World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Tirpitz remained silent for a long time.

He looked at the fifty-eight-year-old emperor before him. He had seen that fanaticism on his face twenty-nine years ago. Back then, Wilhelm II had just ascended the throne and described to him the future of Germany—a powerful navy, vast colonies, and the status of a world power.

The fervor of that time was an ideal.

The current frenzy...

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz began slowly, "Lanfang will not sell. It is the cornerstone of their defense."

"Then persuade them to intervene personally!" Wilhelm II waved his hand. "Tell Chen Feng that as long as Lanfang declares war on Britain, Germany is willing to transfer all its colonies in the Pacific to them after the war! New Guinea! Nauru! Samoa! All to Lanfang!"

He took a step closer and lowered his voice: "Alfred, Germany's victory in Europe is Lanfang's victory in Asia. The British are finished, and the Americans are still watching from the sidelines. Now is the best time for Lanfang to enter the game—why don't they?"

Tirpitz opened his mouth, wanting to explain, to tell him about the complexities of international politics, to tell him that Chen Feng wanted balance, not colonies, and to tell him that Lan Fang was waiting for Meilika's fate, not a German victory...

But he didn't say it.

Because he knew that the current emperor wouldn't listen to any of this.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said.

Wilhelm II patted him on the shoulder: "Good. I knew it. Alfred will always be the most loyal."

Tirpitz lowered his head and did not reply.

As he turned to leave the study, he paused at the doorway and glanced back at the emperor's retreating figure.

The figure stood straight in the morning light, like a statue.

But Tirpitz knew it was a stone statue that was weathering away.

10 Downing Street, London

The atmosphere in the meeting room was like that of a morgue.

At nine o'clock in the morning, sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting bright squares on the carpet. But everyone sitting around the conference table felt as if they were in an icebox.

The Prime Minister sat at the head of the long table, his hands clasped together on the documents in front of him. He had read those documents five times already, and each time his stomach tightened.

The Minister of the Navy lowered his head, staring at the wood grain on the table, as if there was something worth studying there.

The First Sea Minister was ashen-faced and had sunken eyes—he hadn't slept all night.

The intelligence chief sat in the corner, trying to make himself seem non-existent.

No one speaks.

The Prime Minister finally spoke, his voice so hoarse it sounded unlike his own:

"read."

The First Sea Lord picked up the document and cleared his throat. But his voice still trembled:

"Sunk: HMS Queen Elizabeth, a Hood-class battlecruiser; HMS Barham, HMS Warrior, and HMS Malaya, all Queen Elizabeth-class battleships; HMS Courageous and HMS Glorious, both large light cruisers of the Courageous class."

He paused, then turned the page:

"Heavily damaged: Queen Elizabeth-class battleships HMS Queen Elizabeth and HMS Warspite. They have been withdrawn to the mainland for repairs and are expected to be unable to participate in combat for three months."

"Deaths: 4,217 confirmed. Missing: Approximately 800. Total: Approximately 5,000."

He finished reading.

The meeting room was so quiet you could hear birds chirping outside the window.

The Prime Minister stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to everyone.

"Five thousand men." His voice was soft. "The Royal Navy's biggest loss in a single day since the start of the war in 1914."

No one dared to speak.

"In Jutland, we lost three thousand people, and the whole country mourned for a week. It was on the front page of the newspapers for three days. Parliament questioned us four times." He paused. "And now? Five thousand. Tell me, what should the front page of tomorrow's newspapers say?"

The First Admiral finally spoke, his voice strained: "Prime Minister, we can emphasize that we sank four König-class destroyers in the German support fleet—"

"Who cares about the German König-class destroyers?" The Prime Minister turned and stared at him. "Does the public even know what the König-class is? They only know that the Germans traded two warships for six of ours. They only know that the Bismarck is still alive, still cruising in the Atlantic. They only know that the Royal Navy—the most powerful navy in the world—was defeated!"

The Minister of the Navy lowered his head.

The First Sea Minister said softly, "Prime Minister, the Bismarck-class ships have indeed exceeded expectations. Our intelligence was flawed—"

"I don't want to hear any explanations!" The Prime Minister slammed his hand on the table. "I want revenge! I want to find those two German warships and destroy them!"

The First Sea Minister looked up: "Prime Minister, we are assembling the fleet. Five Revenge-class battleships—HMS Revenge, HMS Resolution, HMS Ramirez, HMS Royal Oak, and HMS Sovereign—can be resupplyed and set sail for search operations within forty-eight hours."

"Then let's go!"

"However..." The First Sea Minister paused, "The Revenge-class's speed is only twenty-one knots. Even if the Bismarck is damaged, if it can still run at over twenty-five knots, we still can't catch up. And although the Revenge-class's armor is slightly stronger than the Elizabeth-class, it's still no match for 380mm guns..."

"I know!" the Prime Minister waved his hand to interrupt him, "but the people need a victory! Parliament needs a victory! The newspapers need a victory! You want me to tell them 'we can't catch up'? 'The German ships are better than ours'? 'Naval intelligence made a mistake'?"

The First Lord of the Navy said softly, "Prime Minister, perhaps we should first confirm the location of the Bismarck. They are damaged and have limited fuel; they are likely heading south towards a neutral port. We can deploy defenses off the west coast of Africa and the east coast of South America..."

"Then deploy defenses!" the Prime Minister said. "But the Revenge-class destroyers must be out to sea. Even if we can't catch up, we need to let the people see that we are chasing them!"

The First Sea Minister opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

The Prime Minister stood up and walked to the window again.

Outside the window, pedestrians were beginning to appear on the streets of London. A newsboy was calling out something on a street corner, his voice drifting in faintly.

He suddenly remembered the day the war broke out, a morning just like this, on streets just like this. Back then, people flooded the streets, cheering and waving flags, thinking they would be able to go home before Christmas.

Three years have passed now.

How much longer will it take?

he does not know.

All he knew was that the two German warships—and the four Lanfang warships anchored in Dubai harbor—were shifting the balance of the war.

"Get out," he said. "Let me have some peace and quiet."

Everyone stood up and silently left the meeting room.

After the door closed, the Prime Minister stood alone by the window, watching the London morning light gradually illuminate the entire city.

He suddenly remembered Nelson.

What were the last words spoken by the naval commander who died in the Battle of Trafalgar?

"Thank God, I have done my duty."

Did he do his job?

he does not know.