World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"This is the safest option under the current circumstances, Your Majesty," Tirpitz insisted. "We can sink some merchant ships, bombard some port facilities, and cause some damage. This will at least provide an explanation to the country and give the army some support."

The emperor remained silent. He paced back and forth on the dock, his dark blue cloak fluttering slightly in the summer sea breeze. Tirpitz and the other officers waited quietly.

In the distance, a submarine was leaving the harbor. Its slender hull glided silently across the water, and the officers and soldiers on the control tower saluted towards the dock.

"Submarines..." William muttered to himself, then suddenly turned around. "Alfred, what if I put all the resources into the submarine force? If I let Crozier run rampant, could he cut off Britain's sea lanes?"

This question surprised everyone. Tirpitz paused for a moment, then quickly thought about it.

"In the short term, submarines can indeed cause greater damage," he answered cautiously, "but in the long term, the British will adjust their escort strategies and develop new anti-submarine technologies. Moreover, submarine warfare carries political risks—sinking too many neutral ships could drag the United States into war."

"The United States..." William sneered, "That hypocrite Wilson, he talks about neutrality but he's been feeding Britain. If he really wanted to go to war, he would have done so long ago."

But he didn't continue that topic, instead returning to the original question: "So your advice is: don't launch a large-scale attack before July 25th; if you must launch an attack, only conduct small-scale harassment. Is that right?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. This is the best choice based on professional judgment."

Wilhelm II stared at Tirpitz, his gaze sharp as a knife. The atmosphere on the dock was extremely tense; everyone knew that this answer could determine Tirpitz's fate, and even the future of the German Navy.

"Do you know what they're saying about you outside, Alfred?" the Emperor said suddenly, his voice soft, but every word piercing. "They say you're the 'Port Marshal,' that your fleet rusts in Wilhelmshaven, that you're afraid of Jellicoe, afraid of battle."

Tirpitz's expression remained unchanged, but the knuckles of his fingers gripping the marshal's baton turned white. "Your Majesty," he said, "I am sixty-seven years old and have served in the navy for nearly fifty years. I have participated in three wars and commanded fleets in battle. I know what fear is, but I also know what responsibility is. My responsibility is not to appease gossips, but to protect the German navy and the lives of these 25,000 sailors."

He paused, his voice growing even more resolute: "If I'm dismissed for sticking to my professional judgment, then so be it. But before that, I must tell the truth. Forcing an unprepared fleet into battle is not bravery, it's foolishness. It's not serving the Empire, it's betraying the Empire."

The dock was deathly silent. Even the seagulls had stopped crying.

Wilhelm II's expression shifted, from anger to contemplation, and then to a complex weariness. Finally, he sighed, a sigh so deep it seemed to release all the anxiety that had been building up in his chest.

"July 20th," the Emperor finally said. "I'm giving you two weeks. Not the 25th, but the 20th. Two weeks later, I want to see a fleet capable of launching an attack. It can be smaller, its targets more limited, but it must be a genuine combat operation. This is my final concession, Alfred."

Tirpitz closed his eyes. Two weeks, five days earlier than his bottom line, but ten days later than the Emperor's initial demand of July 10th. It was a compromise, a compromise that both sides could barely accept.

"Yes, Your Majesty." He opened his eyes. "On July 20th, the High Seas Fleet will carry out a combat mission. I will submit a detailed plan within three days."

William nodded and turned to walk towards the convoy. After a few steps, he stopped, but didn't turn back: "Alfred, I know you did the right thing. But sometimes... doing the right thing takes more courage than doing the wrong thing. Because you have to bear the accusations of those who don't understand, and you have to bear the misunderstandings of history."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Keep doing what you think is right. At least, I understand you."

After speaking, the emperor boarded the sedan chair. The motorcade slowly drove away from the dock.

Tirpitz stood motionless for a long time. The sea breeze ruffled his gray hair, and his dark blue marshal's uniform shimmered in the sunlight.

"Marshal..." Trota began cautiously.

"Summon all ship captains." Tirpitz turned, his expression regaining its usual composure. "We need to formulate a plan—a feasible, risk-controlled, and practical operational plan that can be executed by July 20th. Also…"

He looked out of the harbor, where two patrolling destroyers were returning to port.

"Notify submarine command that I need to see Dönitz. If the surface fleet can only operate within limits, then underwater... perhaps we can do much more."

The order was passed on. Port William resumed its busy work, but this time it wasn't a blind rush; it was purposeful preparation. Two weeks—not too long, not too short—enough to do some things, but not enough to do everything.

Tirpitz walked toward the headquarters building. His steps remained steady, his back still straight. The Emperor's last words echoed in his ears: "At least, I understand you."

Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just a way to reassure people.

But in any case, he still has two weeks.

Two weeks to prepare the German Navy for a respectable, safe, and meaningful sortie.

This might not be enough to change the war, but at least it could preserve the fleet's strength and save the lives of the sailors.

4 PM, July 3rd, Strategic Room, Dubai Presidential Palace.

Chen Feng stood in front of the updated world map, holding three newly delivered reports: one from Litt, reporting that the Bismarck-class battleships had been handed over and set sail; one from an intelligence agent lurking in Berlin, reporting the results of Wilhelm II's inspection of Wilhelmshaven; and the last from the Western Front, reporting that the vanguard of the Japanese forces had crossed the Franco-German border.

All three things, all three lines of work, are progressing according to plan.

But Chen Feng knew that the plan's progress did not guarantee success. The real test was just beginning: Could the warships safely reach Germany? Could the Japanese forces be effective on the Western Front? Could the German Navy achieve any results under the limited conditions?

Problems can occur at any stage, and each problem can trigger a chain reaction.

"President," Wang Wenwu pushed open the door and entered, holding a telegram in his hand, "The Ministry of Industry reports that the first 'Number One' prototype has been completed and is undergoing ground testing. He requests your inspection."

Chen Feng's eyes lit up: "Finally finished. Schedule for tomorrow morning."

"Yes." Wang Wenwu took notes, then hesitated for a moment, "Commander, there's something... I don't know if I should say it."

"explain."

"Some of our officers... objected to the deal. They believed that selling two of the most advanced warships to Germany was helping our potential enemy. If Germany won the war and consolidated its position in Europe, its next target might be overseas expansion, which could threaten Lanfang's interests."