World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"That's good."

He raised his head and looked at the ministers present.

Has the cabinet reached a conclusion?

The Prime Minister was silent for three seconds, then shook his head.

"Your Majesty, we... are still discussing."

King George V looked at him, and that look sent a chill down the Prime Minister's spine.

"Still discussing? The enemy has a knife to our throats, and you're still discussing?"

He stood up and walked to the map.

"When I was young, I served in the Royal Navy. I know what war is all about. I also know that the most important thing in war is not the number of ships, but morale."

He pointed to the Indian Ocean.

"Our soldiers are currently in India, Australia, and Singapore, waiting for orders from home. But what about home? They're still debating."

He turned and looked at the ministers.

"I know it's hard. Admitting defeat is hard, surrendering is even harder. But sometimes, the cost of not admitting defeat is greater than the cost of admitting defeat."

The Prime Minister stood up: "Your Majesty, you mean...?"

King George V looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.

"What I mean is, if we can't win by fighting, we should talk. If we can't reach an agreement by talking, we should fight again. But we can't drag this out—the longer it drags on, the more people will die, and the more devastating the defeat will be."

He walked back to the door and paused for a moment.

"I have only one thing to say: Whatever decision you make, I will support you. But please do it quickly. The British Empire cannot afford this kind of internal strife."

After the door closed, the conference room fell into a deathly silence once again.

The Prime Minister slowly sat down, covering his face with his hands.

"General Staff," he said in a muffled voice, "do another war game. Take all the possibilities into account."

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff stood up and walked to the map.

"Prime Minister, we've done it three times already. The result is the same each time."

"Let's do it again." The Prime Minister didn't look up. "Until there's hope."

It's 8 PM Dubai time at the Presidential Palace.

Chen Feng sat in the reception room, a cup of tea in front of him, now completely cold. He didn't drink it, but just stared at the teacup, as if studying the patterns on the tea leaves.

Sitting opposite me was James Brown, the Mexican Consul in Dubai. The diplomat, in his fifties, was dressed in a dark gray suit and his tie was impeccably tied, but the slight beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed his nervousness.

"Commander-in-Chief Chen," Brown cleared his throat and began, "our government is deeply concerned about the current situation. War benefits no one. Our country is willing to act as an impartial third party to facilitate peace negotiations between Lanfang and Britain."

Chen Feng looked up at him.

He didn't speak.

Brown felt a little uncomfortable under that gaze, but as a career diplomat, he knew he had to complete his mission.

"The British government has authorized me to convey their position: they acknowledge that this was a 'regrettable miscalculation,' are willing to compensate Lanfang for all its losses, and guarantee that similar incidents will not happen again. They hope... that both sides can return to the pre-war state."

Chen Feng finally spoke, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

"Return to the pre-war state?"

"Yes. Back to the pre-war period."

Chen Feng picked up his teacup and took a sip. The tea was cold, but he didn't mind.

"Mr. Brown, have you seen what the Huaihe ship looks like?"

Brown paused for a moment, then said, "I... I saw the photo."

"Photographs." Chen Feng put down his teacup. "Can the photographs capture the lingering smells from that ship? The smell of blood, the smell of gunpowder, the smell of burnt flesh."

Brown remained silent.

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the lights of Dubai Harbour flickered in the night. In the distance, the outlines of the Huaihe and Zhujiang ships were faintly visible, and the sparks from the welding torches looked like golden rain.

"What are the families of those 127 people doing now? Some are waiting at the dock—waiting for the ship that will never return. Some are crying at home—crying until their tears run dry. Some are kneeling in temples burning incense—praying to the Bodhisattva to bless their sons so that they can be reborn into a better family in the next life."

He turned around and looked at Brown.

"You're telling me, go back to the pre-war state?"

Brown took a deep breath.

"President, I understand your anger. But war will only bring more coffins. Do you really want to see thousands of young people die?"

Chen Feng walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Mr. Brown, do you know why the British dared to attack us?"

Brown did not answer.

"Because they thought Lanfang was easy to bully. Because they thought that killing more than a hundred of us would be settled by paying some money."

He looked directly into Brown's eyes.

"Tell them that Lanfang will not negotiate. Unless—"

Brown quickly asked, "Unless what?"

"Unless the British government issues a public apology, admitting it was a deliberate attack and not a 'miscalculation'; unless they hand over the commander who ordered the firing to be tried in our courts; unless they compensate for all losses, including the pensions for the fallen officers and soldiers, the repair costs of the Huaihe and Zhujiang ships, and all the resources we have invested in the war; unless they recognize Lanfang's special status in Asia and relinquish all its privileges in Asia."

Brown gasped.

"President, this...this is even harsher than defeat. The British cannot accept this."

Chen Feng nodded.

"I know. If they're unwilling to give it to me, I can go get it myself!"

He stood up and looked at Brown.

"Mr. Brown, go back and tell President Wilson: Lanfang appreciates his kindness, but there is no need for mediation. We will fight this battle ourselves."

Brown opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately remained silent. He stood up, bowed slightly to Chen Feng, and turned to leave.

After the door closed, Chen Feng stood by the window and looked out for a long time.

Wang Wenwu pushed the door open and came in.

"The President, is he gone?"

Chen Feng nodded.

"How will he report to Washington?"

Chen Feng thought for a moment: "He would say that Chen Feng has gone mad."

Wang Wenwu was stunned for a moment.

Chen Feng turned around and looked at him.

"Minister Wang, do you think I'm crazy?"

Wang Wenwu remained silent for a few seconds.

"As the Minister of Foreign Affairs, I think you're crazy. As a Lanfang native, I think you're doing the right thing."

Chen Feng smiled. That was the first time Wang Wenwu had ever seen Chen Feng smile—not a polite, professional smile, but a genuine smile.

"That's enough."

Hordasa.

Zhao Dengyu stood outside the command post, gazing at the desert illuminated by the moonlight. In the distance, the outlines of tank units could be vaguely seen—those steel behemoths resembled a pack of sleeping beasts in the night.

Chief of Staff Li Tiejun walked over and handed him a military overcoat.

"Commander, it's chilly at night, put this on."

Zhao Dengyu took it and draped it over his shoulders.

"Old Li, what do you think the British are doing right now?"

Li Tiejun thought for a moment: "We should reinforce the defenses of the Suez Canal. With such a large commotion on our side, their reconnaissance planes will definitely be coming every day."

"Good that they've come," Zhao Dengyu said. "Let them see, let them be nervous, let them move all their troops to the canal."

He paused, then asked, "Any news from the scouts?"

"Just received a report. The British troops on the other side are digging trenches and building bunkers. At the Kantarah crossing, they've put up barbed wire and laid landmines."

Zhao Dengyu squinted.

"Landmines? Where did these landmines come from?"

"They were transferred from Egypt. The British moved all their troops from North Africa here."