Chapter 24

The whistle's blast cut through the morning mist over the Baltic Sea, and six huge gray silhouettes appeared on the horizon.

On the quay, a crowd as dense as a tsunami erupted in cheers. Children rode on their fathers' shoulders, women waved the black‑white‑red imperial flags, and men tossed their hats into the air.

"They're here! They've arrived!"

"The pride of Germany!"

"Look at those gun barrels! My God, they're thicker than a house!"

On the pier's reviewing stand, Emperor Wilhelm II gripped a gilt telescope, his knuckles whitening from the force. He wore a full naval marshal's dress uniform today, the medals on his chest gleaming in the morning light, and a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Alfred," the emperor said without turning, his voice loud enough for every official behind him to hear, "tell me, in the past three hundred years, has any non‑British fleet ever caused such a stir upon returning to its home port?"

Admiral Tirpitz stood half a step behind and to the emperor's right, ramrod straight: "Your Majesty, this is a historic moment."

"Historic?" Wilhelm II lowered his telescope, turned to face his naval commander, eyes blazing like burning coal, "No, Alfred, this is the prologue to a new age!"

He threw his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire Kiel harbor, the whole Baltic Sea, and even the oceans of the world.

"From today on, the myth of the Royal Navy's mastery of the seas is over! From today on, anyone who tries to block Germany's claim to a place in the sun must first ask these steel leviathans whether they consent!"

Officers and generals chorused their approval, and thunderous applause broke out.

But Tirpitz's expression remained stern. His gaze swept past the cheering crowd and settled on the six battleships slowly docking. Westfalen, Rheinland, Posen, Hessen, Nassau, Oldenburg—each named for a German state, each representing the fresh fangs of the High Seas Fleet.

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz lowered his voice, "the British military attaché in Germany is in the press section to the left of the reviewing stand. He's carrying a professional camera lens."

"Let him shoot!" Wilhelm II said carelessly, "Let him send every photo back to London and lay them on Uncle Edward's breakfast table! I want every Briton, from king to dockworker, to see Germany's power clearly!"

The fleet had fully entered port.

The six battleships moored at perfect intervals, their black gun barrels pointing uniformly skyward like a forest of steel. Sailors lined up along the sides, their white uniforms standing out against the gray hulls. Each ship's mast flew a huge imperial navy ensign.

The military band began playing "Deutschland über alles."

A mass chorus erupted from the crowd, the song shaking the heavens and earth.

Wilhelm II descended the reviewing stand and, escorted by the guard, climbed the gangway of the Westfalen. This was a carefully staged segment—the emperor wanted to personally board the mightiest battleship to show the nation the close bond between the monarchy and the navy.

On the deck, Colonel Von Trotha, captain of the Westfalen, came to attention and saluted: "Your Majesty! All officers and crew of the Westfalen welcome you aboard!"

Wilhelm II returned the salute, then did something that made every reporter frantically click their shutters—he strode over and gave the captain a hearty embrace.

"Colonel! You and your lads have won supreme glory for the Empire!"

"In service to Your Majesty!" Trotha's voice choked with emotion.

The accompanying court journalist instantly scribbled in his notebook: "His Majesty the Emperor, with a brotherly embrace, honored the Westfalen's officers and men for their outstanding merit…"

But what was the real "merit"? These ships had never seen combat, never fired a shot—except for a test firing in the Persian Gulf. Yet that didn't matter. In the propaganda machine, they were already hailed as "the Empire's guardians" and "the new masters of the sea."

The hot wind of the Persian Gulf, laden with sand, slapped against the glass windows of the administrative building's conference room.

The room lacked Kiel's fervor; instead there was an almost ruthless calm.

Spread across the long conference table were a dozen or so telegrams, reports, and newspaper clippings. The German Berliner Tageblatt, the English Times, the French Figaro… every front page, without exception, carried news of the German dreadnoughts' homecoming.

Chen Feng sat in the chief seat, holding a freshly translated copy of Wilhelm II's full speech. He read it slowly, occasionally marking passages with a red pen.

Wang Bo sat to his right, sorting business intelligence arriving from various places. Wang Wenwu in Singapore sent a coded telegram reporting recent abnormal fluctuations in international bulk commodity prices. Qian Shengli handed over the latest quarter's agricultural harvest report. Zhao Qianli submitted the evaluation results for the second batch of trainees from the technical school.

Yet everyone's attention was actually on Chen Feng.

The young "Grand President" finally set down his documents, lifted his gaze, and looked straight at the huge world map hanging on the wall, ignoring the newspaper headlines.

"The Germans' propaganda has been very successful," Chen Feng said calmly. "Wilhelm II knows exactly how to mobilize national sentiment. But this fire is burning too hot."

Wang Bo lowered his documents: "Young Master, isn't it more advantageous for us the more the Germans show off? The order has already been signed, and the advance payment for the second batch of four ships will arrive next week."

"Short‑term gain, long‑term danger." Chen Feng rose, walked to the map, and pointed his finger at Kiel's location. "An overly confident, over‑excited Germany will make irrational decisions. For example…"

His finger moved westward, across the North Sea, and came to rest on the British Isles.

