World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"What about the European theater? The French side..."

"Tell the French that Merika has already effectively entered the war. The convoy is the first step. Ground troops need time, but they are on their way." Asquith paused. "Also, let our propaganda department adjust its approach. Reduce the overemphasis on German 'atrocities' and begin laying the groundwork for the concepts of a 'protracted war' and 'final negotiations.'"

Gray looked at the Prime Minister in surprise: "Are you really considering negotiations?"

"I'm considering all the possibilities," Asquith said wearily. "The war has been going on for two and a half years, and five million people have died. Britain is spending five million pounds a day on the war. The treasury is almost empty, and the younger generation is dying out. If this continues, even if we win the war, we will have lost the future."

He walked to the window and looked out at the dark London.

"Wilson is right. We cannot just focus on Europe. The world is vast, and power is being redistributed. Britain must find its new place in this restructuring, rather than stubbornly clinging to the old empire."

Grey fell silent. As Foreign Secretary, he knew better than anyone the empire's decline—not a sudden collapse, but a slow, agonizing process. This war had accelerated that process.

“There’s one more thing,” Asquith turned, “send a message to our people in Melaka and tell them to stop any actions that could be interpreted as ‘manipulation.’ Wilson has already warned us, and we have to listen. Melaka is our only hope now; we can’t afford to mess things up.”

"clear."

After Gray left, Asquith stood alone in his study. He took a photograph from a drawer—a group photo taken in August 1914 after the first meeting of the war cabinet. Of the eight people in the photo, only four remained in office. War changed everyone, and it devoured many.

He recalled Queen Victoria's funeral in 1901. At that time, the British Empire was at its zenith, with fleets spanning the seven seas and colonies covering a quarter of the globe. Everyone believed that this empire would rule the world forever.

Sixteen years later, a war has revealed the empire's fatigue.

New forces are emerging – Merica, Lanfang, and even Germany are demonstrating formidable resilience.

"God bless England," Asquith whispered.

But this time, his prayer lacked his usual confidence, containing only deep anxiety.

Dubai, the presidential residence.

It was the morning of the day after the Washington talks. Sunlight streamed through the Mediterranean-style arched windows, illuminating Chen Feng's desk. Several telegrams lay spread out on the table: a briefing from Minister Li Weimin in Washington, a secret telegram from Prime Minister Saionji in Tokyo, and a routine report from the troops stationed in Borneo.

Wang Wenwu stood at the table and reported the intelligence he had just received: "The British ambassador to the United States urgently requested a meeting with Wilson last night, which lasted ninety minutes. The specific content is unknown, but the ambassador returned directly to the embassy afterward and sent a telegram to London overnight. We intercepted some of the encrypted signals and are currently deciphering them."

Chen Feng leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen in his hand: "We know the content without needing to decipher it. Wilson is giving the British a warning, but at the same time, he's sending us a message."

"information?"

"His sending Rodman to visit was a message," Chen Feng said, putting down his pen. "The meaning is clear: Meilika is going to join the war, but before that, they need to reassess Lanfang's strength. If we're strong enough, they might adjust their strategy. If we're outwardly strong but inwardly weak..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Wang Wenwu understood.

"How are preparations for the conferment ceremony going?"

"Everything is ready. At 3 p.m., at the Army Headquarters Plaza, the fifteen newly appointed major generals have arrived in Dubai and are waiting in the lounge."

Chen Feng nodded, stood up, and walked to the window. From here, he could see a panoramic view of Dubai—the port, factories, newly built high-rises, and oil derricks in the distance. Just over a decade ago, this was merely a fishing village on the Persian Gulf.

"Wang Guojian and the others were all graduates of the first class of military academy, right?"

"Yes. The youngest, Yang Guoyan, is thirty-one years old, and the oldest, Wang Yu, is forty-five. Both have served in grassroots units and commanded regimental-level combat units, and all received excellent political assessments."

"Political assessment." Chen Feng repeated the word, smiled, and said, "Loyalty is more important than ability in the military. Especially in a country like ours—Chinese commanding an Arab division—trust is fundamental."

He turned around: "What about the deployment plan after the conferment of ranks?"

Wang Wenwu opened the folder: "As per your instructions, all five Chinese divisions have been deployed to Borneo to strengthen the defense of the core area. Ten Arab divisions have been deployed to various parts of the Middle East—three to Basra, two to Kuwait, two to Oman, and three as mobile reserves stationed around Dubai."

"What about the armored division?"

"All three armored divisions remain stationed in the Middle East. The terrain there is flat, suitable for armored group operations. Borneo has many jungles, which limits the deployment of armored forces."

Chen Feng walked back to the table, his finger tracing patterns on the map: "Tell Wang Guojian that the defense of Borneo is not just about defending the territory. We must be prepared to move forward at any time to support any possible maritime operations."

Do you foresee a conflict at sea?

"It's only a matter of time." Chen Feng looked at the Strait of Malacca on the map. "If the war escalates, Britain will definitely try to blockade our sea routes. The troops stationed in Borneo are our fist in Southeast Asia."

He glanced at his watch. "Get ready to go to the Army Headquarters. Today's words are important; I want them all to understand what the stars on their shoulders mean."

3 p.m., Dubai Army Headquarters Square.

The sun shone brightly, casting a long shadow of the flagpole in the center of the square. The Lanfang national flag—a red flag with a golden dragon—fluttered gently in the breeze. A simple reviewing stand had been erected beneath the flagpole, with a huge relief of the national emblem as its backdrop.

In the square, three thousand soldiers formed a square formation, bayonets like a forest, their uniforms impeccable. At the very front row were fifteen newly appointed major generals, soon to be awarded ranks, wearing brand-new dark green general's dress uniforms, their shoulder insignia temporarily empty.

Chen Feng's car drove into the square to the sound of military music. Today he wasn't wearing a suit, but rather the formal dress uniform of Commander Lanfang—dark blue, with only a gold dragon badge on his left breast. Simple, yet dignified.

They got off the bus and went up on stage. The military band played the national anthem.

Everyone stand at attention. The square is silent, save for the flags fluttering in the wind.

The national anthem ended. Chen Feng walked to the microphone. He didn't have a script.

"At ease."

Three thousand people moved in perfect unison.

Chen Feng's gaze swept across the square, finally landing on the faces of the fifteen generals in the front row.

"The fifteen generals standing here today represent the new generation of command force of the Lanfang Army. But what I want to say first is not honor, but responsibility."

His voice, clear and steady, resonated throughout the square through the loudspeaker.

"The stars on your shoulders are not decorations. Each star represents the lives of thousands of soldiers, the security of a part of the nation, and the trust of the people."

He paused, letting his words settle.

"Lanfang has only been a little over a decade since its founding. We have built the city, factories, and army we have today from a barren desert. We have created a miracle, but the miracle did not fall from the sky. It was earned by every Lanfang person—Chinese, Arabs, and all people living on this land—with their sweat, wisdom, and sometimes even blood."

The wind blew across the square, raising fine dust.