World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Asquith paused for a moment.

Wilson continued, "Lanfang's warships can hit their targets with a single shell at night, in fog, and from twenty kilometers away. Our warships rely on optical rangefinding and the experience of their gunners. They can fire in clear weather, but they're blind in cloudy weather, and useless at night."

He turned to look at Asquith.

"Mr. Prime Minister, in the battle in the Arabian Sea, Jellicoe's twelve ships fought against the enemy's two training ships for three hours without a victory. How much stronger do you think Merika's navy is than Jellicoe's fleet?"

Asquith fell silent.

Wilson walked back to his desk and sat down.

"So, you'll have to shoulder the burden of things in Asia yourselves. If you can handle it, we'll share the spoils after the war. If you can't—"

He didn't finish speaking, but Asquith understood.

Even if it can't hold on, Meilika won't come to the rescue.

Wilson looked at the draft agreement, picked up a pen, and signed it.

"Prime Minister, one million. Within six months, one million Mérica soldiers will cross the Atlantic and appear on the French battlefield."

Asquith took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Your Excellency President."

Wilson waved his hand.

"You're welcome. Thank you Morgan, thank you Rockefeller, thank you all the bigwigs on Wall Street. They made me realize that the dollar is worth more than a human life."

He stood up and extended his hand.

Asquith grasped it.

Hold hands together, then separate after three seconds.

On December 3, Asquith once again crossed the Atlantic Ocean and headed east.

This time, Asquith didn't lock himself in his cabin. He stood on the deck, facing the sea breeze, watching the North American continent gradually recede into the distance.

Lloyd George walked over to him and handed him a cup of hot coffee.

"Prime Minister, you seem to be in good spirits."

Asquith took the coffee and sipped it.

"Lloyd, what do you think we can do if a million Malignan soldiers arrive in Europe?"

Lloyd George thought for a moment.

"Hold the western front. We might still be able to launch a counter-offensive."

Asquith nodded.

"Yes. Hold the western front. And then what?"

Lloyd George paused for a moment.

"Then?"

Asquith looked at him, his eyes gleaming.

"Then we can transfer the 500,000 British soldiers in France to Egypt."

Lloyd George's eyes lit up too.

"Egypt?"

"Yes. Egypt." Asquith pointed eastward. "Lanfang has 120,000 men in the Sinai Peninsula. Japan has over a million in Burma. They're preparing to attack India from both the east and the west. But if we can gather 500,000 troops in Egypt—"

His fingers traced the Mediterranean Sea and landed on the Suez Canal.

"We can then advance eastward from Egypt. The Sinai Peninsula, Palestine, Iran—and then all the way to Dubai."

Lloyd George gasped.

"Prime Minister, is this a direct confrontation with Lanfang?"

Asquith nodded.

"Yes. A decisive battle. Lanfang's main force is in Asia, while the main force of the Sakura Kingdom is in Burma. They only have 120,000 men in Egypt. 500,000 against 120,000, a four-to-one numerical advantage."

He paused, his voice very low.

"That would allow us to drive Lanfang back to its homeland from Asia."

Lloyd George remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Prime Minister, will the French agree to our withdrawal from the Western Front?"

Asquith sneered.

"The French? They're more afraid of the Germans attacking than we are right now. As long as we leave some troops in France, they won't say anything."

"Where is the beautiful cardholder?"

"The Melaka people?" Asquith gazed at the increasingly smaller North American continent in the distance. "Wilson has already said they won't attack Lanfang. We'll attack, and they'll watch. If we win, they'll share the spoils. If we lose, they won't lose a single soldier."

He turned to look at Lloyd George.

"Therefore, Lloyd, this battle can only be fought by ourselves. If we win, Britain will remain the British Empire. If we lose—"

He didn't finish speaking.

But Lloyd George knew.

If they lose, Britain is finished.

On December 10, the warship slowly entered the Portsmouth naval port.

A group of people stood on the dock—King George V, War Secretary Kitchener, Admiral Jellicoe, and a large entourage of generals and officials. They all looked up at the warship that was gradually approaching the shore, their eyes filled with anticipation.

Asquith descended the gangway and approached George V.

"Your Majesty, I'm back."

King George V looked at him, at that tired but determined face.

"Asquith, how's it going?"

Asquith nodded.

"It's done. One million."

A cheer erupted on the dock.

King George V held his hand tightly.

"Great! That's wonderful!"

Asquith didn't laugh. He looked at the cheering crowd and suddenly felt very tired.

One million. One million American soldiers. Sounds like a lot, but it'll take six months to get them all in place. What will the Germans be doing in six months? What will the Lanfang people be doing? What will the Japanese be doing?

he does not know.

But he knew that from now on, Britain had to race against time.

If you win the race, you can survive.

We lost the race.

He didn't continue thinking about it.

In the distance, the sky over Portsmouth was overcast, with thick, low-hanging clouds. A strong sea breeze made the flags flutter wildly.

Asquith looked at the sky and suddenly remembered Wilson's last words.

"The dollar is worth more than a human life."

Yes, the US dollar is worth more than a human life.

What the Americans wanted was dollar hegemony and the right to a share of the post-war pie. The British were willing to risk half a million lives, to gamble, to exchange for a chance to remain the number one power.

The people of Lanfang are waiting for them in Asia.

This battle has only just begun.

On the same night, London and Dubai, two different worlds.

London, 10 Downing Street. Asquith stood in his office, a huge Euro-Asian map spread out before him. He had drawn a circle in Egypt with a red pen, and then a red line from Egypt, extending all the way to the Persian Gulf and then to Dubai.

King George V sat opposite him, looking at the red line.

"Asquith, do you really think you can win?"

Asquith remained silent for a few seconds.

"Your Majesty, I don't know. But we must try."

King George V nodded.

"Then let's give it a try."

Dubai, the Presidential Palace. Chen Feng stood by the window, looking out at the Persian Gulf illuminated by the moonlight. On the sea, several merchant ships were slowly entering the harbor, their lights shining brightly.

Wang Wenwu walked in and handed over a piece of intelligence.

"President, news from London. Asquith has returned from Washington, and Wilson has agreed to send one million troops."

Chen Feng took the intelligence, read it through, and then smiled.

"One million. Wilson has finally decided to spend a fortune."

Wang Wenwu frowned.

"President, will the British transfer their troops from France to Egypt?"

Chen Feng nodded.

"Yes. Definitely. They have a million American soldiers holding the western front, so they can spare at least half a million to fight us."

Wang Wenwu's expression changed.

"Five hundred thousand? We only have 120,000 in Egypt—"