Germany: The Thousand Year Empire

One o'clock in the morning.

The Prime Minister's residence in London was brightly lit, and countless luxury cars filled the streets outside.

Churchill's office had been transformed into a small conference hall. Inside, voices clashed, arguments collided, and every faction seemed to be tearing at the others' throats.

"How are we supposed to fight?"

The Foreign Secretary's hair was messy, and his tone was filled with distrust toward the military.

"The navies of all Europe are bearing down on us. The sailors are already writing their wills. If war breaks out, the entire Far East Fleet will be annihilated."

"Do you expect the Coastal Defense Forces to hold back those fearless German madmen?"

"Not to mention that we cannot even obtain the support of the royal family right now."

A naval officer from the main war faction slammed his hand against the table.

"Then should we surrender without firing a single shot and let the Germans walk in?"

"The world will mock our cowardice."

"Even if it costs us the entire Far East Fleet and millions of Britons, I demand that Europe bleed with us."

Ripples spread across the surface of the black tea.

The Minister of Economy picked up his teacup, took a sip, and took over the conversation.

"Why do you think the populace will stand with us?"

"Believe it or not, the moment the Coastal Defense Forces collapse, they will use our own guns to storm the House of Commons."

"What is more, total war will cause unimaginable economic losses."

"The three major cities will be reduced to ruins, and a century of economic achievement since the Industrial Revolution will become the sacrifice you speak of."

He looked at the naval officer coldly.

"Is that what you want?"

The Army Chief sitting beside the Foreign Secretary grabbed him by the collar.

"What the hell are you saying?"

"Handing these industrial achievements over to the Germans so they can produce weapons to fight us, is that what you want?"

Seeing the situation rapidly descending into a brawl, Churchill smoked his cigar and paced back and forth in front of the window.

London.

This city of fog, established over a thousand years ago, was once again swallowed by heavy mist.

Light passed through the grayish white fog, yet could not penetrate it.

It seemed to confirm Britain's destiny.

For the first time, Churchill felt the weight of that word.

Destiny.

Perhaps there truly were people in this world favored by God.

And perhaps Jörg von Roman was one of them.

The enormous fleet of all Europe was truly terrifying.

As a staunch advocate of war, Churchill rarely felt retreat and despair.

But this despair did not come from the enemy alone.

It came from within.

It came from the accumulation of coincidence after coincidence, until they brewed into a disaster like a tsunami.

Seeing everyone turn their eyes toward him, Churchill extinguished his cigar and asked, "Are there any ships still operational?"

The naval representative from the General Staff replied, "On the Isle of Man, there is still an old fleet that has not undergone modernization."

"One battleship."

"Two destroyers."

"And one old cruiser whose weapons have been removed and is awaiting decommissioning."

"In Scotland, Inverness Port still holds the Portuguese Resistance Fleet, along with more than ten unfinished vessels that have not yet been armed."

Britain's once immense fleet had now been reduced to remnants and defeated soldiers.

The contrast made many officers sigh and cover their faces.

Their fleet had once traversed the globe.

Wherever there was sunlight, there were British ships.

The fleet, like the colonies, had never set.

And now, it had been cornered by all of Europe.

"Can they sail?" Churchill asked.

"Yes."

The naval representative hesitated, then added, "But a small number of vessels face the risk of sinking because they are incomplete."

Churchill could no longer concern himself with such details.

He only wanted to preserve as much of the existing armed forces as possible.

"Mobilize all available ground forces."

"The naval forces at the Isle of Man and Inverness Port must all put to sea."

"They will first head to Iceland for consolidation, then take the Resistance Army to Saint Pierre and Miquelon, and finally arrive in Canada."

Although Churchill did not say it explicitly, everyone understood.

It was over.

Some let out long sighs, relieved that Churchill had finally chosen retreat.

Others sat frozen in place, unwilling to accept the result.

Because once this order was executed, they would be leaving the homeland that had once stood at the center of the world.

Perhaps in their lifetime, they would never be buried there again.

Whether it was the glory built during the Victorian Era, the lingering prosperity after the Great War, or the feverish dream of carving up East Asia, all of it had become smoke and mirrors.

Britain would likely never again return to the summit of the world.

They had once been invaders.

They had once wielded the butcher's knife against other nations without hesitation.

And now, the invaders finally tasted the pain of being invaded.

Beneath the butcher's knife, they experienced what it meant to be fish on the chopping block.

It was a terrible feeling.

Like having one's veins cut open and one's heart gouged out.

After a long while, the silence was broken by the naval officer from the General Staff.

"Yes, Prime Minister."

Churchill looked around the room.

"Gentlemen, I will prepare the aircraft."

"Everyone has their own choice."

"But I still hope to see all of you in Canada."

No one replied.

They walked out of the office one by one.

Soon, only Churchill remained in the room.

He stared blankly at a photograph on the upper right of his desk, one taken with soldiers during the Boer War.

Beneath it was another photo of himself and his son under Big Ben.

His thoughts finally turned into a sigh.

"Britain…"

"Where will you go?"

The English Channel.

Aboard the German Second Aircraft Carrier, Wilhelm.

The sea was terribly quiet.

Only the whooshing sound of carrier based aircraft taking off could be heard within the white fog.

A standoff was often more terrifying than the outbreak of war.

Because a standoff represented uncertainty.

And on the battlefield, that feeling was ten thousand times more frightening than the despair of knowing one was about to die on the execution ground.

On the bridge, Raeder stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

After the Great War, he had paced through countless nights, contemplating Germany's future and shedding burning tears while looking at the scuttled ships.

Now, he no longer paced.

Nor did he weep.

Because the one who should be contemplating this decision was Germany's strongest opponent.

And the one who should be weeping was Britain, whom the Führer called an old dog.

If Britain wanted war, then even if its crews were unparalleled in quality and its navigation techniques exquisite, the vast fleet of all Europe would crush them beneath an ocean of steel.

The Sea Lions, formed from the finest elites, would shatter their armor.

Hordes of tanks would drive into London and tear out its heart.

If Britain chose to resist until the end, then all of Europe would see it through.

Germany would see it through.

Bullets would take the lives of every resister.

Bombing would destroy everything they relied upon.

"Commander."

An adjutant reported quickly.

"The British Navy still has not given a clear answer."

"The First Carrier Bombing Squadron is continuously locking onto HMS Ark Royal, and the First Fighter Squadron has driven away all British fighters."

Raeder nodded.

He had never felt so confident.

"Give them an ultimatum."

"If they do not surrender before dawn, I will turn the Far East Fleet into metal coffins at the bottom of the sea."

"And I will bomb London into ruins."

His voice was cold, but full of vigor.

"Not the small skirmishes they have seen until now."

"But a true hell composed of scorched earth, corpses, and rubble."

His spirited tone infected the adjutant.

This sailor, who had once served with the High Seas Fleet and witnessed its destruction, completely cast off the gloom in his heart upon hearing this declaration.

He nodded firmly.

"Yes, sir."

....

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