Chapter 157: Before the Storm
Seeing the grave expressions behind Ibn and Ghazi's forced smiles, Nakatou lit an Arabian cigarette, drew in a deep breath, and let the smoke drift slowly from his lips.
"To be frank, gentlemen, in this age, a nation willing to help another build industry and military strength is already rare. Other than Germany, I dare say no country would offer such terms."
His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.
"If you believe the conditions are too harsh, you may speak with the British. Or the French. See whether they will give you anything half as generous. The Führer is a merciful ruler, and Germany holds sincere goodwill toward the Middle East."
He tapped the ash from his cigarette.
"That is why we are not Britain or France. We do not demand the right to interfere in your sovereignty or dictate your politics. We will not force Germans into your government, grant ourselves special privileges on your soil, herd your people into stables to pray, or kill them without consequence."
Ibn still wanted to bargain.
"But, Mr. Nakatou, you are mistaken about one thing. There is still Soviet Russia."
Nakatou immediately understood what he was doing.
The Saudis wanted to use Moscow as leverage.
He gave a faint smile, flicked another speck of ash from his cigarette, and shook his head.
"Then why, Your Excellency Ibn, have you not already made a deal with the Russians?"
Ibn fell silent.
Nakatou lifted the cup of rich camel milk beside him and took a slow sip before continuing.
"Because you understand the consequences better than anyone. If Soviet Russia enters Saudi Arabia too deeply, the tragedy of the Tsarist royal family will be repeated in this palace. Or perhaps you will not even have to wait that long."
His gaze sharpened.
"Anti-Soviet containment is now a European principle. If you dare to accept Soviet aid openly, you will not face mere rebels. You will face the pressure of several great powers at once. With the current condition of the Saudi Army, forgive my bluntness, Mr. Ibn, but Saudi Arabia would be thrown back several decades."
The reception room fell into a deeper silence.
After a long moment, Ghazi raised another question.
"I agree that Iraq can participate in the war, Mr. Nakatou. But I need guarantees."
His expression was solemn.
"War is not a child's game. If the situation turns unfavorable, Germany must provide military assistance and intervene to ensure Iraq's independence."
Ibn followed immediately.
"The same applies to Saudi Arabia, Mr. Nakatou. Germany must sign a military defense treaty with us. If our regime faces the threat of collapse, Germany must send troops to guarantee Saudi security."
He leaned forward slightly.
"If that can be done, I believe we may shake hands."
Nakatou pondered for a moment, then drained the rest of his camel milk and set the cup down.
"I apologize, gentlemen. I do not have the authority to make such a major political decision on my own."
Then he smiled.
"But I believe Germany will agree."
One month later, the secret meeting in Berlin concluded.
Almost at the same time, Germany's newly completed military factories received a massive order.
Mauser rifles, Cardolan P1 desert submachine guns wrapped in oil paper, and large quantities of other light weapons were loaded onto cargo ships under the name of grain shipments. From there, they were transported to Saudi Arabia, then quietly transferred into the hands of resistance forces in Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan.
Along with the weapons came small packets of white powder.
Penicillin.
At the same time, Vorbeck began moving among the various resistance organizations and regular armies. Speaking rough but understandable Arabic, he and his old subordinates began training the Arabs into guerrilla forces that were at least capable of basic discipline and battlefield coordination.
He taught them how to lengthen a battlefield.
How to attack transport columns.
How to strike supply depots.
How to infiltrate, sabotage, and decapitate enemy command structures.
A few intelligence officers sent by the Internal and External Intelligence Department even printed leaflets by hand, preparing the ideological battlefield before the first shot was fired.
Naturally, the British and French forces in the Middle East noticed that something was wrong.
The resistance organizations, once noisy and active, seemed to have vanished completely over the last two months, as if they had evaporated into the desert wind.
But neither Britain nor France took the matter too seriously.
They merely believed their sweep operations had worked.
The British Army, in particular, was far too occupied in the spring of May 1931 to concern itself with shadows.
Transjordan, originally part of Palestine, had been allocated by order of the League of Nations to the Jewish state.
This created a severe ethnic crisis almost immediately.
Tens of thousands of Jewish immigrants transported from various countries began entering the region. With British support behind them, many acted without restraint toward the people who had lived there for generations.
Holding the Bible in one hand and the League of Nations founding document in the other, they began requisitioning land on a vast scale.
Because everything had happened too suddenly, Britain had not yet clearly defined the borders.
The capital was established in Tel Aviv.
The provisional government that had rapidly taken office seized upon this loophole. With money in hand, it began purchasing land aggressively, expanding its territory from a narrow coastal strip all the way toward the outskirts of Jerusalem.
In a small village outside the city, Turan, a wealthy merchant who had escaped death in Germany, crouched and pressed his fingers into the dry soil.
Beside him, a technician measured the planting area with a ruler.
"Mr. Turan, I believe this area is excellent for olive cultivation. According to the government's plan, a canal will be built to divert water from the Sea of Galilee."
The technician pointed toward the distant lowlands.
"When that is completed, this land will not only support olives, but other crops as well."
Turan looked across the flat terrain, then mounted his horse. He raised his binoculars and studied the direction the technician had indicated before nodding in satisfaction.
"Then we will take this place."
His voice carried a rare ease.
"It is good to finally have our own country. We will never again need to worry about Germans or Englishmen holding pistols to our heads."
The technician nodded in agreement.
"Yes. And this land belonged to us to begin with. Now it is simply returning to its rightful owners."
He glanced at the village in the distance.
"Besides, these Arabs have occupied it for so long, yet it remains so backward. That proves they never understood how to use the land properly."
He smiled with contempt.
"They are merely ignorant people."
As he finished speaking, Turan took several British pounds from his wallet and handed them to the British officer beside him.
The officer accepted the money without changing expression. After planting a boundary marker nearby, he waved his hand.
Two bulldozers rumbled forward.
The villagers, still unaware of what was happening, stared blankly as British soldiers marched through their streets.
An old man hurried forward, bowing repeatedly.
"Officer, do you need something? We still have valuable furs. Yes, yes, and carpets too. The carpets can fetch a good price."
The soldier looked at them coldly, then swung his rifle to scatter the crowd.
"Get out."
Several villagers froze.
Then they saw the bulldozers roll forward and flatten the first house.
Dust rose into the air.
A woman screamed.
A few men, unable to endure it any longer, rushed forward and shouted.
"This is our home! Why are you doing this?"
"We have done nothing wrong!"
"We pay our taxes. We obey every order. Why must we leave?"
The soldier did not listen.
He struck one man to the ground with the butt of his rifle, then grabbed an elder from the crowd and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of the old man's head.
"I will not repeat myself."
His voice was flat and cruel.
"From now on, this land no longer belongs to Jordan. The Jordanian government will answer your complaints. Take your things and leave."
As soon as the words fell, several stones flew from the crowd and landed among the soldiers.
The gathered villagers refused to disperse.
Seeing that these people still dared to resist, the soldier's patience vanished.
Bang.
He raised his hand and shot the man who had thrown the stone.
.....
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