World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The guards in the courtyard looked up, staring at their emperor with bewilderment. Bateman and Yago exchanged a glance but remained silent.

Wilhelm II turned around and walked back into his room, a smile still on his face.

"Bateman, Yago, do you know what this means?"

Bateman nodded: "Your Majesty, this means our pressure will be greatly reduced. The British will no longer be able to draw troops from Asia to Europe."

"More than that!" Wilhelm II interrupted him. "This means we can reconsider our strategy! The British are collapsing, the French are isolated, and the Merlekas are still hesitant—now is the perfect time for us to launch a general offensive!"

He walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall and pointed to northern France.

"Tell Ludendorff to prepare for a new offensive. Once the Lanfang forces cross the Suez Canal, the British will completely abandon the European theater. Then we can concentrate all our forces and take Paris in one fell swoop!"

Yago hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "Your Majesty, the Lanfang people are indeed fighting very well, but they are, after all, in Asia. On the European battlefield, we still have to rely on ourselves."

Wilhelm II glanced at him, a look that made Yago's heart tighten.

"Yago, are you doubting my judgment?"

"Your Majesty, I wouldn't dare. I just feel..."

"What do you think?"

Yago lowered his head and remained silent.

Wilhelm II stared at him for three seconds, then turned and walked back to the window.

"Summon the cabinet. Now. I want everyone to know this good news."

An hour later, the conference room at the Berlin Palace was full of people.

Prime Minister Betmann, Foreign Minister Yago, Chief of the General Staff Hindenburg, Deputy Chief of the General Staff Ludendorff, and a large group of generals, ministers, and secretaries. Each person had a telegram in front of them regarding the situation at Lanfang, and each face bore varying degrees of excitement.

Wilhelm II sat in the main seat, a smug smile on his face. He glanced around, his gaze finally settling on Hindenburg.

"Field Marshal Hindenburg, what's your opinion?"

Hindenburg sat there, his face expressionless. He was seventy years old, his face etched with deep wrinkles, and his eyes, though cloudy, were sharp, like those of an aged eagle. He was silent for three seconds, then spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Your Majesty, Lanfang's victory is certainly good news. But—"

"But what?" Wilhelm II's smile faded slightly.

Hindenburg took a document out of his briefcase and pushed it in front of Wilhelm II.

"Your Majesty, please take a look at this first."

Wilhelm II took the document, glanced at it, and his expression changed.

It was an economic report. The densely packed numbers and alarming statistics were striking.

"Munich, a loaf of bread, 100,000 marks."

"Berlin, a pound of butter, two hundred thousand marks."

"In the Ruhr region, coal miners are on strike, demanding a 300% pay rise."

"At the Port of Hamburg, dockworkers are on strike, demanding three months' worth of back wages."

"Across Germany, unemployment has surpassed four million. Cities are teeming with starving people. In rural areas, farmers refuse to hand over their grain because their money has become worthless."

After reading the report, Wilhelm II slammed it on the table.

"I know all that. But is now the time to discuss this?"

Hindenburg looked at him calmly.

"Your Majesty, if we don't discuss this now, when will we? When Berlin also riots? When the soldiers mutini because their families are starving to death?"

The meeting room fell silent.

Wilhelm II stared at Hindenburg, his eyes filled with something indescribable—anger, resentment, or something else entirely. But Hindenburg did not look away, meeting his gaze directly.

"Field Marshal Hindenburg," Wilhelm II finally spoke, his voice low, "do you know what you're saying?"

"I know, Your Majesty," Hindenburg's voice remained calm. "I'm saying we can't continue fighting."

A commotion broke out in the conference room.

Ludendorff jumped to his feet: "Marshal! What are you saying? Lanfang has just achieved a decisive victory, the British are collapsing, this is the perfect time for us to launch a general offensive! How can you say we can't continue?"

Hindenburg looked at him, his eyes filled with an indescribable weariness.

"Ludendorff, did you go for a walk in the streets of Berlin yesterday?"

Ludendorff paused for a moment.

"No. I've been at command post the whole time."

"Then go and see," Hindenburg said. "Go see the people lining up for bread, see the children who are skin and bones from hunger, see the women who are crying because their husbands died on the battlefield. After you've seen it all, then come back and talk to me about 'the final assault'."

Ludendorff opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

Wilhelm II stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to everyone.

"Hindenburg," his voice came from behind, "you mean we should surrender?"

"It's not surrender, Your Majesty. It's peace talks."

"Peace talks?" Wilhelm II turned around, a complex expression on his face. "Talk to whom? The British? They're struggling to survive themselves, what can they possibly negotiate? The French? They'd love to tear us to pieces. The Lanfang people? They're having a winning streak in Asia, why would they talk to us?"

Hindenburg remained silent for a few seconds.

"Your Majesty, we can send a message through the Lanfang people. Chen Feng is a smart man; he knows when to stop. If we take the initiative to propose peace talks, perhaps we can..."

"Maybe what?" Wilhelm II interrupted him. "Maybe we can preserve our existing territory? Maybe fewer soldiers will die? Maybe those who are starving can have bread?"

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Hindenburg, do you know why I've kept fighting?"

Hindenburg remained silent.

Wilhelm II looked at him, his gaze holding something indescribable.

"Because if we sue for peace now, it's tantamount to admitting defeat. It's admitting that we fought for three years, lost millions, and gained nothing in the end. Those who died died in vain."

Hindenburg lowered his head and remained silent for a long time.

Then he looked up at Wilhelm II.

"Your Majesty, what about those who are still alive? Must they continue to die?"

The conference room was deathly silent.

Wilhelm II stared at Hindenburg, at the old marshal who had followed him for years and had never disobeyed his orders. At that moment, there was something in those cloudy eyes that Wilhelm II had never seen before—not anger, not fear, but something deeper than anger and colder than fear.

It is despair.

Wilhelm II looked away and gazed out the window.

Outside the window, the sun still shone brightly, and the Berlin skyline remained clear. But he knew that behind that bright sunshine, beneath that clear skyline, lay four million starving people, countless broken families, and a nation on the verge of collapse.

"Meeting adjourned," he said softly.

No one moved.

"I'm adjourning the meeting!"

Everyone stood up and filed out.