World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Scher was stunned.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

The man walked over, stood in front of him, and looked at him.

Looked for a long time.

Then she opened her arms and hugged him.

"Sher." The old man's voice was hoarse, trembling with suppressed emotion, "You're alive...you're still alive..."

Scher closed his eyes.

At that moment, he forgot his battle wounds, the fuel, the British, and the brutal naval battle. He only remembered that this old man was his teacher from thirty years ago, his lifelong idol, and the founder of the German Navy.

Alfred von Tirpitz.

"Marshal..." Sher began, his voice choked with emotion.

Tirpitz patted him on the back and let go of him.

"Let me see you." The old marshal took a step back, looking him up and down. "You've lost weight. You've aged. But there's still light in your eyes."

Scher didn't know what to say.

Tirpitz took his hand and made him sit down.

"Sit down," the old marshal said. "Tell me slowly. Let's start with the Atlantic Ocean and go through it one by one."

Scher sat on the sofa, looking at the old man opposite him.

He had so much to say. From the hunt in the Atlantic to the sinking of the Queen Elizabeth, to the chase in the Indian Ocean, to yesterday's bloody battle. But all those words stuck in his throat, and in the end, he could only utter one sentence:

"Marshal, I failed to lead the fleet well."

Tirpitz looked at him.

"You sank the Queen Elizabeth, the Barham, the Warrior, the Malaya, the Courageous, and the Glory. You also took down the Royal Oak and the Resolution in the Arabian Sea," the old marshal said. "Is this what you call failing to lead properly?"

Scheer lowered his head: "But we lost our support fleet. Four King-class ships, eight thousand sailors..."

Tirpitz remained silent for a few seconds.

"Schär," he finally spoke, his voice deep, "do you know why I built the Dreadnoughts back then?"

Scher raised his head.

"Because I did the math," Tirpitz said. "The British have more than twenty battleships, while we only have a dozen or so. If we fight head-on, we'll never win. So we need to build a ship that's faster and stronger than theirs, so they can't catch up with it and can't defeat it."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "The Bismarck-class was a continuation of that idea. Two Bismarck-class ships traded for six British capital ships, and even suffered heavy damage to two others. No matter how you look at it, it was a win-win situation."

Scher remained silent.

"The sacrifice of the support fleet," Tirpitz continued, "was their own choice. Schmidt knew what would happen if he went to meet you, but he went anyway. Because he knew that saving the Bismarck was more important than saving the four King-class destroyers."

He stood up, walked over to Scher, and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Sher, you owe no one anything."

Scher looked into the old marshal's eyes.

There were tears in those eyes, but even more so, pride.

"Marshal," he finally spoke, his voice steadyer, "thank you."

Tirpitz nodded.

"Alright," he said, "let's not talk about this anymore. Chen Feng is treating us to dinner tonight. We have important business to discuss then."

The dinner was held at the Presidential Palace's private restaurant.

It wasn't a banquet hall, but a private restaurant. A small round table, four chairs, and a few simple dishes on the table—steamed fish, stir-fried vegetables, rice, and soup. There was no red wine, only tea.

Chen Feng sat in the main seat, with Tirpitz to his right and Scher to his left. There was another empty seat—it was reserved for Chen Feng's friend, Little, but he didn't come tonight, saying he had something to take care of.

Scher looked at the dishes on the table, somewhat surprised.

He had expected a grand banquet, but it turned out to be simpler than a typical family's dinner party.

Chen Feng seemed to understand what he was thinking.

"General Sher," he said, "Lanfang doesn't indulge in extravagance. Eating is just eating; as long as you're full, that's enough."

Scheer nodded: "Commander-in-Chief, I am very grateful for your hospitality."

Chen Feng picked up his chopsticks: "Eat first. We'll talk after we finish."

The three of them ate quietly.

Scheer hadn't had such a decent meal in a long time. He'd been eating canned food and biscuits on the ship for almost a month; eating fresh fish and vegetables now felt like a dream. But he controlled himself and didn't wolf down his food.

After the meal, the servants cleared away the dishes and replaced them with tea.

Chen Feng held his teacup, looking at the two German generals opposite him.

"Marshal Tirpitz," he finally spoke, "you didn't come here just to see Scheer, did you?"

Tirpitz put down his teacup and sat up straight.

"Commander Chen," he said, "you are right. I am here on the orders of His Majesty the Emperor."

He paused, then said, "His Majesty wishes to purchase a few more Bismarck-class ships."

Sher looked at Chen Feng.

Chen Feng didn't say anything, he just slowly sipped his tea.

Tirpitz continued, "The performance of the Bismarck-class battleships has proven the value of this type of warship. Germany needs more Bismarck-class battleships to completely break the British blockade and control the Atlantic and Indian Oceans."

He looked into Chen Feng's eyes: "His Majesty is willing to pay any price. Gold, technology, colonies—as long as Lanfang speaks up."

Chen Feng put down his teacup.

"Marshal Tirpitz," he said, "do you know why Lanfang didn't participate in the war?"

Tirpitz paused for a moment.

"Because of timing," Chen Feng said. "Joining the war now, regardless of which side we choose, will disrupt the balance."

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the night in the Persian Gulf was deep. Moonlight spilled onto the sea like shattered silver.

"What I need is time." He turned around. "Let Germany and Britain continue fighting, let both sides wear each other down, and let Mirika continue waiting. When everyone is exhausted, then Lanfang can step forward."

He walked back to the table and sat down.

"Selling Bismarck-class battleships to Germany now is tantamount to telling the British: Lanfang is doomed. What will the British do? They will blockade the Indian Ocean at all costs, cut off our shipping lanes, and even declare war directly."

He shook his head: "I can't take that risk."

Tirpitz fell silent.

Scher spoke up.

"Commander-in-Chief Chen," he said, "what if Germany doesn't buy, but only...leases?"

Chen Feng looked at him.

"rent?"

"Rent," Scher said. "Germany pays the rent, and Lanfang retains ownership. If the situation changes, Lanfang can take it back at any time."

He paused for a moment: "In this way, you're not selling weapons of war, you're just renting them out. The British can't find an excuse."

Chen Feng remained silent for a long time.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the night outside.

"General Scherr," he finally said, "you are a wise man."

He turned around, walked back to the table, and sat down.

"But renting it out isn't an option either," he said. "At least not right now."

He poured himself a cup of tea and slowly took a sip.

"Wait until you repair the Bismarck, until you return to the Indian Ocean, and until you win a few more battles. Wait until the British are a little weaker, until Merika is a little more hesitant, until the situation becomes a little clearer."

He paused for a moment: "We'll talk about the loan then."

Tirpitz nodded.

"Commander Chen," he said, "I understand."

He stood up and extended his hand: "Thank you for your hospitality, and thank you for taking Scher in. Germany will remember this."

Chen Feng grasped his hand.

"Marshal," he said, "the Tirpitz will need seven days for repairs. In those seven days, you can have a good look around Dubai. See the shipyard in Lanfang, see our workers, see our future."

He smiled and said, "Perhaps after reading this, you will have more confidence in Lanfang."