Pride and Frustration – A Trip to Portsmouth

"Hard to port, heading 275, reduce speed to eight knots."

On the bridge of HMS Westfall, Admiral Tirpitz's voice was as calm as a weather forecast. But through the porthole, he could clearly see the dense crowds gathered on the hills on both sides of Portsmouth Harbour—thousands upon thousands of British people, silently watching the two German behemoths enter the Royal Navy's proudest home port.

The Rhineland followed two hundred yards behind, the two ships maintaining a perfect column formation.

"The British welcoming ceremony was decent enough." Captain von Trotta, captain of the Westphalia, standing next to the Tirpitz, lowered his binoculars, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. "At least the harbor was full of colorful flags."

"That's politeness, Colonel." Tirpitz took the cap from his adjutant and carefully put it on. "Beneath the politeness lies humiliation and fear. Can you feel it? The whole port is trembling."

On the dock, the Royal Navy's welcoming party was already lined up. Leading the procession was Sir William May, Third Sea Lord of the Admiralty, a stoic officer in his sixties with a neatly trimmed white beard. Beside him stood the Commander of Portsmouth Naval Base, and a dozen or so officers of various ranks.

Further away, flashes of light went off from the press area.

"Drop anchor!" Trotta ordered.

The clanging of the chains was particularly jarring in the silent harbor. The Westfallen was steadily anchored in its designated deep-water berth, less than fifty meters from the dock. This distance was close enough for those on shore to clearly see every detail of the ship's hull.

Tirpitz straightened his uniform, turned to the officers behind him, and said:

"Gentlemen, remember three things. First, maintain the highest standards of professionalism—we want to show the British what German naval sailors are like. Second, when answering technical questions, you can demonstrate your expertise, but don't reveal core secrets. Third…"

He paused, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces:

"Enjoy this moment. For the first time in three hundred years, a foreign warship has visited here as a technological leader. History will remember this day."

The gangway was lowered.

Tirpitz was the first to descend the gangway, his boots making a steady, powerful sound on British soil. He walked up to Sir William May and gave a standard military salute.

"Sir, Alfred von Tirpitz of the Imperial German Navy, by order of His Majesty the Emperor, is leading the ships Westphalia and Rhineland on a friendly visit to your country."

William May returned the greeting, his smile standard but stiff: "Welcome to Portsmouth, General. The Royal Navy... It's an honor."

The moment the two naval commanders shook hands, the sound of camera shutters in the press area reached its peak.

But Tirpitz keenly noticed that Sir William May's gaze lingered on the massive warship behind him for at least five more seconds.

There was curiosity, assessment, and a deep sense of powerlessness in that gaze.

The welcoming ceremony was held in the base headquarters lobby. German and British officers sat on either side of a long oak dining table. Champagne glasses were already filled, but the atmosphere was subtly awkward.

Sir William May raised his glass in a toast:

"The Royal Navy and the German Navy have a long tradition of cooperation. We jointly safeguard freedom of navigation and trade security at sea. Admiral Tirpitz's visit with two of the newest warships will undoubtedly further enhance mutual understanding and friendship between the two navies."

Very official wording.

When Tirpitz raised his glass in response, he decided to add a little something extra:

"Thank you for your warm hospitality, Sir. His Majesty the Emperor has specifically instructed me to convey his sincerest greetings to my colleagues in the Royal Navy. His Majesty often says that the Royal Navy of the British Empire is a model for the world's navies, and the German Navy has learned many valuable lessons from the Royal Navy during its development."

This may sound like a compliment, but all the British officers present knew that you are the past, and we are the future.

A young British lieutenant colonel couldn't help but whisper to his colleague beside him, "Learned experience? Learned how to build better ships than us, huh?"

The sound wasn't loud, but it was loud enough for the several German officers on the other side who understood English to hear.

Tirpitz pretended not to hear and continued his conversation with William May with a smile. But his adjutant, a major in his early thirties who was fluent in English, spoke up at the opportune moment:

"Sir, what is the schedule for this afternoon? Our sailors are very much looking forward to exchanging ship handling experience with their Royal Navy counterparts."

William May looked at the base commander.

The commander cleared his throat: "As planned, this afternoon we will first invite your officers to tour our 'Dauntless' shipyard—although it's still under construction, the basic outline is already complete. Then…"

"Then," Tirpitz continued, his tone gentle but firm, "if it's convenient, we would also be happy to invite Royal Navy officers to board and tour the ship. The steam turbine system and main gun control room of the Westfallen might offer some... valuable information."

The hall suddenly fell silent.

The British officers exchanged bewildered glances. Visiting the Germans' new ship? What did that mean? It meant publicly acknowledging their technological superiority, it meant the Royal Navy's pride was about to be utterly humiliated.

