The air in the private room seemed to freeze for a few seconds because of Morin’s words.
Grand Admiral Tirpitz’s eyes, hidden beneath his thick eyebrows, remained locked onto Morin, as if trying to find even the slightest hint of flippancy or offense toward the naval profession on the face of this young Army Lieutenant Colonel.
Everyone present knew very well that although the Navy and the Army both belonged to the Empire’s armed forces, they had always been two parallel lines in terms of strategic perception, service culture, and even budget struggles.
For an Army officer, no matter how genius a strategist, to point fingers at naval warfare in front of a Grand Admiral of the Navy was a massive taboo.
Tirpitz was indeed waiting.
He was waiting for Morin to continue speaking, waiting for this young man to start pontificating about “Sea Power Theory” or “Decisive Battleships.” As long as Morin dared to open his mouth to teach him how to fight naval battles, he would mercilessly use his decades of naval experience to refute this arrogant brat until his skin was torn and flesh torn.
However, Morin did not do so.
Because he knew very well that this looked like an opportunity, but it was equally a trap.
Although he had the prophetic advantage of a transmigrator, his knowledge about the navy was, at best, at the level of having read a few books on military history and played a few naval combat games.
If he continued to follow the thread of conversation just now, pontificating about Sea Power Theory, or pointing fingers at the direction of future naval warfare, throwing out advanced concepts like “carrier-based aircraft,” he might be able to win momentary attention…
But Morin knew even better who was sitting across from him.
He might be able to brag in front of Moltke the Younger, Mackensen, Falkenhayn, and a bunch of Army high echelon—that was because he really had the stuff to back it up. The education and infantry professional skills training he received truly allowed him to posture in front of these WWI antiquities.
But if you asked him to shoot the breeze with a professional naval figure, he couldn’t do it.
And a slight lack of attention would trigger the awkward situation of “accidentally posturing exactly in the other party’s field of expertise.”
Morin naturally wouldn’t touch this bad luck.
So, Morin put down the dining knife in his hand, gently wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and the expression on his face returned to humility and calmness.
“Your Excellency Grand Admiral, regarding the specific action plans of the Britannian Navy, or the tactical details of naval warfare, please forgive me for being unable to provide further speculation.”
Morin’s voice was sincere and frank:
“After all, I am only an Army infantry officer. All my judgments are based on strategic logic and the analysis of human nature, not professional naval tactical literacy.”
“The ocean is your domain. To discuss how to command a fleet in front of you is not only foolish but also disrespectful to your professional literacy.”
Tirpitz raised those two thick eyebrows, his originally sharp gaze softening slightly.
He had seen too many young men wanting to show off in front of him.
Those people were always eager to display their erudition, wishing they could chat from astronomy and geography to the number of rivets on a battleship’s keel, in order to win his favor.
But this young man before him obviously knew restraint.
Moltke the Younger and Falkenhayn on the side exchanged a quiet glance, both seeing a trace of a smile in each other’s eyes.
Morin’s answer was very appropriate; he did not cross that invisible boundary.
In the military, pointing fingers across service branches is a major taboo. This young Lieutenant Colonel obviously understood this principle very well.
However, the hypothesis Morin proposed indeed aroused Tirpitz’s interest.
He stopped his conversation with Morin and began to concentrate on considering the scenario of the Britannians really attacking the Gallic naval fleet.
The conversation between the two also stopped here, and they did not continue to delve deeper.
Morin also lowered his head in a timely manner and continued to deal with that tender piece of venison on his plate, as if that was what he cared about the most at the moment.
But this didn’t mean others would let him go.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
Sitting diagonally across, the Minister of the Air Force, Lieutenant General Peter Strasser, took over the conversation and started chatting with Morin.
Compared to the delicate balance between the Navy and the Army, the Air Force, as a newly emerging service branch, was currently in a state of rapid development and eager to prove its unique value.
Currently, the Air Force’s main equipment was armored airships, as well as a few squadrons of reconnaissance aircraft—the latter were also basically dispersed among various army groups and actually commanded by the respective army groups themselves.
“Grand Admiral Tirpitz didn’t let me chat about flying just now, and now everyone is almost done eating… I want to hear your true feelings about air-land coordinated operations.”
Strasser was obviously not just casually chatting with Morin; his tone also sounded very serious:
“Your operation at the Liège Fortress, and the subsequent coordination on the Amiens front line, I have read the reports… But reports are, after all, cold text. I want to know, as a commander directing on the front line, what other potential do you think our armored airships have that can be unearthed?”
This question could be said to have touched Morin’s heart.
If he was a layman in the naval field, then in the aspects of air-land coordination and three-dimensional assault, he had tactical reserves a century ahead of this era.
And even in this current world, he not only had theories but also rare practical experience.
After all, not just anyone could jump off an armored airship with a squad like he did.
