Lord Fisher Will Go Mad

"But what if the Germans...?"

"Let them protest," Jason sneered. "After today, naval attachés all over the world will know these ships exist. We're just the first."

Colonel Harrison, the British intelligence officer stationed in Egypt, stared at the six photographs spread out on the oak table for a full three minutes without saying a word.

The atmosphere in the office was so heavy it could melt ice. The adjutant stood by the wall, even his breathing was barely audible.

"Is it confirmed?" Harrison finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Confirmed, sir," Jason replied, standing at attention. He had just traveled eighty miles in a military truck, and his uniform was still dusty. "Six identical warships. Here are the negatives; I've already developed three sets in the darkroom. One set remains in the Canal District, one I brought, and another was sent to London via diplomatic pouch."

Harrison picked up a magnifying glass and examined the most recent photograph closely. The silhouette of the Westfallen filled the entire frame, its five turrets outlined with unsettling clarity.

"Five twin-mounted turrets, ten main guns," Harrison whispered. "The caliber is estimated to be between 11 and 12 inches. The length... is over 500 feet. The displacement is at least 18,000 tons."

"Speed ​​over 21 knots, sir," Jensen added. "Steam turbine driven, judging from the smoke exhaust."

How did you know it was a steam turbine?

"My father worked at Vickers, sir. He was involved in the testing of the Parsons turbine," Jensen said. "Reciprocating steam engines puff out thick black smoke when accelerating, while these ships only emitted a faint mist from their smokestacks when passing at full speed. This is a typical characteristic of steam turbines—more complete combustion and a smoother power output."

Harrison put down the magnifying glass and rubbed his temples. "The Germans... they're too good at keeping secrets. MI5 and Naval Intelligence spend hundreds of thousands of pounds every year, and yet six battleships slipped right under our noses until today."

"It's probably not a 'slip-in,' sir," Jason said cautiously. "They were probably only recently completed."

"Impossible." Harrison shook his head. "Look at the sailors on deck—they're in perfect formation and highly skilled. This isn't the state of newly commissioned ships. They've undergone at least six months of intensive training. And the fact that all six are present indicates they've formed a complete tactical formation."

He stood up, walked to the huge world map on the wall, and pointed to the North Sea region.

"Six warships of this class would be enough to alter the balance of power in the North Sea. How many pre-dreadnoughts does the German High Seas Fleet currently have?"

"Fourteen capital ships, sir," the adjutant replied quickly. "But most of them are designs from the late 1890s, with varying main gun calibers and speeds generally below 18 knots."

"So these six new ships, once commissioned, will become the absolute core of the German fleet." Harrison's finger traced the map. "Their presence in Suez means they're heading into the Mediterranean. Their destination? The Baltic Sea? The North Sea? Or…?"

"Emperor Wilhelm has recently shown great interest in Morocco," the adjutant cautioned. "The French are expanding their influence there, and the Germans have expressed 'concern.'"

"Using six of the world's most advanced battleships to 'show concern'?" Harrison sneered. "This is a show of force. To France, and to us."

He returned to the table and pulled out the encrypted telegram form.

"I need to send a top-secret telegram to the Navy Department. Jason."

"Yes, sir."

"Return to the canal zone immediately," Harrison said, writing rapidly. "Mobilize all available personnel to establish at least eight concealed observation posts along both banks of the canal. I need detailed records of every German warship that passes through: exact dimensions, waterline, crew numbers, and any visible weapon configurations. In particular—note whether any Italian, Austro-Hungarian, or other officers are on board for inspection."

"Do you suspect the Germans are showcasing new weapons to find buyers?"

"Not doubt, but certainty." Harrison stamped the encryption seal. "The Germans won't enjoy this level of technological advantage alone for long. They'll use it to leverage diplomacy, to gain allies, or... to acquire resources."

When the telegraph operator was summoned, Harrison had already written three pages of coded text.

"Use the 'Poseidon' codebook to send to the Admiralty in London, addressed directly to Lord John Fisher, First Sea Lord," Harrison instructed. "Send a copy to the head of MI5. Mark it 'Top Secret, Report Immediately'."

After the telegraph operator left, Harrison looked at Jensen: "What do you think the Royal Navy's chances of winning would be if they engaged these six ships now?"

Jensen hesitated.

"To be honest, Colonel."

"We will win," Jensen said, "but at an unimaginable cost. Their main guns may have a longer range than ours, and they are at least three knots faster. This means they can choose the distance and time of engagement. Our fleet will have to rely on numerical superiority to encircle them, and in the process... two or three capital ships may be sunk before we can get into effective firing range."

Harrison's face darkened further.

"And that's only with six of them," Jansen continued, stating the harsh reality. "If the Germans had already mastered this design, then a second and third batch would likely already be on the slipway. By the time our 'Dreadnought' enters service, the North Sea may already have twelve or even more of the same type of ship."

"Lord Fisher will go mad," Harrison muttered.

"He will request additional funding to build more new ships," the adjutant said. "Those gentlemen in the House of Commons won't be happy."

"Whether they're happy or not is irrelevant," Harrison's voice suddenly turned stern. "What matters is that the British Empire's three-hundred-year-old maritime dominance may face a real challenge in the next five years. And we're only now realizing how sharp the challenger's sword has become."

Outside the window, the streets of Cairo began to bustle. The jingling of donkey cart bells, the cries of vendors, and the morning prayers from the distant mosques intertwined to create the city's daily rhythm. But inside this office, all three knew that—this very morning, a certain gear in the world had quietly changed its meshing pattern.

Sanssouci Palace, Germany

"Ha! Alfred, have you seen the telegram? There hasn't been any official response from London yet!"

Emperor Wilhelm II paced back and forth in his study, brandishing a secret telegram that had just arrived from the Admiralty. He wore a white Field Marshal's dress uniform, the medals on his chest jingling, and his face showed undisguised excitement.

Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, State Secretary for the Navy, stood before his desk, maintaining a professional composure. "Your Majesty," he said, "the Westvalon squadron has just passed through the narrowest part of the canal. The British control tower must have taken many photographs."

"Let them take pictures!" Wilhelm II walked to the huge map of Europe and tapped his finger heavily on the location of Britain. "Let them see clearly! The German Empire no longer needs to hide in the shallow waters of the Baltic Sea and play in the mud! We have a blue-water fleet now!"

Emperor Tirpitz and the others, their excitement subsiding slightly, cautiously spoke: "Your Majesty, the purpose of this demonstration has been achieved. However, I must remind you that this will also alert the British in advance. According to intelligence, although their 'Dreadnought' has only just had its keel laid, given Britain's industrial capacity, once fully mobilized, its construction speed will be extremely fast." (The Dreadnought's construction time was only a few months.)

"Let them build!" Wilhelm II turned, his eyes gleaming. "What we want is a competition! A naval competition! Let the British spend every penny on shipbuilding, let their finances collapse, let their people grow weary of war! And then..." He lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret, "while their fleets are scattered around the world maintaining their colonies, we'll concentrate our main force in the North Sea and settle things in one battle!"