diymy Chapter 769 The Cyprus Talks
Chapter 769 The Cyprus Talks
Clemenceau was taken aback. He hadn't expected Hindenburg to agree so readily. He had prepared many rebuttals and bargaining chips, but now they were all useless.
Hindenburg continued, "Alsace and Lorraine originally belonged to France. Fifty years ago, we seized them. Today, it is only right that they be returned to you." He paused, "Military restrictions can also be discussed. The demilitarization of the Rhineland can also be discussed. Germany does not want to fight anymore. The German people do not want to fight anymore either."
Clemenceau looked at him, a complex light flashing in his eyes. He wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.
Wilson spoke up at the opportune moment: "Very good. France and Germany have reached a preliminary agreement. And what about Britain? Prime Minister Asquith, what do you have to say?"
Asquith stood up.
He took a deep breath and straightened his back. He knew that Britain had suffered a crushing defeat in Asia, but in Europe, it was still the victor. No matter how arrogant the Germans were, they had to bow down to Britain.
He spoke. His voice was louder and his tone harsher than Clemenceau's.
"Germany started this war. In 1914, Germany invaded Belgium, dragging Britain into the war. Over four years, Britain lost nearly a million people and spent tens of billions of pounds. The British people made enormous sacrifices, and the British economy suffered a heavy blow."
He became more and more excited as he spoke, and his voice grew louder and louder.
Therefore, Britain demanded that Germany pay one billion pounds in compensation!
The meeting room fell silent for a second.
Then, someone laughed.
It wasn't a loud laugh, but a very soft, cold laugh coming from the throat. Everyone turned to look—it was Hindenburg.
The old marshal sat there, a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth, his face bearing an indescribable expression. It wasn't anger, nor mockery, but something deeper than anger, colder than mockery. He looked at Asquith as if he were looking at a naive and arrogant child.
Asquith's expression changed.
"Field Marshal Hindenburg," his voice was a little tense, "what are you laughing at?"
Hindenburg stood up.
His movements were slow, but each step carried an indescribable air of authority. He walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall and pointed to a point on it.
"Prime Minister Asquith," his voice was soft, but every word was like nails driven into a board, "you just said that Germany should pay Britain one billion pounds in reparations. Very well."
He turned around and looked directly at Asquith.
"So, how many British prisoners of war does General Sher currently have in his custody?"
Asquith's face turned deathly pale instantly.
Hindenburg continued, "In India, we captured at least 80,000 British troops. In Burma, another 20,000. In Sinai, another 50,000. In Australia—oh, the British troops in Australia just surrendered to Lanfang, but they were also British, totaling at least 30,000."
His finger moved across the map, pointing to each point one by one.
"In total, 150,000. 150,000 British prisoners of war are now in the hands of Germany and Lanfang."
He walked back to his seat, but didn't sit down. He stood there, his hands on the edge of the table, looking down at Asquith.
"You say Germany should pay Britain one billion pounds in reparations. So, how much should Britain pay Germany? How much is one head in pounds? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Or one hundred thousand?"
The conference room was deathly silent.
Asquith's face flushed crimson, and he opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word. His hands trembled, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. He looked at Wilson, who remained expressionless. He looked at Clemenceau, who looked away.
No one helped him.
Hindenburg chuckled coldly and continued, "Furthermore, of the 'British losses' you mentioned, how many were lost in the war against Germany, and how many were lost in the war against Lanfang? Do you want me to calculate it for you?"
He pointed to India on the map.
"India, lost. Australia, lost. Burma, lost. Malaya, lost. Singapore, lost. Were these losses caused by Germany? No. You yourselves lost the war against Lanfang. Now, you're blaming Germany for these losses too?"
His voice suddenly rose.
"Does the British Empire still have any face left?"
Asquith stumbled and nearly fell. His chief of staff, Gray, quickly steadied him. Asquith pushed him away and stood there, his face as pale as a sheet.
The meeting room was eerily quiet. The clock on the wall ticked away, each tick feeling like a blow to the heart.
Wilson finally spoke. His voice was soft, but everyone heard him clearly.
"Prime Minister Asquith, how are you?"
Asquith shook his head and said nothing. He slowly sat down, head down, not daring to look at anyone.
Clemenceau watched this scene, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He recalled that just three months earlier, France was fighting for its survival. Now, the British had been publicly humiliated, while the French had gotten what they wanted. But he also knew that the British defeat was not good for France. A weak England meant an unbalanced Europe.
But he didn't say anything. At that moment, saying anything would have been inappropriate.
Hindenburg sat down as well. His face held no smugness, only an indescribable weariness. His words hadn't been meant to humiliate the British, but to force them to face reality. The reality was—Germany wasn't a defeated nation; it was simply too exhausted to fight any longer. And Britain no longer had the right to point fingers at Germany.
Tirpitz remained silent. He looked at Asquith with a pang of pity. But it was nothing more than pity. Losers on the battlefield and losers at the negotiating table are equally pitiful.
Wilson glanced at his watch. It was 11:30 a.m. He stood up.
"Gentlemen, let's conclude today's talks here." His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority. "Some issues require further consideration by all parties. Some positions need adjustment. We will continue in three days."
He paused.
"But not in Frankfurt."
Everyone looked up at him.
Wilson glanced around and said slowly, "I invite you all to Cyprus. It's a neutral place, free of hatred and the shadow of war. Leaders of the five nations, sit down and have a good talk about the post-war world."
He looked in the direction of Lan Fang's representative.
"Regarding Lanfang, President Chen Feng will personally attend."
A commotion broke out in the conference room. Chen Feng's personal attendance? What did this mean? It meant that Lanfang was about to transform from an observer into a participant, and that Asian power was about to formally enter the European chessboard.