The night was as black as ink, enveloping the Admiralty building in Dresden. This structure, a symbol of the Saxon Empire’s naval ambitions, lay dormant in the darkness like a giant beast, with only a single window on the top floor emitting a dim yellow light.
Grand Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz stood before the massive chart table. The cigar in his hand had burned down to the nub, but he seemed entirely oblivious.
He had just ordered his adjutant to summon the staff officers of the Operations Department back for overtime. At this hour, the order seemed somewhat unreasonable, but he couldn’t afford to care about that.
“If the Britannians really make a move…” Tirpitz muttered to himself, his gaze falling once more on the enormous sea chart.
Having dealt with them for so many years, he knew the Britannians all too well.
Those island pirates would do anything to survive.
If Lieutenant Colonel Morin’s speculation proved true, the Imperial Navy would be presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to turn the tables.
But he had to be fast.
Not to beat the Britannians to the punch, but to preempt His Majesty the Emperor.
As the Grand Admiral of the Empire, Tirpitz had a constant thorn in his side.
Compared to the Army General Staff next door—a finely tuned machine operating with extreme professionalism—the Navy’s command structure was an absolute mess.
The Saxon Imperial Army possessed a clear, professional brain: its General Staff.
Despite the political flaws perceived by career soldiers like Tirpitz, it was undeniable that by the outbreak of war in 1914, the Saxon officer corps had forged the most efficient army general staff in the world.
And the Navy?
The Navy was essentially Emperor Albert II’s “big toy.”
Tirpitz smiled bitterly.
The Imperial Navy nominally had an Admiralty Staff, but in reality, all fleet commanders reported directly to Emperor Albert II himself… not to the Admiralty Staff.
This created a highly absurd situation: the Navy’s administration and its command operations were entirely separated.
This was clearly an abnormal state of affairs, a fact recognized by almost every senior admiral in the Imperial Navy.
However, the Imperial Navy, built entirely on the Emperor’s support, was powerless to change it.
Tirpitz, as the Minister of the Navy and Grand Admiral… spent his days not figuring out how to command the fleet to defeat the Britannians, but arguing with penny-pinchers in parliament to squeeze out a budget to build warships.
As for how the fleet moved, where it sailed, and who it fought—that depended entirely on His Majesty’s mood.
While Albert II was much more sane than Wilhelm II of the other timeline, his obsession with and desire to control the Navy were no less intense. He frequently bypassed the professionals to issue commands that left them not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
“No fleet is permitted to sail without a comprehensive contingency plan.”
This was the absolute order issued by His Majesty after the defeat at the Battle of Heligoland Bight.
This order effectively shackled the High Seas Fleet and terrified the already cautious admirals.
No one wanted to bear the responsibility for losing warships, and no one wanted to anger the Emperor.
Consequently, everyone opted for the safest and most incompetent approach: hiding in port as a “fleet in being.”
What Grand Admiral Tirpitz and other senior naval officials, including Albert II who directly commanded the Navy, did not know, was that the Holy Britannia Empire’s Royal Navy across the Channel always tried to guess the Saxon Navy’s movements using the rational logic of professional soldiers.
However, it was obvious that neither First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill nor any Britannian naval officials realized that the Saxon Imperial Navy was not governed by rational, militarily scientific thought at all.
Because of all these reasons, the Saxon Imperial Navy was always a few steps behind when formulating operational plans.
This was why Tirpitz had summoned the staff officers in the dead of night…
He knew His Majesty too well. If he reported the situation without any preparation, Albert II would likely get hot-headed and propose completely impractical operational demands.
But if the Admiralty Staff could present a detailed, logically rigorous set of contingency plans—outlining high, medium, and low-risk strategies, and clearly analyzing the pros and cons—then the Emperor’s choices would be confined within that framework.
This is what’s called “using professionalism to guide decision-making.”
Within an hour of Tirpitz’s order, the on-duty and off-duty staff officers of the Admiralty’s Operations Department began to arrive.
The off-duty officers had mostly been dragged from warm beds. Some had messy hair and wore obvious expressions of grogginess.
But when they saw the 66-year-old Grand Admiral Tirpitz sitting at the head of the table, his face dark as water, all their resentment vanished instantly, replaced by a tense, chilling atmosphere.
“Gentlemen, I have summoned you because we may be facing the greatest shift in the situation since the war began.”
In the most concise language, he relayed the hypothesis about “the Britannians potentially attacking the Gallic fleet.”
