Happy Cooperation

As they continued their bone-jarring journey, the luxurious carriage rattling over the increasingly uneven terrain, Grand Duke Meyer's expression, previously a mask of refined disdain, grew increasingly grim, then tightened into a knot of utter bewilderment, finally settling into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His jaw clenched so tight, a muscle twitched visibly in his cheek.

"Damn it, Wolf, this Dutch Van der Linde is absolutely insane! Certifiable! I've never seen anything so utterly mad in my entire life, not even in the deepest asylums of Bavaria! Damn it, he's turned this whole goddamn place into bunkers! Is he planning to start a war against the entire world, against God himself?!" His voice, normally clipped and imperious, rose to a strangled shriek, echoing in the confines of the carriage.

If the coachman wasn't one of Dutch's men, a silent, impassive figure, Grand Duke Meyer probably would have cursed out his true, raw feelings, spitting venom and blasphemy!

There was no way around it; anyone who drove for so long and saw one massive, concrete bunker after another, appearing like grotesque warts on the landscape, would be scared, truly unnerved.

If Dutch Van der Linde developing the Tank, that infernal iron beast, had merely made them curious and wary, a strategic concern, then the endless, monotonous road full of bunkers had already made their faces turn a sickly, verdant green, reflecting their profound unease.

Germany's largest, most heavily fortified military base had only ten paltry guard posts built around it as defensive points, mere sentry boxes compared to these monstrous fortifications.

Bunkers, in their rudimentary form, had very little use in modern, tactical warfare, Meyer knew, but in that era, they were incredibly, terrifyingly useful, permanent fortifications that could chew up armies.

At this time, Europe's heavy firepower weapons, the true siege engines, had not yet developed; some giant cannons, the monsters of the battlefield, were only researched and deployed during World War I, years from now.

In this period, bunkers were a terrifying variant of the Tank, permanent, unmoving fortifications, like a hidden beast waiting to strike.

If Dutch hadn't developed the Tank, then facing these bunkers would often require sacrificing countless lives, waves of human bodies, to clear them out, a horrifying, meat-grinding endeavor.

Even with the Tank now developed, its power undeniable, the defensive strength of these bunkers was still extraordinary, a formidable obstacle.

At least at this stage, Meyer knew with a chilling certainty, Tank shells couldn't easily penetrate these thick, reinforced bunkers.

However, large-caliber anti-Tank rifles could be strategically deployed inside bunkers to pierce the Tank's vulnerable fuel tank or directly break its tracks, rendering it a useless lump of steel.

So, this large, seemingly endless group of bunkers was still very intimidating, a silent, chilling threat.

At the very least, Grand Duke Meyer had absolutely no interest in conquering the American West now. Not a bloody jot.

He would rather lead his precious troops to fight to the death with England and France, in a glorious, decisive European war, than wander around this damned, featureless cluster of bunkers, losing men to unseen enemies!

One bunker could be seen as a tough nut to crack, a challenging obstacle, and a large group of bunkers? That was a whole damn bag of tough nuts, an indigestible mouthful.

There was absolutely no point, no strategic advantage, in trying to chew through them, to waste precious German lives on this barbaric land.

"Damn it, I'm sure no one, not even the Archangel Michael, could lead troops to conquer this land! This is a damned, crappy, utterly worthless region!" Grand Duke Meyer roared, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his face a mask of impotent fury.

He tried to calm his inner, roiling thoughts, to regain some semblance of aristocratic composure, but in the very next moment, the carriage, with a jolt, drove out of the dense, claustrophobic forest, revealing a rare, vast plain area in the otherwise suffocating Saint Denis swamp.

Eight gleaming, silent steel behemoths stood motionless on the flat, undisturbed ground not far away, their dark forms silhouetted against the hazy horizon, instantly capturing Grand Duke Meyer's attention, drawing his eyes like a moth to a flame.

"Oh, damn it, damn it, Wolf! This is a Tank! A real, live Tank!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with a mixture of terror and awe. He couldn't sit still; his eyes widened, staring intently, obsessively, at the eight menacing Tanks on the flat ground, continuously spewing German curses, guttural and heartfelt, to express his profound, overwhelming shock.

No one seeing a Tank for the first time, not a single soul, wouldn't be shocked to their very core. Even if the Tank wasn't as impossibly big as a train locomotive, its cold, unforgiving steel texture and its sheer, brutal presence could make everyone feel utterly suppressed, their breath stolen.

This was the most perfect embodiment of human industrialization, a machine of unprecedented power! This was also the climax of violence in human history, condensed into a single, terrifying form!

