Chapter 29

At the same time, Saint Petersburg, Winter Palace.

In the study of Tsar Nicholas II, the atmosphere was ten times worse than that of the London Cabinet meeting room.

"Swindler! Treacherous merchant! Filthy Germanic mongrel!"

The Tsar's roar thundered through the thick oak door; even the guards in the hallway heard it clearly. No one dared to move, no one dared to speak, and no one dared to breathe too loudly.

Inside the study, Nicholas II's face was flushed red, he gripped a copy of the Berlin Daily, his arm trembling violently from anger. The front page featured a large photo of the Westfalen sailing into Kiel harbor, accompanied by the sensational headline: "The Imperial Beast Returns Home—World Navy Ushering in a New Era."

But this was not what made the Tsar angriest.

What angered him was the Vienna News beside it, the official newspaper of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The front page photo showed three dreadnoughts extremely similar to the Westfalen-class, moored at Trieste harbor. The headline read: "The Rise of the Austro-Hungarian Navy—Three New Battleships Commissioned."

"Three! Austro-Hungary has three!" Nicholas II slammed the newspaper onto the face of Naval Minister Admiral Aleksey Bilyalev, "And you! You told me what the Imperial Navy got? Four wrecks designed by Germans ten years ago! Costing four million pounds!"

Admiral Bilyalev lowered his head, not daring to wipe the spit from his face: "Your Majesty, at the time the Germans said this was the best they could offer..."

"The best? The best batch sold to Austro-Hungary! The second best kept for themselves! The worst bundled and sold to us!" The Tsar stormed to the world map, his finger jabbing at Austro-Hungary's location, "Look! Even the Austrians can ride on our heads! The Baltic Fleet was annihilated in the Tsushima Strait, the Black Sea Fleet is antiquated, and now even Austro-Hungary has three dreadnoughts! And what about us?"

He turned around, his eyes bloodshot:

"Russia, the great Russian Empire, Europe's gendarme, leader of the Slavic peoples—yet not a single dreadnought! The whole world is laughing at us! The Japanese laugh, the Germans laugh, even the Austrians laugh!"

Foreign Minister Count Lamsdorf said cautiously: "Your Majesty, perhaps we could order from Yingguo..."

"Yingguo?" Nicholas II scoffed, "Would Yingguo people sell us dreadnoughts? Just when they approved building ten for themselves? When it's our turn, we'd have to wait until 1910! 1910!"

He took several deep breaths, trying to calm down, but couldn't:

"William... my dear cousin William. How did he tell me last year? 'Nicholas, my dearest cousin, Germany and Russia are natural allies; we should jointly oppose Yingguo's naval hegemony.' I believed him! I spent four million buying his old ships, thinking it was aid between allies!"

The Tsar's voice suddenly sank, filled with the pain of betrayal:

"But he turned around and sold the best warships to Austro-Hungary—that Austro-Hungary vying with us for influence in the Balkans! That Austro-Hungary supporting Turkey against us! He handed the knife to our enemies!"

Admiral Bilyalev finally mustered courage: "Your Majesty, perhaps... perhaps these ships were not built by the Germans."

"What?"

"The intelligence department has received some vague reports," the admiral said quickly, "The construction sites of these dreadnoughts may not be in German homeland. There are indications pointing to... a region on the fringe of the Osman Diguo, possibly related to the Chinese."

"The Chinese?" Nicholas II frowned, "Are you telling a fairy tale?"

"Just a guess, Your Majesty. But the Germans couldn't possibly build six warships while evading the world's eyes. Moreover, the three they sold to Austro-Hungary were delivered around the same time as the Germans'—if they were built by the same shipyard, this would make sense."

The Tsar fell into contemplation for a moment.

Then he said: "Investigate. Spare no expense to find out the truth. If such a place truly exists... if someone truly can build dreadnoughts..."

His gaze turned dangerous:

"Then the Russian navy also needs a few. No, not a few. Ten, twenty! Russia must possess at least naval parity with Germany!"

"But Your Majesty, finances..."

"Finances?" Nicholas II laughed, a smile that sent chills down everyone's spine, "We have vast lands, abundant resources, and countless loyal subjects. Money... can always be raised."

He walked to the desk, picked up a pen, and quickly wrote an order:

"Establish a special investigative committee, directly responsible to me. The mission is: first, ascertain the true source of these dreadnoughts; second, assess our possibility of obtaining similar warships; third, if necessary, we may take any necessary measures—including but not limited to bribery, threats, sabotage, and even military action."

He handed the order to Bilyalev:

"Admiral, this is your last chance. Either bring back dreadnoughts, or bring back your resignation letter."

Bilyalev took the order, his hand trembling: "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Also," the Tsar added, "inform the ambassador to Deguo to cancel next week's state visit to Deguo. Tell Emperor Wilhelm that I am 'indisposed.' Let him guess what exactly ails me."

"Yes."

After everyone withdrew from the study, Nicholas II stood alone by the window, gazing at the icy Neva River outside the Winter Palace.

His cousin William, the German emperor who always wore flamboyant uniforms and loved giving fiery speeches, had gone too far this time.

Allies?

In the face of imperial interests, there are no allies, only fools and swindlers.

And Nicholas II resolved not to be a fool anymore.

He would find the place capable of building dreadnoughts, no matter where in the world it lay. Then he would make the Russian navy once again become a formidable force.

By then, he would personally invite William to Saint Petersburg to view the Russian dreadnought fleet.

That sight would certainly be interesting.

A cold smile flickered at the corner of the Tsar's mouth.

But the smile quickly faded.

For he knew that to take that step, he needed money, technology, and time—and what Russia lacked most was time.

