Canada? That would have been a more direct way to get us involved in the war."

Wilson remained silent. That was precisely the problem—the telegram was too "appropriate." Appropriate, almost like it was tailor-made.

What has been the Mexican government's reaction?

"President Carranza issued a statement this morning denying any military alliance negotiations with Germany, calling it a 'malicious rumor,'" Lansing replied. "But it's worth noting that he did not strongly condemn Germany, but only called for 'calm from all sides.'"

"Feeling guilty?"

"They might be observing the situation. If Germany does win the war in Europe, Mexico might really want to take the opportunity to reclaim its lost territory. This has been their century-old dream."

Wilson stood up and walked to the world map. He traced his finger from Germany to Mexico and back to Melica. A terrifying triangle was forming.

"What is the public sentiment?"

"It's shifting rapidly," Baker said. "This morning's polls showed that support for 'increasing military spending' has risen from 42 percent last week to 61 percent. Support for 'fighting if necessary' has risen from 28 percent to 45 percent. And it's still rising."

What about the media?

"It's almost unanimous." The Washington Post, the New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Los Angeles Times… all the major newspapers are calling for the government to take a tough stance. Only some small Midwestern newspapers are still urging calm.

Wilson stared at the map, silent for a long time. The protests outside the window grew louder, and some slogans could be clearly heard: "Wilson! Coward! Defend Melika!"

"Mr. President," Lansing said softly, "we need to respond. Silence will be interpreted as weakness."

Wilson turned around, his face showing deep exhaustion.

"Inform Congress that I will be giving a national address in three days. Also, send a telegram to Chen Feng in Lanfang to confirm that the time and agenda for the Hawaii meeting remain unchanged. Tell him…" He paused, "...tell him that I need to hear some different voices before I make decisions that could change the world."

"Yes, Mr. President."

After Lansing and Baker left, Wilson stood alone in the center of the office. Sunlight streamed in through the south window, casting bright dappled patterns on the carpet. But the office felt cold, a chill that seeped into his very bones.

He recalled his speech at the White House in August 1914, when the war had just broken out: "Merica must remain neutral in thought and action." At that time, he believed that rational diplomacy, international law, and moral force could stop this madness.

Two and a half years have passed, two million people have died, and he is being pushed into the position of war leader.

The phone rang. It was his wife, Edith.

"Woodrow, are you alright? I heard protests on the radio..."

"I'm fine, darling. Just... a little tired."

"You need to rest. Come back early tonight, and I'll make you your favorite cream of mushroom soup."

"Okay. I'll try my best."

After hanging up the phone, Wilson looked at the photos of his family on the table—his wife and three daughters. If Mirika went to war, how many families would lose sons, husbands, and fathers? How many mothers would never see their children return home?

But if they didn't go to war, if Germany really won, if the world was dominated by that madman Germany... what kind of world would his granddaughters grow up in?

There are no right answers. There are only choices, and the consequences of those choices.

Wilson sat back in his chair, picked up his pen, and began drafting his speech for three days later. He was stuck on the very first word. How should he begin? "My compatriots"? "The people of Mecca"? Or simply "Friends"?

The pen tip hovered on the paper, ink dripped down, and spread out as a small black dot.

Like the future of this country, it is uncertain.

January 17, Dubai, Presidential Palace.

Chen Feng stood on the balcony, gazing at the sunset over the Persian Gulf. The orange-red sunset painted the entire sea surface crimson, and cargo ships in the distance moved slowly like silhouettes. The scenery was picturesque, but his heart was as heavy as lead.

Wang Wenwu stood behind him, holding a newly deciphered telegram.

"Mary Kahn confirmed that the Hawaii meeting will proceed as planned. January 25, Pearl Harbor. President Wilson specifically emphasized that he wanted to hear a 'constructive peace proposal'."

"Constructive." Chen Feng repeated the word, his tone sarcastic. "It means that if I can't come up with a magical solution that can both appease the domestic hawks and prevent war from breaking out, then the meeting will just be a formality."

Do you have a solution?

Chen Feng didn't answer immediately. He turned and walked into his office, spreading out a world map on the table. The map was marked with different colored pins indicating the locations of various countries' armies, resource flows, and diplomatic relations. It was a dizzyingly complex system, and he needed to find that delicate balance within it.

"There are solutions, but they are difficult." He pointed to Europe. "The core contradiction is: Germany wants to maintain its existing gains, or even more; Britain and France want to restore the pre-war borders, and preferably weaken Germany as well; and Merika wants a stable European market, but doesn't want to pay too high a price."

His fingers traced the Pacific Ocean.

"In the East, we wanted to consolidate our power in Southeast Asia, while Britain wanted to preserve its Far Eastern empire. Everyone was vying for the same piece of the pie, but no one wanted to take less."

Wang Wenwu poured a cup of tea and placed it next to Chen Feng.

"So what we need to do is recut the cake?"

"It's about redefining what a cake is." Chen Feng picked up his teacup, not drinking, but simply feeling the warmth of the porcelain. "If we continue to play the game within the existing framework, war is inevitable. Because the core of the existing framework is zero-sum—if you take more, I take less. To break this logic, we must introduce new variables."