Chapter 327: Pray, General

Jielike looked up at the sky, suddenly recalling the scene thirty years ago when he first boarded a warship as a second lieutenant. Back then, he was just as excited, just as eager for battle.

Now, he has only responsibility left.

"When do we set out?" Beidi asked.

"Tomorrow at dawn," Jielike said, "You return to Yinfugedun, I head to Sikapa Bay. The day after tomorrow morning, your fleet will be the first to leave port."

"Understood." Beidi stood at attention, gave a standard military salute, "Admiral, see you at the North Sea."

"See you at the North Sea," Jielike returned the salute.

The two went their separate ways toward their cars. As Jielike got into his vehicle, the driver asked, "Back to the Navy Department, Admiral?"

"No," Jielike replied, "I'm going to St. Paul's Cathedral."

The driver was momentarily stunned but said nothing more and started the car.

St. Paul's Cathedral was empty. It wasn't service time; only a few scattered believers were praying.

Jielike walked into the cathedral and sat on the last row of pews. He did not pray, merely sat quietly, staring at the massive cross ahead.

Sunlight filtered through the stained‑glass windows, casting colorful shadows on the floor. The air was filled with the scent of candles and old wood.

Jielike remembered many years ago, when he and Fuluolunsi held their wedding here. At that time he was still only a lieutenant colonel, full of hope for the future, never imagining he would one day bear such a heavy burden.

"Lord God," he whispered, his voice so faint in the vast cathedral that it was almost inaudible, "if you truly exist… please protect those children about to set sail. Many of them may never return."

There was no answer. Only his own breathing rang unusually clear in the silence.

Jielike closed his eyes. In his mind floated the names of the warships—the Iron Duke, the George V, the Orion, the Lion, the Royal Princess… On each vessel were hundreds, even thousands, of sailors.

Young, old, seasoned, newly boarded.

They had families, lovers, dreams.

And now he would lead them toward the battlefield, toward seas that might claim their deaths.

"Admiral?"

A voice sounded behind him. Jielike opened his eyes and saw the cathedral's priest standing nearby.

"Sorry to disturb you," the priest said, "Would you like me to pray for you?"

Jielike shook his head, "No need, Father. I just… want some quiet."

The priest nodded, prepared to leave, but Jielike called him back.

"Father."

"Speak."

"If you were to pray for a battle that might kill many, how would you pray?"

The priest was silent for a moment, then said, "I would pray that the living remember the dead, that the dead's sacrifice has meaning. I would pray that, whatever the outcome, people can find a path to peace after the war."

"What if they can't find it?"

"Then we keep praying," the priest said calmly, "until we do."

Jielike gave a wry smile. The answer was theological, but it did not solve the problem before him.

"Thank you, Father."

"May God bless you, Admiral." The priest drew a cross on his chest and turned to leave.

Jielike sat a while longer, then stood and walked out of the cathedral.

Outside, the streets of London went on as usual. Carriages and automobiles bustled back and forth, pedestrians hurried by, and a paperboy still shouted the headlines—today's front page read "East Front Crisis, Cabinet Calls Emergency Meeting."

No one knew that just now, in the heart of the city, a decision had been made. A decision that would change countless lives.

【7】 Jielike got into the car.

Jielike sat into the car.

"Back to the Navy Department," he said.

The vehicle started, heading toward White Hall. As Jielike watched the cityscape flash by, he suddenly recalled a story his mother told him as a child—General Naerxun, on the eve of the Trafalgar battle, wrote to his lover, "Tomorrow, I will give my life for England."

Back then, he thought that was the romance of heroes.

Now, he only felt the weight.

Because what he would sacrifice was not his own life, but the lives of thousands.

And he could not even guarantee that those sacrifices would truly be worthwhile.

That night, at the Navy Department building.

Jielike stood before the massive North Sea sand table, holding a model representing the fleet. He ran through countless scenarios over and over—what if Deguo discovered early, what if Beidi was severely wounded, what if the weather turned sudden, what if communications were cut…

Every "if" could mean disaster.

"Admiral," Studi entered, "All fleet commanders have received the pre‑order. At six tomorrow morning, each ship will begin final preparations."

"What about Beidi?"

"She has already arrived at Yinfugedun. Her fleet is in good condition, morale high."

"High…," Jielike repeated, "I hope that after the fighting begins, they can keep that morale."

Studi hesitated, "Yuehan, what are you worrying about?"

"I worry about everything." Jielike set down the model, "I worry the Deguo are smarter than we imagined, I worry our plan is too obvious, I worry Beidi is too impulsive, I worry…"

He paused, "I worry we will lose."

The words sounded light, yet Studi was shocked. He had never heard Jielike speak like that.

"But we must fight," Jielike continued, "Because if we don't, we lose even faster. The collapse of the East Front has already shaken the entire Allied confidence; if we still take no action, the Faguo may collapse, the Russian may withdraw from the war. By then, we will have to face Deguo alone."

Studi fell silent. He knew Jielike was right. This decisive battle was not chosen by them, but forced by circumstance.

"Go rest, Fuleidelike," Jielike said, "We have many things to do tomorrow."

"And you?"

"I'll stay a while longer."

Studi left. Jielike stood alone before the sand table, looking at the tiny models representing the warships.

The red Yingguo fleet, the blue Deguo fleet.

On the sand table, they are merely wooden blocks and paint. But in reality, they are killing machines made of steel, gunpowder, and flesh.

In a few days, these machines will meet in the North Sea.

Then, the simulation on this sand table will become flames, explosions, and death on the sea surface.

Jie Li Ke pulls a pocket watch from his pocket and opens the lid. Beneath the dial is a small photograph—a portrait of his two sons.

The elder son is sixteen, the younger twelve. They both want to join the navy, and he has stopped them.

"Wait until the war ends," he said then.

Now, to end this war, he must make a gamble.

If he wins, the boys might grow up in a peaceful world.

If he loses…

Jie Li Ke snaps the watch lid shut and puts the pocket watch back into his pocket.

He turns off the sand table's light and walks out of the war room.

The corridor is quiet, with only his footsteps echoing.

At the stairwell, he meets a young officer on night duty.