Chapter 165: Face and Substance
"What did you say?"
Keel's voice was hoarse, as if the words had been scraped from his throat.
He stared at the adjutant standing before him, eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Are you certain? Are you absolutely certain the combat command post has lost contact?"
The adjutant lowered his head and nodded silently.
Keel felt the strength drain from his body. He sank back onto the bed, his face pale beneath the harsh morning light.
One divisional commander had already died in this war.
He could accept another death.
A dead commander could be explained. He had fallen bravely in battle, died at his post, sacrificed himself for the Empire. With enough ink and enough speeches, even incompetence could be dressed in a uniform and buried with honor.
But capture was different.
If a British divisional commander were taken alive and then paraded before reporters by the Saudi government, the damage would be beyond military calculation.
From the perspective of public opinion, it would be no different from firing a cannon straight into Buckingham Palace.
It would tear through the dignity of the Army, the authority of the government, and the last remaining illusion that this war was still firmly under British control.
Keel snapped back to himself and shouted, "Immediately. Send a telegram to the Saudi government immediately. Confirm whether Bull is alive."
His voice rose sharply.
"Quickly!"
The adjutant turned to leave, but Keel stopped him again.
"And this news is not to be reported to London for now."
The adjutant froze for a moment.
Then he understood.
"Yes, sir."
Meanwhile, in Riyadh.
When Ibn received the news, he could not stop smiling.
A British divisional commander had been captured alive.
For Saudi Arabia, this was not merely a battlefield success. It was an achievement unprecedented in the entire history of the kingdom, a victory great enough to make every tribe and every city speak his name with pride.
He gripped the telegram in his hand and laughed aloud.
"Immediately organize a press conference. Bring reporters here. British reporters, French reporters, Arab reporters, every reporter who can be found!"
The Minister of the Interior accepted the order and turned to leave the palace.
But he had not gone far before Vorbeck stopped him.
After hearing what had happened, Vorbeck stood beneath the palace wall and remained silent for a long while. His gaze was calm, but the lines around his eyes tightened.
Then he turned and walked quickly back toward Ibn.
"Your Majesty," Vorbeck said, "I do not believe a press conference should be held."
The smile on Ibn's face slowly stiffened.
For a ruler, there were few things more unpleasant than having a triumphant decision challenged at the very moment of victory. Instinctively, he wanted to demand an explanation, even accountability.
But the man before him was Vorbeck.
This German officer had helped him win a victory that Saudi Arabia could not have achieved alone.
So Ibn restrained himself and asked patiently, "Why, General Vorbeck? Once the news is published, Britain will lose tremendous face. Their public will support the antiwar movement even more strongly."
Vorbeck shook his head.
"No, Your Majesty. You are underestimating the British."
He stepped closer, his voice low and firm.
"To humiliate them in this way would not merely embarrass a government. It would challenge the bottom line of a nation. From that moment onward, the cost of war would cease to matter. The British public, the politicians, and the Army would all demand revenge, because this would not be seen as a Saudi victory. It would be seen as a slap across Britain's face."
Ibn's expression changed.
Vorbeck continued, "They would fight regardless of cost. They would pour blood into the dunes until the insult was washed away."
He paused, then added, "But if we take one step back now, this war may end quickly. And you will obtain what you truly want."
Two days later, Divisional Commander Penken Bull was handed over to the German Embassy in Saudi Arabia and placed under secret protection.
On the third day, Lia, serving as Germany's Minister of Foreign Affairs, arrived in London and held a confidential meeting with Chamberlain.
The news shook Chamberlain badly.
A divisional commander had been captured alive.
More importantly, he knew Bull's identity. The man's family had connections in both houses of Parliament. If the matter appeared in the newspapers, Britain would be dragged into an even more dangerous political storm.
With the end of August fast approaching, the results from the front had already destroyed Chamberlain's remaining confidence in the Army. Unwilling to let the economy suffer another heavy blow, he chose not to inform the military.
Instead, he drove directly to Downing Street and knocked on the door of the Prime Minister's residence.
