World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 39 Goodbye, British "Friendship".

The champagne bottle slammed hard against the bow of the ship.

The sound of glass shattering was crisp and loud.

"God save the Queen! God save the Royal Navy!"

"God save the Queen! God save the Royal Navy!" Fifty thousand people responded in unison, the sound almost shaking the harbor.

The dock gates opened, and seawater rushed in. The massive hull of the "Intrepid" began to move slowly, sliding down the slipway into the sea. The splashing waves shimmered in the sunlight, like countless diamonds scattered.

On the reviewing stand, Fisher watched this scene and finally a genuine smile appeared on his face—not a politically performed smile, but the proud smile of a naval officer seeing the warship he designed being launched.

"Well done, John." First Lord of the Admiralty, Selburn, patted him on the shoulder. "A little late, but at least you made it in time."

"Caught up?" Fisher shook his head. "No, Charles, we've only just begun. There are still ten more to build, and countless technical challenges to overcome. And..."

He looked toward the foreign diplomats' quarter, where German naval attaché Colonel von Stern was carefully examining the details of the "Dreadnought" through binoculars, his face expressionless.

"And the Germans won't sit idly by and wait for us." Fisher lowered his voice. "I've received intelligence that Emperor Wilhelm has approved a second order for four Westphalian-class ships. Not from German shipyards, but from... that mysterious place."

Selburn's expression changed: "Are you sure?"

"MI5 is verifying it, but it's highly likely." Fisher's eyes were sharp. "So today's ceremony is both a celebration and a warning—a warning to the Germans, a warning to everyone: Britain is not out of the game yet."

He paused, then added:

"It also serves as a warning to ourselves: we must run faster, or we will really be left behind."

The foreign diplomats' area, where the French naval delegation is located.

Lieutenant General Charles Dubois lowered his binoculars, his face expressionless. Beside him, shipbuilding engineer Louis Moreau rapidly jotted down the details of his observations in his notebook.

"The smokestack layout indicates the use of steam turbines, and the speed should be no less than 21 knots. That's probably on par with the Germans." Morrow paused, his voice lower, "But General, that doesn't change one fact: the Germans have six in service, we have none. The British have one, and are building ten more. We still have zero."

Dubois did not respond. He raised his binoculars again, this time not to look at the Intrepid, but at the British officials on the reviewing stand.

He saw Edward VII's proud smile, Fisher's resolute expression, and Selburn's smug satisfaction.

He also witnessed British officials politely shaking hands and conversing with the German military attaché—a seemingly friendly exchange that concealed underlying tensions.

"Morrow," Dubois lowered his binoculars, "if you were the French Minister of the Navy, what would you do now?"

Moro gave a wry smile: "I'll kneel down and pray for a miracle. Or..."

"Or what?"

"Or go find the only place that might offer a miracle," Morrow's voice was almost inaudible. "If there's even a one in ten thousand chance that the intelligence we've received is true."

Dubois fell silent. He recalled the words of Navy Minister Thomson before he left Paris: "Charles, the future of the French Navy is in your hands." He remembered Prime Minister Clemenceau's handwritten instruction: "At all costs."

at all costs.

The word echoed in my mind.

"Get ready," Dubois suddenly said. "After the ceremony, we'll go see Lord First Lord of the Admiralty, the Earl of Selburn."

Would you like to try again?

"One last time." Dubois straightened his uniform. "If the British can give us a clear promise, even a false one, we might still be able to wait. If not..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Moro understood.

If that doesn't work, then we'll have to take the most risky path.

The reception following the ceremony was held at the Portsmouth Naval Officers' Club. Under the crystal chandelier, officers and dignitaries in formal attire raised their glasses and conversed, creating an atmosphere of apparent harmony.

Dubois finally spotted the Earl of Selborne in the crowd. The First Lord of the Admiralty was chatting and laughing with several members of parliament, a glass of champagne in his hand.

"Your Excellency the Earl," Dubois walked over and nodded politely.

"Ah, General Dubois!" Selborn greeted warmly. "Thank you for your delegation's long journey to attend the ceremony. What do you think of the 'Intrepid'?"

"Very impressive," Dubois said, maintaining diplomatic language. "The Royal Navy's shipbuilding capabilities are indeed world-class."

"Thank you for the compliment." Selburn was clearly pleased. "This is just the beginning. Ten more are under construction and will be commissioned by 1908. By then, the Royal Navy will have re-established its absolute dominance."

Dubois understood the underlying message: the British shipbuilding program was progressing smoothly and could achieve its goals without French orders.

"Your Excellency," he decided to be direct, "there has been any new progress regarding our country's previous procurement request. If possible, the French Republic is willing to pay a premium and provide compensation in other areas."

Selburn's smile faded slightly. He took a sip of champagne, considering his words.

"General, I fully understand your country's needs," he said slowly. "But as you can see, our own shipbuilding program is very tight, and all shipyards are operating at full capacity. The Admiralty's assessment is that, at least until 1909, we will not have the extra capacity to take on foreign orders."

"1909..." Dubois repeated the date. "What about technology transfer? If your country can provide the blueprints for the 'Dreadnought,' we can build it ourselves without using your shipyard resources."

Selburn shook his head, this time more resolutely: "I'm sorry, General. The design of HMS Dauntless involves core secrets of the Royal Navy and cannot be transferred. This is a matter of principle."

silence.

Dubois stared at Selborne for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled: "I understand. Thank you for your frankness."

He raised his glass in a toast, then turned and left.

Moro caught up and asked in a low voice, "How is it?"

"Just as expected." Dubois's voice was calm, but his grip on the wine glass was tight. "The British won't help us, nor will they allow us to help ourselves. They want the French navy to remain forever outdated, so that on the European continent, we will have to rely on British naval protection."

"That……"

"Inform the delegation that they will depart for home tomorrow," Dubois said.

"Have you made up your mind?"

"It's decided." Dubois downed his drink in one gulp. "Since the British have closed all the doors, we'll go find that one and only window—even if it means climbing mountains of knives and seas of fire."

They stepped out of the club, where the Portsmouth night air was crisp and the sea breeze was biting.

In the direction of the harbor, HMS Intrepid was already anchored in the deep water, its bright lights making it look like a floating steel castle. The British celebrations continued, with laughter and cheers carried on the wind.

Dubois stood in the cold wind, taking one last look at the warship.

Goodbye, Dauntless.

Goodbye, British "friendship".

France has to find its own way to survive.

No matter where that road leads.