Chapter 378: Return to Germany

At that moment, the bridge door opened, and the communications officer came in holding a telegram.

"Admiral, an urgent telegram from London. Diplomatic intelligence forwarded by the Navy Department."

Jie Li Ke took the telegram and skimmed it quickly. His brow gradually furrowed.

"Lanfang?" he looked up at Si Tu Di. "That Asian‑Pacific country? What's happening with them?"

"They are reportedly buying large quantities of industrial equipment, especially machine tools and steel‑rolling gear," Si Tu Di said, clearly having seen similar intel. "From the United States, Sweden, even from us. Chen Feng… he's unusual. He seems to have a pathological obsession with industrialization."

Jie Li Ke read the telegram again. The intelligence was brief, stating that Lanfang had recently been secretly developing some kind of 'heavy engineering vehicle,' with a strange design but no details. The Foreign Ministry's recommendation was 'maintain observation, but do not overreact.'

"Chen Feng..." Jie Li Ke murmured the name, vaguely recalling reports—about how Lanfang, in just a dozen or so years, had gone from a patchwork colonial loose federation to the present nation with nascent industrial capacity and a modern navy.

"He sells oil and rubber to the Deguo, and sells us tin ore and grain," Si Tu Di said. "Typical merchant mindset, hedging both sides. As long as he doesn't intervene directly in the war, we have no need to concern ourselves."

Jie Li Ke nodded, setting the telegram aside. His attention returned to the nautical chart, to the red pins. Each one marked a sunken merchant ship, dozens or even hundreds of lives, thousands of tons of valuable cargo.

"Ke Luo Ze..." he whispered, "If we can't quickly neutralize the submarine threat, the war could stall. A stalemate hurts Yingguo—we rely on our sea lanes for survival, while Deguo's are luxuries."

"Do you have any thoughts?" Si Tu Di asked.

Jie Li Ke's finger traced the chart, moving from Scapa Bay to Helgoran Bay, then to Port William.

"We need a trap," he said. "Deploy a bait fleet with a concealed Escort Fleet. When the submarines attack, the Escort Fleet will appear suddenly and sink as many of them as possible. Kill the chickens to warn the monkeys."

"But that would expose our tactics..."

"Then we change tactics," Jie Li Ke's eyes sharpened. "We can no longer sit on the defensive. Deguo uses submarines; we will counter with a more aggressive approach."

He summoned the navigation officer: "Connect me to the Navy Department; I need to speak directly with the First Sea Minister. Also, notify the commanders of each destroyer squadron to meet at two p. m. We have a new mission."

The orders were relayed. The bridge bustled, the radio came alive, and the signalmen ran through the passageways.

Jie Li Ke walked back to the portside window, watching the calm surface of Scapa Bay. In the sunlight, the silhouettes of the Dauntless ships were clear and majestic, symbolizing the British Empire's still‑formidable naval power.

But he knew the real threat lay beneath the waves, not on the surface.

Below that deep blue, a school of steel sharks silently prowled, gnawing at the Empire's lifeline.

All he could do was set the trap and wait for the prey to bite.

Just as She Er did in the Dutch‑German lands.

Only this time, the hunter and prey might switch roles again.

Morning light fully illuminated the harbor. A new day began, and a new game continued.

In Dubai, Chen Feng's tank blueprints had already been dispatched to the factories.

In Port William, Tirpitz continued racing against time.

In Scapa Bay, Jie Li Ke began planning the counterattack.

Across the European continent, hundreds of thousands of soldiers were entrenched, awaiting the next bloody assault.

June 12, Berlin Central Station.

Wang Wenwu stood on Platform 3, watching steam hiss from the locomotive's cylinders and catch a fleeting rainbow in the afternoon sun. He wore a sharply tailored dark‑gray suit, carried a crocodile‑skin briefcase, and presented the appearance of a banker or trade envoy from a neutral nation—exactly the image he wished to project.

The platform was crowded. Wounded soldiers returned from the front leaned on crutches, their uniform sleeves hanging empty; government officials lugged wicker suitcases in a hurry; the majority were ordinary citizens, their faces pallid from malnutrition after three years of war. The air mixed coal smoke, sweat, cheap perfume, and an underlying, lingering anxiety.

"Sir, your documents, please."

Two military police in grey greatcoats stopped him. Their eyes were sharp, hands near the gun slings at their waists, ready to draw at a moment's notice. Wang Wenwu calmly handed over his diplomatic passport—a deep‑blue cover stamped with the golden emblem of the Lanfang Republic.

The police examined the passport carefully, cross‑checked it against the list they carried, then saluted: "Welcome to Berlin, Mr. Wang. The Foreign Ministry's car is waiting outside the station."

"Thank you."

Wang Wenwu followed the police out of the station hall. June in Berlin should have been bright, but the sky was overcast, clouds hanging low as if rain might fall at any moment. The grand buildings along William Street remained, yet a closer look revealed many details—store windows displayed few goods, café outdoor seats were largely empty, the number of cars on the street had noticeably dropped, replaced by horse‑drawn carriages and trams.

"War's impact is everywhere," Wang Wenwu thought.

A black Mercedes sedan stopped at the curb; the driver, a middle‑aged soldier, opened the door silently. The interior was modest but well‑maintained. As the car passed the boulevard beneath a bodhi tree, Wang Wenwu saw the Brandenburg Gate still standing, though the Victory Goddess statue before it was largely hidden by anti‑air balloons—preparing for a possible British air raid.

"Do we go straight to the palace?" Wang Wenwu asked the driver.

"No, sir," the driver replied in a low voice. "First, the Foreign Ministry Guesthouse. Your Majesty is available at three p. m. this afternoon for an audience."

A predictable arrangement. William II liked to make visitors wait, asserting his authority. Wang Wenwu was in no hurry; he needed time to observe and think, preparing for the upcoming negotiations.

The Foreign Ministry Guesthouse sat in the Tilgaten District, a neoclassical building whose solemn exterior showed interior wear from the years. Wang Wenwu's room was on the third floor, its window facing Tilgaten Park. He set his luggage down and walked to the window.

The park's trees were lush, but the lawns bore numerous freshly dug air‑raid trenches, where children played at the edges, seemingly accustomed to the war's shadow. In the distance, the golden statue atop the Victory Memorial Column dulled under the overcast sky.

A knock sounded at the door.