Chapter 507: The Army's View?

She Er stood up, stood at attention and saluted. "I will fulfill my duty, Marshal."

"I know you will," Tirpitz returned the salute, "Go, go rest a while. The afternoon meeting… won't be easy."

She Er turned and left. At the doorway he glanced back. Marshal Tirpitz sat back at his desk, put on his reading glasses, and began reviewing documents. The rain‑lit light outside fell on his greying hair; this nearly seventy‑year‑old man, the founder of the German Navy, now looked profoundly lonely.

The door closed gently.

Tirpitz set down his pen, removed his glasses. He took a photograph from the drawer—taken in 1900 when the German Navy's East Asia Squadron visited the Far East. In the picture, a much younger him stands on the bridge of the flagship German, with the sunrise behind him.

At that time he dreamed of building a powerful navy, to make Germany a world power.

Now the dream seems realized. The Bismarck sank the Hood, and the German Navy proved its strength.

But why does he feel no joy, only a heavy unease?

Tirpitz put the photo back in the drawer and put his glasses on again. There are still many documents to handle, many decisions to make. Personal emotions are insignificant before the nation's and war's great wheels.

He picked up the next document. It was the Naval Shipbuilding Bureau's preliminary design for the "Bismarck Class improved model."

The Emperor has already ordered the pace to be accelerated.

The rain is still falling.

And the storm is brewing.

Behind the German defensive zone on the Somme River,

This was originally a French village's granary, now converted into the third battalion's garrison of the Sakura Nation Volunteer Corps. The granary is large, its ceiling six meters high, wooden beams bearing lanterns that cast wavering halos.

Hao Er knelt on the straw‑covered floor, carefully wiping the rifle's bolt. His movements were slow and meticulous; each part was repeatedly wiped with an oil‑soaked cloth until the metal surface took on a dull sheen.

This habit was formed at the Kumogawa training camp. The instructor said, "A weapon is your second life. Treat it well, and it will save you at critical moments." At that time Hao Er earnestly recorded the words and spent half an hour maintaining his rifle after each training session.

But now he does this more to have something to do.

To avoid thinking about yesterday's events.

Captain Aoki's boot‑kick on his ribs still lingered. Every breath sent a dull throb deep in his chest. The swelling on his face had subsided, but a purple bruise on his cheekbone remained clearly visible.

"Hey, Hao Er!"

Private Yamada of the squad ran over, waving a flyer, his face flushed with excitement. "Did you see this? The German Navy won a great victory in the North Sea!"

Other Sakura Nation soldiers gathered around in the granary. The flyer circulated among the crowd, prompting exclamations.

"Is it true? Five guns firing together sank the Hood?"

"That's one of Britain's most formidable battlecruisers!"

"German technology really is advanced…"

Hao Er did not join them. He kept cleaning his gun, but his ears were perked, listening carefully to every sentence. The North Sea battle… he recalled at Kumogawa training camp, the tactics instructor had described the Royal Navy with reverence: "Three hundred years of tradition, the world's number‑one fleet, an invincible maritime hegemony."

Now it seems nothing is impossible to defeat.

"If only the Imperial Navy had such warships," Yamada sighed, eyes fixed on the woodcut on the flyer, "Look at the lines, the turret layout… far more advanced than our Kongō class."

"Not just advanced," another soldier named Nakamura said, "the performance must be far stronger too. Five guns firing together sank the Hood! Could our navy achieve such efficiency?"

The granary filled with voices of admiration and envy. These Sakura Nation volunteers mostly came from civilian families, their knowledge of warships limited to newspapers and propaganda art. But the fact of "sinking a British capital ship" itself was enough to make their blood boil.

Hao Er assembled the bolt, pulled the bolt handle to check its smoothness. Metal parts scraped with a crisp clack. Yet his mind drifted: If the Imperial Navy truly possessed such powerful warships, could the war end faster? Could he return home sooner?

"Hao Er, what do you think?" Yamada came over, handing the flyer to him.

Hao Er took the flyer, examined the woodcut. Indeed, the Bismarck's lines were sleek and powerful, the turret layout rational, the whole ship exuded a modern industrial beauty. Compared to the Imperial warship he had seen at Yokohama port, which, though majestic, always seemed a bit… cumbersome.

"When will the Empire have such warships…" he muttered, unaware that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

The granary fell silent all of a sudden.

Hao Er looked up, finding everyone staring at him with odd eyes. Yamada gave him a look, signaling him not to speak further. But it was already too late.

"What did you say?"

A voice came from the doorway, low, cold, like winter iron.

Hao Er turned and saw Captain Aoki standing there. This Choshu‑born army officer wore a tidy uniform, his hand on the saber hilt, a scar on his face glaring under the light. His eyes were like two cones, now fixed on Hao Er.

"C‑Captain!" Hao Er hurriedly set down his gun, tried to stand at attention, but a sharp pain in his ribs slowed his movement by half a beat.

Aoki slowly walked into the granary, his boots on the straw rustling. He stopped before Hao Er, lowered his head, and looked at the young soldier seated on the straw.

"Repeat what you just said," Aoki's voice was soft, but each word fell like ice beads striking the ground.

Hao Er felt his throat dry. He swallowed, his voice trembling: "I… I said, when… when will the Empire have such warships…"

"Why?" Aoki interrupted, "Why does the Empire need such warships?"

"Because… because strong…," Hao Er strained to speak, "With a strong warship we can protect shipping lanes, defeat enemies at sea, we can…"

"We can what?" Aoki stepped closer, his face almost touching Hao Er's, "We can let those navy idiots swagger more? Let them think the war is theirs to win?"

The granary fell silent. Everyone bowed their heads, daring not to look. Yamada wanted to speak, but Aoki's glance silenced him.

"You," Aoki's finger jabbed at Hao Er's chest, right where he had been kicked yesterday, "you are an army soldier. Your weapons are the rifle, the bayonet, the cannon. Your battlefield is here—" he pointed to the ground, "in the muddy trench, before the enemy's barbed wire, on the assault path! Not on the sea."