Chapter 156: The Wolves Look Around
News of the establishment of a Jewish state ignited heated discussion across the nations of Europe and America.
Most people believed that sending the guilty into the desert was already the most suitable outcome. A smaller number thought the punishment far too lenient. As for the attitude of the people already living in the Middle East, almost no one cared.
In the eyes of many European publics, the Arabs were distant, unfamiliar Moors. They were not treated as a people whose opinions mattered, but as another backward race waiting to be arranged on a map by others.
The only one who truly paid attention to the Middle East was Jörg.
Of course, what he cared about was not justice.
He cared about how to tear apart the old colonial structure of that oil rich region, a region Britain and France had occupied for far too long.
Berlin.
The Red Brick Building.
Lettow Vorbeck, once again dressed in military uniform, wore a rare smile as he hurried down the corridor toward the Commander in Chief's office. His steps were light, almost childlike, as though age had never truly caught up with him.
He stopped outside the door, raised his hand, and knocked gently.
"Your Excellency, Commander in Chief."
"Come in."
Jörg set down Vorbeck's file and sat with one leg crossed over the other. Pale sunlight filtered through the louvered windows, cutting the office into strips of shadow and gold.
The vast deserts of the Middle East were well suited for large scale armored advances, but this operation did not require the Wehrmacht to appear directly.
Germany's navy had not yet reached full strength. Jörg had no intention of provoking a fundamental confrontation with Britain and France before the time was ripe.
At the same time, the generals of those resistance organizations were clearly incapable of facing the British and French alone. They needed guidance, discipline, experience, and a method of fighting that could turn weakness into pressure.
That made Vorbeck the natural choice.
He had spent years in East Africa conducting guerrilla warfare, infiltration operations, and campaigns against superior forces. He understood how to survive without support, how to stretch enemy logistics, and how to make an empire bleed without confronting it head on.
Looking at the man before him, Jörg found it hard to think of him as someone over sixty. The few wrinkles on Vorbeck's face merely made him look like a hard seasoned man in his forties or fifties. His spirit was sharper than that of many officers half his age.
"Major General Vorbeck, I assume you understood your mission before coming here?"
Jörg gestured for him to sit.
Senna stepped forward and placed two cups of coffee on the table.
"Tell me your thoughts."
Vorbeck picked up his coffee and spoke without haste.
"Your Excellency, in my view, the Middle East does not possess the same guerrilla conditions as East Africa. The terrain is different. There are no dense forests, no endless bushland, no natural cover that can swallow an army whole."
He set the cup down and continued.
"There are stretches of sand, open roads, towns, wells, and long supply lines. To defeat a larger force with a smaller one, we must force the enemy to make mistakes. We must extend their logistics until their front line troops are trapped in the desert with nowhere to advance and no confidence in retreat."
Vorbeck walked to the desk, took up a pen, and marked several points on the map.
"If possible, Britain and France's Mediterranean supply lines must be disrupted for a long period. Not necessarily destroyed, but made uncertain. Unreliable. Expensive."
He tapped the map lightly.
"I have met those Arab commanders. Their training is poor. Their discipline is loose. Their only true advantage is that they know the region better than any European army can. Winning outright will be difficult."
Vorbeck looked back at Jörg.
"If your objective is victory, I would say the chances are less than thirty percent."
Jörg shook his head.
"I am not trying to win, Vorbeck. I am trying to make Britain and France feel powerless."
His fingers rested on the edge of the map.
"I want to cut their flesh with a dull knife. Slowly. Repeatedly. Until they cry out in pain and offer concessions just to stop the bleeding."
Vorbeck pondered for a moment, then raised five fingers.
"In that case, I can give you fifty percent."
"The submarine force will assist you with mine laying," Jörg said. "And you will also have support from this."
With that, he opened a drawer and took out a small paper packet filled with white powder.
Penicillin.
Vorbeck's expression changed slightly.
