World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Lansing spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse: "What if we also commit the main force of the Atlantic Fleet to escort them..."

"What about the Pacific?" Rodman turned to him. "Mr. Secretary, of the six Bismarck-class destroyers in Lanfang, three are known to be in Dubai, one in Borneo, and the whereabouts of the other two are unknown. They are faster than any of our warships and can maneuver quickly between the two oceans. If we move our main force to the Atlantic, the Pacific will be empty."

He paused:

"Hawaii, the Panama Canal, the West Coast—all are within range."

Lansing did not speak again.

Baker put down the teacup he hadn't picked up, his voice low: "So every word Chen Feng said in Hawaii was calculated. He didn't stop us from joining the war because he knew that his bargaining power in the Pacific would increase after we joined. He didn't threaten us; he just wanted us to see the books for ourselves."

Wilson didn't answer. He walked back to the window, his back to the crowd, and looked at the few tourists still taking pictures on the south lawn. The child in the woman's arms was asleep, its little head resting on its mother's shoulder, completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit the world.

"General Rodman." Wilson did not turn around.

"Yes."

"You just said that the Navy's equipment department conducted 37 simulations."

"Yes."

"Those simulations—did they consider one scenario?" Wilson paused, "that we don't participate in the war."

The room was very quiet.

"It's not a delay, it's not a wait-and-see approach," Wilson continued, his voice almost a soliloquy. "It's genuine non-participation. It's rejecting the authorization bill from Parliament, remaining neutral, and letting Britain and France fend for themselves, or—if they can't."

Lansing abruptly raised his head: "Mr. President, at this critical juncture..."

"I know," Wilson interrupted him. "I'm just asking if this possibility has been considered."

Rodman remained silent for a long time.

"Mr. President," he finally said, "it's been simulated. The third simulation is it."

"in conclusion?"

Rodman watched Wilson's retreating figure, his broad shoulders and slightly hunched back. He recalled thirty-five years earlier, when he was a student at the Annapolis Naval Academy, learning in history class about another president—Lincoln—facing another impossible choice in another spring.

"The conclusion is," he said, "that if we hadn't gone to war, Germany would very likely have made a breakthrough on the Western Front. France would have sued for peace within six months, and Britain would have been forced back to the negotiating table within a year. Germany would have dominated the European continent, and the Anglo-French colonial system might have collapsed. Merika's billions of dollars in investments and loans in Europe—would all be irrecoverable."

Wilson did not turn around.

"and then?"

"Then—" Rodman paused, "twenty years later, Germany will be stronger, and the hatred in Europe will be even deeper. Then, war will break out again. On a larger scale, at a higher cost. And by then, Mirika may no longer have a choice."

Wilson finally turned around. He looked at Rodman for a long time.

"So, your conclusion is that whether we participate in the war or not, we are heading towards a bigger war."

"Yes, Mr. President," Rodman said. "The only difference is that now, when we go to war, we have allies. Twenty years from now, we may be fighting alone."

Wilson nodded. He didn't say anything more about "what if we don't go to war."

He walked back to his desk and picked up the draft of the congressional address that had been lying open. The title was "Request for Authorization to Protect the Freedom of Navigation of Citizens of Merica on the High Seas and to Take Necessary Measures." He looked at it for a long time, then put it down.

"Well," he said, "we only have one question left."

He looked at the three people in the room:

"Since entering the war is an unavoidable path—how can we proceed in a way that prevents the Pacific from igniting first?"

No one answered immediately.

Rodman sat down again, his hands clasped in his knees. His naval officer's dress was impeccably tailored, the stars on his epaulets gleaming in the fireplace firelight. But at that moment, he looked less like a fleet commander and more like a veteran returning from the battlefield, trying to explain to civilians just how deep the mud in the trenches was.

"Mr. President," he said, "I cannot give you a definite answer. I can only tell you that General Little said something to me in Dubai."

"What did you say?"

"He said that Lanfang was building its navy not for aggression, but for protection—to protect their oil in the Persian Gulf, their trade routes in Southeast Asia, and their legitimate presence in the Pacific." Rodman paused. "Then he said that if anyone respected their interests, they would be their best partners; if anyone tried to infringe upon them, they would fight back resolutely."

Wilson listened.

"I think," Rodman said, "this is what Chen Feng conveyed to us through Li Te. It's not a threat, it's a red line."

"Where is the red line located?" Lansing asked.

"The Persian Gulf," Rodman said. "The Strait of Malacca. The Borneo oil fields. And—their trade routes in the Pacific and the Mediterranean."

He paused:

"And their fleet will not voluntarily enter the Eastern Pacific. In exchange, Merika's fleet will not enter the Western Pacific either."

Lansing frowned: "Is this a demarcation of spheres of influence?"

"This is to avoid conflict," Rodman said, "at least at this stage."

Wilson didn't speak. He walked back to the fireplace and looked again at the Lincoln statue.

One hundred and fifty years ago, another president faced with the division of his country and chose war. He knew that war would kill six hundred thousand people, tear families apart, destroy towns, and leave scars that would never heal for generations. But he still chose it.

Because he knows that some costs are less if paid sooner rather than later.

Wilson now understood: he was facing a similar choice.

Lincoln's enemies, however, stood on the opposite bank of the Potomac River, dressed in gray uniforms. His adversaries—or rather, the opponents he had to confront—stood on the Pacific Ocean, ten thousand kilometers away, in a different uniform.

They didn't declare war, nor did they break off diplomatic relations. They were simply building ships.

In order not to fall too far behind, Meilika also had to start building ships.

"General Rodman," Wilson said.

"exist."

"The most advanced battleships in the US Navy are currently the Pennsylvania-class."

"Yes."

"With our current industrial capacity and technological reserves—" Wilson turned around, "how long would it take to build a battleship comparable to the Bismarck-class?"

Rodman remained silent for a few seconds.

"Mr. President, I shouldn't answer that question. That should be answered by the equipment department."

"But I'm asking you now."