World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The four men sat down. Bateman and Ludendorff sat on the left side of the long table, while Hindenburg and Tirpitz sat on the right. Wilhelm II walked to the head of the table, but instead of sitting down, he rested his hands on the edge of the table and looked at them.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement, "last night, I received some very interesting intelligence."

He picked up a document from the table and waved it around.

"The Italians have sent someone again. This time, it's a letter written by Boselli himself."

The meeting room fell silent for a second.

Ludendorff was the first to speak: "Your Majesty, what are the Italians up to now?"

Wilhelm II laughed—a laugh rarely seen during the Three Years' War.

"They want to come back. They want to go back to the Allies."

A commotion broke out in the conference room.

Bateman abruptly raised his head, a glint of light flashing in his eyes: "Your Majesty, is this true?"

Wilhelm II nodded and handed the letter to Bateman. Bateman took it, quickly glanced through it, and then passed it to Hindenburg. Hindenburg read it slowly, carefully examining each line. After finishing, he looked up at Wilhelm II, his face still expressionless.

Ludendorff couldn't wait any longer: "Your Majesty, what does the letter say?"

Wilhelm II walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall, picked up a thin bamboo stick, and pointed to the location of the Italian peninsula.

"Boselli said that Italy was willing to return to the Allies, on the condition that we guarantee them the islands of Savoy, Nice, and Corsica ceded by France after the war."

The bamboo poles were moved to southeastern France.

"Gentlemen, do you know what this means?"

He turned around, looked at the four people, and his eyes gleamed.

"Once Italy turns against us, the pressure on our Austro-Hungarian front will disappear completely. At least twenty divisions—two hundred thousand elite troops—can be withdrawn from the Italian border and deployed to the French front."

The bamboo pole struck Verdun's spot hard.

"Two hundred thousand men, plus our existing forces on the Western Front, are enough to launch a decisive offensive. Taking Verdun and cutting off the French supply lines will put Paris in grave danger."

He then moved the bamboo pole towards the French-Italian border.

"Moreover, Italy's defection will tie down the Anglo-French forces. They will have to withdraw troops from the German front to defend the Franco-Italian border. This shift in power will give us at least two months of initiative on the Western Front."

He put down the bamboo pole, walked back to his seat, and rested his hands on the edge of the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's been three years. Three years, and for the first time we've seen a glimmer of hope for a comeback."

There was a three-second silence in the conference room.

Then Hindenburg spoke.

"Your Majesty, I do not trust Italians."

Hindenburg's voice was hoarse, but every word was as clear as nails driven into a board. He sat there, his hands on the table, his cloudy eyes staring directly at Wilhelm II.

Wilhelm II was taken aback: "Marshal, you..."

"Your Majesty," Hindenburg interrupted him, "please allow me to finish."

He stood up and walked to the map. The seventy-year-old man walked steadily, each step firm and deliberate. He picked up a bamboo pole and pointed it at the Italian peninsula.

"Two days ago, the Italians were attacking our ally, Austria-Hungary, with thirty-six divisions in Caporetto. Two days ago, our soldiers were fighting each other with Italian soldiers, and at least ten thousand of them died at their hands."

The bamboo pole was moved to the north.

"Two years ago, Italy officially declared war on Germany, jumping from our arms to the British and French. They amassed 500,000 troops on our border, tying down at least 15 of our divisions."

The bamboo pole moves towards the more distant past.

"Two years ago, they were our allies. When the war first broke out, they refused to join us in attacking France, citing the excuse that 'the alliance treaty only applies to defensive wars.' Then, they secretly negotiated with Britain and France, took their benefits, and then stabbed us in the back."

He put down the bamboo pole and turned to look at Wilhelm II.

"Your Majesty, the Italians are masters of betrayal. They betrayed us two years ago, and they betrayed us again a year ago. Now they want to come back—who can guarantee they won't turn against us a third time?"

The conference room was deathly silent.

Wilhelm II's face dimmed slightly. He stood there, his hands resting on the edge of the table, saying nothing.

Ludendorff stood up and walked over to Hindenburg.

"Your Majesty, I agree with the Marshal's assessment. The Italians cannot be trusted." He pointed to Caporetto on the map. "Thirty-six divisions, in two days, caught our allies completely off guard. If we hadn't urgently transferred reinforcements from the Eastern Front, the Austro-Hungarian army might have collapsed. Now they're exhausted and want to come back—clearly hedging their bets. If they win, they're our allies; if they lose, they can complain to Britain and France, saying they were coerced by us."

Bateman hesitated for a moment before saying, "But Your Majesty, if Italy really returns, it will indeed be a huge improvement to our strategic situation..."

"Improve?" Hindenburg looked at him. "Prime Minister, do you believe the words of a traitor? What if we transfer twenty divisions from the Austro-Hungarian front to France, launch an offensive on the Western Front, and our main forces are bogged down in the French theater, and the Italians betray us again—what will we use to save them then?"

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

A long silence fell over the meeting room.

The sunlight outside the window was still bright, but it seemed particularly glaring on the faces of the people in the conference room. Wilhelm II stood there, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, once, twice, three times.

Finally, Tirpitz spoke.

"Your Majesty, may I say a few words?"

Wilhelm II looked up at him. Tirpitz was one of his most respected senior advisors, the architect of the German Navy, and a source of reassurance during countless difficult times.

"Marshal, please speak."

Tirpitz stood up and walked to the map. He took a thick document out of his pocket and placed it on the table.

"Your Majesty, this is the military intelligence on Lanfang that I compiled during my time in Dubai. You may take a look."

Ludendorff took the document, quickly flipped through a few pages, then looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

"Fifty divisions? More than a million men?"

Tirpitz nodded: "The Sakura Nation has deployed fifty divisions, more than one million men, in Malaya and Burma. Including previous losses, their actual total force deployed may exceed one million two hundred thousand."

He pointed to the Malay Peninsula and Myanmar on the map.

"Singapore has been taken, Kuala Lumpur has been taken, and fierce fighting is underway in Yangon. In two months at most, Japan will be able to end its two-front war. At that time, they can form a pincer movement with Lan Fang's forces in Iran—"

Bamboo poles are piled up heavily in India.

"India. The jewel in the British crown. Do you think the British can hold onto it?"