Chapter 620: No One Cares What a King Class Is

Tirpitz was silent for a long time.

He looked at the fifty‑eight‑year‑old emperor before him. He had seen that fervor on the face twenty‑nine years ago. Back then, William II had just ascended the throne and described Deguo's future to him— a powerful navy, vast colonies, a status as a world power.

That fervor then was idealism.

The fervor now…

"Your Majesty," Tirpitz said slowly, "Lanfang will not sell. It is their cornerstone of defense."

"Then persuade them to go to the front themselves!" William II waved his hand, "Tell Chen Feng that as long as Lanfang declares war on Yingguo, Deguo will be willing to cede all its Pacific colonies to them after the war! New Guinea! Nauru! Samoa! All to Lanfang!"

He stepped closer and lowered his voice: "Alfred, Deguo's victory in Europe is Lanfang's victory in Yazhou. The Yingguo lads are finished, while the Meilika are still watching from across the river. Now is the best time for Lanfang to enter the game— why not?"

Tirpitz opened his mouth, wanting to explain, to tell him about the complexity of international politics, to tell him that Chen Feng wanted not colonies but balance, to tell him that Lanfang was waiting for Meilika's outcome rather than Deguo's victory…

But he said nothing.

Because he knew the present emperor would not take any of it in.

"As you command, Your Majesty," he said.

William II patted his shoulder: "Good. I knew it— Alfred is forever the most loyal."

Tirpitz lowered his head, offering no reply.

When he turned and left the study, he paused at the doorway and glanced back at the emperor's silhouette.

The silhouette stood upright in the morning light, like a statue.

But Tirpitz knew it was a stone statue weathering away.

London, 10 Downing Street

The atmosphere in the conference room was like a morgue.

At nine a. m., sunlight streamed through the windows, casting bright squares on the carpet. Yet everyone seated at the conference table felt as if they were sitting in an ice cellar.

The Prime Minister sat at the head of the long table, his hands clasped over the document before him. He had read that document five times, each reading tightening his stomach a little more.

The Naval Minister bowed his head, staring at the wood grain on the table as if something worth studying lay there.

The First Sea Minister's face was ashen, his eye sockets sunken— he had not slept a night.

The Intelligence Director sat in the corner, trying hard to make himself invisible.

No one spoke.

The Prime Minister finally spoke, his voice hoarse as if it were not his own:

"Read."

The First Sea Minister lifted the document, cleared his throat. Yet his voice still trembled:

"Sunk: Hood‑class battlecruiser Queen Ship. Elizabeth Queen Class battleships Barham, Valiant, Malaya. Brave‑class large light cruisers Brave, Glorious."

He paused, turned a page:

"Heavily damaged: Elizabeth Queen Class battleships Elizabeth Queen, Agincourt. Withdrawn for home‑port repairs, expected to be out of action for three months."

"Casualties: 4,217 confirmed dead. Missing: about 800. Total roughly 5,000."

He finished reading.

The conference room was so quiet one could hear the birds outside.

The Prime Minister stood, walked to the window, his back to everyone.

"Five thousand," his voice was light, "the greatest loss the Royal Navy has suffered in a single day since the war began in 1914."

No one dared to answer.

"We lost three thousand in the Japan‑German‑Netherlands theater, the whole nation mourned for a week. The newspaper front page ran for three days. Parliament questioned us four times," he paused, "and now? Five thousand. Tell me, how should tomorrow's front page read?"

The Naval Minister finally spoke, his voice tight: "Prime Minister, we could emphasize that we sank four King Class German support ships—"

"Who cares about the Germans' King Class?" the Prime Minister turned, staring at him, "Do the public know what a King Class is? They only know that the Germans used two battleships to get us six. They only know that Bismarck is still alive, still roaming the Atlantic. They only know that the Royal Navy— the world's most powerful navy— has been defeated!"

The Naval Minister lowered his head.

The First Sea Minister said softly, "Prime Minister, the Bismarck Class's performance indeed exceeded expectations. Our intelligence was wrong—"

"I don't want explanations!" the Prime Minister's palm slapped the table, "I want revenge! I will locate those two German battleships and destroy them!"

The First Sea Minister looked up: "Prime Minister, we are assembling a fleet. Five Revenge‑class battleships— Revenge, Determination, Ramillis, Royal Oak, Sovereign— can complete resupply and set sail for search within forty‑eight hours."

"Then go!"

"But…" the First Sea Minister hesitated, "the Revenge‑class's speed is only twenty‑one knots. Even if Bismarck is damaged, if it can still make over twenty‑five knots, we cannot catch it. Moreover, although the Revenge‑class's armor is slightly improved over the Elizabeth class, against 380 mm guns…"

"I know!" the Prime Minister waved his hand, cutting him off, "but the public needs a victory! Parliament needs a victory! The newspapers need a victory! You want me to tell them 'we can't catch them'? 'The Germans' ships are better than ours'? 'The naval intelligence department made a mistake'?"

The Naval Minister said softly, "Prime Minister, perhaps we should first confirm Bismarck's position. It is damaged, fuel limited, likely heading south toward a neutral port. We could deploy defenses along the west coast of Africa, the east coast of South America…"

"Then deploy!" the Prime Minister said, "but the Revenge‑class must go to sea. Even if we can't catch them, we must let the public see us in pursuit!"

The First Sea Minister opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

The Prime Minister stood and walked to the window again.

Outside, London's streets already had pedestrians. A paperboy at the corner shouted something, his voice faintly drifting in.

He suddenly recalled the day war broke out, that same morning, that same street. Then the public surged onto the streets, cheering, waving flags, believing they could go home before Christmas.

Now three years have passed.

How much longer must we fight?

He did not know.

He only knew that those two German battleships—and the four Lanfang warships docked in Dubai Harbor—were tipping the balance of this war.

"Go out," he said, "let me have some peace."

Everyone stood and silently left the conference room.

After the door closed, the Prime Minister stood alone at the window, watching London's morning light gradually illuminate the whole city.

He suddenly thought of Nelson.

What was the last sentence the naval commander who died in the Battle of Trafalgar said before he died?

"Thank God, I have fulfilled my duty."

Did he fulfill it?

He doesn't know.