Chapter 562: Washington's Decision

"At minimum a naval demonstration, preferably a limited military action. For example… attacking British merchant ships in the Indian Ocean, or threatening Singapore," Wilhelm II turned, his eyes reigniting, "We must make the British feel pain, make them know the cost of expanding the war."

Tirpitz hesitated, "This will enrage the British, possibly causing them to further escalate."

"The war has already escalated," Wilhelm II said, "Meilika is about to enter the war; what else cannot be escalated? Since we are playing, we play big. Tell Chen Feng that if Lanfang truly acts, Germany will recognize Lanfang's post‑war 'special interests' in Borneo, Sumatra, and even Malaya."

This is a blank check, but perhaps an enticing blank check.

Tirpitz stood at attention, "I will draft the telegram myself. Moreover, I recommend recalling General Ludengdaofu at once to revise the 1917 operational plan. If we are to hold out until Lanfang exerts influence in the Far East, we need a more conservative, defensive strategy."

"Agreed." Wilhelm II sat back in the chair before the fireplace, suddenly looking extremely weary, "Go. Leave me alone for a while."

Tirpitz saluted and left. After the door closed, only the emperor remained in the study.

He watched the flames in the fireplace, recalling 1888 when his father Frederick III was on his deathbed. His father clasped his hand and said, "Wilhelm, you must lead Germany to greatness, but not to madness."

Did he achieve it? He built a world‑class navy, made Germany the strongest industrial nation in Europe, let the world hear the voice of the Germanic people. Yet the price is this war, these deaths, this nation sliding into the abyss.

Perhaps his father was right. Between greatness and madness lies only a thin line. And he may already have crossed it.

But now there is no turning back. Like a high‑speed train whose brakes have failed, it can only surge forward until the fuel runs out or it crashes into the terminus.

The only hope is, before the impact, to find a siding, a buffer, a less fatal ending.

And Chen Feng, that mysterious figure from the East, may hold the lever to the siding.

Wilhelm II closed his eyes, murmuring, "God, if you truly exist, grant Germany a chance. Even if it's only a chance for a dignified end."

There was no answer. Only the crackle of burning logs in the fireplace and, in the distance, an indistinct—whether thunder or artillery—low rumble.

Berlin waits in darkness for dawn. When dawn arrives, the world will no longer be the world of yesterday.

Washington, the White House, 9 a. m.

President Wilson sat in the Oval Office, two documents spread before him. One was a draft memorandum to be submitted to Congress, titled "Necessary Measures to Protect Meilika Citizens and Interests." The other was a briefing prepared by Lansing, detailing the chain reactions that Meilika Entry into War might trigger.

Sunlight slanted in through the south window, casting bright patches on the carpet. Yet the office felt no warmth, only a cold, weighty solemnity before a decision.

The door opened, and Lansing entered together with Army Minister Beck. Both wore grim expressions.

"Mr. President, the Chief of Staff Joint Meeting has just completed a preliminary assessment," Beck said bluntly, "If we declare war on Germany, we will need at least six months to dispatch the first combat units to the Western Front. It will take a year to reach a scale of five hundred thousand troops. Full mobilization will require eighteen months to two years."

"The cost?" Wilson asked.

"Direct military expenditures are projected to exceed $20 billion. Casualties… cannot be accurately predicted, but based on European battlefield experience, a half‑million force could lose between 100,000 and 150,000 men in a year of combat."

One hundred thousand to one hundred fifty thousand. Behind each number lies a family, a story, a future cut short.

Wilson's fingers tapped the tabletop lightly, "What if we do not enter the war?"

Lansing replied, "Britain may be forced to seek peace within the year, France could collapse. Germany will dominate Europe, and Meilika's investments and debts in Europe may be unrecoverable. More importantly, a victorious, militaristic Germany would become a long‑term threat to Meilika's future."

"But if we join the war and win, then what?" Wilson pressed, "Germany would be dismembered, humiliated, burdened with unpayable reparations. Twenty years later, a revanchist Germany would rise again. Would we then be ready? Ready to fight an even larger war?"

The question is brutal, but it must be faced.

Beck and Lansing exchanged a glance. Lansing said cautiously, "Mr. President, that is the worst case. Perhaps we can secure a more reasonable peace, one that contains Germany without inflaming a desire for revenge."

"How do we achieve that?" Wilson rose, walking to the world map, "When our youth bleed in Europe, when the public is whipped by propaganda into hatred of Germany, when politicians shout 'Germany must pay,' how do we strive for a 'reasonable peace'?"

He turned, his eyes heavy with fatigue, "I study history; I know how war distorts humanity. In 1914 everyone said the war would end before Christmas. Now? Two and a half years later, five million dead, and no end in sight. Once Meilika enters the war, once our blood starts flowing, all reason vanishes, leaving only hatred and revenge."

The office fell silent. In the distance, the spire of the Washington Monument was clearly visible outside the window, erected to honor another wartime president—George Washington, who led Meilika to independence yet understood the cost of war.

"Mr. President," Beck finally said, "I understand your concerns. But as a soldier, I must tell you: sometimes war is the only option. Not because we like war, but because there is no better alternative."

"A better option…" Wilson repeated the phrase with a wry smile, "Chen Feng gave us a better option. Let Europe solve its own problems, let Meilika reap the benefits. In theory perfect, but reality forbids it."

He walked back to his desk, picked up the draft memorandum, and turned to the final page. It was blank, awaiting his signature.

The pen in his hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

"Chen Feng told me at the end: 'Meilika's decision will expand a war once confined to Europe into the whole world. That is humanity's tragedy.'" Wilson said softly, "He is right. But do we have any other choices?"

Lansing stepped beside him, "Mr. President, history will judge you. But as those present, we know you have done your utmost. You tried peace, you listened to differing voices, you weighed all options. Now is the time to decide."