novelAbuy Chapter 47 The French Choice
Chapter 47 The French Choice
At almost the same time, in the Admiralty building in Paris, General Charles Dubois sat opposite the minister, holding a telegram he had just received.
"The note from London arrived five minutes ago."
Dubois's voice was calm, but his knuckles were turning white as he gripped the telegram. The 55-year-old vice admiral had weathered many storms, but at this moment he still felt immense pressure.
Minister Gaston Thomson didn't even glance at the telegram; he simply lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
"How was the wording?"
"We strongly urge the French Republic to reconsider any military cooperation with illegal entities in the Persian Gulf, so as not to undermine the existing balance of power and friendly relations in Europe." Dubois finished reading the telegram and placed it on the table. "In other words, we don't want to sell ships to you, and we won't allow anyone else to sell them to us."
Thomson exhaled a smoke ring, which slowly rose under the light.
"Where have our negotiations reached?"
"Ninety percent complete." Dubois leaned forward, his voice low but urgent. "Chen Feng accepted the resource offset plan—using our mineral resources in Vietnam and Algeria to pay half the cost. The technology transfer list has been narrowed down to fifteen items, four of which are limited transfers. Now all that's left is final approval from Paris and the initial payment."
He pulled a thick document out of his briefcase.
"The preliminary design of the 'Courbet-class'. Standard displacement 23,000 tons, full load 25,000 tons, twelve 305mm main guns, speed 22 knots. Minister, I guarantee with my forty years of naval experience—this is at least thirty percent better than the German Westphalian-class. If we had five such ships…"
"We can contend with the Germans at sea," Thomson continued, but with a furrowed brow. "But the price is a falling out with the British. Have you considered what the pro-British faction in the cabinet will say if London really puts pressure on us?"
"They'll say we broke the Anglo-French agreement," Dubois said without hesitation. "But Minister, look at the reality. The Germans have six dreadnoughts, Austria-Hungary has three, Britain has one and is building ten. And France? We have none. By the time Britain is willing to sell us ships in 1909, the North Sea may already be a German lake."
He stood up, walked to the map of Europe on the wall, and pointed to the French coastline.
"Without a navy, all our diplomatic efforts on the Moroccan question are futile. Without a navy, our interests in the colonies are like castles on the beach, swept away by the tide. The gentlemen of London can leisurely discuss the 'balance of power' because they have the most powerful fleet in the world. And us? What do we have?"
The phone rang suddenly, its sharp sound shattering the tense atmosphere in the room.
Thomson answered the phone, listened for a few seconds, and his expression changed.
"Yes...I understand...Please tell the Prime Minister that I will be there in ten minutes."
After hanging up the phone, he looked at Dubois with a complicated expression.
"The Prime Minister summoned him urgently. It seems the note from London was sent directly to Martinignon Palace."
Dubois put on his military cap and straightened his uniform. His movements were meticulous, just like when he inspected a warship before each voyage.
"Minister, please convey to the Prime Minister: This is not just a deal for five warships. It is an opportunity—an opportunity for France to skip a generation in naval technology, catch up directly with Germany, and even surpass it in the future. The price is some technology and colonial resources, but in exchange, we gain maritime dominance."
Thomson also stood up, and the two looked at each other across the desk.
"Charles, if this goes wrong, we'll both end up in a court-martial."
“If we don’t do it,” Dubois’s voice was soft, but every word carried immense weight, “the court of history will judge us all—judgment of how we stood by and watched the glory of the French navy be extinguished.”
Silence spread between them. Outside the window, the Parisian night sky was clouded low, devoid of stars.
"Get ready to go," Thomson finally said. "I'm going to see the Prime Minister. I'll get back to you in an hour, whatever the outcome."
There was no rain in the Persian Gulf at night, only a hot wind blowing in from the desert, carrying sand grains that slapped against the windows.
Inside the Dubai Port administration building, Chen Feng stood before a giant world map, his finger slowly moving from London to Paris, finally stopping at the Persian Gulf. The kerosene lamp hanging on the wall cast a long shadow of his, swaying across the map.
"Young Master, Wang Wenwu has sent an urgent telegram from Singapore."
Uncle Wang's voice came from behind. This old man was an elder among the survivors of Lanfang and one of Chen Feng's most trusted assistants. He held a newly translated telegram in his hand, his face showing worry.
"read."
"The British colonial authorities suddenly announced that all goods exported to the Persian Gulf require a 'special license.' Our three shipments of rubber and two shipments of special steel were all detained at the dock this morning. Minister Wang is trying to find a way to expedite the process, but the situation is not optimistic."
Chen Feng traced the Indian Ocean shipping route on the map, from Singapore to the Persian Gulf. That red route represented Lanfang's lifeline.
"It has begun." His voice was calm, as if stating a fact he had long anticipated. "The British first reaction is always a blockade. Cut off trade, exert pressure, force you to comply."
Li Te stood to the side, the officer's face showing both youthful vigor and tension in the face of an unknown situation.