"For example, provoking a wounded lion."

He turned to face the group: "You've seen the British reaction in the telegrams, right?"

"We have," said Li Mingyuan, deputy of Wang Wenwu and acting head of the Commerce Department, nodding. "London's defense stocks have surged. Parliament is debating an emergency appropriations bill. Our intelligence says Lord Fisher slammed his fist on the table at the Admiralty meeting."

"He will succeed," Chen Feng said firmly. "Britain cannot stand by while Germany gains supremacy in the North Sea. The plan to build ten dreadnoughts will be approved at the latest next month. And then?"

He asked and answered himself:

"Then British shipyards will run at full tilt. Engineers will work overtime. Workers will do three shifts. In one year, at most two, Britain will be able to build enough new ships to contain Germany. By then, the vessels we sold to Germany will shift from being an 'advantage' to an 'asset needing upgrade.'"

The conference room fell silent.

Chen Feng walked back to his seat but didn't sit; instead he braced both hands on the tabletop:

"So our window of opportunity is at most two years. Within that time we must accomplish three things."

He held up three fingers.

"First, Germany's follow‑up orders must be completed on time and to quality. This isn't just about profit; it's about maintaining credibility and cooperation. Wang Bo, how's the shipyard progressing?"

Wang Bo opened his notebook: "The keel of the lead ship of the improved Westfalen‑class in slipway No. 1 has been laid. The special steel supplied by Germany is of excellent quality, and the workers' proficiency is higher than last time. According to schedule, delivery can be made in eighteen months."

"Compress it to ten months," Chen Feng said. "Add bonuses, run three shifts. We need to prove to the Germans that we are not only technologically advanced but also world‑class in efficiency."

"Yes, Young Master."

"Second," Chen Feng lowered his second finger, "using the time gap while Britain builds its ships, we must seek new customers. After Germany and Austria‑Hungary, who most urgently needs dreadnoughts? Who has the most money? Who is willing to pay a premium for technology?"

Li Mingyuan pondered: "France. Franco‑German enmity is age‑old; Germany now has six, France has none. Moreover, the French care about prestige and will absolutely not tolerate this."

"And Russia," Zhao Qianli, who had been silent, interjected. "Tsar Nicholas II just lost the Russo‑Japanese War; his Far Eastern fleet was almost annihilated. He needs new ships to save face."

"Japan is also possible," Wang Bo added. "Admiral Yamamoto Gonbei has been active in Europe, clearly seeking to buy battleships, but both Britain and Germany have refused him."

Chen Feng nodded: "France, Russia, … are all potential customers. But we must approach them selectively. As for Japan… forget it; I fear selling to the Japanese would draw readers' wrath!! Li Mingyuan, via our Singapore channel, leak the word—just say that 'Lanfang Trading Company' can provide 'special industrial solutions,' but only to partners who are 'sincere and law‑abiding.' Keep it vague; those who understand will understand."

"Understood."

"Third," Chen Feng lowered his last finger, his expression turning especially grave, "and most important—accelerate the 'Leopard Project.' The Germans' Westfalen‑class will soon go from 'leading' to 'standard.' Our 'Leopard' must maintain a generational edge."

He turned to Liu Yongfu, who was in charge of the 'Leopard's Nest' project:

"Chief Engineer Liu, speak frankly—what is the biggest bottleneck holding back the 'Revival' right now?"

Liu Yongfu took off his reading glasses, rubbed his bloodshot eyes: "President, the biggest problem is still the power system. Four steam turbines, twenty-four fuel-fired boilers…… We've mastered the blueprints, but the machining precision required is too high. And those four transmission shafts, each over twenty meters long, must keep straightness error within the thickness of a hair. Our machine tools……"

"What kind of machine tool do we need?" Chen Feng asked directly.

"German-made six-axis linked heavy-duty CNC milling machines, or the latest American large precision boring machines." Liu Yongfu gave a wry smile, "But these are strategic materials; they won't sell them to us. Our current equipment relies on workers' experience and feel, grinding bit by bit. Efficiency is too low, and quality is unstable."

Chen Feng fell silent for a few seconds.

Then he said: "If…… I get you the blueprints and core component specifications, could you make them yourselves?"

Everyone in the conference room froze.

Building a six-axis linked milling machine ourselves? That sounds even more fantastical than building a warship.

Liu Yongfu opened his mouth, finally gritting his teeth: "As long as we have the blueprints and the principle, we…… can give it a try! But we need time, we need the best materials, and we also need to poach a few genuine machine-tool experts from Europe."

"I'll handle the experts." Chen Feng walked to the window, gazing at the faint outline of the dragon‑gate crane visible in the distance toward Leopard Nest, "The Germans now treat us as a treasure; if we ask for a little technical support, they won't refuse. As for the Americans…… Wang Wenwu knows a few Jewish machine‑tool traders in Singapore; if the money is sufficient, there's always a way."

He turned back, his eyes blazing:

"Everyone, remember this day. The German Fearless has returned home, and the World Naval Competition has officially begun."

"What we must do is not to follow in the competition."

"It is to formulate the rules for the next stage of the competition."