Chapter 376: The German Navy's Dilemma

Marshal.

Chief of Staff Major General Te Luota walked onto the observation platform, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the steel trestle bridge. He held a document in his hand, his complexion not looking good.

"Berlin is pressuring again," Te Luota handed over the document, "The Emperor's aide delivered it personally; the wording... is quite severe."

Tirpitz took the document without looking at it immediately. His gaze still fixed on the massive wound of the Frederick the Great, watching the workers cut and replace the damaged steel plates piece by piece.

"Where is the aide?" he asked, his voice calm.

"He's waiting in your office, saying he won't leave until he sees you sign the sortie order in person," Te Luota lowered his voice, "He also brought the Emperor's decree: 'The German Navy must not rust in the harbor.'"

Tirpitz finally turned his head, giving Te Luota a glance. The old Marshal's eyes were sunken, his eye bags heavy, yet his gaze remained sharp.

"Rust?" he sneered, his voice low but unusually clear in the silent morning, "Te Luota, tell me, what is most important for a warship?"

"Firepower, Marshal. Also protection, speed..."

"It's structural integrity," Tirpitz interrupted, pointing at the Frederick the Great, "In the Battle of Jutland, she was hit by four large‑caliber shells, losing nearly twenty shells. The breach you see now was caused by a 15‑inch Shell hitting at a Distance of five thousand meters. Do you know what that means?"

Te Luota fell silent.

"It means the Yingguo Shells have torn a hole in our thickest armor belt," Tirpitz turned, facing the Chief of Staff, "And our Shells? When they hit Yingguo warships, they either bounce or are duds. The fire‑control department has analyzed it; our armor‑piercing fuze is faulty, either detonating early or late. At engagement Distances from five thousand to ten thousand meters, the Hit Rate is under three percent."

He paused, his voice even lower, "In this condition, you want me to order a sortie? To go find Jie Li Ke for another battle? That's not combat, it's a death sentence. It's sending twenty‑five thousand sailors to their deaths."

Te Luota opened his mouth, seemed about to speak, but finally only sighed.

The two descended the observation platform, walking along the pier toward the headquarters building. The fog remained thick; the other warships in the harbor were only visible as vague silhouettes—some under repair, some resupplying, some simply moored silently, their smokestacks empty, like mute tombstones.

"Marshal, I understand your concerns," Te Luota finally spoke, "But the Emperor's pressure... the army suffered heavy losses at Verdun, domestic opinion demands a victory, any victory. If the navy remains idle, the General Staff might..."

"They might reallocate resources meant for the navy to the army?" Tirpitz finished for him, then shook his head, "Let them reallocate. Even if you give me more resources now, I can't forge a fleet that can defeat Jie Li Ke. But submarines are different."

He stopped, looking out to sea. Through gaps in the dense fog, a few U‑shaped submarines could be seen slipping out slowly—slender hulls, low command towers, like a pack of silent sea wolves.

"How many tons have the submarine force sunk this month?" Tirpitz asked.

"Forty‑two merchant ships, total tonnage about one hundred eighty thousand tons," Te Luota replied immediately, "Colonel Ke Luo Ze reported that if he gets more submarines, he can cut Yingguo's shipping volume by another thirty percent."

"Then give it to him," Tirpitz continued walking forward, "Prioritize all newly launched submarines to the submarine force. Also, tell the shipyard that destroyer and cruiser construction can be slowed, but the submarine production line must run at full speed."

"But Marshal, the Emperor wants a victory for the main fleet, not a submarine harassment war..."

"The Emperor wants results," Tirpitz's voice rose suddenly, "What I want is the navy's survival. Te Luota, you and I both know that in the foreseeable future we cannot defeat Yingguo in a fleet showdown. But we can strangle them with submarines—prevent their merchant ships from leaving port, tighten their supply lines, starve their populace. That is the battlefield where we truly have a chance to win."

They had reached the headquarters building's entrance. It was a four‑story granite structure built in the late nineteenth century, its outer walls overgrown with vines, appearing gloomy and heavy in the fog.

Tirpitz stopped at the doorway, straightened his uniform, and took a deep breath.

"Which floor is the aide on?"

"Second floor, the reception room next to your office," Te Luota said, "He looks... very impatient."

"Then have him wait a bit longer," Tirpitz pushed the door open, "I'll first handle today's repair report. Tell him, if the Emperor is truly that eager for the fleet to sortie, I welcome him to come to Wei Lian Port, board the Frederick the Great, and see its current condition. See if he's willing to sail that ship into the central North Sea, facing Jie Li Ke's twenty‑four dreadnoughts."

Te Luota chuckled wryly and nodded, secretly admiring the old Marshal's resolve. Amid Berlin's pressure, the Emperor's fury, the army's mockery, Tirpitz still clung to a professional officer's judgment— even if it might cost him his position, even his trust with the Emperor.

The two ascended to the second floor. The corridor was carpeted with thick rugs, absorbing every footstep into dead silence. Tirpitz's office lay at the corridor's end, its door ajar. The neighboring reception room's door was shut, but light seeped through the crack— the aide was indeed still waiting.

Tirpitz ignored the reception room, walking straight into his own office. Te Luota followed, closing the door.

The office was spacious yet simply furnished. A massive oak desk dominated, three walls lined with bookshelves packed with charts, technical manuals, and fleet records. The fourth wall held a huge window facing the harbor, though outside was only a blanket of white fog.

Tirpitz moved to the desk, not sitting down. He picked up a report on the desk—it was the damage assessment of the Sai De Li Ci, fifty pages thick, detailing every shell scar, every crack, every piece of equipment needing replacement.

"How long does the Sai De Li Ci need?" he asked, without looking up.

"The shipyard's chief engineer says at least two months," Te Luota replied, "Its forward main gun turret has been completely overturned, the gun mount structure deformed, requiring cutting and replacement. The hull breach reaches the engine rooms, with three boilers completely scrapped, and the main drive shaft slightly bent, needing recalibration."

"Two months..." Tirpitz repeated the figure, his fingers unconsciously tapping the report's cover, "Too long. Tell the shipyard I give them six weeks. Three shifts, all workers on board, double pay. After six weeks, the Sai De Li Ci must be able to leave port, even if not at full speed, at least 18 knots."