For an army in the desert, a medicine that could prevent infected wounds from becoming death sentences was no less valuable than ammunition.
On the other side of the world, in Saudi Arabia.
Riyadh Royal Palace.
The rebel leaders from Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan sat together in one room, while Ibn, ruler of Saudi Arabia, and Ghazi, son of King Faisal I of Iraq, sat in another.
Von Nakato, the special envoy sent under Jörg's orders, walked through the palace corridor under the guidance of two attendants. Silk carpets covered the floor, and the air carried the mixed scent of incense, dust, and polished brass.
Although much of the Middle East stood under British and French control, the methods and depth of that control differed greatly from place to place.
In Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan, the colonial governments still used an older and more direct system of domination. Military, political, and economic power were held firmly in foreign hands. For the men from those regions, independence was their first demand, and also the easiest desire for Germany to exploit.
Saudi Arabia and Iraq were different.
Saudi Arabia had gained independence from Britain, but London continued to support rival forces that hoped to regain their old position. Iraq, because of its oil, enjoyed a higher status in British calculations and had been granted a considerable degree of autonomy. It even had the outward form of democracy.
But autonomy was not independence.
Its politics were still shaped by British backed politicians, and its army could scarcely be called fully free.
They too wanted independence.
But like Saudi Arabia, they also wanted German industrial support.
Yet these were not the only people von Nakato needed to contact.
After Riyadh, he still had to travel to Iran and speak with them separately.
There was a reason for this.
The Middle East remained, in many ways, a religious world shaped by old loyalties, old rivalries, and old divisions. Iran's religious system differed from that of the Arab states. Inviting everyone into the same room would not create unity. It would only create quarrels.
This conclusion came from von Nakato's many years of intelligence work in the region.
To bind them together, one could not speak of a single common dream. One had to offer each side a different benefit, tailored precisely to what it wanted most.
Otherwise, the entire effort would collapse into noise.
Von Nakato entered the luxuriously decorated first reception room.
Ibn and Ghazi were speaking in good spirits. When they saw him enter, both men looked over at once.
"Our German friend has arrived," Ibn said. "Mr. Nakato, does His Excellency Jörg have time now?"
"He has time," von Nakato replied in fluent Arabic. "However, the Führer instructed me to speak with you both first."
Years in the Middle East had given von Nakato excellent command of the language. His accent was not perfect, but it was clear, respectful, and confident.
"After matters are concluded, Germany will assist in your industrial development. Military aid will also be provided."
He paused.
"Of course, none of this will be free."
The warmth in the room thinned at once.
Ibn frowned, though he forced a smile onto his face.
"Mr. Nakato, how is that different from what was promised before?"
"I never gave you a precise promise, Mr. Ibn," von Nakato said calmly. "And this is not a unilateral demand from Germany. It is cooperation built on mutual benefit."
He met their gazes without flinching.
"You may use this opportunity to break free completely from British control, receive German assistance, and become truly independent nations. You may also strike at the Jewish state before it becomes an entrenched enemy in your region. Is this not what both of you desire?"
He reached into his camel leather bag and withdrew two documents.
"And all you must pay are some insignificant costs."
He handed one document to Ibn and the other to Ghazi.
The moment Ibn opened his copy, his expression hardened.
Germany wanted exploration rights and pricing authority for oil across more than sixty percent of Saudi territory in exchange for funding and support. Beyond that, Germany would also enjoy the right to set commodity prices in subsequent trade.
These terms were not cooperation.
They were extortion dressed in diplomatic language.
Ghazi's expression was not much better.
Although he had a favorable impression of the Germans, the clauses before him were difficult to accept. Commodity pricing rights were one matter. A ten percent share in the Mosul oil fields was another entirely.
For a long while, neither man spoke.
Von Nakato waited patiently.
He did not rush them.
Great powers never placed knives on the table unless they were willing to wait for others to notice the blade.
.....
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