Chapter 591: Bismarck's Sortie

Wilhelm II walked to the window, his back to the three. Outside, Berlin's skyline merged with the lead‑gray clouds, and the statue atop the Victory Column was reduced to a vague outline in the mist.

"Tirpitz." The Emperor did not turn around.

"Your Majesty."

"When I ascended the throne, you gave me a memorandum."

Tirpitz was silent for a few seconds: "Yes, Your Majesty. 1888."

"What did it say?"

The old Marshal's voice was low: "The future of Deguo lies at sea. Without a powerful fleet, Deguo will forever remain an inland nation of the European continent."

Wilhelm II turned. There was no anger on his face, only a deep weariness.

"Twenty‑nine years have passed," he said, "I built the open‑sea fleet as you advised. I challenged Yingguo's maritime hegemony, I let the world see Deguo's flag flutter over the North Sea, the Baltic Sea, the Mediterranean. But now—"

He paused:

"Where is our fleet?"

Tirpitz said nothing.

"In the harbor," Wilhelm II answered himself, "behind the breakwater at Wilhelm Harbor, in the anchorage of the Kiel Canal, under the gun‑mouth protection of the Helgoland Fortress. The open‑sea fleet I spent twenty‑nine years building has done most in the war: watching the tides of the North Sea rise and fall."

Sheer looked up: "Your Majesty, the very existence of the open‑sea fleet is a deterrent. As long as we remain in the harbor, Yingguo must keep its main force at home and cannot fully commit to the Mediterranean and the Far East—"

"Deterrence?" Wilhelm II looked at him, his tone lacking mockery, only weariness. "General Sheer, you are right. Deterrence is also a combat power. But now—Meilika is entering the war. They will not postpone the declaration of war simply because twenty dreadnoughts sit in Wilhelm Harbor."

He walked back to the sofa area and finally sat down:

"I summoned you today not to discuss whether to go to sea."

He looked at the three of them:

"I am telling you—I have decided to send Bismarck and Tirpitz out to sea."

Tirpitz snapped his head up.

"Your Majesty."

Tirpitz rose. His movements were slow, as if every muscle fought gravity, fought the aging that had never yielded for decades. He stood at the edge of the sofa, his back straight, just as he had been in 1897 when he first presented the Fleet Law draft to Wilhelm II.

"Your Majesty, the old minister begs you to reconsider."

Wilhelm II looked at him without interrupting.

"If the open‑sea fleet stays in the harbor, Yingguo must maintain the full scale of its home fleet. We drain their coal, their crews' stamina, the forces they could have deployed to the Mediterranean and the Far East." Tirpitz's voice was slow and heavy, each word like water drawn from a deep well. "Once the main ships go to sea, once they are damaged or even sunk in battle—this deterrence is lost forever."

Wilhelm II said nothing.

Sheer spoke, his voice calm: "Marshal, deterrence presupposes the opponent believes we will actually use this power. Two and a half years have passed; Yingguo's ships have come and gone in the North Sea, hunting our broken‑cross ships in the Norwegian Sea, and now Meilika's destroyers are in the North Atlantic chasing our submarines with depth charges. Why do they dare?"

He paused:

"Because they know the open‑sea fleet will not come out."

Tirpitz turned to him, his gaze sharp: "So you suggest taking two of the most advanced battleships on a gamble?"

"I propose letting the enemy know that the Deguo Navy is not a caged beast." Sheer met his gaze. "Marshal, I am not a paper‑warrior in the staff office. I have commanded Riderlan, I know the sound of a shell striking a turret, I know how many degrees a hull will list when seawater floods in through a breach. Because I know this, I believe—we must break this stalemate."

He stood, walked to the chart table, and spread out the North Atlantic chart:

"This is Meilika's supply line to Yingguo. More than a hundred merchant ships sail these waters each day, carrying oil, grain, weapons. Our submarines once sowed terror here; now the Escort Fleet has pushed that terror back."

His finger pointed at the center of the chart:

"But what if—two Bismarck Class ships appeared here?"

He raised his head:

"Speed thirty knots, firepower far surpassing any Yingguo battleship. The Queen Ship tops out at thirty‑two knots, can catch up. But it cannot outgun; the Revenge Class at twenty‑one knots cannot catch. Not a single ship of the Royal Navy could intercept a Bismarck Class in open waters."

Tirpitz was silent.

Xipeier then spoke, his voice still calm, as if analyzing a wargame:

"Marshal, I understand your concerns. Sending the fleet to sea means assuming the risk of loss. But have you considered—if we win a battle before Meilika formally enters the war, what impact that would have on the situation?"

He paused:

"The Yingguo public will ask: 'What happened to our Royal Navy? We spent the most military budget in the world, yet we can't even catch two Deguo battleships.' The Meilika parliament will ask: 'Are we about to join an ally that cannot even protect its own supply lines?' The Faguo military will ask: 'Can the spring offensive on the Western Front truly be launched while the Deguo Navy still holds the initiative?'"

He looked levelly at Tirpitz:

"This is not an adventure. It is a contest for strategic initiative."

Tirpitz stared at him, at the commander he had cultivated, as cool as a surgical blade. He suddenly recalled twenty years ago, when Xipeier was a young cruiser squadron captain, and during an exercise he had publicly rebuked him at the debrief for being too reckless.

At that time Xipeier listened in silence, then said only: "Marshal, I would rather be scolded by you for recklessness than rust into scrap metal in a harbor."

Now he stood in the study of Wuyou Palace, using the same calm tone to argue the same point.

Tirpitz opened his mouth, as if to speak, but said nothing.

Turning to Wilhelm II: "Your Majesty, I have understood General Sheer and Xipeier's viewpoints. I have only one question."

"Speak."

"Bismarck and Tirpitz can make thirty knots. But the fleet is not just those two ships." Tirpitz paused at each word. "The King Class sails at twenty‑two knots, the Helgoland Class at twenty knots, the Nassau Class at nineteen knots. The first strike fleet would surge into the Atlantic at thirty knots, the support fleet would chase behind at twenty knots. Once we encounter Yingguo's main force, how long can the first strike fleet hold? The support fleet would need four hours to reach the battlefield."

He paused:

"Four hours. Enough for Bismarck to sink three times."

The room fell silent.

Sheer did not answer immediately. He stared at the chart, his finger moving slowly along the route, as if measuring a distance that could not be shortened.

"Marshal," he finally said, "you are right. Four hours."

He turned:

"Therefore the mission of the first strike fleet is not to engage Yingguo's main force in decisive battle."

"Then what is it?"