Chapter 517: First, Make the British Kneel

The room fell silent for a few seconds. Xingdengbao and Ludengdaofu exchanged a glance— the kind of expression army generals habitually give navy generals, a mix of doubt and rivalry.

"Decisive strike?" Wilhelm II squinted, "What do you mean? Another tactical victory like the Japan‑German‑Netherlands one?"

"No, Your Majesty," Bei Enke's voice steadied, "I mean a true decisive battle. Concentrate all our capital ships in the North Sea to seek a showdown with the British Grand Fleet. Exploit the technological edge of the Bismarck and Tirpitz, and, before the enemy's new vessels enter mass service, secure victory in one stroke."

"What about the risk?" Ludengdaofu asked coldly, "If we lose, we forfeit not only a few warships but the entire navy, and any chance of obtaining aid by sea."

"If we keep going as we are now," Bei Enke countered, "by next summer the army will lack Shell and Fuel to launch any large‑scale offensive. And the British, possibly with Meilika's support, could mount a counter‑offensive we cannot repel. Isn't that an even greater risk?"

The argument was about to escalate. At that moment, the conference room door was knocked hurriedly.

"Come in!"

The door opened, and a young captain hurried in, holding a deep‑red folder—the highest‑level emergency intelligence marker. His complexion was pale, breathing rapid, clearly having run the whole way.

"Your Majesty, the Foreign Ministry has an urgent telegram. From... Washington."

Dr. Qi Mo Er Man immediately took the folder, opened it, and read quickly. Under the kerosene lamp his complexion turned gray at a visibly rapid pace.

"Read," Wilhelm II ordered.

Qi Mo Er Man swallowed, his voice hoarse: "The Washington military attaché office sent it back, routed through three encrypted relays. Confirmation: British Prime Minister Asquith secretly arrived in Meilika on November 17, and that morning held a three‑hour closed‑door meeting with President Wilson. The discussion involved…"

He paused, as if gathering courage.

"It concerns the Allies' debt issue with the United States and the financial risk should Germany win. That evening, British Ambassador Spring‑Lys met Morgan, Sheff, Baruch and other core figures of Meilika's financial world at the Albemarle Club. Our intelligence assesses that Britain is launching a systematic lobbying campaign, with a clear goal: to push Meilika to abandon neutrality and intervene in the war by economic, even military, means."

A death‑like silence.

The kerosene lamp wick emitted a faint crackle. The massive wall clock's hands ticked, pointing to exactly midnight.

Wilhelm II slowly walked to the window, his back to everyone. His shoulders trembled slightly, unsure whether from anger or fear. Outside, the garden of Wuyou Palace lay in winter night darkness, with only a few air‑raid lights casting a faint blue glow.

"When did this happen?" the emperor's voice was soft, yet each word was like an ice spear.

"Four days ago, Your Majesty," Qi Mo Er Man replied, "due to encryption and transmission time…"

"Four days," Wilhelm II repeated, "four days ago the British Prime Minister already persuaded Meilika to join the war in Washington. And we are here debating tank production and naval strategy."

He suddenly turned, his eyes flashing beast‑like in the darkness.

"Do you know what this means? Huh? You generals, marshals, doctors, do you understand?"

No one dared to answer.

"That means," Wilhelm II's voice rose sharply into a harsh roar, "if the Meilika people get their way, the war ends! Not next year, not the year after, but now! They will fill the Atlantic with warships, blanket the sky with aircraft, drown our defenses with supplies! Then tanks, submarines, trench lines—all become jokes!"

He seized the brandy bottle on the table and smashed it against the wall. The crystal bottle shattered, amber liquid and shards spraying everywhere. A serving officer instinctively stepped forward, but the emperor's glance forced him back.

"Ludengdaofu!"

"Present, Your Majesty!"

"Your 1917 production plan—what premise is it based on? The premise that Meilika remains neutral, correct?"

Ludengdaofu's Adam's apple rolled slightly: "Yes, Your Majesty. All raw‑material imports, capacity expansions, troop deployments assume Meilika will not intervene directly."

"Then this plan is void," Wilhelm II said, moving to the map table, hands braced on the surface, leaning forward, "We need a new plan. One premised on 'Meilika will enter the war within three months.'"

Marshal Xingdengbao spoke in a low voice: "Your Majesty, if Meilika truly joins the war, I think… we should launch peace‑talk procedures immediately. While we still have bargaining chips, we must secure the best terms."

"Peace talks?" Wilhelm II sneered, "With whom? With those who want to strangle me? With those who want to carve Germany into dozens of tiny states? No, Marshal. Germany must either win this war or be destroyed. No middle ground."

He sat upright, inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm. Years of monarchic training let him regain composure swiftly under extreme emotion—or rather, regain that cold, decisive state.

"Qi Mo Er Man."

"Present, Your Majesty."

"Send a telegram to Chen Feng. Use the highest encryption level. Tell him everything that's happening here. Emphasize especially: if the United States joins the war, all his investments in Germany—technology transfer fees for tank factories, design patent fees for warships, and the mercenary wages from the Sakura Nation—will vanish. Ask him for any advice."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Bei Enke."

"Present!"

"Is the unrestricted submarine warfare plan ready?"

General Bei Enke's pupils narrowed slightly: "In theory… the plan is ready, Your Majesty. But implementation requires an imperial decree and parliamentary approval, and it will inevitably anger neutral nations, especially—"

"Especially Meilika," Wilhelm II finished for him, "but if Meilika has already decided to join, what reservations remain? Sink their ships, kill their people, make them retreat before they pay the price. If that fails… at least make Britain kneel before they complete mobilization."

His gaze swept over everyone present.

"Gentlemen, we are losing this war. Not on the front, not in the factories, but in the clubs of Washington, in the exchanges of New York, in those conspiracies woven with money and lies. But Germany will not sit idle. If this is the final chance, we will gamble everything."

He walked to the doorway, grasped the brass handle, then turned back.