Chapter 18: Edward's Displeasure

"And then?" Fecher asked. "Build one ship to counter twelve? I want a numerical advantage! A two‑to‑one standard! The Royal Navy must be at least equal to the sum of the world's second and third strongest navies!"

He returned to his desk and grabbed the phone: "Connect to the Prime Minister's Residence. Yes, now. Tell Mr. Campbell-Bannerman that I need to see him within half an hour."

While waiting for the line to connect, he said to Watts: "I need a report by noon tomorrow at the latest. It should cover how much budget and time a six‑ship Dauntless construction program would require if we start it immediately, and what impact it would have on our existing shipbuilding plans."

"Six ships at once?" Watts exclaimed, shocked.

"Six ships is just the start!" Fecher roared. "The Germans have six; we need twelve! It's a math problem, Philip! A simple math problem!"

The call connected. Fecher lifted the receiver: "Prime Minister, this is Fecher. I apologize for disturbing you so late, but I need to convene an emergency wartime cabinet meeting immediately. Yes, tonight. Why? The Germans have just unveiled six brand‑new battleships we knew nothing about, and the Royal Navy is completely unprepared. I believe this is the gravest national‑security threat since the Napoleonic Wars."

After hanging up, the office was deathly silent.

Hall asked cautiously, "Sir, do you really think the Germans will…"

"I don't know whether the Germans will go to war," Fecher cut him off, "but I do know that when you see an opponent lay down an ace on the poker table while you only have junk cards, you must assume they're about to wipe out your chips."

He walked to the window and gazed at London's nightscape. The lights on the Thames reflected on the black water like a glowing serpent. For three centuries this river has witnessed countless fleets setting sail and returning, and the rise and fall of countless empires.

"Hall."

"Present, sir."

"Activate every intelligence network for the 'Deep Blue' plan," Fecher said without turning around. "I need to know where these ships were built, who designed them, and what technologies were used. In particular…" He turned, his gaze like a blade. "I need to know whether the Germans have allies. Whether any other nations are also building the same ships."

"You suspect…"

"I suspect everything," Fecher said. "Six battleships can't materialize out of thin air. There must be a link we've overlooked. Find it."

"Yes, sir."

After Hall saluted and left, Watts remained in the office.

"John," Watts used a familiar address, "do you really think the situation is this bad?"

Fecher sat back down, suddenly looking exhausted.

"Philip, how many warships have you designed?"

"Twenty‑seven capital ships, from the Monarchy class to the Dauntless."

"What do you think, compared to those German ships, how does the Dauntless fare?" Fecher said, pointing at the photo.

Watts remained silent for a long while, then answered honestly: "If the specs are accurate… the Dauntless isn't behind in design. But the Germans are already in service; we're still on the slipway. The gap is at least ten months. In a naval race, twelve months is enough to decide victory or defeat."

"So we must chase," Fecher massaged his temples. "At double speed, triple the budget, pursue at any cost. Because if we can't catch up…"

He didn't finish, but Watts understood.

If we fail to catch up, the Royal Navy's three‑century‑long global hegemony could end in our generation.

And they will become the guilty ones of history.

The marine clock on the wall struck ten. Its chime echoed through the silent office, sounding like a funeral toll and a war drum alike.

Fecher rose and grabbed his cap.

"Let's go, Philip. Go make the Prime Minister and the old gentlemen of the cabinet understand that they must either approve the largest naval budget in history or prepare to attend the British Empire's funeral."

As he left the office, Fecher cast one last glance at the photo on the desk.

The silhouette of the Westfalen, bathed in the light, glowed with a cold sheen; its five turrets, like five eyes, stared indifferently at the world it was about to change.

Fecher gently closed the door, leaving that steel ghost in the darkness.

Yet everyone present knew that from today onward, that ghost would forever haunt the skies above the Royal Navy, haunting every naval officer's nightmare.

Until someone builds a bigger, faster, stronger ship and sinks it.

Buckingham Palace, the King's study,

The front page of The Times was slammed hard onto the Persian carpet, the paper fanning out, the huge bold headline glaring:

"Germany's Steel Ghost: Six Mysterious Battleships Pass Through the Suez Canal"

King Edward VII stood at the desk, his face flushed, his heavy fingers pointing at the newspaper on the floor: "This is an insult! A naked insult!"

Navy Minister Count Selborne stood nearby, bowing his head slightly: "Your Majesty, please calm down…"

"Calm down?" Edward VII turned, his obese body trembling with rage. "That presumptuous boy William! His father—my dear brother‑in‑law Frederick—if he were still alive, would never have allowed such provocation!"

The king walked to the window, looking at the garden outside the palace, his voice tinged with the sting of family grudges: "Last year at Coburg, he boasted before an entire house of European royalty about Germany's 'sun‑lit territories.' I told him the British Empire's lands aren't a loaf of bread you can slice at will. And now? He answers me with battleships!"

Count Selborne chose his words carefully: "Your Majesty, this is first and foremost a naval‑technology issue. The Germans appear to have built a new generation of battleships, and our intelligence system… completely missed it."

"Missed it?" the king snapped, turning sharply. "Six ships! Twenty‑thousand‑ton class! This isn't missing a cruiser; it's six capital ships! Have the Royal Navy's eyes gone blind?"

The study door was gently knocked.

"Come in!"

Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman entered, followed by Foreign Minister Marquis Lansdowne. Both wore grim expressions.

"Your Majesty," the Prime Minister bowed slightly, "Lord Fecher of the Navy Department requests an urgent audience; he has brought more detailed intelligence."

"Let him in!" the king said, sinking back into the high‑backed chair, his fingers drumming the armrest. "Everyone, listen—what exactly is wrong with our navy?"

Lord John Fecher strode into the study, his uniform crisp, but his eyes bloodshot. He held a thick dossier in his hand.

"Your Majesty, Prime Minister, distinguished ministers," Fecher's voice was as crisp as a Shell exploding, "I'll be brief: the Germans have achieved a technological breakthrough, and we are at least eighteen months behind."

He opened the dossier, pulled out an enlarged photograph, and spread it on the desk.

"This was taken yesterday morning in the Suez Canal. Six identical battleships, designated the Westfalen class. Preliminary analysis shows a standard displacement between 18,000 and 20,000 tons; the main armament consists of ten 12‑inch, 45‑caliber guns mounted in five twin turrets; propulsion is Parsons‑type steam turbines, with a top speed of at least 21 knots; and the design features heavy protection, with the Armour Belt estimated at over 11 inches thick."

The study fell into a dead silence.

Foreign Minister Lansdowne was the first to speak: "Are you sure it's a 12‑inch Main Gun? Our newest Edward VII class only has 9.2‑inch guns."

"Confirmed," Fecher said, pointing to the proportion of barrel to hull in the photo. "The barrel length is at least 45 feet. Only a 12‑inch caliber requires such a long barrel to ensure muzzle velocity and range."

Prime Minister Campbell-Bannerman pressed his brows: "What about cost? A ship like that shouldn't cost less than 1.5 million pounds per unit, right?"

"We don't know the Germans' cost," Fecher replied, "but by our standards, such a ship would cost between 1.8 million and 2 million pounds each. Six of them… total 12 million pounds."

Count Selborne drew a sharp gasp of cold air: "What was the German Navy's total budget last year?"

"Eight point five million pounds," Fecher reported accurately. "So they either diverted funds from other services, or… have a financial source we don't know about."

Edward VII stared at the photograph and suddenly asked, "Fisher, three years ago you showed me a memorandum about the 'all-big-gun battleship' concept. Are these German ships exactly that idea?"

"Exactly, Your Majesty." Fisher's expression was complex, carrying both the bitterness of seeing his own prediction confirmed and the anxiety of falling behind reality. "I proposed in 1903: future battleships should abolish mixed-caliber main guns, unify them into large-caliber main guns, and coordinate with a central fire-control system for long-range salvo fire. But the Naval Board considered the technology immature, and the budget wouldn't allow it."

"So the Germans have realized your vision." The King's voice was as cold as ice. "Using our concept, they've built ships more advanced than ours."

The study's atmosphere was heavy.

The Marquess of Lansdowne broke the silence: "The issue now is not assigning blame, but responding. What do the Germans want? Where are these six ships now?"

Fisher replied: "According to the latest telegram, they have passed through the canal into the Mediterranean, heading northwest. Their destination is likely Gibraltar, then into the Atlantic. As for what they want..." He paused. "I judge there are two possibilities: first, directly returning to German North Sea ports as the new core of the High Seas Fleet; second, conducting a global voyage to show force, especially visiting overseas outposts of German interest—such as Morocco."

"Morocco." Lansdowne frowned. "The French are expanding their influence there, and the Germans just lodged a protest last month. If six new battleships appear off Casablanca..."

"That would be a direct deterrent to France, and also a signal to us." The Prime Minister took over. "Germany is telling us: they have the capability to project power into the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, no longer a second-rate navy bottled up in the Baltic."

Edward VII suddenly laughed, a laugh devoid of warmth: "My nephew Wilhelm... he always loves grand spectacles. Now he has new toys, and he can't wait to show them off to the whole world."

He stood up and walked to the map of Europe on the wall.

"Fisher, tell me frankly: if right now, today, the German fleet and the Royal Navy fought a decisive battle in the North Sea, what would the result be?"

Everyone's eyes focused on the First Sea Lord.

Fisher was silent for a full ten seconds, then gave the answer no one wanted to hear but everyone had to face:

"We would win, Your Majesty. But the cost would be at least four to six capital ships sunk, casualties possibly exceeding five thousand. And that assumes we can use our numerical advantage to surround them and force them into close combat. If the Germans use their speed advantage for maneuver warfare..."

He did not finish, but the meaning was clear.

"So in effect," the King said slowly, "these six ships have given the German Navy a local advantage in the North Sea. Although we still lead in total tonnage, they now have a sharp spearhead that can pierce our formation."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Fisher admitted. "And this is only the first batch. If the Germans have mastered this design, a second and third batch will follow quickly. By 1908, the balance of power in the North Sea could be completely altered."

The Earl of Selborne couldn't help asking: "How quickly can we build battleships of the same class? What about Dreadnought?"

"Dreadnought's keel was only laid this October, with an expected launch in December 1906 and commissioning in early 1907." Fisher's pace quickened. "But that's a single ship. What we need is numbers. I recommend immediately launching an emergency construction plan for ten dreadnoughts, while suspending all modernization plans for existing pre-dreadnoughts and concentrating all resources."