World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

How will the British react?

Anger, that's for sure. Shame, that's also for sure. But more importantly, they will learn, they will adjust, they will find solutions. The Royal Navy has a 300-year-old tradition; it won't collapse because of one defeat. On the contrary, this defeat may become a catalyst for their reforms.

And what about Germany?

Tirpitz looked toward Berlin. Revelry, celebration, and demands for more victories. The Emperor was lost in the fantasy of a "world power," forgetting that Germany was essentially a land power, with the navy merely a supporting force. He forgot that our true enemies were not at sea, but in Russia on the eastern front and France on the western front.

"We've gone too far," Tirpitz muttered to himself.

The phone on the desk suddenly rang. The ringing was particularly jarring in the dead of night.

Tirpitz went back and answered, "I am Tirpitz."

"Marshal, I apologize for disturbing you so late." The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to the duty officer of the Navy. "We just received an encrypted telegram from Wilhelmshaven. Admiral Scheer's fleet has safely entered port. Also... there is a telegram from Lanfang, requesting that you receive it personally."

"Lanfang?" Tirpitz frowned. "The contents?"

"The encryption level is very high; we cannot decode it. We have already sent it to your residence, and it should arrive in about half an hour."

"Understood. Let me know if there's any news."

After hanging up the phone, Tirpitz sat back down in his chair. Lanfang had sent an encrypted telegram at this time; the content was likely one of two things: congratulations, or… a reminder.

He prefers the latter.

The coffee had gone cold, but he poured himself a cup. The bitterness spread in his mouth, stimulating his weary nerves. He turned to the next page of the report, where there was a summary written in Scheer's own handwriting:

"...Although this battle was won, it exposed many problems. First, the number of our navy's main warships is still at an absolute disadvantage; second, intelligence work against the British was insufficient, failing to anticipate their rapid response; third, fleet coordination capabilities need improvement, and the malfunction of the 'Tirpitz' nearly led to catastrophic consequences; fourth, over-reliance on a single technological advantage may become a hidden danger. It is recommended to postpone large-scale maritime operations and concentrate efforts on resolving the above-mentioned problems..."

It is recommended to postpone this.

Tirpitz could almost imagine the Emperor's fury when he saw these words. "You want me to postpone the victory? Scheer, are you terrified of the British?"

But Scheer is right. Absolutely right.

The question is, will the emperor listen?

The doorbell rang downstairs. Tirpitz glanced at the clock: 1:35. The telegram deliveryman had arrived.

He got up and went downstairs. The butler, Hans, had already opened the door, and a young naval lieutenant stood in the doorway, holding a sealed document bag.

"Your Excellency Marshal!" The lieutenant stood at attention and saluted. "Urgent dispatch from the Navy!"

Tirpitz took the document bag; the sealing wax seal was intact, bearing the emblem of the Lanfang Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "Thank you for your trouble, Lieutenant. Do you need a receipt?"

"No need, sir. Good night."

After seeing the lieutenant off, Tirpitz returned to his study and carefully cut open the seal with a paper cutter. Inside was only one page with a brief telegram printed in German:

"His Excellency Field Marshal von Tirpitz: "

I am delighted to learn of the brilliant achievements of your navy and extend my sincere congratulations.

However, victory often breeds greater challenges. The British Empire's naval power is deeply rooted, and this setback will undoubtedly prompt a full-scale counterattack. Technological superiority may bring temporary gains, but not lasting ones.

Recommendation: Consolidate existing achievements and carefully plan the next steps. If necessary, explore the possibility of deepening cooperation.

Best wishes.

Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Lanfang, Chen Feng (authorized signature)

Tirpitz read it three times.

Every word was polite, every phrase was appropriate, but the meaning conveyed between the lines couldn't be clearer: know when to stop.

"Technological advantages can win for a while, but not forever."

He put down the telegram and went to the window. The night was deep, Berlin was asleep, with only a few scattered lights. The city's celebration was over, and when the sun rose tomorrow, people would see a deluge of victory reports and be immersed in the joy of "the rise of Germany."

But beneath this joy, a shadow is spreading.

The British wouldn't give up easily. The Lanfangs were reminding us to stop. The Emperor wanted more victories. A division was beginning to form within the navy—younger officers like Raeder were eager for battle, while pragmatists like Scheer knew the danger.

He himself, a nearly seventy-year-old marshal, stood at the crossroads of all the contradictions.

Tirpitz returned to his desk and picked up his pen. He needed to reply to Scheer, prepare for tomorrow's Admiralty meeting, and consider how to respond to the Emperor's demands.

But before putting pen to paper, he took one last look at Lanfang's telegram.

Chen Feng.

That mysterious Easterner. He sold us warships, he sold us technology, and now he's warning us not to go too far. What does he really want? Money? Power? Or... some kind of longer-term strategy?

Tirpitz did not know the answer.

All he knew was that in this increasingly complex game, Germany had gradually transformed from a player into a pawn on the chessboard.

The pen tip touched the paper, and the ink spread. He wrote the first sentence of his reply:

"General Scherr: Report reviewed. Your assessment is correct. I will do my best to buy time..."

Length of night.

The challenges of tomorrow are already upon us.

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

The naval port was shrouded in a gray mist during the drizzle. At the dock, the battleship Bismarck sat quietly in its designated berth, the marks of battle still visible on its hull—several secondary gun positions on the port side were pierced by near misses, the repaired steel plates a slightly different color from the surrounding area; there was a noticeable dent below the bridge, a mark left by a 15-inch shell from the Hood.

But all these damages seemed insignificant before the 45,000-ton behemoth. The Bismarck remained majestic and powerful, like a beast that had proven itself in battle, now licking its wounds in its lair.

In the captain's cabin, Admiral Reinhard Scheer was changing out of his combat uniform. He handed his gunpowder-smelling and sweat-soaked uniform to an orderly and changed into a clean set of general's service clothes. The man in the mirror had deep bags under his eyes and stubble, but his eyes remained sharp.

"General, the carriage is ready," the adjutant reported from outside the door.

"Understood." Scheer fastened the last button, put on his cap, and said, "Notify the captain of the Tirpitz to attend a meeting at the Admiralty at 2 PM. Also, compile a list of the fallen officers and men; I want to review it personally."

"Yes."

He stepped out of the captain's cabin and disembarked via the gangway. Naval officers and sailors lined the dock to greet him, all saluting him with eyes full of reverence. Scheer—the admiral who had just created the legend of "sinking HMS Hood with a five-boom salvo"—was now a hero within the navy.

But he felt no joy.

As I boarded the waiting car, my adjutant, sitting in the front, handed me a stack of today's newspapers. Without exception, the front page headlines read:

"The Glory of Germany! The Bismarck's Great Victory in the North Sea!"

Five rounds fired simultaneously! The Hood sinks to the bottom of the sea!

Admiral Scheer: A Naval Hero of the New Era!

Scher glanced through the newspaper briefly, then tossed it aside. "How's Berlin's reaction?"

"A celebration, General!" The adjutant turned, his face beaming with excitement. "Last night, a grand banquet was held at Sanssouci Palace, and His Majesty the Emperor personally toasted you. The newspapers say it's the greatest victory since the Franco-Prussian War!"

"The greatest..." Scheer looked out the car window. The windshield wipers swung back and forth on the windshield, and the streets of Port William were blurred in the rain. Pedestrians hurried past, some carrying newspapers and smiling.

They didn't know how this "greatest victory" came about. They didn't know the difficult choices made during the storm, the despair when the Tirpitz's engine failed, or the complex emotions they felt watching the Hood break apart and sink.