Chapter 395: Transfer of Tirpitz 2

"General, the Deguo ship‑receiving team has arrived," the lookout reported.

Li Te turned around. Three black Mercedes sedans stopped at the dock entrance, and more than ten German Navy officers disembarked and walked over. Leading them was a Major General, tall and broad‑shouldered, his blond hair looking dim in the pre‑dawn light, but his stride was firm and strong.

"I am Hans von Kehe, Major General, head of the open‑sea fleet technical reception team," the Deguo general introduced himself in English, saluting Li Te, "Thank your country for completing the preparations in such a short time."

Li Te returned the salute and answered in fluent German, "It is our commitment, General. Both battleships are ready to set sail and can be handed over at any time."

The two men shook hands. Kehe's palm was rough and strong, bearing the marks of long service at sea. Li Te noticed that the Deguo general had deep dark circles under his eyes, clearly from many sleepless nights.

"May we board the ship for inspection?" Kehe asked.

"Of course." Li Te stepped aside and gestured, "Please."

The Degjun officers split into two groups and boarded the two battleships respectively. Li Te accompanied Kehe onto the "Yangtze" vessel. As he stepped onto the gangway, he could feel a faint vibration through the steel deck—the pulse of the boilers, the heartbeat of this 40,000‑ton behemoth.

On the bridge, Lanfang's duty officer and helmsman were already in place. Kehe went straight to the chart table, carefully examining the latest nautical charts and weather reports. He then inspected the compass, rangefinder, and radio equipment—each item scrutinized, occasionally asking the nearby Lanfang officer for details.

"Status of the propulsion system?" Kehe asked.

"All twelve boilers are normal, and three steam turbines have completed pre‑heating," the chief engineer replied. "Maximum output is 150,000 horsepower, but we recommend not exceeding 120,000 during the hand‑over voyage."

"Weapon systems?"

"The mechanical parts of the eight 380 mm Main Guns are functional, but the fire‑control system's core module has been removed per the agreement. The secondary guns and anti‑aircraft guns operate normally; the magazine has been emptied, retaining only the minimal training rounds."

Kehe nodded, a hint of satisfaction on his face. He walked to the bridge's side window and looked out at the sky gradually turning pale.

"General," he said suddenly in German, his voice low, "I would like to ask a… question outside the agreement."

"Please, go ahead."

"How long have these two ships served in the Lanfang Navy? Have they seen combat?"

Li Te was silent for two seconds. It was a sensitive question, but Chen Feng had instructed that within reasonable bounds they could speak openly.

"They participated in the East Sea battle!"

Kehe turned his head toward him, his eyes holding some complex something.

"After the Japan‑Deguo‑Lanfang conflict," Kehe continued, more to himself, "we lost three capital ships and damaged seven. Marshal Tirpitz kept saying we need time to repair and to train. But those bigwigs in Berlin don't understand; they only want victory, immediate, reckless victory."

Li Te listened quietly. He knew this was not ordinary complaining but a test—Deguo was probing Lanfang's attitude, probing whether they truly understood Deguo's predicament.

"So these two ships are very important to you," Zhang Yongfu finally said.

"Important enough that we are willing to spend a third of the treasury's gold," Kehe said with a wry smile. "General, do you know what that means? It means that if these two ships cannot change the situation in the North Sea, if they are also sunk by Jieli Ke, then Deguo will truly… have nothing left."

Footsteps sounded on the deck. Degjun technical officers returned to the bridge one after another, reporting the inspection results to Kehe.

"All normal, General. The ship's condition is good and can be received."

Kehe took a deep breath and turned to Zhang Yongfu: "Then, per the agreement, the formal hand‑over begins now. Have your crew leave the ship within six hours, and we will take over. Departure is scheduled for noon, and the route has been plotted: exit the Persian Gulf, round the Arabian Peninsula, pass through the Red Sea and the Suez Canal into the Mediterranean Sea, then through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Atlantic, and finally descend from the North Sea into Port William. The total distance is about 6,000 nautical miles, with an estimated sailing time of eighteen days."

"Eighteen days…" Li Te repeated the figure, "a tight schedule."

"There is no more time," Kehe shook his head. "Verdun is filled with dead every day; the navy must act. These two ships must appear in the North Sea before July 20."

Li Te asked no further questions. He summoned the heads of each post and began the final hand‑over procedures: signing documents, cross‑checking equipment lists, transferring keys… each item followed a strict protocol, with officers from both sides signing off.

When the final page of documents was signed, the sky was fully bright. The sunrise rose from the horizon, its golden light spilling over the two deep‑gray hulls, coating the cold steel with a warm sheen. On the dock, Lanfang crew began to line up and disembark; as they passed the gangway they couldn't help glancing back—there was reluctance, worry, and a sense of release after completing the mission.

Li Te was the last to leave. He stood at the gangway entrance and gave a final salute toward the bridge. There, Deguo officers had already taken over the stations, unfamiliar faces standing before the familiar consoles.

"Wishing you a smooth voyage," he said to the accompanying Kehe.

"Thank you," Kehe returned the salute, "and may your country… never have to endure what we have endured."

The two shook hands again, this time gripping tightly and for a long time.

Li Te descended the gangway onto the dock. When he looked back, he saw Degjun sailors raising the German Navy flag—the black, white and red tricolor unfurling slowly in the morning breeze, replacing Lanfang's national flag. (Of course, once in international waters the Lanfang flag would still be hoisted.)

It's not just the flag that changes. Over the next eighteen days, these two battleships will span half the globe, moving from a rising nation's navy roster into an ancient empire's combat formation. They will bear Deguo's hopes, sailing toward the North Sea, toward the battlefield, toward an unknown destiny.

Meanwhile, Lanfang's three hundred crew members will board another vessel and set out for home three days later. They will bring back observation reports, technical details, and a first‑hand assessment of the German Navy's current state.

These are what Chen Feng truly wants.

"General, the car is ready," the adjutant whispered.

Li Te cast one last glance at the two giant ships, turned and walked toward the waiting automobile. Behind him, the "Yangtze" ship's whistle suddenly blew, its long, low tone echoing over Dubai Port and startling the gulls above the harbor.

The moment of departure is almost here.

Eastern Poland, railway assembly station.

A seemingly endless freight train sat on the tracks, its cars not ordinary passenger coaches but flatcars and modified tank cars carrying livestock and cargo. The bodies were painted white with the Degjun Iron Cross insignia and unit numbers, though a close look revealed some markings freshly overpainted, covering the previously faded Japanese symbols.

On the platform, Degjun military police were posted every five steps, with a sentry every ten steps; their muzzles pointed down while fingers rested outside the trigger guard, vigilantly watching the surroundings. Further up the ridge, a machine‑gun nest was already in place, and an anti‑aircraft searchlight flickered faintly in the early‑morning mist. This was top‑secret transport; the entire railway line was under martial law, civilians were barred, and even the local Degjun troops were forbidden to inquire about this batch of "special cargo."