Chapter 504: The Marshal's Worry

The casualties are smaller than imagined.

"Because the battle lasted only eighteen minutes," Bainke paused, "She Er emphasized in the telegram: this is a tactical victory, but its strategic significance is limited. Yingguo lost a capital ship, but their shipbuilding capacity remains, and…"

"And they will retaliate wildly," Tirpitz took over, "Bainke, have you ever seen a wounded lion? It becomes more dangerous, more unpredictable."

Bainke offered no rebuttal. He took a large gulp of brandy, then said, "Your Majesty is already asking about the next phase. He wants more victories like this."

"More?" Tirpitz turned his head, "We have only two Bismarck Class ships. Yingguo still has more than twenty capital ships. Use two to fight twenty?"

"Your Majesty means… we can order more. From Lanfang."

Tirpitz's hand clenched the railing. The marble was cold to the bone. "Lanfang again."

"They have good stuff, Marshal. We must admit that."

"I admit it," Tirpitz said softly, "but relying on others' good stuff is like handing over the hilt of a sword while you only hold the blade. Sooner or later you'll cut your own hand."

The balcony door was suddenly pushed open.

Wilhelm II stepped out, followed by a group of excited generals and politicians. The Emperor's face flushed bright red under the influence of alcohol and passion, his eyes glittering.

"Alfred! What are you doing hiding here?" Wilhelm II laughed loudly as he walked over, slapping Tirpitz's shoulder hard, "Today is the victory of the navy you built! You should be in the center of the banquet hall, receiving everyone's toast!"

"Your Majesty, I am contemplating the next step," Tirpitz bowed slightly.

"The next step? Of course to keep moving forward!" Wilhelm II waved his arms as if commanding an imagined sea battle, "We will strike again! This time not two ships, but all capital ships! We will crush the Royal Navy in the North Sea, making Yingguo kneel and beg for peace!"

The crowd erupted in approving shouts. Colonel Redel led, shouting, "Your Majesty is wise! The German Navy is invincible!"

Tirpitz watched the scene. He saw the Emperor's eyes burning with fanaticism, the sycophantic smiles on the faces around him, the brightly lit night of Berlin in the distance. In that moment, he clearly felt that something had gotten out of control.

"Your Majesty," he kept his voice as steady as possible, "I think we need a cautious assessment—"

"Cautious?" Wilhelm II interrupted, his smile narrowing a bit, "Alfred, why did you build the navy? To forever hide in the harbor and be 'cautious'? No! To fight! To win! Victory has arrived, and you speak of 'caution'?"

"I was only suggesting—"

"I heard your suggestion," the Emperor's voice cooled, though a smile still lingered on his face, his eyes now without warmth, "but now I want to hear the cheers of victory, not pessimistic analysis. Understand, Marshal?"

Tirpitz was silent for two seconds. "Understood, Your Majesty."

"Very well." Wilhelm II smiled again, turned to the crowd, "Gentlemen, let us return to the banquet hall! Tonight, we will toast every warrior of the German Navy! To Admiral She Er! To the entire crew of the Bismarck! To Germany's glorious future!"

The crowd swarmed around the Emperor as they returned indoors. The balcony door closed, cutting off the noise once more.

Bainke looked at Tirpitz's tense profile and whispered, "You shouldn't have said those tonight, Alfred."

"If we don't say it tonight, we may never get another chance," Tirpitz drained his cup, "Let's go, we should return as well. Tomorrow there is still much work to do."

"Including preparing for the next naval battle?"

Tirpitz gave no answer. He cast one last glance at the night sky, then turned and walked into the banquet hall.

Inside, the revelry continued.

One a. m., Marshal Tirpitz's private study.

The study was on the second floor of his estate in Berlin's western suburbs, modest in size but piled with books, documents, and nautical charts. A huge world map hung on one wall, and the opposite wall displayed detailed charts of the North Sea and the Baltic Sea. The desk was an old oak piece, bearing only a lamp, an ink bottle, a fountain pen, and an open document.

Tirpitz did not turn on the main lights, letting only the desk lamp illuminate a small area of the table. He put on his reading glasses and was carefully reading the full battle report sent by Admiral She Er.

The report was extremely detailed, recording almost every minute of decisions and reactions.

"... 05:34, enemy ship turned, attempting to cut into the inner circle. I judged its intent to close distance to increase Hit Rate, so I decided not to evade and continued firing..."

"... 05:41, fourth simultaneous salvo, both sides achieved hits. Our ship's number two boiler room was damaged, steam leaked, but the main engine was unaffected. The enemy ship was clearly on fire..."

"... 05:46, fifth simultaneous salvo. Observed a Shell striking the enemy ship's midsection, the impact point between the superstructure and the Armour Belt. About ten seconds later, a violent explosion occurred inside the enemy ship..."

Tirpitz's finger paused on the final passage.

He took a magnifying glass and examined the accompanying sketch—Major General Mueller's hand‑drawn hit‑location diagram from memory. A red dot marked the middle of the Hood's hull, precisely above the Armour Belt and below the lifeboat deck.

That area...

Tirpitz pulled a document from the desk drawer. Six months earlier, when Lanfang had supplied Bismarck Class design data, it had come with a "Potential Opponent Analysis Report." The report mentioned several "design features" of the Hood class, and included a cautiously worded passage:

"... This class of ship, in pursuit of high speed, has a longer hull, resulting in a larger horizontal protective area. In non‑core sections, armor thickness may not fully resist the plunging impact of large‑caliber Shells..."

At the time, Tirpitz took this as a technical, objective description. But now, combined with She Er's report...

He set down the magnifying glass, removed his glasses, and rubbed his sore eyes.

The study door was gently knocked.

"Come in."

Butler Hans entered carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and several slices of black bread. "Sir, you haven't rested. The lady asked me to bring you something to eat."

"Place it on the table," Tirpitz said without looking up, "Hans, what time is it?"

"One twenty, sir."

"Thank you. You may go rest now."

Hans hesitated. "Sir, how will tomorrow's newspaper... write?"

Tirpitz finally looked up. "It will write of a great victory. It will write of the German Navy's glory. It will write everything people want to hear."

"And the truth?"

"Truth?" Tirpitz gave a wry smile, "The truth is that we used others' technology, on a warship designed by others, to fight a battle whose outcome they may have already foreseen. Then we called it 'the German victory'."

Hans fell silent. He had served in Tirpitz's household for thirty years, starting when the Marshal was still a young officer. He had seen too much.

"Go rest, Hans," Tirpitz said gently, "There is still much to attend to tomorrow."

After the butler left, Tirpitz rose and walked to the world map. His finger traced the North Sea, stopping at the pencil‑marked spot—the coordinates of the Hood's sinking. Then he swept south, across the English Channel, stopping over the Atlantic.