As he spoke, the eyes of the initially groggy staff officers gradually brightened. It was the excitement of professional soldiers scenting an opportunity in battle, the fervor of hunters spotting a weakness in their prey.
“If this is true…”
A colonel, the Director of Operations, adjusted his glasses, his voice trembling slightly.
“Then the balance of power in the Mediterranean will fundamentally reverse. The Britannian Mediterranean Fleet will be at an absolute disadvantage. As long as we…”
“As long as we can move.”
Tirpitz coldly interrupted him, continuing:
“The problem now is, how do we move? How much do we move? If the Britannian Home Fleet moves south to support them, how do we coordinate in the North Sea? What if those Austro-Hungarian bathtub toys are afraid to leave the Adriatic?”
A barrage of questions hit the assembled staff officers like cannon fire.
The previously excited conference room fell instantly silent. Everyone realized the gravity of the situation.
This was a major strategic shift where a single move affected the whole; there was no room for carelessness.
“Get to work.”
Tirpitz rapped his knuckles on the table, his tone brokering no argument:
“I want to see the first draft of three contingency plans for different scenarios before noon tomorrow.”
“First: The Gallic Navy is completely annihilated. Second: The Gallic Navy resists in port and inflicts heavy damage on the Britannians. Third, and most importantly: If we are to intervene, how do we intervene?”
With Grand Admiral Tirpitz’s command, the entire Admiralty Staff Operations Department whirred into motion like a long-rusted machine forcibly injected with lubricating oil.
Naval officers continuously reviewed various documents. Operational staff argued until they were red in the face around the chart tables, while telegraph operators in the nearby communications room tapped out urgent rhythms on their machines.
Grand Admiral Tirpitz was not idle either. He returned to his office, laid out some stationery, and began drafting a report to Imperial Chancellor Hollweg.
He knew this was not just a naval military operation; it was a game involving the diplomatic level.
To get the Austro-Hungarian Navy’s warships moving, coordination between navies was not enough. It had to be elevated to the national level, with diplomats and the Navy applying pressure together.
It would be best if they could find a way to drag the fence-sitting Papal Theocracy into the fray, getting their three dreadnoughts to join the battle. That would be much safer.
Furthermore, bringing Chancellor Hollweg along to an audience with the Emperor was also a way to “share the risk.”
After all, while the Chancellor might be a layman in military matters, he was an old hand at getting Albert II to accept parliamentary advice.
The sky outside the window gradually turned pale. The Dresden morning carried a hint of chill.
Tirpitz set down his pen and rubbed his aching temples.
Looking at the initial draft of the report on his desk, a smile of relief finally touched the corners of his mouth.
The giant ship that was the Imperial Navy was finally beginning to turn.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the city, the instigator of this Admiralty earthquake—Lieutenant Colonel Morin—was sleeping soundly.
He had no idea how many eyes had turned red and how much hair had been lost in the Imperial Admiralty Staff because of his “casual chat” at the dinner table.
For Morin, he currently only needed to worry about three things:
First, how to make that ugly half-track as reliable as possible.
Second, how to quickly get the instruction unit adapted to fighting in the terrain of the Balkan Peninsula.
Third, when he could go home and rest.
The morning sun pierced through the thin mist, shining on the instruction unit’s camp on the outskirts of Dresden. The air was filled with the damp smell of soil and a faint scent of engine oil.
“Rumble, rumble, rumble…”
A rough, arrhythmic engine roar shattered the camp’s tranquility.
Morin stood at the edge of the training ground, clipboard in hand, frowning slightly as he watched the steel monster frolicking in the mud pit before him.
This was the D7 experimental chassis after another night of adjustments by the engineers.
Morin had to admit, the Demag engineers weren’t blowing hot air.
While this early half-track armored vehicle was ugly, it certainly had power.
The half-track roared as it plunged into a mud-filled crater. The front end dipped violently, the two front wheels splashing up large swaths of muddy water. Immediately, the tracked rear section kicked in. The track links bit hard into the slippery mud, and with the distinct whine of the radiant crystal internal combustion engine, the heavy vehicle body was forced out.
“The passability is even better than I imagined.”
Manstein, standing beside Morin, spoke with a hint of surprise: “If it were our current trucks, they would have gotten stuck long ago.”
“That’s for sure~”
Morin smiled and checked the box next to “Good Passability” on his clipboard.
“This is the charm of tracks: large contact area, low ground pressure! But the noise and vibration are also something else…”
By this time, the D7 had climbed out of the mud pit and was racing along the uneven dirt road.
