Chapter 506: Luck

They only know that they won.

The car drove into the courtyard of the Naval Ministry building. When Sheer got out, he saw a crowd of reporters gathered at the building's entrance. Flashbulbs lit up, and the camera shutters clicked.

"General Sheer! Please say a few words!"

"What were you feeling at the time?"

"When does the next naval battle start?"

Sheer did not linger; under the guard of the soldiers he walked straight into the building. In the corridor, everyone he passed saluted him with eager eyes. He could hear whispered murmurs behind him: "That's Sheer..." "He looks more serious than in the photos..." "Of course, true heroes are always composed..."

At the door of the Naval Marshal's office, he stopped, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Come in."

Admiral Tirpitz sat behind a massive desk, reading documents. Seeing Sheer, he stood, walked around the desk, and extended his right hand.

"Welcome back, Reinhardt."

They clasped hands. Sheer could feel the old Marshal's palm strength and see the deep worry hidden in his eyes.

"Sit," Tirpitz gestured to the sofa, then sat opposite, "Coffee? Or tea?"

"Coffee, thank you."

A duty soldier brought the coffee and stepped back. The office door closed, leaving only the two of them in the room.

"First," Tirpitz began, "I, on behalf of the German Navy, thank you and your subordinates for your brave combat. Your victory... is very important to Deguo."

"But," Sheer sensed the turn.

Tirpitz gave a wry smile: "You know me too well. Yes, but. I have read your report; it is detailed and objective. Especially the final summary."

"Do you agree with my view?"

"Fully agree," Tirpitz leaned forward, lowered his voice, "Reinhardt, there are no outsiders here; we speak the truth. In this victory, how much is due to strength and how much to luck?"

Sheer was silent for a few seconds. "Forty‑sixty split. We have forty percent strength—better battleships, better fire control, more resolute fighting will. Sixty percent is luck: stormy weather, Hood's turn exposing a weakness, and that Shell hitting the ammunition depot precisely."

"If we do it again under the same conditions, can you guarantee the same result?"

"Cannot," Sheer replied without hesitation. "War has no ifs. But if there were an if, Hood might choose a different tactic, the Shell could hit a different spot, and the outcome could be entirely different."

Tirpitz nodded, leaning back against the sofa. "So we now face a problem: a victory that was sixty percent luck is being portrayed domestically as 'German technology's complete victory.' Emperor Your Majesty therefore believes we can replicate this victory and continue to achieve Breakthroughs at sea."

"What does he intend to do?"

"He wants you to lead the fleet out again," Tirpitz said, staring into Sheer's eyes. "This time it's not two ships, but all our main vessels. He intends to fight the Royal Navy in the North Sea, crushing Yingguo's maritime hegemony in one blow."

Sheer felt a chill rise from his spine. "Marshal, that's impossible. We have sixteen main ships, Yingguo has over twenty‑four. Moreover, after the loss of Hood, they will be far more cautious, even altering tactics. In a head‑on clash, we have no chance of victory."

"I know," Tirpitz's voice was weary. "Behnke knows. Most of the Naval Staff know. But the Emperor does not— or rather, does not wish to know."

"Then what do you plan to do?"

"Delay," Tirpitz said bluntly. "I will cite 'ships need repairs,' 'personnel need rest,' and 'detailed plans are required' as reasons to buy time. But we cannot delay too long; the Emperor's pressure is great."

Sheer lifted his coffee, noticing his hand trembling. He set the cup down. "Marshal, if we truly engage in a main‑force decisive battle, the result could be disastrous. In the Battle of Jutland, our losses were smaller because we chose a favorable battlefield and timing. If Yingguo sets meticulous ambushes, if we lose tactical surprise..."

"The German Navy might cease to exist," Tirpitz finished the thought, "I know. So we must avoid that scenario."

The office fell silent. Rain hammered the windows like countless fingers tapping gently.

"One more thing," Sheer recalled, "on the way back we, I kept pondering a question: why did the Lanfang people sell us such a powerful battleship? They knew it would shift the balance of power."

Tirpitz walked to the desk, picked up the Encrypted Telegram, and handed it to Sheer. "Take a look at this."

Sheer skimmed quickly, his brows furrowing tighter. "'Technical superiority can win a battle, but not a war'... are they warning us?"

"Or rather, reminding us to stay sober," Tirpitz retrieved the telegram. "Chen Feng is a shrewd businessman; he sold us weapons but does not want us to win too quickly—otherwise the war ends and his business stalls. Yet he also does not want us to lose too quickly—otherwise his investment goes down the drain."

"So what he wants is..."

"A stalemate," Tirpitz said, moving to the window, gazing at the Naval Ministry courtyard in the rain. "A long, draining war that bleeds Europe dry. Throughout this, Lanfang can sell weapons, provide loans, amass wealth and technology, ultimately growing from a regional nation into a world power."

Sheer felt a wave of nausea. Not physical, but mental. These soldiers fought desperately at sea, the troops bled in the trenches, while some people far in the East counted that blood and sacrifice as business.

"Then what do we do?" he asked.

"Us?" Tirpitz turned, a near‑sorrowful smile on his face. "Reinhardt, we are soldiers. Our duty is to fight, to obey orders. Politics and business are the business of politicians."

"But if a politician's decision would doom the Navy—"

"Then we do everything we can to reduce losses," Tirpitz returned, patting Sheer's shoulder. "In the afternoon meeting, the Emperor will attend personally. He will ask your opinion, whether you are ready to strike again. Your answer is crucial."

"How should I say it?"

Tell the truth. But in a way they can accept," Tirpitz paused, "Emphasize how hard‑won the victory was, stress the need for preparation time, stress that the Royal Navy will retaliate fiercely. Do not say outright 'we cannot fight'; say 'we need more preparation before we can fight'."

Sheer understood. This is the soldier's helpless choice when facing politics: not to lie, yet not to tell the whole truth. Seeking a narrow balance between ideal and reality.

"I understand, Marshal."

"Also," Tirpitz concluded, "be prepared. No matter how we delay, the Emperor will eventually issue the order. Then you must lead the fleet to set sail. And this time... luck may not be as favorable as the last."