“General Strasser, since you asked… then I will speak frankly.”
Morin’s expression also became serious:
“The current armored airship force has already done exceedingly well in terms of air-to-ground fire support… Those 203mm naval guns and the aerial bombs carried by the airships deal a devastating blow to the enemy’s morale and fortifications.”
Hearing this, Strasser also nodded in satisfaction. What Morin said could be considered the part of the current Imperial Air Force most worth showing off.
“However…” Morin changed the subject, “I think that using armored airships merely as ‘aerial artillery platforms’ is really somewhat… wasteful.”
“Wasteful?” Strasser was stunned for a moment, “What do you mean?”
“General, please think about it… The Imperial Air Force’s armored airships can carry four twin 203mm gun turrets, plus heavy armor plates and magazines. This payload has already reached an astonishing number.”
“Yes, that is the credit of the core levitation engine.” Strasser said proudly.
“Since it can hold hundreds of tons of gun turrets and ammunition, then why… can’t it hold something else?”
Morin’s voice carried a suggestive tone: “For example… removing two main gun turrets, and using the freed-up space and payload to carry those big guys from the Teutonic Knights.”
The dining table suddenly fell quiet.
The hand of Falkenhayn, who was cutting meat, trembled, and Moltke the Younger also raised his head, staring burningly at Morin.
“You mean… using armored airships to transport Armored Knights?”
Strasser opened his mouth wide. He had already realized what Morin was going to say. It was as if a bolt of lightning flashed through his mind, instantly opening the door to a new world for him.
On the other side, Morin also continued to speak about his conception.
“The total weight of a ‘Siegfried Mark 1’ is only about 18 tons. Even adding reserve fuel and ammunition, it won’t exceed 25 tons… And one of our twin 203mm gun turrets, along with the rotation mechanism and ammunition feeding system, its weight is probably far more than this number, right?”
Strasser blinked, his brain working rapidly. As a Minister of the Air Force from a technical background, he was very sensitive to data.
“Remove part of the ventral gun turrets… modify the cargo hold structure… add specialized securing latches…”
He muttered to himself, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.
“Theoretically speaking… this is completely feasible! A modified Zeppelin-class armored airship can even carry more than two squads of Armored Knights!”
“Not just simply transporting, General.”
Morin continued to raise the stakes. He picked up the pepper shaker and salt shaker on the table and laid out a simple tactical formation.
“The biggest problem with the form of warfare currently presented on the Western Front is the stalemated battle line… Both sides are desperately piling up troops and firepower frontally. Like two bulls locking horns, neither can do anything to the other.”
“But what if we had a force that could, through rapid mobility, find a way to bypass the enemy’s defense line and penetrate toward the rear?”
“I have recently been thinking about the issue of mechanized infantry. If our assault troops are equipped with the half-track armored vehicles currently under development and possess rapid mobility, we can attempt to bypass the enemy’s sturdy defense lines and penetrate in depth.”
Morin picked up the pepper shaker representing the assault troops and moved it quickly across the tabletop.
In his description, judging from the current development of infantry in various countries, such a mobile assault would be very difficult for the enemy to stop.
Even if they did stop it, they might not necessarily be able to defeat the penetrating Saxon assault troops.
Then, taking a ten thousand steps back, suppose the enemy, in order to wipe out the assault troops in the rear, transferred Armored Knights from other defense lines… Then at this time, whether the Air Force’s armored airships have the capability to transport Armored Knights becomes very important.
If Armored Knights cannot support the assault troops in time, then this assault troop that has penetrated behind enemy lines will mostly have to choose to retreat to be on the safe side.
Although it also achieved the effect of drawing away the enemy’s key tactical units, it ultimately failed to achieve perfection…
But if the Imperial Air Force’s armored airships, at this critical moment, could forcibly complete an aerial breakthrough and rapidly project friendly Armored Knights over.
Then provide a certain amount of fire support from the air—it doesn’t even necessarily need 203mm naval gun support—then the situation would be completely different.
The assault troops could even consider coordinating with the airdropped Armored Knights to turn around and eat up these enemies who came to execute the eviction operation.
And the success rate of doing this, in Morin’s view, was actually not low.
Because it was obviously impossible for the enemy to deploy large anti-aircraft magitech devices at all positions along the battle line, so an armored airship crossing the battle line was not an impossible task.
“This solves the problem of poor strategic mobility of Armored Knights.”
Falkenhayn, as the Minister of War, immediately realized the value within.
“We no longer need to let Armored Knights waste engine hours on the highway. We can directly project them to the most critical battlefield nodes through aerial redeployment.”
“Moreover, this tactic is not only useful for offense.”
Morin added:
“In defensive operations, it is also the best firefighting team… Wherever the defense line is broken, we can immediately airdrop a squad of Armored Knights to plug the gap, faster than any reserve force.”
