World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Sink one Hood-class...three Queen Elizabeth-class...two Valiant-class..."

He looked up at the aide-de-camp: "Six ships?"

The attendant nodded vigorously: "Six ships, Your Majesty!"

Wilhelm II paused for a second.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a reserved laugh, nor the restraint befitting an emperor. It was a roaring laugh that burst forth from the depths of his chest, a laugh that had been held back for three years and was so loud it made the candlestick flame tremble.

"Good!" He slammed his hand on the bedside table, knocking over the candlestick. The attendant scrambled to right it. "Good! Good!"

He said "good" three times, then rushed out of the bedroom in his pajamas and ran down the corridor toward the study. The attendant chased after him, trying to hand him slippers, but he wouldn't take them. He just ran barefoot on the cold marble floor like a twenty-year-old.

"Your Majesty! Frederick the Great!" He burst into the study, waving a telegram at the portrait on the wall. "Did you see that? The German navy has finally made the British pay! What is Jutland? This is a victory! This is annihilation!"

In the portrait, Frederick the Great looks down at him with hawk-like eyes, without saying a word.

Wilhelm II didn't care. He spread the telegram out on his desk and read it again and again. He savored every word and every number, as if he were tasting the most delicious food in the world.

"Six..." he muttered to himself, "Six capital ships. How many does the Royal Navy have? Twenty? That's a third gone!"

He paced back and forth in the study, his bare feet leaving sweaty footprints on the carpet.

"Scher! I knew Scherdler was a genius! I knew the Bismarck-class was invincible! Where is Tirpitz? Where is Tirpitz?"

The attendant stood at the door, panting: "Your Majesty, it's only four in the morning. Marshal Tirpitz should be home—"

"Summon him!" Wilhelm II waved his hand. "Now! Immediately!"

At exactly seven o'clock, Tirpitz entered his study.

He was already sixty-eight years old. He was woken up in the early morning and driven from home to Sanssouci Palace, a forty-minute drive, without saying a word. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk, but that he didn't know what to say.

When he entered the study, Wilhelm II was still in his pajamas, but his hair was already combed, and his face had that flushed glow that comes with drinking. (Can anyone provide a picture of him sitting with his legs crossed, holding a wine glass, his leg hair showing, and his expression incredibly arrogant?)

"Alfred!" The Emperor opened his arms wide. "Have you seen Scheer's battle report?"

Tirpitz stood in front of the desk, without sitting down.

"I have seen it, Your Majesty."

"Six ships!" Wilhelm II approached him, almost shouting. "Six British capital ships! One Hood-class, three Queen Elizabeth-class, and two Courageous-class! Do you know what that means?"

Tirpitz paused for a second.

"Your Majesty, I know what this means." His voice was deep. "It means that the German Navy has won a victory even more glorious than the one at Jutland."

"Brilliant!" Wilhelm II clapped his hands. "Yes, brilliant! I will issue a proclamation, I will hold a march throughout Berlin, I will let everyone know—"

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz interrupted him.

Wilhelm II was stunned.

The 68-year-old marshal stood in the center of the study, wearing his faded general's uniform, the wrinkles on his face particularly deep in the morning light. He didn't look into the emperor's eyes, but rather at the telegram spread out on the desk.

"Your Majesty, the support fleet of four King-class ships—all gone."

Wilhelm II's smile faded somewhat.

"Kaiser, Louispold, König, Empress," Tirpitz's voice sounded like he was reading a list of the dead. "Four battleships, eight thousand German sailors. Fewer than two thousand came back alive."

He raised his head: "Your Majesty, this was a Pyrrhic victory."

Wilhelm II frowned: "A Pyrrhic victory is still a victory. The British have suffered greater losses."

"Yes, the British suffered greater losses," Tirpitz said. "But the British shipbuilding capacity is superior to ours. They can replace their lost ships within a year. What about us?"

He walked to the window, his back to the emperor:

"Our support fleet is gone. Where are our capital ships—the Bismarck and the Tirpitz—now? In the middle of the Atlantic. Damaged, running low on fuel and ammunition. Will the British let them go? No. Jellicoe will certainly gather all available ships and search the entire Atlantic for them."

He turned around: "Your Majesty, Scheer will not be able to return to Kiel."

The rosy glow on Wilhelm II's face finally faded.

"What did you say?"

“They’re not coming back,” Tirpitz repeated. “The British won’t let them cross the North Sea. The Merikas are waiting in the Atlantic. Their only way out is south, to a neutral port. But according to international law, once they reach the shore, they’ll be detained until the end of the war.”

He paused, then continued, "If we're lucky, we might make it to South America. If we're unlucky..."

He didn't finish speaking.

Wilhelm II remained silent.

He walked back to his desk, sat down, stood up again, and sat down again. His fingers tapped unconsciously on the table for a few seconds, then stopped.

"Alfred," he finally spoke, his voice much lower, "tell me, why are the Bismarck-class battleships so strong?"

Tirpitz was taken aback. He didn't know why the emperor had suddenly asked this.

"Because...the design is advanced and the technology is leading, Your Majesty."

"Advanced design, leading technology," Wilhelm II repeated. "Who designed it?"

Tirpitz fell silent.

He knew the answer.

"Lanfang," Wilhelm II said for him, "designed by the people of Lanfang. Manufactured by the people of Lanfang. Sold to us by the people of Lanfang."

He stood up, walked to the window, and stood side by side with Tirpitz.

Outside the window, the morning mist on Linden Avenue is dissipating. In the distance, the statue atop the Victory Column is faintly visible through the fog.

"A few months ago," Wilhelm II said, "the Bismarck sank the Hood in the North Sea. Now, it has taken down the Queen Elizabeth-class and three Queen Elizabeth-class ships, and that other one... the Courageous-class. What does this prove?"

Tirpitz did not answer.

"This proves that the Bismarck-class was the right choice." Wilhelm II turned to his admiral, "Alfred, Lanfang still has six active Bismarck-class ships."

Tirpitz's pupils contracted slightly.

"I want you to go to Lanfang," Wilhelm II said, "and bring back those six Bismarck-class ships."

"His Majesty--"

"Buy, rent, or borrow, bring them back!" Wilhelm II interrupted him. "With six Bismarck-class ships, I can completely defeat the Royal Navy and trap the British on the British Isles! The Atlantic will become Germany's inland lake! Will the Merlekas still dare to fight? Will they dare to come and die?"