Even though Grand Duke Meyer had meticulously studied pictures of the Tank before, memorizing every detail, the feeling from seeing mere photos was completely, profoundly different from experiencing it in person. The immense, crushing pressure radiating from those silent steel beasts almost made his heart clench, a painful spasm in his chest.

"Damn it, Wolf, with such a terrifying thing, a weapon of ultimate power, we will definitely be able to dominate Europe! We will absolutely be able to dominate Europe! Hahaha…" Grand Duke Meyer burst into manic laughter, a high, desperate sound. After the carriage, with a final jolt, stopped, he immediately, without a second thought, got out. Disregarding the muddy ground that would soil his new, gleaming leather shoes, he practically jogged and stumbled towards the nearest Tank, his legs pumping with a frantic excitement.

Even though he was incredibly excited, moving faster than he had in years, even walking faster than a brisk run, he still feigned composure, attempting to appear nonchalant, as if seeing an unstoppable weapon of war was an everyday occurrence.

If he had truly walked quickly without stepping in the mud, if he hadn't revealed his unseemly eagerness, Mr. Van der Linde might have actually believed he didn't care, that he was utterly unimpressed.

Dutch, wearing his sturdy cowboy boots, dismounted gracefully from his horse, his movements fluid and practiced. He disliked riding in carriages, seeing them as effete, so he and his men still preferred the traditional, rugged method of riding horses.

Of course, for Mr. Van der Linde, this was called 'not forgetting his roots,' a performative humility that masked his true power.

Dutch, who had already ridden his horse close to the Tank, observed Grand Duke Meyer's excited, flushed face, saw his almost frantic movements, and knew, with a smug certainty, that this arms deal was surely concluded, locked in.

However, it still depended, Dutch mused, on just how much they, the Germans, truly wanted.

Dutch smiled, a subtle, knowing smirk, as he watched Grand Duke Meyer, who was now frantically, almost reverently, touching the Tank's cold, steel surface, running his hands over its armored hide as if it were a lover. "How is it, Mr. Meyer? Would you like to try it out? Perhaps only by trying it yourself can you truly determine the Tank's sheer, terrifying strength."

"Of course, Mr. Van der Linde, of course!" Grand Duke Meyer practically shrieked, exceptionally excited, his eyes wide as saucers.

After he answered, a driver, a hardened, grim-faced man, immediately climbed out of the Tank's hatch.

Mr. Wolf quickly, almost frantically, helped Grand Duke Meyer climb awkwardly onto the top of the Tank, his every movement betraying his own excitement.

Meanwhile, Miss Camille, sitting demurely behind Dutch on his horse, her face a mask of carefully controlled composure, suddenly widened her eyes, staring in profound shock at the several behemoths before her, their dark forms radiating menace. And then, a strangled cry of terror escaped her lips: "Oh, Van der Linde, oh! What in God's name is this?! Damn it, your secret, Dutch, it's driving me utterly mad! Dutch Van der Linde, you terrifying genius!"

Miss Camille's hands tightly clutched Dutch's waist, her nails digging into his suit, and her heart, despite the terror, was completely at ease with her choice, her alliance with this terrifying man.

Damn it, she thought, her mind reeling, Dutch collaborating with the Germans hadn't shocked her before, as she hadn't known Mr. Meyer's true, powerful identity.

But now, she was truly shocked, utterly bewildered.

Is Dutch still human?! she pondered, a shiver running down her spine. He quietly created so many monstrous things that even shocked her, a woman of the modern world?!

Then her contribution as a founding supporter, as one who aided his rise, was surely secure, wasn't it? Her place in the new order was guaranteed.

Then she would undoubtedly be a future co-regent, a powerful figure by his side, wouldn't she? The thought, perverse as it was, filled her with a strange hope.

Mr. Van der Linde's Tanks, the ones for sale, did not require many operators; three or four would suffice.

The reason why both types of Tanks worked, Meyer noted, was because the Tanks Dutch sold were three-person Tanks: one person drove, one loaded and fired the cannon, and one sat outside observing and operating the machine gun, exposed to enemy fire.

This way, if the person operating the machine gun outside died, which was highly likely, the Tank would become a blind, vulnerable waste, with only two people left at most, observing through the tiny cannon port to find the direction of travel, a slow, agonizing crawl.

Additionally, the gunner had to load and fire the shells himself, a cumbersome process which greatly slowed down the firing frequency, making it less efficient.

In short, Dutch thought, a wicked glint in his eye, if he could scam, he would. Under the premise that weapon equipment could not be completely superior at this stage, he could not, in good conscience, release the superior Tanks he used himself.

Their own Tanks, however, the truly devastating ones, were four-person Tanks, with the heavy Tanks even requiring six dedicated operators, a small army in themselves.

Of course, none of this intricate, manipulative detail needed to be said to Mr. Meyer. Let him discover it on the battlefield.

