World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

At the same time, at the William Harbor Naval Command.

Marshal Tirpitz sat in his office, a thick stack of maintenance progress reports spread out in front of him. The rain outside grew heavier, and the rainwater streamed down the glass windows, blurring the warships in the harbor into a gray-blue blur.

A knock sounded, and before he could respond, the door was pushed open. Major General Trotta entered, his face even more somber than the sky outside the window.

"News from Berlin." Trotta placed a telegram on the table. "From the Emperor's Chamberlain. They request that we immediately assess a... plan."

Tirpitz picked up the telegram and read it quickly. His brow furrowed, his eyes shifting from confusion to shock, and finally settling into cold anger.

"Bismarck-class battleships? The Lanfang people are willing to sell them?" His voice was soft, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth. "Thirty million pounds a ship? With loans offsetting the cost plus gold payment?"

"Yes," Trotta nodded. "The Emperor wants us to provide professional advice within 24 hours—on the technical feasibility of these two ships, their ability to quickly achieve combat readiness, and their impact on naval strategy."

Tirpitz stood up and walked to the North Sea chart on the wall. He stared at the red markers representing the British fleet, at the location of Scapa Flow, and at the blockade line of the Strait of Dover.

"Technical parameters..." he muttered to himself, "41,000 tons, 380mm main gun, 30 knots speed... If these figures are true, then these two ships are more advanced than any design we have at the blueprint stage."

"But is the problem really that serious?" Trotta asked. "Lanfang, that country, didn't even exist a decade or so ago. Are they really willing to sell the Bismarck-class battleships? Those are the most powerful battleships in the world!!!"

"But they do have a modern navy." Tirpitz turned around. "It's a fact that the Yangtze and Yellow River ships almost completely annihilated the Combined Fleet in the East China Sea. Our intelligence personnel took blurry photos. Although the exact parameters are unclear, the ships were indeed enormous."

He walked back to his desk and picked up the telegram again: "Moreover, Chen Feng... cannot be judged by common sense. He was able to turn a desert into an industrial base in just over a decade and build a navy that even the British dared not underestimate. I wouldn't be too surprised if he really built even more powerful warships."

"Then how do we respond to Berlin?" Trotta asked. "If we recommend purchasing, it's tantamount to admitting our own shipbuilding program has failed. If we don't recommend purchasing..."

"The Emperor will think we're hindering the modernization of the navy," Tirpitz continued, a wry smile on his face. "It's a trap, Trotta. No matter how we answer, someone will get hurt."

He sat down, picked up his pen, and wrote down a few keywords on a blank sheet of paper:

Technical authenticity?

How to quickly build up combat capability?

Strategic implications?

Is the price worth it?

"One step at a time," Tirpitz said. "First, the technical authenticity. We need more detailed data—armor layout, power system configuration, fire control system model, ammunition reserves. We can't draw conclusions based on just a few photos and verbal parameters."

Will the people of Lanfang give it to us?

"If they really want to sell, they will." Tirpitz began writing rapidly on a piece of paper. "Send a telegram to Berlin, requesting the Lanfang envoy to provide the following information: detailed line drawings, armor distribution diagrams, power system parameters, specific models and manufacturers of weapon systems. Also, request that they arrange for our technicians to board the ship for an on-site inspection."

"The emperor will think we are stalling."

"Then let him believe it." Tirpitz's voice suddenly rose. "Trotta, this is a deal worth sixty million pounds! That's a third of Germany's gold reserves! We can't make a decision on a whim. If these two ships have design flaws, if their performance data is exaggerated, if they are no match for us in actual combat... then we will be the sinners of the entire nation!"

Trota fell silent. He knew the old marshal was right, but he also knew the emperor's current mindset—like a drowning man who would desperately grab onto anything floating in the water.

"The second problem," Tirpitz continued, "is the rapid formation of combat capability. Even if all the data is accurate, even if the ships themselves are perfect, how long will it take for our personnel to become proficient in operating them? A completely new fire control system, larger main guns, more complex propulsion systems... Without more than six months of training, these two ships will be sitting ducks on the battlefield."

He wrote "six months of training" on the paper.

"Third, the strategic impact." Tirpitz stood up and walked to the nautical chart again. "Can two battleships, even the most advanced ones, change the balance of power in the North Sea? The British have twenty-four dreadnoughts and a dozen battlecruisers. Two ships cannot change the absolute numerical disadvantage."

"But it can be used as a strike force..." Trota tried to refute.

"And then?" Tirpitz turned, his eyes sharp. "We threw these two precious warships into the North Sea, only to have them surrounded and sunk by Jellicoe's main fleet? Trotta, naval warfare isn't a duel of knights; it's mathematics. It's about firepower density, numerical superiority, and logistical support. Two ships can't change the mathematics."

He walked back to his desk and sat down heavily. "Finally, the price. Sixty million pounds, twenty million of which is gold. Do you know how much rubber, oil, and food that gold could buy? How many submarines could it build? How many artillery shells, rifles, and machine guns could it produce?"

"But the emperor needs a symbolic victory..."

"A symbolic victory won't save Germany!" Tirpitz finally erupted, slamming his fist on the table, splashing ink. "Trotta, have you been to the front lines with me? Have you seen the battlefield at Verdun? I have! The soldiers there fought in mud, ate amidst piles of corpses, and died in fear! What they needed were shells, food, and medicine, not two steel behemoths thousands of miles away!"

His chest heaved, and he breathed rapidly. Trotta had never seen the old marshal so agitated.

The silence lasted for a minute. Only the sound of rain outside the window, pattering softly.

"I'm sorry." Finally, Tirpitz calmed down and wiped the spilled ink with a handkerchief. "I lost my composure."

"No, Marshal, you're right," Trotta said softly, "but the question is... will Berlin listen?"

Tirpitz looked at the telegram on the table, at the words from the Emperor's Chamberlain—urgent, eager, and full of expectation.

"They won't listen," he finally said. "So we need to respond in a different way."

He picked up his pen again and began drafting a formal reply:

"To His Majesty the Emperor: The Admiralty has received the proposal regarding the Bismarck-class battleships of Lanfang. Preliminary assessments indicate that, if the technical specifications are accurate, these battleships are indeed world-leading. However, to ensure the transaction is in Germany's best interests, the following steps are recommended: 1. Send a technical delegation to Lanfang for on-site inspection; 2. Request complete technical documentation for verification; 3. Develop a detailed plan for ship delivery and training. A final decision is not recommended before these steps are completed. Your loyal servant, Tirpitz."

After finishing writing, he handed it to Trotta: "Send it like this. The wording should be respectful, but the content must be clear—we need time to verify it; we can't make a hasty decision."

"The emperor will be unhappy."

"Then let him be unhappy." Tirpitz stood up, walked to the window, and said, "Trotta, my duty is not to please the Emperor, but to protect the German Navy and this country. If I lose my job for telling the truth, so be it. At least I can sleep soundly at night."

Trotta took the telegram and turned to leave.

Tirpitz stood alone by the window, looking at Wilhelmshaven in the rain. Inside the harbor, the Frederick the Great was still undergoing repairs, and workers persevered in their work in the rain, the sparks from welding particularly glaring against the gloomy background.

He remembered that night of the Battle of Jutland, the warships that sank in the gunfire, and the young men who died in the icy waters.