World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Britain is declining, Germany is collapsing, Merleau is rising, and Lanfranco is becoming a new power. Where will France stand in this new world?

A second-rate country? A country that has to be subservient to others? A country forgotten in a corner?

still--

He turned to look at Pi Xiong.

"Pi Xiong, tell me, why is Chen Feng giving us such a huge benefit?"

Pi Xiong thought for a moment.

"Because we need him. Because we need a friend in Europe."

Clemenceau nodded.

"Yes. But it's also because we need him that he's willing to do us favors."

He walked back to his desk and picked up the telegram.

"Permanent member of the Security Council. Veto power. Pishon, do you know what that means?"

Pi Xiong shook his head.

Clemenceau's voice was soft, but every word was as heavy as a stone.

"This means that after the war, France could stand on equal footing with Britain, with the people of Mélicien, and with Lanfang. Instead of being like we are now, having to be at the mercy of the British, waiting for reinforcements from Mélicien, and begging for forgiveness from the Germans."

He paused.

"This means that France still has a chance to remain a great power."

Pi Xiong remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Prime Minister, how should we respond?"

Clemenceau picked up his pen and wrote a line in the blank space of the telegram.

"Tell Chen Feng that France is willing to cooperate more deeply with Lanfang. Post-war, matters concerning Africa can be discussed."

He put down his pen and looked out the window at the pitch-black night sky.

In the distance, the lights of Paris twinkled like countless eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Those eyes belong to the three million dead French people. They watched over this country, and over its future fate.

"Pi Xiong," he said softly, "you know, sometimes I feel that those who have died are luckier than those of us who are alive."

Pi Xiong was stunned for a moment.

"Prime Minister?"

Clemenceau shook his head.

"It's nothing. You can go now. Leave me alone for a while."

Pi Xiong stood up, bowed, and turned to leave.

After the door closed, Clemenceau stood alone by the window, looking out at the night.

He recalled that winter in Verdun, in the trenches where temperatures plummeted to minus twenty degrees Celsius, he and his soldiers endured the freezing cold. A young soldier asked him, "Prime Minister, will we win?"

He said, "Yes."

The soldier laughed, laughing as happily as a child.

The next day, the soldier died under German artillery fire.

Now, someone is asking him again: Will France win?

he does not know.

But he knew that Chen Feng had given him an opportunity. An opportunity for France to remain a great power after the war.

He couldn't miss this opportunity.

Dubai, December 18.

Chen Feng sat in his office, a copy of Clemenceau's reply lying before him. It contained only one line: "France is willing to engage in deeper cooperation with Lanfang. Post-war affairs in Africa are open for discussion."

He read it once and laughed.

Wang Wenwu stood beside him and asked, "Commander-in-Chief, has Clemenceau agreed?"

Chen Feng nodded.

"They agreed. And very cleverly—they didn't mention the League of Nations at all, only saying 'deeper cooperation.' This is to leave themselves an out, and also to save face for us."

Wang Wenwu frowned.

"President, can the French be trusted? They've been allies with Britain for a hundred years."

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window.

"Minister Wang, do you know what an 'ally' is?"

Wang Wenwu shook his head.

"An ally is someone who stands with you when you have a common enemy. Britain and France had a common enemy—Germany. Now Lanfang and France also have a common enemy—Britain. So, we can also be allies."

He turned to look at Wang Wenwu.

"As for a hundred years—what is a hundred years? Britain and France fought for a hundred years, from the Hundred Years' War to the Napoleonic Wars, and lost more people than either side. Then Germany rose up, and they became allies. That's how history is; there are no permanent friends, only permanent interests."

Wang Wenwu thought for a moment and nodded.

"Understood."

Chen Feng walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and began drafting a reply.

"Thank you for Prime Minister Clemenceau's trust. Lanfang looks forward to establishing a long-term strategic partnership with France. Regarding post-war African affairs, Lanfang is willing to fully consult with France. As for the matter of becoming a permanent member of the League of Nations Security Council, we can discuss it further when the time is right. — Chen Feng"

After he finished writing, he read it over and handed it to Wang Wenwu.

"Send it out."

Wang Wenwu took the telegram and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute," Chen Feng called out to him.

Wang Wenwu stopped.

Chen Feng walked to the map and pointed to the vast landmass of Africa.

"Minister Wang, do you know how many colonies France had in Africa?"

Wang Wenwu thought for a moment.

"There are many. West Africa, equatorial Africa, Madagascar... combined, they might be larger than Europe."

Chen Feng nodded.

"Yes. Larger than Europe. Abundant resources, large population, and strategically important. If we can cooperate with France to enter Africa—"

He didn't finish speaking, but Wang Wenwu understood.

Africa is Lanfang's next target.

Not with guns and cannons, but with cooperation. With interests. With the seats of permanent members of the League of Nations Security Council.

"Commander-in-Chief," Wang Wenwu said softly, "you are planning a grand strategy."

Chen Feng smiled.

"It's not that I want to quit. It's that the world is forcing us to quit."

He walked back to the window and looked at the shimmering sea in the distance.

"Britain is doomed, Germany is about to collapse, and Mirka is still waiting. If we don't act now, and everyone else is ready, we'll miss our chance."

On the same night, in three different places, three different people looked at the same moon.

Dubai, Chen Feng stood by the window, holding a cup of cold tea in his hand.

In Paris, Clemenceau stood by the window, clutching the telegram in his hand.

In London, Asquith stood by the window, holding the latest battle report in his hand.

Outside the window, the London night was deep. In the distance, the surface of the Thames shimmered silver in the moonlight.

He suddenly remembered Wilson's last words: "A dollar is worth more than a human life."

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

But the people of Lanfang traded their lives for territory, the British traded their lives for time, and the people of Meilika traded their lives for dollars.

In the end, who will be the real winner in this battle?

he does not know.

But he knew that from this day forward, the world had truly changed.

Once things change, there's no going back.

December 20, 1917, the border between Switzerland and Italy.

Winter comes early to the Alps. The November snow hasn't even melted completely, and December brings a thick layer of snow. From the foot of the mountain to the summit, the whole world is white—white mountains, white trees, white roads, white sky. Occasionally, a few crows fly by, casting black shadows on the snow like drops of ink on rice paper.

A solitary villa sits halfway up a mountain, surrounded by pine forests. It's the winter holiday home of a wealthy Swiss businessman, now secretly requisitioned by the German Foreign Ministry. From the outside, it looks no different from the other holiday homes around it—a wooden structure, a sloping roof, and wisps of smoke rising from the chimney. But if you approach, you'll find two men in plain clothes standing at the door, hands in their pockets, their eyes scanning the surroundings warily.

They were plainclothes officers from the German military intelligence agency.