Outside the window, Saint Petersburg began to snow.

Icy snowflakes fell on the Neva River, quickly melting into the dark waters.

Just as Russia's former maritime ambition, in the tide of the technological revolution, silently melted away.

Unless... unless one could grasp that lifeline.

No matter where it is.

No matter what cost it entails.

Portsmouth Naval Base, officers' club.

At eleven at night, most guests had already left. But in the small smoking room on the second floor, two people sat facing each other.

Admiral Tirpitz, and Sir William Meyer.

Cigar smoke curled slowly in the yellowish light. The whiskey glasses before them were both half-empty.

After a long silence, William Meyer finally spoke:

"Alfred, how many years have we known each other?"

Tirpitz thought for a moment: "Twenty-two years. In 1884, when you were captain of the 'Unflinching,' I was an observer of the German Navy."

Back then you were still a lieutenant colonel, notebook in hand, recording everything all day. William Meyer smiled, a hint of nostalgia in his smile, and said, "You told me, 'Sir, every detail of the Royal Navy is worth the German Navy learning.'"

"I was speaking the truth." Tirpitz took a sip of whiskey, "Back then, the Royal Navy was indeed the world standard."

And now?

Tirpitz did not answer right away. He swirled his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl in the cup.

"Now, Sir, the world has changed. The pace of technological change exceeds anyone's imagination. Three years ago, all-big-gun battleships were still a theoretical concept. Today, we have six in service."

"And you built them." William Meyer stared at him, "Without our knowing anything. Those guys in naval intelligence ought to be shot."

"It's not their fault." Tirpitz rare in speaking up for his British counterpart, "Some things... go beyond the scope of traditional intelligence work."

William Meyer keenly sensed something: "You mean these ships weren't built in Germany?"

Tirpitz neither confirmed nor denied: "Sir, some questions I cannot answer. But some facts you can deduce for yourself."

Another silence fell.

"Fisher smashed a cup at today's cabinet meeting." William Meyer suddenly said, "He forced the cabinet to approve the construction plan for ten dreadnoughts. An extra appropriation of fifteen million pounds— the Chancellor of the Exchequer nearly had a heart attack."

"Ten." Tirpitz nodded, "That's very Fisher. He's a man who knows what needs to be done."

"Do you know what this means?" William Meyer's voice dropped, "It means the naval race has officially begun. Not the former gentle, controllable competition. It's an all-out, stakes-high contest for national survival."

"I know."

"And then? Will Germany build more too? Twelve? Sixteen? Until both countries' finances are ruined?"

Tirpitz set down his glass and leaned forward.

"Sir, let me ask you a question: Why can Britain have the world's foremost navy while Germany cannot? Why can Britain possess colonies worldwide while Germany can only scavenge leftovers? Why is the 'two-power standard'—that the Royal Navy must equal the combined strength of the second and third navies—considered self-evident, while Germany wanting a navy commensurate with its territory, population, and industrial strength is seen as a threat?"

William Meyer opened his mouth, but Tirpitz didn't give him a chance to speak.

"Because of history, because of tradition, because of 'since ancient times.' But Sir, times are changing. The German Empire has sixty-five million people, Europe's strongest industry, and the world's finest scientists and engineers. We demand an international standing commensurate with our strength— is that excessive?"

"But sea power..."

"Sea power is not a gift from God; it is a manifestation of strength." Tirpitz interrupted him, "Three hundred years ago, the Spanish had sea power. Two hundred years ago, the Dutch did. One hundred years ago, the French nearly had it. Now, it's the British. So what about the future?"

He locked eyes with William Meyer.

"The future belongs to whoever is most qualified to possess it."

William Meyer remained silent for a full minute. Then he gave a wry smile and shook his head.

"Alfred, you've changed. The humble, eager-to-learn German lieutenant colonel from twenty years ago is gone."

"No, Sir, I haven't changed." Tirpitz said earnestly, "I am still learning and catching up. It's just that what I'm catching up to now is different."

He downed the drink in his glass and stood up.

"Tomorrow we will return. Thank you for your hospitality. Please tell Lord Fisher—I very much look forward to meeting the Royal Navy's new dreadnoughts at sea."

William Meyer also stood up, and they shook hands.

It was a firm handshake.

"Alfred, one last question." The British veteran said, "These ships... if they really weren't built in Germany, then who built them? What does he want?"

Tirpitz walked to the door, turned back, and gave a meaningful answer.

"A forgotten nation, wanting to be seen again by the world. And we gave him a stage."

The door closed.

William Meyer stood alone in the smoking room, chewing over those words repeatedly.

A forgotten nation? A stage?

He walked to the window and looked out at the dark harbor. In the distance, the silhouette of the Westfalen loomed faintly in the moonlight, like a sleeping steel leviathan.

Tomorrow, that leviathan will depart, heading back to the North Sea.

But William Meyer knew, the impact it brought had only just begun.

The construction plan for ten British dreadnoughts has already been launched; Germany will inevitably respond. France will panic, Russia will fume, Japan will worry...

The global naval landscape, starting today, has formally entered the death spiral of an arms race.

And the starting point of all this is six battleships that ought not to exist.

And the shipyard whose location no one knows.

William Meyer picked up the phone: "Connect me to Colonel Huo'er of Naval Intelligence. Tell him I want the full report on the 'Persian Gulf Chinese influence.' Now, immediately."

While waiting for the call to connect, he gazed eastward.

On the far side of the horizon, the sun will soon rise.

A new day.

A new competition.

And the Royal Navy has already lost at the starting line.

Unless we can find that mysterious shipbuilder.

Or find a way to destroy him.