Chapter 268: Lanfang Labor Company Launches!

"Come back alive… that's easy to say."

He held the telegraph paper to the candle and lit it, watching the flame devour the characters: "Prepare the car, I'm heading to Tokyo."

"Now? It's already 2 a. m."

"Now." Mutou slipped on his military coat, "This can't wait."

The Navy Transport Department's scheming

While Mutou raced to Tokyo through the night, a brightly lit office at the Yokohama naval base was bustling. Shimada had already shed his uniform, wearing a plain civilian suit, and was gathered with several naval officers around a sea chart.

"The route the Germans offered departs from Yokohama, passes through the Taiwan Strait and the Strait of Malacca, enters the Indian Ocean, rounds the Cape of Good Hope, and finally reaches Marseille in France," a young naval staff officer said, pointing to the red line on the chart. "The whole distance is about 20,000 nautical miles; at a merchant ship's average speed of 10 knots, it takes 80 to 90 days."

"Too slow," Shimada shook his head. "Three months at sea will break the troops' condition. Moreover, this route is too risky—British cruisers patrol the Indian Ocean; although Britain is not currently a belligerent, we can't guarantee they won't intercept under the pretext of 'checking contraband.'"

Another officer—Colonel Matsumoto, head of the Transport Department—interjected: "The general is right. Moreover, our transport vessels are severely lacking. Even if we requisition every usable merchant ship, we can move at most two divisions, about 50,000 men, per sortie. The remainder must wait for the first fleet to return, which means the entire transport cycle will extend to over six months."

"What do the Germans say?" Shimada asked.

Matsumoto opened a document: "German Consul General in Lanfang Mueller has pledged to provide twenty cargo ships, but demands a rental of 5,000 marks per vessel per month. Moreover… most of these ships are rather old, with a speed possibly only 8 knots."

Low murmurs rose in the conference room. Shimada tapped the table: "Quiet. Matsumoto, what about our own ships?"

"We can mobilize twelve immediately, all cargo vessels over 3,000 tons. Additionally, eight are under repair and won't be ready for at least a month. The biggest problem is escort—after the East China Sea, we have only four destroyers and two cruisers left capable of sailing, and they all lack fuel and ammunition."

Shimada closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. The situation was worse than he had imagined.

"General," the third man, who had remained silent, spoke. He was Lieutenant Commander Hei dao of the Navy Intelligence Department, renowned for his scheming, "Perhaps… we could change our approach."

"Go on."

"Why must we rely on sea transport for the entire journey?" Hei dao walked to the chart, "From Yokohama to Marseille, the most dangerous segments are the Indian Ocean and the Cape of Good Hope. But what if we take a different route?"

He drew a new line with a red pen on the chart: "Depart Yokohama, pass through the Tsushima Strait into the Sea of Japan, then dock at Wonsan Port in Korea. From there proceed overland via the Manchurian Railway onto the Trans‑Siberian Railway, crossing Russia, and finally enter Germany through Poland."

The room erupted in a clamor.

"Crossing Russia? It's wartime now!"

"The Trans‑Siberian Railway's capacity is simply insufficient!"

"And the political risk is too great; the Russians won't agree…"

Hei dao waited for the discussion to subside, then said slowly: "Everyone, hear me out. First, although Russia is now fighting Germany, it has no direct conflict with us. Second, the Trans‑Siberian Railway's capacity is limited, but transporting only personnel, not heavy equipment, is feasible. Third, Russia is financially strained; if Germany is willing to pay a transit fee, they are likely to consent."

He paused, looking at Shimada: "Most importantly, this route takes only 30 to 40 days, more than twice as fast as sea transport. Moreover, it carries virtually no maritime risk. The troops will remain in far better condition."

Shimada stared at the red line, his mind racing with calculations. Indeed, the proposal sounded enticing, but…

"What about the equipment Germany provides? Overland we can't transport cannons and vehicles."

"The equipment goes by sea," Hei dao had prepared, "the troops move lightly overland, while the gear sails around the Cape of Good Hope. The two meet in France. That way, even if the sea‑borne equipment is intercepted or delayed, at least the personnel arrive safely."

