Chapter 133: Oil Extraction Rights? Let's Not Talk About That Yet

On the morning of July 7, Chen Feng finally "ended his inspection" and returned to Dubai.

But he didn't go straight to the Administrative Building; he first went to the Naval Headquarters. Li Te was already waiting for him, accompanied by the newly established submarine force commander Zhao Haitao.

"The latest status of U‑3." Li Te handed over a telegram.

Chen Feng skimmed it quickly; when he saw the part about "detected by French sonar" his brows furrowed. (Early‑20th‑century sonar)

"Any losses?"

"None," Zhao Haitao said. "They dived quickly; the French may have thought it was a whale or a temperature layer false alarm. But… it's a warning. Our submarine technology edge may not last long."

Chen Feng thought for a moment: "Have the technical department analyze the sonar frequency data. If the French really have something new, we must develop countermeasures."

"We're already on it," Li Te replied. "Also, the captain of U‑3 is asking for the next move. They are now east of Sicily—continue reconnaissance or withdraw?"

"Continue," Chen Feng said without hesitation. "But change tactics. Lurk in the deep sea by day, using only passive sonar underwater. At night surface to periscope depth, make a quick observation and dive again. Report only once a day to reduce radio exposure risk."

"Understood."

Chen Feng then looked at the Mediterranean chart. It already marked the positions of the various fleets: the Yingguo fleet at Malta, the Faguo fleet at Toulon, the Deguo fleet at Bora, the Italian fleet at Taranto. Between them, the tiny U‑3 sat like a chess piece, ready to be swallowed at any moment.

"Tell them," Chen Feng said, "safety first. If it feels dangerous, they can withdraw at any time. I need intelligence, not martyrs."

"Got it."

Leaving the Naval Headquarters, Chen Feng finally returned to the Administrative Building. Wang Wenwu was waiting for him in the office, a stack of three days' meeting records, telegrams, and memos on the desk.

"They're all here," Wang Wenwu said. "Yingguo, Faguo, Deguo, Osman Diguo… and even the Italian consul has probed the situation."

Chen Feng didn't look at the files right away. He walked to the window and watched the traffic and pedestrians below. Dubai had transformed from a desert town into a city of several hundred thousand people. The streets were wide, the buildings orderly, factory chimneys billowing white smoke. All of this had been built in three years.

"What do you think," Chen Feng suddenly asked, "which side should we stand on?"

Wang Wenwu hesitated: "President, this question…"

"Speak plainly."

"I think… we shouldn't stand on any side." Wang Wenwu chose his words carefully. "Help Deguo and offend Yingguo and Faguo. Help Yingguo and Faguo and offend Deguo. We still need their technology, capital, and markets. Offending any party would seriously affect development."

"What if they force us to choose?"

"Then we stall," Wang Wenwu said. "Stall until the situation clarifies, stall until they offer a higher price."

Chen Feng smiled: "You think the same as I do."

He walked back to the desk and began leafing through the documents. When he saw the threat from British Major General Fitzgerald, a faint cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Treating it as an unfriendly act… the wording makes it sound as if we care about their opinion."

"President, after all, Yingguo is still the world's leading naval power."

"It is, for now," Chen Feng said, "but in five years that may change."

He kept reading and, when he came across the French slip about the 'Allied Powers', his eyes narrowed.

"Yingguo, Faguo, Russia… a triple alliance has already formed. Deguo, Austria‑Hungary, Italy… also a triple alliance. Europe now is two powder kegs, Morocco the fuse."

"What should we do then?"

Chen Feng closed the file and glanced at the clock on the wall—11:30 a. m.

"Prepare the car," he said. "At 2 p. m. I'll first meet the British and French consuls. In the evening I'll see Major General Mu Le."

"Meet together?"

"No, meet separately," Chen Feng replied. "The order is important."

At 1 p. m., Chen Feng was about to set off for the consular district when the secretary knocked and entered.

"President, Osman Diguo envoy Ali Pasha is here again. He says… there's an emergency."

Chen Feng and Wang Wenwu exchanged a glance.

"Let him in."

Ali Pasha this time looked more urgent than before. As soon as he entered, he spoke in French (thinking Chen Feng didn't understand Turkish): "Mr. Chen, the Italians have moved!"

Chen Feng felt a knot in his stomach but remained calm: "Mr. Pasha, take your time. What have the Italians done?"

"They have assembled a fleet on the Libyan coast!" Ali Pasha produced a telegram. "This came from Istanbul this morning. The Italian Naval Minister has announced an 'annual exercise' in the Mediterranean, located off the coast of Libya!"

Chen Feng took the telegram; it was indeed in Turkish, stamped with the seal of the Osman Diguo Navy Department. It basically said: Italy has dispatched two battleships and four cruisers to Tripoli, and marines have boarded at Naples.

"What do you plan to do?" Chen Feng asked.

"We need warships!" Ali Pasha said. "The sooner the better! If Italy really attacks, our navy… is too old. Even the youngest battleship was built twenty years ago."

"Mr. Pasha, I can sell you warships. But there are two issues."

"Please, speak!"

"First, delivery time. Even if we sign now, design, construction, sea trials… the fastest would still take eighteen months. Distant water cannot quench immediate thirst."

Ali Pasha's complexion turned pale.

"Second," Chen Feng continued, "if Italy truly goes to war, Deguo and Austria‑Hungary, as its allies, would theoretically support it. And we have a cooperation agreement with Deguo. That would create a diplomatic dilemma."

The office fell silent. Ali Pasha sank into his seat, hands covering his face.

"Oh God… is the empire truly about to be torn apart…"

Chen Feng looked at him. The sorrow of this old Osman Diguo envoy was genuine—Osman Diguo once spanned three continents, now reduced to the 'sick man of Europe', being carved up by the great powers.

"Mr. Pasha," Chen Feng began, "I have a proposal."

Ali Pasha lifted his head, tears still glimmering in his eyes.

"We can sell you warships, and we can speed it up—using the spare modules from the cruisers we built for Brazil to assemble two simplified versions. Twelve months for delivery."

"Really?" Ali Pasha's hope flared again.

"Indeed. But the price will be high, and you must prepay eighty percent."

"No problem! Oil extraction rights…"

"Let's set that aside for now. More importantly, I can help train your naval personnel. Your officers and sailors can come to Dubai to intern on our ships. Then when the warships are delivered, they will be combat‑ready immediately."

Ali Pasha stood, bowed deeply: "Mr. Chen, you will be Osman Diguo's eternal friend!"

"But there's a condition," Chen Feng said, "this matter must be kept secret. At least until the Morocco crisis is resolved, it cannot be made public."

"I understand! Completely understand!"

After seeing off Ali Pasha, Wang Wenwu couldn't help but ask, "President, really want to help the Ottoman? That could offend Italy, and also Deguo…"

"So it must be kept secret," Chen Feng said, "and besides, a collapsed Ottoman is no good for us. A weakened Ottoman that depends on us is stronger than an Ottoman divided by Britain and France." (The Ottoman still nominally controls the Middle East at this moment; the future will all be mine.)

He glanced at his pocket watch: "Time's up. Let's go meet the British and French consuls."