Chapter 595: The Only One Who Considers Only the Navy

"It is because you are in this room the only one who only considers the navy," Xipeier said, "Your Majesty is considering the dignity of the German Empire, She Er is considering the morale of the open‑sea fleet, I am considering—what chips we still have to lay on the table."

He paused.

"Only you, Marshal, only consider what the German Navy would have left if these battleships sank."

The cold wind howled.

Tirpitz was silent for a long time.

Then he spoke, his voice older than before:

"Xipeier, you are forty‑eight this year."

"Yes."

"Do you know what I was thinking when I was your age?"

Xipeier gave no answer.

"I was wondering when Germany could have a dreadnought," Tirpitz said, "I sparred with the scholars in the Imperial Council, explaining to those legislators who cannot even tell a cruiser from a destroyer why we need the Fleet Law. I work sixteen hours a day, splitting every penny in half, just to get that pile of steel in the shipyard to launch a day earlier."

He paused:

"Later we got the Nassau Class, Helgoland Class, King Class, Bismarck Class. The whole world said the German Navy had risen from sixth to second. The Emperor embraced me at the opening ceremony of the Kiel Canal and called me the father of German sea power."

His voice lowered:

"But Xipeier, do you know? Every time I see a new battleship launch, I don't think about how powerful it is, or how many enemy ships it can sink. I think about—"

He stopped.

After a long while he continued:

"What I think is, if one day it sinks, how long will the mothers of those young sailors wait at the harbor."

No one spoke.

She Er lowered his head. Xipeier's eyes looked elsewhere.

"So," Tirpitz said, "you are right. In this room I am the only one who only considers the navy."

He turned and walked toward the waiting limousine.

Before opening the door, he looked back at the two generals he had raised himself. She Er's resolve, Xipeier's composure—twenty years ago they were both selected by him from the pool of candidate officers.

"General She Er," he said.

"Marshal."

"In three days, you set sail," Tirpitz said, "I will not stop you. But I have a request."

"Go ahead."

"Come back alive," the old Marshal said, "bring the Bismarck and Tirpitz back alive."

He bent down, sat into the limousine, and the door closed.

The engine started, and the black limousine slowly drove out of the gates of Wuyou Palace.

She Er and Xipeier stood where they were, watching the car disappear at the end of Bodhi Tree Avenue.

February 18, Port William.

The winter of the North Sea had no color.

The sky was lead‑gray, the sea iron‑gray, even the spare anchor chains piled on the breakwater were covered with a layer of gray‑white salt frost. Only the hulls of the battleships were dark gray—the protective color formulated for North Sea fog, which on overcast days almost merged with the water.

She Er stood at the observation window of the harbor command tower for forty minutes.

He did not look at charts, weather reports, or the operation plan on the desk. He simply watched the two battleships in the harbor making their final sailing preparations.

Bismarck. Tirpitz.

Their silhouettes were crystal clear against the lead‑gray canopy. The towering bridge, the four twin‑turret Main Guns, the slender ranging radar antenna—every line seemed precisely calculated, not for beauty but to detect targets, fire, and hit before the enemy could, even at the greatest Distance and in the worst sea conditions.

Workers at the naval shipyard were still making the final supplies. An ammunition barge was moored to Bismarck's port side, and a crane hoisted 380‑mm armor‑piercing Shells into the magazine. Each projectile weighed eight hundred kilograms; just loading a day's worth of Shells onto the ship took six hours.

The fuel barge was on the other side. Heavy oil was pumped through thick hoses into the hull's depths; filling Bismarck's fuel tanks required three hundred tons of Fuel.

Three hundred tons of heavy oil was enough for this 45,000‑ton battleship to sprint three thousand nautical miles across the Atlantic at thirty knots.

Three thousand nautical miles. A round trip from Port William to New York still left surplus.

She Er watched those numbers convert in his mind and suddenly found them absurd.

They possessed such powerful battleships, yet kept them docked…

They spent the entire empire's treasury, yet only dared to probe at the edge of the North Sea, like a hound with its neck chained, never able to reach the prey beyond the fence.

Now the hound is about to break the leash.

Footsteps sounded behind.

Xipeier walked into the command tower, raindrops clinging to the epaulettes of his coat.

"Weather report," he placed the folder on the table, "for the next seventy‑two hours the Danish Strait will have intermittent dense fog, visibility five hundred to one thousand meters. The North Atlantic shipping lane area will be cloudy, wind force four, wave height two meters."

She Er did not turn: "Suitable for an ambush."

"Also suitable to be ambushed."

She Er finally turned, looking at Xipeier.

"Are you afraid?"

Xipeier was silent for a few seconds.

"Afraid," he said, his tone still calm, "afraid the bridge will be hit, afraid the sea will pour in through a breach while I'm still in the command tower, afraid the crew will be shredded in two by shrapnel before my eyes."

He paused:

"But those fears are not enough to keep me in the harbor."

She Er nodded.

They stood side by side at the window, watching the two giant ships in the harbor.

"She Er," Xipeier suddenly changed the address, no longer 'General' but his name.

Sheer did not look at him.

"Do you hate Admiral Tirpitz?"

Sheer was silent.

"He opposed this operation. He almost lost composure in front of Your Majesty," Heiper said, "When you were in Jiderlan, he already opposed a fleet decisive battle, advocating keeping strength in reserve. How long have you argued over this?"

Sheer remained silent.

On the sea, the Bismarck's smokestack began to emit a faint black smoke. The engine room was conducting its final trial before departure; steam escaped from the safety valve and condensed into white mist in the cold air.

"I don't hate him," Sheer finally said.

Heiper waited.

"What I hate is—" Sheer paused for a long time, "what he said is correct."

He looked at the warship that was awakening:

"Keeping the open‑sea fleet in the harbor does indeed serve as deterrence. Going to sea indeed entails unnecessary risk. He was right about everything."

His voice lowered:

"But Heiper, what is right isn't necessarily what should be done at the right time."

Heiper said nothing.

"In 1914, we won the first battle at Helgoran Bay. In 1915, we lost at Dogsha Shoal. In 1916, Jiderlan—" Sheer paused, "we claim victory because the tonnage we sank was greater than the enemy's. Yet the Royal Navy was still at sea the next day, and we returned to port on the third day."