Chapter 366: The Reception at Wilhelm Port

Jielike closed his eyes. Two thousand eight hundred seventy‑three people vanished like that. In the cold sea water, in the burning oil slick, in the exploding flames.

"What about the destroyer losses?"

"Eight confirmed sunk, three heavily damaged and out of combat," Studi turned a page, "In total… the Yingguo Royal Navy in yesterday's battle lost three battlecruisers, three armored cruisers, eight destroyers. Killed officers and men… 6,784. Wounded… still being tallied, estimated over two thousand."

Six thousand seven hundred eighty‑four people.

Jielike recalled the scene before setting out—crowds seeing off on the pier, the excited faces of young sailors, the resolute eyes of the officers. Now, more than six thousand of them will never return.

"What about the Deguo?" he asked, his voice revealing no emotion.

"According to the results we have confirmed," Studi switched to another report, "sunk the old battleship Bormoen, the light cruiser Wiesbaden, the Frauenlob, the Erbin, and at least five destroyers. Heavily damaged the battleship Emperor (later sunk), the battlecruiser Seddlitz, the Defflinger, and many other capital ships."

He looked up: "Deguo's losses are estimated at: one pre‑dreadnought, four light cruisers, five destroyers. Killed… according to intelligence estimates, about three thousand to three thousand five hundred people."

"Exchange ratio," Jielike said.

"In tonnage we lost about 115,000 tons, they lost about 62,000 tons," Studi's voice was light, "In ship count we lost 14 vessels, they lost 11. In personnel we lost 6,784, they about 3,021."

A pause.

"So," Jielike opened his eyes, looking at the sky brightening, "by the numbers we lost."

"But strategically we won," Studi replied immediately, "The Deguo high‑sea fleet suffered heavy losses and cannot challenge our sea control in the short term. The blockade line remains intact, even… tighter."

Jielike gave no reply. He turned, his back to the harbor, looking south—toward London, toward the Navy Department, the Cabinet, the citizens awaiting news.

"How will they interpret these numbers, Frederick?" he asked, his voice showing fatigue for the first time, "The people won't look at strategic situation; they'll only read the newspaper headline: 'Royal Navy loses three battlecruisers, Degjun loses one.' They'll ask why our ships explode so easily, why Betty chased into the trap, why…"

He did not finish. But Studi knew what he meant—why Jielike did not pursue at night to utterly destroy the Deguo fleet?

"We need to prepare a detailed report," Studi said, "explaining the tactical decisions, explaining the battlefield situation, explaining…"

"Explain why more than six thousand died while the Deguo fleet got away," Jielike interrupted, his tone bitter, "I understand. I will write the report, I will bear all responsibility."

"That is not entirely your responsibility, Admiral," Studi said urgently, "Betty's recklessness, the battlecruiser design flaws, the Shell fuse issues… these were beyond your control."

"But I am the fleet commander," Jielike said, "the ultimate responsibility always rests on the commander's shoulders."

He walked back to the chart table, looking at the dense markings—arrows denoting the fleet, areas denoting the battle zones, spots denoting sinkings. They abstracted everything that happened yesterday, yet behind those marks lay real flames, explosions, death.

"Send a dispatch to the Navy Department," he said, "Content: The Royal Navy Grand Fleet returned to Scapa Bay this morning. Yesterday it engaged the Deguo high‑sea fleet's main force, dealt heavy blows, forced their retreat. Detailed battle report to follow. Jielike."

"Should we mention our losses?" the communications officer asked.

"Mention it," Jielike nodded, "but put it later. First let the people know we won—at least strategically."

The communications officer saluted and left. Jielike looked out the window again, at the warships dropping anchor. Sailors began clearing the decks, medics tended the wounded, a chaplain prepared rites for the fallen.

A day of war ended.

At nine a. m., Deguo Wilhelm Port was shrouded in an eerie atmosphere.

Thousands gathered on the pier—naval officers and men, shipyard workers, officials, reporters, and ordinary citizens. They had heard the fleet was back, that a "major victory" had been achieved, so they arrived early to welcome the triumphant heroes.

But when the first warship entered the harbor, the cheers got stuck in their throats.

It was the battlecruiser "Seddlitz," but she was almost unrecognizable. The bow was deformed by explosions, the forward Main Gun turret skewed, the hull scarred with blackened shell holes and patched steel plates. She moved slowly, laboriously, like a wounded giant, inching toward shore under tug assistance.

Next came the "Von der Tannen," also riddled with damage. Then the "Maoqi," the "King," the "Grand Elector,"… each bore battle scars, each was terrifyingly silent.

Murmurs began among the crowd.

"Didn't they say we won?"

"Why are our ships so badly damaged?"

"What about the other ships? The Emperor?"

No one answered. Officers kept order with solemn faces, reporters snapped frantically, but no one dared to voice the most direct question: How many did we actually lose?

On the bridge of the flagship "Frederick the Great," Admiral Reinhard Schel watched the crowd on the pier, his mood conflicted.

On one hand, he felt relief—his fleet was back, at least most of it. Navigating the edge of a minefield that night and returning safely was itself a miracle.

On the other hand, he felt a heavy guilt. The Emperor sank, Bormoen sank, along with many light cruisers, destroyers, and countless young lives.

"Prepare to disembark, Admiral," Chief of Staff Colonel Trotter approached, "the Navy Department's representatives are waiting on the pier, as well as… reporters."

Schel nodded, straightening his uniform. Though exhausted and heavy‑hearted, he had to display the demeanor expected of a fleet commander—steadfast, confident, even if only outwardly.

When he descended the gangway, the atmosphere on the pier suddenly changed.

A Navy Department official—Schel recognized him as Tirpitz's aide—stepped forward, stood at attention and saluted: "Welcome back, Admiral! The Marshal extends the highest respect to you and all the troops!"

Then he turned to the crowd, announcing loudly: "The Deguo Imperial Navy high‑sea fleet, under Admiral Schel's heroic command, yesterday engaged the Yingguo Grand Fleet's main force in the North Sea and achieved a major victory! Sank three Yingguo battlecruisers, three armored cruisers, numerous destroyers! Dealt heavy blows, forced the enemy to retreat!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. Reporters frantically recorded, flashbulbs flashing nonstop.