World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

All they know is that they won.

The car drove into the courtyard of the Admiralty building. When Scheer got out, he saw a group of reporters already gathered at the building entrance. Flashes went off, and camera shutters clicked away.

"General Sher! Please say a few words!"

What were your feelings at the time?

When will the next naval battle begin?

Scheer didn't linger, walking straight into the building under the escort of guards. In the corridor, everyone he encountered saluted him, their eyes filled with anticipation. He could hear whispers behind him: "That's Scheer..." "He looks more serious than in the photos..." "Of course, true heroes are always composed..."

He stopped at the door of the admiral's office, took a deep breath, and then knocked.

"Come in."

Marshal Tirpitz was sitting behind his enormous desk, reading documents. Seeing Scheer, he stood up, walked around the desk, and extended his right hand.

"Welcome back, Reinhardt."

Their hands clasped together. Scher could feel the strength in the old marshal's hand and see the deep worry hidden in his eyes.

"Sit down." Tirpitz gestured to the sofa and sat down opposite him. "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, thank you."

The orderly brought coffee and then left. The office door closed, leaving only the two people in the room.

"First of all," Tirpitz began, "on behalf of the Navy, I thank you and your men for your valiant fighting. Your victory... is very important to Germany."

"But," Scher heard the shift in tone.

Tirpitz gave a wry smile: "You know me too well. Yes, but... I've read your report; it's very detailed and objective. Especially the final summary."

Do you agree with my opinion?

"Completely agree." Tirpitz leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Reinhardt, there are no outsiders here; we're speaking the truth. How much of this victory was due to skill, and how much to luck?"

Scheer paused for a few seconds. "It's 40/60. We have 40% of the strength—better warships, better fire control, and a more determined fighting spirit. 60% is luck: the stormy weather, the Hood turning and exposing its weaknesses, and that shell hitting the ammunition magazine precisely."

"If we did it again under the same conditions, could you guarantee the same result?"

"No," Scheer answered without hesitation. "There are no 'what ifs' in war. But if there were, the Hood might have chosen different tactics, the shells might have hit different spots, and the outcome might have been completely different."

Tirpitz nodded and leaned back on the sofa. "So now we face a problem: a victory that was 60% won by luck is being touted domestically as a 'total victory of German technology.' His Majesty the Emperor believes that we can replicate this victory and continue to make breakthroughs at sea."

"What does he want to do?"

"He wants you to lead the fleet into battle again." Tirpitz looked directly into Scheer's eyes. "This time, not just two ships, but all of our capital ships. He wants to engage the Royal Navy in a decisive battle in the North Sea and crush British naval supremacy in one fell swoop."

Scheer felt a chill run down his spine. "Marshal, this is impossible. We have sixteen capital ships, while the British have more than twenty-four. And after the loss of HMS Hood, they will certainly be more cautious and may even change their tactics. In a head-on confrontation, we have no chance of winning."

"I know," Tirpitz said wearily. "Behnke knows. Most of the Naval Staff knows. But the Emperor doesn't know—or rather, doesn't want to know."

"So what are you planning to do?"

"Delay," Tirpitz said bluntly. "I will use reasons such as 'the ships need repairs,' 'the crew needs rest,' and 'a detailed plan needs to be developed' to buy time. But it won't last long; the Emperor is under a lot of pressure."

Scheer picked up his coffee, noticing his hand trembling slightly. He put the cup down. "Marshal, if we really engage in a decisive battle with our main forces, the outcome could be disastrous. We suffered relatively few losses at the Battle of Jutland, but that was because we chose a favorable battlefield and timing. If the British have laid a well-prepared ambush, if we lose our tactical surprise..."

"The German Navy may cease to exist," Tirpitz finished his sentence for him. "I know. So we must avoid that."

The office fell silent. Rain tapped against the window, like countless fingers gently knocking.

"There's one more thing," Scheer said, remembering something. "On the return voyage, I kept thinking about one question: Why would the Lanfang people sell us such powerful warships? They knew it would change the balance of power."

Tirpitz walked to his desk, picked up the encrypted telegram, and handed it to Scheer. "Take a look at this."

Scher quickly scanned the document, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "'Technological advantage may bring temporary victory, but not eternal victory'... Are they warning us?"

"Or rather, it's a reminder to stay alert." Tirpitz retracted the telegram. "Chen Feng is a shrewd businessman. He sells us weapons, but he doesn't want us to win too quickly—then the war will end, and his business will collapse. But he also doesn't want us to lose too quickly—then his investment will be wasted."

"So what he wants is..."

"A stalemate." Tirpitz walked to the window, gazing at the Admiralty compound in the rain. "A long, exhausting war that has bled Europe dry. In the process, Lanfang can sell weapons, provide loans, accumulate wealth and technology, and eventually grow from a regional power into a world power."

Scheer felt a wave of nausea. Not physically, but psychologically. These soldiers were risking their lives at sea, bleeding in the trenches, while some people in the far East were turning that bloodshed and sacrifice into business.

"Then what do we do?" he asked.

"Us?" Tirpitz turned around, a bittersweet smile on his face. "Reinhardt, we are soldiers. Our duty is to fight, to obey orders. Politics and business are for politicians."

"But what if a politician's decision could destroy the navy—"

"Then let's do everything we can to minimize the losses." Tirpitz walked back, patted Scheer on the shoulder, and said, "The Emperor will be attending the afternoon meeting in person. He will ask for your opinion and whether you are ready to strike again. Your answer will be very important."

"How should I put it?"

"To be honest. But in a way they can accept." Tirpitz paused, "Emphasize how hard-won the victory was, emphasize the time needed for preparation, and stress that the Royal Navy will definitely retaliate fiercely. Don't say 'we can't fight' directly; say 'we need more preparation before we can fight.'"

Scheer understood. This was the helpless choice soldiers faced with politics: not to lie, but not to tell the whole truth either. To find a narrow balance between ideals and reality.

"I understand, Marshal."

"And one more thing," Tirpitz concluded, "be prepared. No matter how much we delay, the Emperor will eventually give the order. At that time, you will have to lead the fleet out. And this time... we may not be as lucky as last time."