Chapter 397: A Single Raid? Fire a Few Shells and Withdraw? What Kind of Victory Is That?

Saike Te froze for a moment, then slowly nodded: "I guarantee. I will do my utmost, using this unit in the most reasonable way. This is not a courtesy, it is… a soldier's pledge."

Their two hands clasped. There were few words, but a mutual understanding was forged between the two soldiers of different cultures and backgrounds.

A call to assemble whistled from outside. Chai Wulang glanced at his pocket watch: "I must go back. My train departs in half an hour."

"Safe travels," Saike Te said, "see you in Faguo."

"See you in Faguo."

Chai Wulang left the conference room and descended the stairs. On the platform, the soldiers of the Third Division had all boarded, and the officers were conducting the final count. He reached his command carriage, turned and glanced at the entire assembly point.

Twenty military trains, each with thirty carriages, carried nearly two hundred thousand soldiers of the Sakura Nation dressed in Degjun uniforms. They would set out from here, cross Deguo interior, enter Faguo, and finally reach the hell called "Verdun."

And he himself would lead them toward that hell.

"Division commander, may we depart?" the adjutant asked.

Chai Wulang nodded and boarded the carriage. The iron door shut behind him; the interior was dim, with only a few small windows letting in faint light. Officers crowded the cramped space—some studying maps, some writing, some simply closing their eyes to rest.

The locomotive whistle blared long.

The train started slowly, the iron wheels grinding against the rails producing a rhythmic clank. Through the window, Chai Wulang saw the platform recede, the silhouettes of Degjun military police shrinking, and the whole assembly point fading into the morning mist.

They set off.

Heading west, toward the battlefield, toward a place destined to be recorded by history, though perhaps not in the way they hoped.

In Chai Wulang's carriage, a young major began to hum "Comrade's Song" softly. At first only he sang, but gradually other officers joined. The low chant echoed in the dim carriage, Japanese lyrics intertwining with German ones, strange yet familiar:

"When the cherry blossoms fall… where shall we meet again…"

The train accelerated, plunging into the deep morning mist of the Polish plain.

July 3, 10 a. m., William Port Naval Base.

Admiral Tirpitz stood at the pier, behind him a perfectly lined Naval officer corps. Everyone wore their most formal dress uniforms, medals polished to a shine, yet the atmosphere was as solemn as a funeral. This was because today Emperor Weilian Ershi would personally inspect the fleet's "combat readiness."

Inside the harbor, the flagship had been given a superficial makeover as far as possible: most scaffolding removed, decks cleaned, barrels polished, and even the sailors donned tidy uniforms. Yet Tirpitz knew these were merely appearances. Beneath the glossy exterior, the transmission shaft of the "Frederick the Great" remained problematic, the turret hydraulic leak on the "Sedlitz" was only barely contained, and the boiler compartment of the "King" still harbored a hidden flaw.

"They're here," Chief of Staff Te Luota whispered.

At the harbor entrance, the emperor's motorcade entered. Three Mercedes sedans, each flanked by a truck loaded with armed soldiers. The motorcade stopped by the pier; the attendant alighted first, then opened the door of the middle vehicle.

Weilian Ershi stepped out.

He wore a naval admiral's dress uniform today, the deep‑blue wool glinting in the sun, his chest laden with medals. Yet Tirpitz keenly observed that the emperor's complexion was paler than the last meeting, his eye bags deeper, the lines at his mouth tightened—a sign of chronic anxiety and sleeplessness.

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz led the officer corps in a standing salute.

Weilian Ershi returned the salute, his gaze sweeping the pier, the warships in the harbor, and finally resting on Tirpitz's face. In his eyes were expectation, scrutiny, and an undeniable pressure.

"A'erfulede," the emperor began, his voice low but clear, "take me to see my fleet."

"Yes, Your Majesty. This way, please."

The inspection began with the "Frederick the Great." Weilian Ershi boarded the flagship, scrutinizing the bridge, fire‑control room, and Main Gun turret. He asked numerous technical questions—rate of fire, accuracy, armor thickness, speed… Tirpitz answered each, but every reply was qualified with caution.

"Has the transmission vibration issue been resolved?" William asked, standing on the foredeck, looking at the massive Main Gun turret.

"The engineering department has applied temporary reinforcements, but a full fix requires dry‑dock dismantling and inspection," Tirpitz replied honestly. "In its current state it can sustain normal sailing, but high‑intensity maneuvers or combat carry risk."

"How great is the risk?"

"If the transmission shaft breaks in battle, the warship loses power and becomes a stationary target on the battlefield."

William was silent for a few seconds, then moved toward the next ship: "What about the 'Sedlitz'? I heard she's almost fully repaired."

"The turret has been installed, but the hydraulic system is still being tuned," Tirpitz kept pace with the emperor, "Additionally, the Shell elevator's safety device needs more testing. The lessons of the Ri Delan incident teach us that ammunition‑store safety allows no luck."

The remark made Weilian Ershi halt. He turned, staring at Tirpitz: "A'erfulede, are you reminding me of the Ri Delan losses?"

"I am merely stating facts, Your Majesty," Tirpitz replied calmly, "Each warship's flaw could endanger sailors' lives and the empire's honor."

The emperor stared at him for a long time, the surrounding officers holding their breath. Finally, William turned and continued forward, his tone noticeably colder: "Then, according to your professional assessment, when will the fleet truly be ready?"

"July 25, Your Majesty. That is the most realistic timetable."

"Too late," William shook his head, "Verdun cannot wait that long. The army needs the Deguo Navy to act, even if only a symbolic sortie to distract Yingguo and Faguo, to boost domestic morale."

They arrived before the "King." The warship appeared intact, but Tirpitz knew its boiler compartment still suffered an unresolved leak.

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz inhaled deeply, deciding to voice the long‑prepared proposal, "If we must strike early, I have an alternative plan."

William raised an eyebrow: "Speak."

"Deploy the partially repaired vessels to form a task force, conduct a swift shelling raid on Yingguo's east coast. The aim is not decisive battle but a demonstration, a show of presence, to tell the English that the Deguo Navy can still strike. Then return immediately, avoiding contact with Jeliko's main fleet."

Tirpitz had pondered this plan for a long time. Its risk was lower, the political payoff acceptable, and most importantly—it would not endanger the entire fleet.

But William II was clearly dissatisfied: "A single raid? Fire a few Shells and retreat? What kind of victory is that?"