World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 727 The Crown Prince Cannot Only Enjoy Glory Without Bearing Responsibility

"Prime Minister," he finally spoke, "what is Germany like?"

Boseli thought for a moment.

"It's very cold. Much colder than Italy."

Umberto smiled.

"Then I should wear more clothes."

Boseli looked at him, feeling a pang of sorrow in his heart.

"Your Highness, aren't you afraid?"

Umberto remained silent for a few seconds.

"I'm scared. But I have to go even if I'm scared."

He turned to look out the window.

"My father said that I am the Crown Prince of Italy. The Crown Prince cannot just enjoy the glory without taking on the responsibility."

Boseli lowered his head.

"Your Highness, you are a good child."

Umberto shook his head.

"Not a good kid. There's no other way."

The train continued north, crossing mountains and passing through tunnels, heading towards that unfamiliar country.

Snow began to fall outside the window.

Fine snowflakes fell from the sky, landing on the fields, the villages, and the railway tracks, quickly covering everything. The distant mountains appeared and disappeared in the snow, like a traditional Chinese ink painting in the making.

Looking at the vast white world, Umberto suddenly remembered a book he had read as a child. The book described a magical land in the north, perpetually covered in snow, inhabited by polar bears and reindeer. He had thought then that he wished he could go and see it.

Now he has actually gone.

But they weren't going on vacation; they were going to be hostages.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat.

The train sped through the snowstorm, the sound of its wheels grinding against the rails monotonous and drawn-out. The sound was like a silent song, singing of farewell, of the unknown, of the fate that the twenty-year-old had to bear.

December 31, the last day of 1917.

Berlin train station, amidst wind and snow.

A special train from the south slowly pulled into the station, belching white steam. On the platform stood a group of people in military uniforms—Hindenburg, Ludendorff, Tirpitz, and a large entourage of generals and officials. They all looked up, watching the train gradually come to a stop.

The car door opened, and Umberto stepped out.

He wore a thick leather overcoat and a black top hat. His young face showed signs of fatigue, but his back was ramrod straight. He glanced at the people on the platform, then strode towards Hindenburg.

He stopped in front of Hindenburg and bowed slightly.

"Field Marshal Hindenburg and Crown Prince Umberto of Italy have been ordered to arrive in Berlin."

Hindenburg looked at him, at that young face, those clear eyes, and that still innocent heart.

He suddenly remembered himself at nineteen. He had just joined the army and was on his first battlefield, so terrified his legs went weak. But this young man was much braver than he had been then.

"Your Highness," he began, his voice hoarse, "welcome to Berlin."

Umberto nodded.

In the distance, bells rang.

One, two, three—it's midnight.

1918 has arrived.

A new year, new hope, new slaughter.

Berlin, January 1, 1918.

The first snow of the new year fell heavily. Starting in the early morning, snowflakes began to fall in abundance, covering the entire city. A thick layer of white accumulated on the stone pillars of the Brandenburg Gate, and the wings of the Victory statue were also covered with snow, making it look like a white dove about to take flight from a distance.

But Berlin is not a white dove. Berlin is a wounded bear, licking its wounds in the snowstorm, waiting for the next battle.

The banquet hall of the palace was brightly lit.

A huge crystal chandelier cast a warm glow upon the elegantly dressed people—German generals, government officials, and several distinguished guests from Austria-Hungary. The long table was laden with food—roast goose, sausages, mashed potatoes, sauerkraut, and cases of champagne and wine. In an era of food rationing, such a feast was nothing short of extravagant.

But everyone was eating, drinking, and laughing.

Because today is a special day.

Wilhelm II sat in the main seat, a glass of champagne in his hand, a long-absent smile on his face. Beside him sat a young man—tall and thin, with a shy smile, dressed in a well-tailored dark suit. This was Crown Prince Umberto of Italy.

"Your Highness," Wilhelm II raised his glass, "welcome to Berlin. From this day forward, Germany and Italy are one family."

Umberto raised his glass and bowed slightly.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty. Italy will always be Germany's most loyal friend."

Wilhelm II smiled even more broadly.

A round of applause filled the banquet hall. The German generals raised their glasses to toast the young crown prince. Umberto smiled and nodded in response, his demeanor impeccable, showing no sign of anything amiss.

But Hindenburg, sitting in the corner, could see it.

The young man's hand, which was holding the glass, was trembling slightly.

The banquet lasted for three hours.

Umberto maintained a smile, clinking glasses with each general who came to offer a toast, exchanging pleasantries in his broken German. He ate some food, drank some wine, and even chatted with Wilhelm II for a few moments about the sights of Italy. Everything seemed normal.

Only Hindenburg noticed those details.

He noticed that Umberto's gaze would occasionally drift to the window, to that white, misty world. He noticed a flicker of sadness in the young man's eyes when someone mentioned the word "Rome." He noticed that after the banquet, as Umberto walked out of the hall, he paused for three seconds at the doorway, taking a deep breath, as if leaving something behind.

Hindenburg followed him out.

The corridor was quiet. Umberto stood before a window, looking out at the snow-covered garden. The moonlight shone palely on the snow.

"Your Highness," Hindenburg approached him, "why aren't you resting?"

Umberto turned his head and looked at him.

"Marshal, Berlin is so cold."

Hindenburg remained silent for a few seconds.

"Colder than in Italy."

Umberto nodded.

"When I was a child, I read a book that said there was a magical land in the north, where snow covered the land all year round and polar bears and reindeer lived. I thought to myself, 'I wish I could go and see it.'"

He gave a wry smile.

"It's really here now."

Hindenburg looked at him, at the unnatural weariness on that young face.

"Your Highness, do you regret it?"

Umberto thought for a moment.

"Regret? No regrets. My father said I am the Crown Prince of Italy. A Crown Prince cannot simply enjoy the glory without bearing the responsibility."

He turned and looked out the window.

"I'm just a little homesick."

Hindenburg remained silent.

The two of them stood there, looking out at the white world. The snow was still falling, fine snowflakes descending from the sky, landing in the garden, on the treetops, and on the distant, faintly visible buildings.

After a long while, Umberto finally spoke.

"Marshal, can you tell me the truth?"

Hindenburg looked at him.

Can Germany really win?

Hindenburg remained silent for a long time.

Then he said, "Your Highness, I don't know."

Umberto paused for a moment.

"You're the Chief of the General Staff of Germany, and you didn't even know that?"