World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Seeker paused for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I promise. I will do everything in my power to use this force in the most reasonable way. This is not just polite talk; it is... a soldier's promise."

Their hands clasped together. There weren't many words exchanged, but an understanding was established between the two soldiers from different cultures and backgrounds.

A whistle sounded outside signaling assembly. Shiba Goro glanced at his pocket watch: "I have to go back. My train departs in half an hour."

"Have a safe journey," Seekert said. "See you in France."

See you in France.

Shiba Goro left the meeting room and walked down the stairs. On the platform, all the soldiers of the 3rd Division had boarded the trains, and the officers were conducting a final count. He walked to his command car and glanced back at the entire marshalling yard.

Twenty military trains, each with thirty carriages, carried nearly two hundred thousand Japanese soldiers dressed in German uniforms. They would depart from here, traverse the heart of Germany, enter France, and ultimately arrive at the hell known as "Verdun."

And he himself will lead them to that hell.

"Division Commander, are we ready to depart?" the adjutant asked.

Shiba Goro nodded and boarded the carriage. The iron door closed behind him, and the carriage was dimly lit, with only a few small windows letting in a faint light. The officers were crammed into the cramped space; some were looking at maps, some were writing, and some were simply resting with their eyes closed.

The steam whistle blared.

The train slowly started moving, the iron wheels rubbing against the rails with a rhythmic clanging sound. Through the train window, Shiba Goro saw the platform move backward, saw the figures of the German military police grow smaller and smaller, and saw the entire marshalling yard gradually disappear into the morning mist.

They set off.

Sailing westward, heading towards the battlefield, heading towards a place destined to be remembered by history, but perhaps not in the way they would like to be remembered.

In Shiba Goro's carriage, a young major softly hummed "The Song of Comrades." At first, he was alone, but gradually, other officers joined in. The deep voice echoed in the dimly lit carriage, the Japanese and German lyrics intertwined, both strange and familiar:

"When the cherry blossoms fall...where will we meet again...?"

The train accelerated, heading into the depths of the morning mist on the Polish plains.

At 10:00 AM on July 3rd, at the Port William Naval Base.

Field Admiral Tirpitz stood on the dock, behind him a neatly lined-up corps of naval officers. Everyone was dressed in their most formal attire, their medals gleaming, yet the atmosphere was as somber as if attending a funeral. For today, Emperor Wilhelm II was personally inspecting the fleet's "readiness."

Inside the harbor, the main warships had done as much superficial work as possible: most of the scaffolding had been removed, the decks had been cleaned, the gun barrels had been polished, and even the sailors had changed into neat uniforms. But Tirpitz knew that these were just appearances. Beneath the polished exterior, the propeller shaft problem on the Frederick the Great still existed, the hydraulic leak in the turrets of the Seydlitz was barely under control, and the boiler room of the Königsberg still posed a hidden danger.

"They're here," Chief of Staff Trota whispered.

At the port entrance, the emperor's motorcade entered. Three Mercedes-Benz sedans were escorted by two trucks filled with armed soldiers, one in front and one behind. The motorcade stopped at the dock; the attendants alighted first, then opened the door of the middle car.

Wilhelm II came out.

He was wearing a naval admiral's uniform today, the deep blue wool gleaming in the sunlight, his chest adorned with medals. But Tirpitz keenly noticed that the Emperor's face was paler than when they last met, his eye bags deeper, and the lines of his mouth taut—traces of long-term anxiety and sleep deprivation.

"Your Majesty." Tirpitz led the officers to stand at attention and salute.

Wilhelm II returned the greeting, his gaze sweeping across the dock, over the warships in the harbor, and finally settling on Tirpitz's face. His eyes held expectation, scrutiny, and an undeniable sense of pressure.

"Alfred," the Emperor began, his voice not loud but clear, "take me to see my fleet."

"Yes, Your Majesty. This way, please."

The inspection began with the "Frederick the Great". Wilhelm II boarded the flagship and carefully inspected the bridge, fire control room, and main gun turrets. He asked many technical questions: rate of fire, accuracy, armor thickness, speed... Tirpitz answered them one by one, but each answer was accompanied by cautious qualifiers.

"Has the vibration problem in the transmission system been resolved?" William stood on the foredeck, looking at the massive main gun turret.

"The engineering department has carried out temporary reinforcements, but a complete solution requires docking and inspection," Tirpitz answered truthfully. "In its current state, it can maintain normal navigation, but there are risks in high-intensity maneuvers or combat."

How great is the risk?

"If the drive shaft breaks during combat, the warship will lose power and become a stationary target on the battlefield."

William paused for a few seconds, then walked to the next ship: "What about the 'Seydlitz'? I heard she's almost fully repaired."

"The turret is installed, but the hydraulic system is still being tested." Tirpitz followed the Emperor's footsteps. "In addition, the safety devices of the shell elevators need more time for testing. The lessons of Jutland have taught us that there is no room for complacency when it comes to the safety of the ammunition depot."

These words made Wilhelm II stop in his tracks. He turned and looked directly at Tirpitz: "Alfred, are you reminding me of the loss of Jutland?"

"I am merely stating the facts, Your Majesty," Tirpitz replied calmly. "The flaws in every warship could cost the lives of sailors and the honor of the Empire."

The emperor stared at him for a long time, and the surrounding officers held their breath. Finally, William turned and continued walking forward, but his tone was noticeably colder: "So, according to your professional judgment, when will the fleet be truly ready?"

"July 25th, Your Majesty. This is the most realistic timetable."

"It's too late," William shook his head. "Verdun can't wait that long. The army needs the navy to do something, even if it's just a symbolic strike, to distract Britain and France and boost morale at home."

They arrived at the HMS King. The warship appeared to be in good condition, but Tirpitz knew that there was still a leak in her boiler room that hadn't been completely fixed.

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz took a deep breath and decided to make the long-prepared suggestion, "if we must launch an attack ahead of schedule, I have an alternative plan."

William raised an eyebrow: "Speak."

"Use partially repaired ships to form a task force to conduct a rapid bombardment raid on the east coast of Britain. The objective is not a decisive battle, but a demonstration of force, a display of presence, to tell the British: the German Navy is still capable of attacking. Then return immediately to avoid encountering Jellicoe's main force."

Tirpitz had considered this plan for a long time. It was less risky, had reasonable political implications, and most importantly—it wouldn't put the entire fleet at risk.

But Wilhelm II was clearly dissatisfied: "A mere harassment? A few shots and then they run? What kind of victory is that?"