“A genius idea… simply a genius idea!”
Strasser was obviously somewhat excited at this moment. He grabbed his wine glass and downed it in one gulp.
Morin’s words could be said to have suddenly opened up Strasser’s thinking.
Although the people of this world had quite a bit of black technology in terms of techniques, their thinking wasn’t completely opened up right now. Sometimes they just lacked this “final kick” from Morin.
In the mind of Strasser, this Minister of the Air Force, many new ideas for using armored airships quickly came to mind, and he found that the things Morin mentioned, upon careful consideration, actually seemed feasible.
“However, there is still one problem…”
Morin threw a basin of cold water at the right time, or rather, threw out the most realistic problem.
“To realize such tactics, we need a large number of dedicated airships. Not only modifying existing armored airships, but even more so needing to design brand new assault transport models. This requires massive industrial production capacity, and…”
Morin shrugged, and the others instantly understood his meaning.
“Money.”
This single word was like some kind of forbidden spell, instantly cooling down the enthusiastic atmosphere.
“Ahem.” Falkenhayn coughed somewhat awkwardly twice, “This… idea is certainly good, but this year’s military budget is already…”
“The budget can be increased!”
Minister of the Air Force Strasser instantly became anxious. When it came to budget issues, the Air Force had actually suffered quite a few losses in recent years.
“How can such a strategic weapon be stuck by that rigid budget? If we can build an aerial assault force, how many unnecessary casualties can we reduce on the ground? Can’t you calculate this account?”
“Hmph.”
A cold snort came from the other end of the table.
Tirpitz put down the cigar in his hand, those eagle eyes staring coldly at Strasser.
“Strasser, have you forgotten that the Navy’s shipbuilding plan is still short a large sum of money? In order to maintain the deterrent power of the High Seas Fleet, and to deal with new battleships the Britannians might launch during the war, I have to split every Mark into two halves.”
“Now you want to build some aerial assault force? And build new airships? Where will the money come from? Scraped off the keels of my dreadnoughts?”
“Your Excellency Grand Admiral!”
Although Strasser was in awe of Tirpitz, in the face of service branch interests, he could only bite the bullet and push back.
“Although naval battles are important, what determines the outcome of the war is ultimately the land! If the Army can rapidly defeat the enemy through this tactic, then the Navy’s pressure will also be greatly reduced!”
“Bullshit!” Tirpitz slapped the table, making the tableware jump, “Without the Navy holding the coastline, without the Navy conducting commerce raiding on the oceans, the Army would have starved to death long ago! Command of the sea is the Empire’s lifeline!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen…”
Moltke the Younger tried to smooth things over, but as Chief of the Army General Staff, his stance was naturally biased as well.
“I think Lieutenant Colonel Morin’s proposal has extremely high strategic value. Compared to those dreadnoughts still on the drawing board, perhaps this tactic that can be immediately put into actual combat is more worthwhile…”
“Alright, Helmuth, even you are coming to scheme for my military funds?” Tirpitz laughed out of extreme anger, “Didn’t you Army folks say you needed to re-equip your artillery? Did that money blow in with the wind?”
“That is to reduce casualties! That is for victory!” Falkenhayn also joined the fray, “The Army bears the main combat tasks, it ought to receive the most resource allocation!”
For a time, the originally harmonious high-echelon dinner party instantly turned into a vegetable market.
The Grand Admiral slapped the table and glared, the Minister of the Air Force argued strongly, and the Chief of the Army General Staff and the Minister of War formed an alliance, trying to pry a little meat from between the Navy’s teeth.
And the instigator of all this—Morin—sat quietly in the corner, silently cutting the last piece of venison, as if all this had nothing to do with him.
He knew very well that in this kind of occasion where deities fought, if a petty lieutenant colonel like him dared to interject, he would instantly be blasted to slag.
At this time, remaining transparent was the way to survive.
This quarrel over the budget lasted for almost twenty minutes. The Navy, Army, and Air Force argued strongly, and in the end, even began to “cry poor.”
Of course, the result was that there couldn’t possibly be a result.
Things like budgets involved interests that were too deeply intertwined. They simply couldn’t be resolved in one meal.
Tirpitz defended the Navy’s shipbuilding funds to the death, not yielding an inch. Strasser made an issue using Morin’s “aerial assault” and “three-dimensional strike” theories.
Falkenhayn and Moltke the Younger smoothed things over from the side, seemingly trying to help the Air Force squeeze out some money, but actually absolutely refusing to touch the Army’s fundamental base.
In the end, it was Moltke the Younger, the Chief of the Army General Staff, who came out and summarized:
“This matter needs to be considered at length. Strasser, go back and have someone do a detailed feasibility report first, especially regarding the technical parameters and cost estimates of the transport airships. Once we have the data… we will bring it to the Imperial Conference to discuss.”
