Chapter 646: Hope Amid Despair
Wilhelmshaven, Germany — Admiral Scheer was anxiously awaiting news of victory.
"We should win… right?" he asked himself over and over.
The intelligence had been reliable, and with three battlecruisers in the formation, the battle should have been a sure thing.
And yet, Scheer felt increasingly uneasy. Something gnawed at his nerves, a vague but persistent dread.
After much internal debate, he realized what it was: the enemy was Charles.
Charles was now stationed in Antwerp, commanding the air corps' reconnaissance. It was possible, even likely, that the French Navy was operating under his command—or at least with his strategic input.
Scheer could ignore Charles's victories on land. Antwerp, Hasselt—all land-based triumphs. Naval warfare, he told himself, was a different world.
But he couldn't ignore Charles's performance in the Dardanelles. He couldn't forget the landing craft, the amphibious vessels, the depth charges, and especially the submarine detection systems Charles had devised.
Could it be that Charles had developed yet another new weapon?
No, Scheer reassured himself. That was unlikely. Naval equipment was nothing like army gear—it wasn't something that could be developed in weeks. Tactics, too, had stabilized. There shouldn't be much room for change anymore.
In Scheer's mind, naval doctrine was still dominated by the principle of "big guns, big ships." He believed the future belonged to dreadnoughts and super-dreadnoughts, to ever-thicker armor and ever-larger guns.
He had no idea that naval warfare was on the brink of a revolution—a transformation so drastic it might as well have come from another dimension.
Inside the communications room, a telegraph operator sat in front of the machine, decoding a message with the clattering rhythm of the Morse key. As the last click echoed, the translation came through.
The operator glanced at the telegram—and went pale.
Still, he picked it up and rushed to deliver it to Admiral Scheer.
"Ad-Admiral…" the man stammered, swallowing hard, almost too afraid to speak.
Scheer sensed the worst. He snatched the message from the operator's hands and read it.
He froze.
He had expected a possible defeat—but not a disaster.
Seven ships lost, including a battlecruiser. The enemy? Barely scratched—only three lightly damaged.
For a long moment, Scheer stood silent. Then he lifted his eyes and demanded, "Find out why! What caused this disaster?"
"Y-Yes, Admiral."
Before the words were even out, another operator rushed in with a second telegram.
"The French possess a new type of torpedo with a range of at least three kilometers. It may be wire-guided. More importantly, they've mounted torpedoes on bombers to attack warships…"
Scheer's head reeled. His mind exploded into chaos.
Torpedoes on bombers?
They were launching torpedoes from the sky?
Scheer staggered. He would have fallen had his aides not rushed forward to catch him and ease him into a chair.
He sat heavily, breathing hard.
His thoughts mirrored those of Rear Admiral von Kavis: It's over. Everything is over.
If the French had this weapon… what if the British had it too?
Was there still any hope for the German Navy?
But unlike von Kavis, a spark of clarity began to return to Scheer's eyes.
No, he thought. We were never trying to defeat the French fleet. Our true enemy is the British Royal Navy.
Breaking out of the blockade had never truly seemed possible. Not really. Even a successful raid could only work once, maybe twice. Eventually, they would fail.
But now—ironically—this defeat might reveal a way forward.
The more Scheer thought about it, the more convinced he became.
Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. "Prepare an aircraft. I'm flying to Berlin."
…
Berlin – Forget-Your-Worries Palace
Sunlight gleamed off the melting snow. Spring was breaking through. Fountains that had been frozen for months now gurgled with fresh water.
But inside the palace salon, the air was heavy with gloom.
Kaiser Wilhelm II and General Falkenhayn sat across from one another, locked in grim silence.
Wilhelm II had grown used to failure. He no longer flew into rages. But this latest report had hit him hard.
After a long pause, he muttered bitterly, "It's unbelievable. The French fleet… defeated the First Fast Squadron. Despite the overwhelming gap in strength."
Falkenhayn raised an eyebrow. "Just as I warned you, Your Majesty. We should never underestimate Charles—whether on land or sea."
Wilhelm grunted, his face tight.
Falkenhayn had indeed warned him—so had Admiral Scheer.
"Charles," Falkenhayn said gravely, "is the kind of man who can choke the war by the throat. Whether it's through technology, tactics… or something else."
He wanted to say foresight. Charles seemed to know the future. But such a thought couldn't be spoken aloud.
"Relax, Chief of Staff," Wilhelm had once told him. "I believe there are limits to what Charles can achieve at sea."
Now, Wilhelm realized how arrogant that assumption had been.
A torpedo-equipped bomber—appearing out of nowhere—had shocked the world, just as the tank had during its first use.
At that moment, Admiral Scheer stepped into the room.
To Wilhelm's irritation, Scheer didn't look regretful or ashamed. In fact, he looked almost… cheerful.
Wilhelm clenched his jaw. His voice was sharp, biting:
"What's there to be so pleased about, Admiral?"
"If I hadn't read the telegram myself, I'd think you just won a battle!"
Scheer bowed politely. "Your Majesty, I believe Charles has made another mistake."
"Another mistake?" Wilhelm sneered. "Last time you said that, you assumed Charles didn't know we had bombers. That we could exploit that to find a weakness in his line."
"But it wasn't Charles who made a mistake—it was us!"
Wilhelm's voice rose with every word, until he was nearly shouting.
He knew the blame didn't belong entirely to Scheer, but he couldn't tolerate the admiral's apparent nonchalance.
Yet Scheer remained composed.
"Your Majesty, may I ask you something?"
"If Charles can defeat us using just cruisers, destroyers, and torpedo bombers… then doesn't that mean we could do the same?"
"Couldn't we defeat the British Royal Navy using that same strategy?"
Wilhelm and Falkenhayn stared at him.
And then… Wilhelm began to smile.
"So you're saying… we should upgrade our bombers, mass-produce them… and do to the British what Charles did to us?"
(End of Chapter 646)
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