World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"At least a naval demonstration, preferably a limited military operation. For example... an attack on British merchant ships in the Indian Ocean, or a threat to Singapore." Wilhelm II turned, his eyes blazing again. "We need to make the British feel the pain, to let them know the cost of escalating the war."

Tirpitz hesitated for a moment: "This would anger the British and could lead to further escalation."

"The war has escalated," Wilhelm II said. "The Merricanes are going to join the war, what else can't be escalated? If we're going to play, let's play big. Tell Chen Feng that if Lanfang really takes action, Germany will recognize Lanfang's 'special rights' in Borneo, Sumatra, and even Malaya after the war."

This is a bounced check, but it may be a tempting bounced check.

Tirpitz stood at attention: "I will draft the telegram myself. In addition, I suggest that General Ludendorff be recalled immediately and the 1917 operational plan be revised. If we are to hold out until Lanfang is effective in the Far East, we need a more conservative and defensive strategy."

"Agreed." Wilhelm II sat back in the chair in front of the fireplace, suddenly appearing extremely tired. "Go. Leave me alone for a while."

Tirpitz saluted and left. After the door closed, only the emperor remained in the study.

He looked at the flames in the fireplace and recalled the scene in 1888 when his father, Frederick III, was dying. His father held his hand and said, "Wilhelm, lead Germany to greatness, but not to madness."

Did he succeed? He built a world-class navy, made Germany the strongest industrial nation in Europe, and made the world hear the voice of Germany. But the price was this war, these deaths, and this nation sliding into the abyss.

Perhaps the father was right. There is only a fine line between greatness and madness. And he may have already crossed that line.

But there's no turning back now. Like a high-speed train with its brakes failed, it can only rush forward until it runs out of fuel or crashes into its destination.

The only hope is to find a flank, a buffer, a less fatal outcome before the impact.

And Chen Feng, that mysterious figure from the East, might be holding the switch on the flank.

Wilhelm II closed his eyes and murmured, "God, if you truly exist, please give Germany a chance. Even just a chance for a dignified end."

There was no answer. Only the crackling of burning wood in the fireplace and the faint, low rumble of something in the distance—whether thunder or cannon fire, it was hard to tell.

Berlin awaits dawn in the darkness. And when dawn arrives, the world will no longer be the world of yesterday.

Washington, D.C., White House, 9 a.m.

President Wilson sat in the Oval Office, two documents laid out before him. One was a draft of his message to Congress, entitled "Necessary Measures to Protect the Citizens and Interests of Merica." The other was a briefing prepared by Lansing, detailing the various chain reactions that Merica's entry into the war might trigger.

Sunlight streamed in through the south-facing window, casting bright dappled patterns on the carpet. But the office felt devoid of warmth, only a cold, somber atmosphere, as if a decision was about to be made.

The door opened, and Lansing and War Secretary Baker walked in together. Both of them had serious expressions.

"Mr. President, the Joint Chiefs of Staff have just completed their preliminary assessment," Baker said bluntly. "If we declare war on Germany, it will take at least six months to send the first combat troops to the Western Front. It will take a year to reach a strength of 500,000. Full mobilization will take eighteen months to two years."

"The price?" Wilson asked.

"Direct military costs are estimated to exceed $20 billion. Casualties... cannot be accurately predicted, but based on experience in the European theater, a force of 500,000 could lose 100,000 to 150,000 in a year of combat."

From 100,000 to 150,000. Behind each number is a family, a story, and a future that has been severed.

Wilson tapped his fingers lightly on the table: "What if we don't go to war?"

Lansing replied, "Britain may be forced to sue for peace within the year, and France may collapse. Germany will dominate Europe, and Merika's investments and debts in Europe may become unrecoverable. More importantly, a victorious, militaristic Germany will be a long-term threat to Merika's future."

"But if we go to war and win, then what?" Wilson pressed. "Germany will be dismembered, humiliated, and burdened with unpayable reparations. Then, twenty years later, a vengeful Germany will rise again. Will we be ready then? Ready to fight an even larger war?"

The problem is harsh, but it must be faced.

Baker and Lansing exchanged a glance. Lansing cautiously said, "Mr. President, that's the worst-case scenario. Perhaps we can strive for a more reasonable peace, one that can restrain Germany without inciting feelings of revenge."

"How do we fight for it?" Wilson stood up and walked to the world map. "How do we fight for a 'reasonable peace' when our youth are bleeding in Europe, when the public is incited to hatred towards Germany by the propaganda machine, and when politicians are shouting 'Germany must pay the price'?"

He turned around, his eyes filled with deep weariness: "I study history, I know how war distorts humanity. In 1914, everyone said the war would end before Christmas. And now? Two and a half years have passed, five million people have died, and the end is still a long way off. Once the Rika enters the war, once our blood starts flowing, all reason will disappear, leaving only hatred and revenge."

The office fell silent. In the distance, the spire of the Washington Monument was clearly visible through the window, a monument commemorating another wartime president—George Washington, who led the Maldives to independence but was also acutely aware of the cost of war.

"Mr. President," Baker finally said, "I understand your concerns. But as a soldier, I must tell you: sometimes, war is the only option. Not because we like war, but because there is no better option."

"A better option..." Wilson repeated the word, a wry smile on his face. "Chen Feng gave us a better option: let Europe solve the problem itself, and let Merika reap the benefits. Theoretically perfect, but reality doesn't allow it."

He walked back to his desk, picked up the draft of the message, and turned to the last page. It was blank, awaiting his signature.

The pen in my hand feels as heavy as a thousand pounds.

"Chen Feng finally told me, 'Merika's decision will expand a war that was originally confined to Europe to the whole world. This is a tragedy for all mankind.'" Wilson said softly, "He's right. But do we have any other choice?"

Lansing walked up to him: "Mr. President, history will judge you. But as those present, we know you have done your best. You tried for peace, you listened to different voices, you weighed all the options. Now, it is time to make a decision."