"Mr. Colonel, I don't understand why the most advanced weapons of the empire are being given to these people," Corporal Joseph Dietrich said, puzzled. "They don't seem to have a full industrial system to maintain them, nor the expertise to operate them. It seems a waste!"
He was especially baffled when he saw that the tanks he had driven were among the donated munitions.
During the First World War, the Empire on which the British had been the first to bring tanks to the battlefield. When British tanks appeared at the Battle of the Somme, they shocked the German army. Yet the Germans, inheriting the Prussian military tradition, were slow to adopt this new technology. Their arrogance and conservatism caused the German tank program to lag behind Britain and France.
Compared to the early tank production of Britain and France, the first German-made tank, the A7V, did not roll off the assembly line until 1918. By the war's end, Germany had barely twenty tanks, organized into a single regiment that was often incomplete. Most of the German tank force relied on captured Allied machines, particularly French Renault light tanks, which were simpler, smaller, and easier to operate than the British Mark or French Schneider tanks.
The Renault tanks, mass-produced during the war, had innovative 360-degree rotating turrets and crews of just two to three men. By the end of World War I, France had produced over 3,200 Renault tanks—a staggering number compared to Germany's meager twenty. Mainz now held a batch of these captured Renaults, ready to sell abroad.
Exporting German A7Vs, however, was impossible. Their unique design and small numbers made them highly recognizable; if the Allies discovered them, they would be confiscated or destroyed. In contrast, the Renault tanks were abundant and unremarkable—if the Northeast Army acquired them, no one would suspect Mainz's involvement.
Standing nearby, the young Heinrich Himmler, only nineteen, remained silent, observing the discussion. He knew it was not his place to speak but listened intently.
Mainz continued, "The Treaty of Versailles explicitly prohibits our army from equipping or producing tanks. Keeping them in Germany is useless. The Allies would simply confiscate or destroy them. Moreover, we must focus on long-term economic development. The world's resources are almost fully divided. Britain and France control the raw materials we need; if they restrict our imports, our industry collapses."
Germany's defeat in World War I had cost it not only colonies but access to raw material sources like Africa. Britain and France viewed Africa as their backyard, carefully excluding Germany from colonial division. Colonies were vital: they provided raw materials, markets for industrial goods, and manpower for armies. The British Empire had maintained global dominance precisely through its colonies, particularly in South Asia, the "pearl in the crown." Here, the empire could draw hundreds of millions of people for labor and soldiers, sustaining its industry and military power.
The Second reich German Empire's industrial growth had ultimately triggered World War I. Its products outpaced domestic and European markets, forcing Germany to challenge British and French colonies—a move that provoked the war. Now defeated, Germany had no military route to recover markets, leaving diplomacy and trade as the only options.
Europe, the U.S., and other industrialized nations not only competed with Germany but often exported goods to Germany itself, limiting its industrial space. Africa and South Asia were closed off. The only remaining opportunity for Germans to expand influence was the Celestial Empire in the Far East.
But even there, the Far East was already a competitive arena. Britain, France, the U.S., Japan, and other powers had carved spheres of influence. The Northeast, with its modest population of twenty million compared to the hundreds of millions in southern and central China, was still contested. Kolchak's and other conflicts distracted local powers, and Japanese interest in the region was limited at this point.
Here, Mainz's intervention was strategic. Supporting Zhang Zuolin's Feng warlords was a low-cost, high-benefit move. If Zhang strengthened, he could dominate the warlord melee, increasing his demand for German arms—opening a vast new market for Germans. At the same time, his expansion would clash with forces backed by other countries, indirectly harming German competitors.
From a personal standpoint, Mainz was reluctant to part with the tanks. Even Renault light tanks, though outdated compared to future models, were innovative and valuable for training German forces. But large-scale armored development within Germany was impossible under Allied oversight. Any attempt to build tanks openly risked detection and destruction. Cooperation with foreign partners like Zhang Zuolin offered the only realistic alternative.
"Give them a chance," Mainz said earnestly.
"There is an old saying in the Celestial Empire: 'throwing bricks to attract jade.' Our weapons are excellent, but if we want to sell them, we must first let others experience their quality. The Far East is still chaotic. Africa has been divided, and Europe's war is over. This region, with 400 million people and 13.5 million square kilometers, will be a battlefield for decades. The potential market for arms is enormous."
Dietrich remained silent, contemplating Mainz's reasoning. Himmler's eyes, however, lit up. Slowly, he began to understand the colonel's intentions: these weapons were not mere gifts—they were investments in influence, power, and the future of German industry.