Matsumoto questioned, "But with split transport, the soldiers arrive in Europe without equipment; isn't that useless?"

"Germany has pledged to supply initial equipment," Hei dao said, "and, everyone, consider—if the worst happens and all equipment is lost, a hundred thousand troops arriving safely are still valuable manpower for Germany. They won't send those men into battle empty‑handed."

The room fell into contemplation. Everyone weighed the pros and cons of the plan.

"I look forward to your good news," Chen Feng also stood.

The two shook hands. Mueller's hand was strong and dry; Chen Feng's was warm and steady. Their clasp sealed a deal that could alter the course of the war.

When they left the inn, the rain had eased. Chen Feng got into the waiting car and said to the co‑driver Wang Wenwu: "Return to the consulate. Also, inform Tokyo; we can give Prime Minister Saionji a heads‑up, saying Germany is very satisfied with a scale of 120,000 people and that there's room for price increase."

"Do you think Germany will agree to the submarine‑technology request?" Wang Wenwu asked.

"They will," Chen Feng said, looking at the rainy night outside, "because they have no choice. In this war, Germany must win, or at least not lose. And to win, they're willing to pay any price—including some technologies they once treasured."

The car drove along the slick streets, passing the dock area of Keelung Port. In the dim light, several Japanese merchant ships were moored, their hulls rusted and dilapidated. This was the sight of a defeated nation: a once‑proud shipping industry now reduced to these aging vessels.

"What about Japan?" Chen Feng asked, "How did Mutou react?"

"Very intense," Wang Wenwu reported, "but according to Komura's intelligence, Prime Minister Saionji has personally summoned senior army officials. Although Defense Minister Oshima Kenichi is reluctant, he understands the domestic crisis better. If no foreign‑exchange inflow arrives within three days, the government may not even be able to pay civil servants' salaries."

Chen Feng nodded: "Starvation is more persuasive than dignity. Tell our contacts in Tokyo that, if necessary, they can 'help' shape public opinion—such as leaking that Britain is considering further sanctions on Japan, or that American banks are refusing loans."

"Understood."

Returning to the Lanfang consulate in Keelung, it was already deep night. Yet Chen Feng did not rest; he went straight to the study. The desk was piled with telegrams and documents, the topmost being the latest report from the Navy Intelligence Department:

"Assessment of the Japanese Navy's remaining vessels: 2 battleships (both requiring major repairs), 5 cruisers (3 operational), 12 destroyers (7 operational), 3 submarines (all obsolete)… Total tonnage is less than one‑third of pre‑war strength, and fuel reserves suffice for only two months of training consumption."

The report ended with a handwritten note: "Recommend accelerating the implementation of the 'Labor Transport' plan; the Japanese Navy's current transport capacity is severely lacking, and we can use this to further control its maritime lifeline."

Chen Feng picked up a pen and annotated beside the note: "Agreed. Establish the 'East Asia Shipping Joint Company,' with Lanfang holding 51% and the Japanese Shipping Association holding 49%. All labor transport must go through this company."

After finishing, he walked to the window. The rain had stopped, the clouds thinned, revealing a few sparse stars. In the distant sea, a Lanfang Navy patrol vessel was cruising, its bridge lights flashing rhythmically in the darkness.

Once implemented, this plan will completely reshape Asia's balance. Japan will fall from an ambitious empire to a second‑tier nation surviving by exporting labor, while Lanfang will leverage the crisis to leap from a regional power to Asia's dominant force.

But Chen Feng felt little joy. He recalled a line from his grandfather's manuscript: "The way of a great nation lies not in conquest but in establishing trust. To subjugate by force, when force wanes, it scatters; to subjugate by virtue, when virtue flourishes, it endures."

"Is present‑day Lanfang subjugating by virtue or by force?"

He could not answer. In this world of the strong feeding on the weak, sometimes you must first use force to earn the right to speak, and only then can you discuss morality.