"President, what about the French delegation? They were scheduled to visit the ship's hull demonstration tomorrow."
"Proceed as planned." Chen Feng turned around, the lights illuminating his young but sharply defined face. "And make it even more spectacular. Li Te, I want you to push the 'Restoration' to its limits tomorrow. 31 knots, full turret homing demonstration, simulated firing procedure—let the French see clearly what they're paying for."
Li Te straightened his back: "Yes! But... what if the British really make a move?"
"They'll send a fleet to demonstrate first." Chen Feng walked to the window, looking at the shimmering lights of the port in the night. "This is the Empire's standard procedure: economic blockade, military intimidation, and only then negotiations. In their view, a 'local power' like us should submit at the sight of the Royal Navy's flag."
He walked back to the table, picked up a pen, and quickly wrote a note.
"Notify Wang Wenwu to activate all backup procurement channels. Chilean nitrates, Brazilian iron ore, and American machine tools—prices up to 20% higher are acceptable. We need to build up six months' worth of reserves before the British completely cut off the supply chain."
Uncle Wang took the note, hesitated for a moment, and said, "Young Master, this will cost a lot of money. The Germans' second advance payment hasn't arrived in full yet..."
"Money can be earned again, but time can't be bought back," Chen Feng interrupted him. "Do as I say."
The telegraph machine suddenly started ticking, breaking the silence in the room. The telegraph operator quickly scribbled something down, then looked up with a strange expression.
"Sir, a secret telegram from Berlin! It's from General Tirpitz."
Chen Feng took the decoded message, which contained only one line:
"London has moved; let's wait and see. If technical support is needed, we can send in additional engineers. — Tirpitz"
Uncle Wang leaned over for a look, then frowned: "The Germans are observing."
"That's normal." Chen Feng placed the telegram on the table. "They want to see the outcome of our first encounter with the British. If we win, they'll increase their investment. If we lose, they'll immediately sever ties. In international politics, it's always easier to add flowers to brocade than to provide charcoal in the snow."
Lee Te couldn't help but ask, "Then what about us...?"
"We'll proceed at our own pace." Chen Feng looked at the young captain. "Li Te, after tomorrow's demonstration, the 'Revival' will enter Level One combat readiness. Ammunition loading, engine warm-up, all crew on standby. But we will not provoke any attacks unless the other side opens fire. Understand?"
"clear!"
No sooner had he finished speaking than another telegraph machine started beeping. This time the ticking was more rapid, as if there was some urgent news.
After the telegraph operator finished recording, his expression became even stranger when he looked up.
"President, this...this was sent by General Dubois of the French delegation. And...it's in plain text."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Plain text? That means anyone who intercepts the radio waves can read the content. When London had just sent its note, the French sent a message in plain text, which was practically a slap in the face to Britain.
Chen Feng raised an eyebrow: "Read it."
The telegraph operator swallowed hard and read the telegram aloud:
"The London ban has been imposed, but Paris's resolve remains unchanged. Tomorrow, we look forward to witnessing a new era. — Dubois"
silence.
Then Chen Feng suddenly laughed, and the sound of his laughter was particularly clear in the quiet room.
"See?" He looked at Wang Bo and Li Te, his eyes gleaming. "That's why the French could build the Eiffel Tower, while the British could only create fog. Romantic, impulsive, reckless—but sometimes, history needs this kind of reckless courage."
Uncle Wang's worry was written all over his face: "Young master, this is tantamount to openly challenging the British. The French are sending messages in plain text, which will definitely be intercepted. London is probably furious by now."
"Then let them jump." Chen Feng walked to the window and opened it. Hot air rushed in, blowing his black hair across his forehead.
In the direction of the port, the lights are still on in the direction of the "Leopard Nest" shipyard. There, the "Fuxing" high-speed train is under construction day and night. Further away, there are newly built oil refineries, steel mills, power plants... Three years ago, this was a desert, but now it has the outline of a city.
"Uncle Wang, do you remember what the old chieftain said when we left Borneo?"
Uncle Wang paused for a moment, his gaze becoming distant, as if he had traveled through time back to that night of parting. Rain, tears, and a final, poignant look at his homeland.
"I remember." The old man's voice was a little hoarse. "The old clan chief said: 'To earn respect, you must first be seen. We've hidden for a hundred years, dodging for decades. Now, it's time for the world to see that Lanfang still exists.'"
Chen Feng turned around, and the light cast a long shadow behind him, as if it were covering the entire world map.
"We've been hiding for three years, building for three years. Now..." His gaze swept over everyone in the room, from Uncle Wang to Li Te, to the telegraph operator, to the guard at the door.
"It's time for the world to see."
He walked back to the table, his voice not loud, but every word was as if cast in steel:
"Notify all ministers, factory managers, and the chief shipyard engineer that there will be a meeting at 7:00 AM tomorrow. Tell everyone—"
Chen Feng paused for a moment, and the distant roar of the steam turbines of the power plant came from outside the window. The sound was deep and powerful, like the heartbeat of this newborn country.
"A storm is coming. But we build ships to brave storms."