Mr. Meyer eagerly climbed into the Tank, his eyes gleaming with childish excitement.

Then, with a deafening roar, the Tank started moving, rumbling forward.

As an invited special guest, to allow Grand Duke Meyer to fully experience the visceral thrill of the Tank, he would experience all three positions during this test drive, a comprehensive, intoxicating experience.

"Mr. Meyer, you can now use the machine gun to fire at the water in the distance. These machine guns are Maxim water-cooled machine guns, meticulously welded and fixed to the Tank, ensuring the personnel inside the Tank have sufficient close-range firepower, a devastating hail of lead."

"Dada da…" The deafening sound of machine guns and muffled conversation echoed in the Tank's metallic interior. As the Tank moved, rumbling and lurching, Grand Duke Meyer stood at the machine gunner's position, moving the machine gun with frantic glee and continuously sweeping the distant water, laughing heartily, a madman in a metal box.

The roaring engine and continuous machine gun fire deafened his ears, threatening to burst his eardrums.

But even so, it couldn't dampen his high spirits, his almost manic joy.

"Mr. Meyer, you can try the internal artillery now. We have added a newly researched sixty-millimeter Tank cannon as the main battle cannon to the Tank, capable of striking distant targets and defensive facilities from super long range, a weapon of unprecedented accuracy."

Amidst the loud, fragmented communication inside the Tank, the speeding Tank roared, firing a shell with a thunderous boom. After about two or three seconds, a massive, geyser-like wave exploded on the distant water surface, sending spray high into the air.

"Damn it, this is amazing, this thing is absolutely amazing! A bloody miracle of engineering!"

Grand Duke Meyer had completely fallen in love with this violent creation, this harbinger of death and destruction. He clutched his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He believed Kaiser Wilhelm would love this thing even more than he did, with a pathological devotion!

The raw, brutal charm of Tanks was unparalleled before the chaotic end of World War II, a power that captivated all who witnessed it.

Grand Duke Meyer was completely engrossed, utterly lost, in the sheer might of the Tank.

Even more than an hour later, after both parties had returned to Van der Linde Manor and were seated on the plush sofa, attempting a return to civility, Grand Duke Meyer's mind still lingered, obsessed, on the Tank, its image burned into his very soul.

"Alright, Mr. Van der Linde, I'm convinced. Utterly convinced." Grand Duke Meyer said, his voice hoarse, a look of profound respect on his face. "This weapon you've developed is simply too dazzling, too magnificent for words."

Grand Duke Meyer picked up a cigar that a silent maid had already meticulously cut and lit for him, took a light puff, savoring the taste, and then his demeanor became serious, his eyes hardening, shifting into the mode of a shrewd negotiator.

"But precisely because it is so dazzling, so utterly world-changing, Kaiser Wilhelm specifically sent me here, personally, to negotiate. Mr. Van der Linde, as a farsighted person, a man of vision, I believe you should know the current precarious situation in Europe, its simmering tensions."

Grand Duke Meyer decided to lay his cards on the table, a risky gamble. The strength of this weapon, its raw, destructive power, completely exceeded his wildest expectations, and the advanced internal combustion engine technology on it also greatly shocked him, a technological leap he hadn't anticipated.

Internal combustion engines certainly existed now; Mercedes-Benz cars, for instance, used small internal combustion engines. However, they were not very mature; current Mercedes-Benz cars often broke down after only a few short runs, and their horsepower was pitifully small, utterly inadequate. They could not compare at all to the Tank that was running wild, tearing through the swamp earlier, a true beast.

Such muddy, treacherous roads, yet the Tank's engine hummed smoothly, a symphony of power, and it was able to charge directly forward, cutting a path through the mire. This scene, this display of raw power, contained a most important, core point: the groundbreaking internal combustion engine technology itself.

Just for this internal combustion engine, he felt that he had to buy the Tank, and it had to be controlled solely by him, its secrets guarded fiercely.

This thing, with its immense power, could pull a Tank, and of course, it could also be modified to pull other things, such as making a large, motorized cart to transport goods. This was clearly much more efficient for short-distance transportation than cumbersome oxen and slow horse-drawn carriages.

Listening to Grand Duke Meyer's words, Dutch nodded knowingly, a subtle, unreadable smile on his face, and said, "Sure, Mr. Meyer. I'm listening."

To be honest, Dutch thought, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, this is precisely why I want to sell the Tank to you, you greedy fool.

How could Dutch not know the situation in Europe? He knew it intimately. Because from beginning to end, this matter was merely a carefully orchestrated plan he used to control the outbreak time in Europe, to manipulate its course. He knew the situation in Europe far better than anyone else, even predicting the exact psychology of Kaiser Wilhelm, his every move.