The attendant saw his anxious expression and immediately realized something serious had happened. Without delaying for an appointment, he led Chamberlain straight into the study.
Baldwin, who had not expected him, looked up in surprise.
"What happened?"
Chamberlain took a breath and said, "Mr. Prime Minister, one of our divisional commanders has been captured alive by Saudi Arabia. They intended to organize a press conference and make him appear before the public."
Pfft.
The teacup slipped from Baldwin's hand and fell onto the soft carpet. Tea splashed across the fabric, leaving a dark stain.
For once, Baldwin did not care about his image.
His face flushed with fury.
"Is the Army full of useless fools? They even allowed a divisional commander to be captured alive? This is not the Crusades, and it is not some damned medieval back and forth siege!"
He slammed his hand onto the desk.
"With such a disparity in national strength and weaponry, they still failed to take Saudi Arabia in two months. And now they send me news that a divisional commander has been captured alive. What the hell is this supposed to be?"
All trust in the Army vanished at that moment.
After his initial rage passed, Baldwin gradually recovered his reason.
He looked at Chamberlain and narrowed his eyes.
"Who told you this? Knowing the Army, this matter should not have reached my desk so quickly."
"Germany sent someone to appease the Saudi side," Chamberlain answered truthfully. "They want to use this matter in exchange for our concessions in the peace treaty."
Baldwin paced back and forth in the study.
He remembered the treaty terms Chamberlain had previously reported to him. For several minutes, the room was silent except for the dull sound of his footsteps against the floor.
Given the current situation, the war absolutely could not end within two months through military means.
Yet they had boasted that it would.
For the authority of the government, the war had to end within two months, and it had to end as a British victory.
At last, Baldwin stopped.
"You will go to Germany. I can agree to Roman's demands, but the shares in the oil fields of Iraq and Iran cannot be touched. That is one of our bottom lines."
He turned back toward Chamberlain.
"In addition, the British government has one more demand."
"This war must appear to end with the Middle Eastern countries actively seeking peace, and with Britain achieving a great victory. On the surface, Jordan and the other territories must be presented as places we voluntarily gave up out of respect for their independence."
Baldwin's tone grew heavy.
"Britain must win face, no matter what."
This was already the best possible way to clean up the mess.
Though victory would exist only on the surface, in the eyes of the public and the world, Britain would have won.
That was enough.
As for the colonies they would lose in substance, many of them were already burdens. As long as Britain retained its oil interests in Iraq and Iran, kept its oil supply uninterrupted, and maintained Oman as a coastal foothold, the rest could be cut away.
It might even reduce military expenditures.
Of course, Baldwin could not bear the responsibility for this alone.
After thinking for a moment, he reminded Chamberlain, "Remember, Chamberlain, the beginning of this war had nothing to do with you or me. We compromised under pressure from the military hardliners led by Churchill."
His gaze sharpened.
"That narrative must be maintained inside the party and in both houses of Parliament."
Chamberlain, who already had little affection for Churchill, agreed without hesitation.
"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. I understand."
Seeing Chamberlain prepare to leave, Baldwin suddenly called him back.
"However, we cannot ignore Germany completely. The annexation of Austria and Czechoslovakia has already revealed their ambition. We need a country capable of containing Roman and balancing the European situation."
He paused.
"I hear that Italy and Germany are not on good terms. After you finish in Berlin, go secretly to Rome."
On the afternoon of the fourth day, Berlin.
It was the same place and the same people, but without Churchill present, the conversation between Jörg and Chamberlain became far more pleasant.
"I understand your vision for a peaceful Europe, Mr. Chamberlain," Roman said with a faint smile. "In fact, I am currently walking the path to achieve it."
He was not lying.
In Jörg's eyes, only a unified Europe could come closer to peace.
Chamberlain chuckled softly and did not pursue the subject.
"Mr. Roman, we will fulfill the treaty according to your conditions. I ask only that Germany keep this matter confidential, as agreed."
Roman nodded.
"I understand, Mr. Chamberlain."
Then he smiled and added lightly, "Today, I was never here, and neither were you."
.....
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