This was considered giving everyone a way out.
The dinner finally ended in an atmosphere that, although somewhat awkward, was overall considered harmonious.
Before leaving, Strasser tightly held Morin’s hand, that look like looking at a long-lost biological brother:
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin, if you have time, you must come sit at the Ministry of the Air Force! Our coffee there tastes much better than the Ministry of War’s! I still want to have a good chat with you about the details of that ‘aerial assault’!”
When Tirpitz passed by Morin, he also stopped his steps.
This Grand Admiral gave Morin a deep look, reached out, and patted his shoulder.
“Young man, although you are Army personnel, your head is clearer than many Navy staff officers.”
Tirpitz hummed, considered some kind of praise:
“Remember what you said today, don’t let those mud pits in the Army grind away your aura.”
This last sentence also made Moltke the Younger and Falkenhayn so angry they blew their beards and glared…
After seeing off these two great deities, Moltke the Younger and Falkenhayn also took Morin out of the restaurant.
It was already quite late at this time, and the streets of Dresden were somewhat deserted.
The dim yellow streetlights stretched the shadows of the three. The chilly wind of early spring blew away the smell of alcohol on their bodies, refreshing their spirits.
The adjutants of the two Army big shots had already had the drivers bring the cars over. Falkenhayn wasn’t in a hurry to get in the car, but stood by the roadside and lit a cigarette.
The flickering firelight illuminated his slightly tired face.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
Falkenhayn suddenly spoke, his tone seemingly somewhat casual, no longer the business-like tone from before.
“Your judgment of the international situation is very accurate, and your ideas for tactical innovation are also very good… This is very good.”
He blew out a smoke ring, his gaze seemingly casually looking at Morin:
“Then, what about domestically? What are your views?”
Morin, who was originally somewhat “food-comatose” after being well-fed and watered, sobered up instantly.
He knew this was the final and most crucial test question of tonight’s meal.
“Domestically?” Morin pretended not to understand, “Do you mean logistics production or troop mobilization?”
“No, I mean… politics.”
Falkenhayn turned his head, his expression also becoming somewhat different.
“The situation in Dresden now is very delicate. The Social Democrats are making a big fuss in parliament. They are using the material shortages caused by the war to incite workers to strike and demand more rights.”
“And some nobles… also seem to have quite a few complaints about certain decisions made by His Majesty.”
“As a young officer personally awarded a medal by His Majesty, and having a close relationship with His Highness the Crown Prince, while also having… ties with certain commercial families.”
Falkenhayn gave Morin a meaningful look.
“You should also be able to feel these surging undercurrents, right? Then how do you think the Empire should deal with these internal noises?”
This was a lethal question.
No matter which side Morin answered in support of, or what specific political suggestions he proposed, he would instantly be labeled.
In the military tradition of the Saxon Empire, although military interference in politics was the norm, that referred to the level of Moltke the Younger and Falkenhayn.
For a lieutenant colonel to prematurely get involved in choosing political sides was an absolute path to seeking death.
Not to mention, Morin knew very well that whether it was the current Social Democratic Party or those old Junker nobles, neither was a good medicine to save this country.
Even in the world before his transmigration, Morin felt that this country ultimately did not find the path most suitable for its development.
Morin stood up straight, meeting Falkenhayn’s scrutinizing gaze. The expression on his face was calm as water, his eyes so clear not a trace of impurity could be seen.
“Your Excellency the Minister.” Morin’s voice appeared exceptionally clear in the night wind, “I am a soldier.”
“My duty is to destroy the Empire’s enemies on the battlefield, whether with rifles, cannons, or armored airships.”
“As for what the people in parliament are arguing about, what the newspapers are writing, or who is opposing… that is not what I should care about.”
Morin paused slightly, then gave an answer that highly satisfied the two.
“I am not interested in politics, and I completely do not understand politics…”
The air remained quiet for a few seconds.
Falkenhayn stared at Morin for a long time, as if trying to find even the slightest trace of disguise beneath this young face.
But he failed. In Morin’s eyes, there was only a pure determination belonging to a professional soldier.
“Ha…” Falkenhayn suddenly let out a laugh and stubbed out his cigarette butt.
Moltke the Younger, who had been standing nearby without speaking, also walked over at this moment.
He looked at Morin, a satisfied smile on his face. That was the purest appreciation of an elder for a junior.
“That’s right, Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
Moltke the Younger reached out to help Morin adjust his collar, saying earnestly:
“What the Empire currently lacks the least are politicians full of empty talk. What it lacks the most are pure soldiers like you…”
The two big shots were obviously very satisfied with this answer.
In their view, a sharp and obedient knife was far more useful than a knife with its own thoughts.
But obviously, they didn’t know that the last sentence Morin just said was also spoken by another special figure in the world before his transmigration.