But what if I don't agree? Wouldn't that make me seem stingy and cowardly?

Sir William May's expression shifted, but he finally managed a smile:

"Of course. We learn from each other and make progress together."

Tirpitz raised his glass: "Towards mutual progress."

The clinking of glasses was jarringly crisp in the silent hall.

At 2 p.m., in the construction dock of the "Intrepid".

The massive hull is already taking shape, and the superstructure is being welded onto the keel. Thousands of workers are busy on the scaffolding, the sounds of steam hammers, rivet guns, and cranes all blending together.

Sir Philip Watts, the Chief Designer of the Royal Navy, personally provided the explanation. This chief designer of the "Dreadnought," standing on the observation deck, pointed to the hull below, striving to make his voice sound confident:

"As you can see, the 'Dreadnought' will have a standard displacement of 18,000 tons, be armed with ten 12-inch main guns, all using the latest 45-caliber barrels. Its propulsion system will be Parsons steam turbines, with a design speed of 21 knots..."

The German officers listened politely, nodding occasionally.

But Tirpitz noticed that the technical experts he brought—especially Chief Engineer Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt and Chief of Artillery Major Hoffmann—exchanged a meaningful glance.

There was no mockery or contempt in his eyes, only the regret of a professional seeing an "outdated design".

After the briefing, the officers from both sides had tea in the lounge next to the dock. The German officer was surrounded by his British counterparts, who bombarded him with questions.

"Admiral Tirpitz," a British captain couldn't help but ask, "I've noticed that the Westphalian-class's funnels are arranged very compactly. Is this to reduce the windward surface area of ​​the superstructure?"

"Part of the reason," Tirpitz said, taking a sip of his tea—the British tea was indeed excellent—"but more importantly, it was due to the optimized layout of the boilers and engine room. Our design philosophy was that every cubic meter of space on a warship should serve combat effectiveness."

"And what about the salvo control of the main guns?" another British fire control expert pressed. "Five turrets, ten guns—how do you guarantee accuracy at long range?"

This time, it was Major Hoffmann who answered. This German artillery expert, in his early forties and wearing gold-rimmed glasses, spoke in fluent but accented English:

"We adopted a central fire control system. The rangefinder on top of the bridge transmits target data to the fire control room, where the mechanical computer calculates the firing parameters and then transmits them synchronously to each turret via circuitry. In theory, ten guns can fire simultaneously as if they were one."

A low gasp filled the lounge.

Mechanical computers? Synchronous circuit transmission? The British weren't unfamiliar with these concepts, but integrating them into a warship and putting them into practical use...

Sir Watts' face turned somewhat pale. His design for the "Dreadnought" also had a similar concept, but according to the German's description, its implementation and integration seemed to be a level below.

"Could you please tell me the effective range?" someone else asked.

Hoffman glanced at Tirpitz, and seeing his superior nod slightly, he said, "In good sea conditions, the hit rate at 15,000 yards can reach 25% to 30% against targets weighing 10,000 tons."

"Fifteen thousand yards?!" an elderly British colonel exclaimed. "My God, the maximum effective range of our active warships is only twelve thousand yards, and the hit rate at that distance is less than five percent!"

"Times are progressing, Colonel," Tirpitz said gently. "Artillery technology, optical technology, computing technology... are advancing by leaps and bounds. Perhaps in five years, 20,000 yards will be the standard engagement distance."

He spoke casually, but every British officer understood the implication: five years from now, your "Dreadnought" might be obsolete as soon as it enters service.

The atmosphere at the tea party grew increasingly somber.

At this moment, Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt—the marine engineering expert—asked seemingly casually:

"Sir Watts, I noticed that the boiler room design of the 'Dauntless' seems to still use traditional coal-fired boilers?"

"Yes, coal-fired boiler technology is mature and reliable..."

"But what about the heavy oil injection system?" Schmidt interrupted him, his tone purely technical. "We tested heavy oil-assisted injection on the Westphalian-class boilers, which increased power by fifteen percent and reduced the number of stokers by a third. Coal-fired boilers... require far too many people."

Sir Watts opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

What could he say? That the British Admiralty considered heavy oil technology immature? That the coal-fired empire had a stable supply chain? Faced with technology already in practical use by the Germans, any explanation sounded like an excuse.

Tirpitz stood up at the opportune moment:

"Thank you, Sir Watts, for your excellent explanation. I think it's now our turn to extend our hospitality—if any of you are interested in boarding the ship for a tour."

No British officer said no.

They were so eager to see, so eager to know just how big the gap was, so eager to understand—how exactly did these Germans manage to do it?