Chapter 592: Submarine Sinks

Lansing walked to the blueprint, lowered his head and looked at the battleship designed with a speed of only twenty‑one knots.

"It is nine knots slower than the Bismarck Class."

"Yes."

"But it has sixteen‑inch Main Guns and three‑hundred‑forty‑three millimeter armor."

"Yes."

"It can penetrate the Bismarck Class deck at twenty kilometers."

"Theoretically possible, provided we can catch up within twenty kilometers."

Lansing looked up:

"Then build twenty. Thirty. Use quantity to make up the speed gap."

He turned to Wilson:

"Mr. President, I know you dislike this plan. You dislike the arms race, you dislike measuring national power by tonnage and number of gun barrels. But we have no other choice now."

"Deguo has two Bismarck Class ships hunting our merchant ships in the Atlantic. Lanfang has six Bismarck Class ships, building larger vessels in the Dubai shipyard."

He paused:

"If we don't start the chase, in five years, in ten years, Meilika will no longer have the seas."

Wilson said nothing.

He looked at the Colorado Class blueprint on the table: twenty‑one knots speed, a 457‑mm turret face, and a 343‑mm Armour Belt.

This is not the Meilika navy he wanted. This is not the maritime power he imagined.

But this is the best answer his shipbuilding engineers can deliver with existing technology, existing materials, existing industrial capacity.

He picked up the pen.

In the signature line of the appropriation order, he wrote "Wilson."

When the pen tip left the paper, it left a tiny ink dot.

"First batch, ten ships," he said, "the rest will be decided according to the war situation."

Daniels nodded:

"The shipbuilding bureau will start immediately. Newport News, Bethlehem, and San Francisco shipyards will commence simultaneously, aiming to launch all within three years."

Wilson pushed the appropriation order toward him.

"One more thing," he said.

Everyone looked at him.

"The Colorado Class is not a match for the Bismarck Class. We build ten, Lanfang will build more. This competition has no end."

He paused:

"But what we need now is not to win the competition, but to avoid losing the war."

He stood up:

"The declaration of war against Deguo, I will submit to Congress tomorrow. In the Atlantic direction, fully support Yingguo, ensure the shipping lanes are safe. Pacific direction—"

He looked at Rodman:

"General Rodman, I need you to go to Dubai again."

Rodman stood at attention:

"Yes."

"Not to deter, but to communicate," Wilson said, "Tell Chen Feng: Meilika's declaration of war on Deguo is not because we seek to conquer Europe, but because our citizens are being indiscriminately attacked on the high seas. Our goal is to bring Deguo back to the negotiating table, not to utterly destroy Deguo."

He paused:

"Tell him, Meilika does not want to fight Lanfang. I hope he also will not choose to fight us."

Rodman was silent for two seconds:

"Mr. President, if Chen Feng asks: how can you guarantee we won't completely defeat Deguo?"

Wilson did not answer immediately.

He walked to the window, back to everyone.

Outside, the sunset was sinking into the Potomac River. The sky was lead‑gray, the river surface iron‑blue, and only at the western horizon a thin line of lingering gold‑red.

"Tell him," Wilson said, "I cannot guarantee. No one can guarantee a war will go according to plan."

"But I will try my best. I will, in the post‑war peace talks, do everything to prevent Deguo from being dismembered, humiliated, or plundered."

"Because that is not only a tragedy for the Deguo people, but a tragedy for the whole world's future."

He turned around:

"That may not be the answer he wants. But it is the only promise I can give."

No one spoke in the war room.

The wall clock pointed to 5:40 p. m.

Leaving this windowless room, Washington was already lit by early streetlights. The Capitol Hill legislators were still debating the wording of the war‑authorisation bill, naval shipyard workers were working overtime to lay the Colorado Class keel, and in the Persian Gulf eight thousand miles away, the battleship Nagato was conducting its final mooring trial before sea trials.

Everyone knew the world was accelerating toward an unknown direction.

But at this moment, in this deep‑green room, there was only silence.

Wilson walked out of the war room.

In the corridor, Tumarty was waiting for him. The secretary held three freshly received telegrams, their covers bearing the seals of the State Department, the Naval Intelligence Office, and the Yingguo Embassy.

Wilson took the telegrams, not opening them immediately.

He stood in the middle of the corridor, the last ray of sunset outside slipping down from his shoulder.

That day, February 15, 1917, President Wilson made two decisions: order the navy to build ten Colorado Class battleships, launching Meilika's largest peacetime shipbuilding program in history; and dispatch Lieutenant General Rodman to visit Dubai again, to convey to Chen Feng the promise he himself did not fully believe.

February 18, 1917, 3:20 p. m.

Location: Berlin, Navy Department Building, Operations Command Room

When the telegraph machine spat out the first telegram, the duty officer was still checking the morning Fuel inventory report.

The telegram paper was light gray, its edges marked with a classified label, and the top printed "Kiel Naval Base Submarine Command—Urgent". The duty officer put down the report, tore off the telegram, and his eyes scanned the first line of text.

His fingers went stiff.

Three seconds later, the second telegram began to spit out.

Then the third followed.

The duty officer didn't wait for the third telegram to finish completely. He grabbed the three sheets of telegram paper, rushed out of the operations room, and ran down the corridor toward the Navy General Staff. His footsteps echoed rapidly in the empty hallway, like an ominous drumbeat.

At the end of the corridor, a major was walking toward him, cradling a stack of sea charts. The duty officer nearly collided with him full‑on.

"Sir! Urgent telegram from Kiel!"

The major took the telegram and lowered his head to read for three seconds.

He turned, pushed open the heavy oak door behind him.

In the operations command room, Marshal Tirpitz stood before a massive North Atlantic sea chart.

He was sixty‑eight years old. Thirty‑eight years ago, he first boarded a Prussian Kingdom sailing escort ship; at that time Germany had not yet unified, and the blue area on the chart belonged to Yingguo, to Faguo, to any country with a coastline, but it did not belong to Deguo.

Thirty‑two years ago, he submitted his first naval memorandum to Prime Minister Bismarck; that year he was thirty‑six, his hair all black, and at the end of the memorandum he wrote: "Deguo must possess a fleet strong enough that even the most powerful enemy would not dare to provoke it lightly."