"I understand what you mean, Mr. Meyer. Perfectly." Dutch said, his voice calm, persuasive, his gaze steady. "Our munitions factory's current processing scale is still too small; I presume it can at most only meet the munitions demand of one country, Germany, and perhaps barely. Therefore, we have decided that until transportation routes in Europe are disrupted by war, until the continent descends into chaos, we will only conduct munitions business with the German Empire. What do you think of this exclusive arrangement?"

Listening to Dutch's words, Grand Duke Meyer was overjoyed, a triumphant grin splitting his face.

"Hahaha, Mr. Van der Linde, you are indeed a sensible man! A shrewd businessman!" Grand Duke Meyer boomed, rubbing his hands together. "In that case, I think we can begin formal cooperation, immediately! According to Kaiser Wilhelm's decree, I am fully responsible for the procurement of the Tank. So, Mr. Van der Linde, what is your current Tank inventory? What is your production speed, precisely?"

"The current Tank inventory is only ten, Mr. Meyer. A limited supply." Dutch said, his voice smooth, adding a touch of artificial scarcity. "The production process of this steel behemoth is extremely complex, and it consumes an enormous amount of manpower and material resources. Given our current production scale, producing fifteen standard Tanks a month is already the absolute limit. However, our production lines are still expanding, and I believe we can double the production speed very soon, perhaps even triple it."

Dutch picked up the red wine on the table and poured a glass for each of them, the clinking of glasses a counterpoint to the high-stakes negotiation.

Listening to his words, Grand Duke Meyer's brows furrowed slightly, a hint of dissatisfaction.

"Too few, Mr. Van der Linde, this scale is simply too small for our ambitions. I think perhaps we can change our mode of cooperation. You will produce the core components of the Tank, namely the internal combustion engine and the artillery mounted on it, and we, Germany, will produce the external structure of the Tank, finally assembling it in the Imperial military factory. I think this could significantly speed things up, a true partnership."

The meaning of these words was painfully clear: he wanted the technology, the blueprints, the very secrets of the Tank's creation. Assembling it in a military factory in Germany? Isn't that just bringing German engineers over to learn the technology, to steal their secrets?

Dutch certainly would not agree to this idea. He wanted Germany to be able to research the Tank themselves, to struggle with it, but he would not just hand over the technology to them on a silver platter. Moreover, what he wanted was not just money, but time! And replication takes time, valuable time, so he had to make Germany replicate it themselves, enduring the delays!

"Hahaha, I think Mr. Meyer is joking, aren't you?" Dutch laughed heartily, a disarming, yet firm, sound. "Tank technology is the very foundation of our survival; we will only produce it on our own territory, in our own factories. It is our lifeblood."

Listening to his words, Grand Duke Meyer did not press the issue. He merely nodded. Anyway, he thought, they would start replicating the technology as soon as they bought the Tank; it was just a matter of a year or two later. Their mighty Germany could certainly afford to wait, and then they would have it all.

"Alright, Mr. Van der Linde. In that case, we will take all the Tanks you produce, every single one of them. And from today onwards, however many you produce, we will buy them, without question. We will establish an absolutely secure dedicated trade route at sea, an inviolable shipping lane. From now on, all Tanks and munitions must be transported via this dedicated route. What do you think of this exclusive arrangement?"

"Sure, Mr. Meyer, of course! An excellent proposal!" Dutch said, his smile unwavering. "However, I think we need to make a small request, a minor adjustment. You know that our western region is sparsely populated and remote, a vast wilderness. So I want to establish a dedicated trade channel with Germany to import German products and grain, vital supplies for our burgeoning population. Of course, we can also sell oil to Germany and buy steel from your powerful industries. This is a mutually beneficial proposal, a true partnership." Dutch's fingers tapped gently on the table, a rhythmic, confident sound.

Money, Dutch believed, was useless, even reichsmarks. Money that isn't spent, that sits stagnant, can only depreciate slowly, losing its value. Converting the money received into various vital materials and resources is what is truly useful, truly powerful.

This condition was honestly mutually beneficial, because Germany desperately lacked oil. So, upon hearing Mr. Van der Linde's proposal, Grand Duke Meyer readily agreed, his face beaming.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Mr. Van der Linde. Absolutely wonderful! Hahaha, to be honest, this isn't a condition at all; it even helps us, immensely!"

"Then, may our cooperation be pleasant, Mr. Meyer?" Dutch smiled, raising his wine glass, his eyes twinkling.

"Pleasant cooperation, Mr. Van der Linde!" Grand Duke Meyer also smiled, a triumphant, if somewhat forced, grin, and raised his red wine, clinking it against the glass in Dutch's hand, sealing the pact.