The test soldiers sitting in the open rear compartment, even though gripping the handrails tightly, were jolted pale. This was clearly not a comfortable experience.
“But we can’t consider comfort for now. After all, we’re going to war, not a picnic.” Morin closed his notebook. “As long as it doesn’t jolt the soldiers’ breakfast out, it’s considered a pass.”
On the day the D7 chassis started running in the instruction unit’s camp, the soldiers privately nicknamed it the “Iron Mule.”
Because while it didn’t run very fast and had a bad temper (loud noise, strong vibration), it could truly do the work… It could pull, it could run, and it wasn’t picky about the road.
For the next few days, besides continuing the tests on the half-track armored vehicle, Morin, along with Manstein and the others, began studying the terrain and climate of the Balkan Peninsula.
At the same time, they began adjusting the instruction unit’s training content and optimizing certain tactics.
They also had the soldiers who originated from the Bavarian mountain troops summarize some experience in mountain operations and improved some current combat regulations.
Although Morin didn’t explicitly tell the rest of the regimental headquarters, seeing the direction of his current preparations, Manstein and Kleist also guessed that the instruction unit would likely be heading to the Balkan Peninsula to fight in the near future.
The days passed in this busy and fulfilling manner.
As the various training regimens got on track, the instruction unit’s operations became smoother and smoother.
Paulus, who had been transferred to the regimental headquarters earlier, also demonstrated astonishing organizational skills. He didn’t even need Manstein and Kleist’s help to handle complex daily affairs methodically.
And Morin also wondered if he could take it a bit easier and go back to Cecilia’s estate to rest—after all, he now had a group of excellent Imperial Army officers gathered under him.
Whether it was the veterans of the instruction unit like Manstein, Kleist, and Kraus, or the newly joined Rommel, Guderian, Model, Paulus, and others, they had all shown their shining points.
So now, many things in the instruction unit no longer needed Morin to handle every detail personally.
According to Manstein, Morin, as a Lieutenant Colonel commander, should have long ago, like other field-grade officers, let his subordinates handle things and not tire himself out so much.
Although Morin wanted to argue that after being enhanced by the “Second-Generation ‘Sentinel’ Modification Potion,” his stamina and energy had vastly increased.
This enhanced stamina was not only used for combat; it could equally support high-intensity command and operations.
However, since the instruction unit could now operate normally, he really should delegate a bit and let his excellent officers have some freedom to perform…
This afternoon, Morin stood by the window of the headquarters, looking at the bustling yet orderly training scenes outside, the longing he had suppressed for a long time beginning to overflow again.
“The unit can run on its own now. Should I give myself a vacation?”
“Hmm… tonight then.”
Morin made a silent decision—go back for a trip and rush back early tomorrow morning.
Although it was only one night, if he hurried, there was enough time.
However, plans can never keep up with changes.
Just as Morin had packed his bags, preparing to give Cecilia and the others a surprise, a car bearing the emblem of the Teutonic Knights came to a screeching halt at the entrance of the headquarters.
The person who stepped out was not an ordinary messenger, but a senior knight squire in a black and white uniform.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
The squire gave a standard knight’s salute, then respectfully handed over a wax-sealed letter.
“His Excellency the Grand Master invites you to Koblenz.”
Morin took the letter and scanned it quickly. The summarized content was very simple:
The improved Armored Knight and the “Two-Seater Armored Knight” prototypes had completed all preliminary tests and were ready for the next phase: combat testing.
Leonia was inviting Morin, this important “partner,” to come to the Teutonic Knights’ base in Koblenz and participate in this combat test.
Looking at the invitation, Morin felt a mix of exasperation and amusement.
What was this?
On one side, a tender trap; on the other, a man’s romance—giant robots.
If it were before, Morin might have chosen the former without hesitation.
But upon hearing the words “two-seater prototype,” his inner “Soul of Steel” predictably flared up again.
That was equivalent to a two-seater heavy bipedal gunship!
While it couldn’t solve Morin’s current “sexual frustration” problem, it was a crucial step in pushing the Armored Knight from pure cold-weapon melee combat into a modernized, comprehensive combat platform.
“I understand.”
Morin sighed, shoving that unexecuted “family visit plan” back to the bottom of his heart once more.
An hour later, cutting it close to the train schedule, Morin jumped onto a military train bound for Koblenz.
Watching the scenery rushing backwards outside the window, Morin shook his head helplessly.
“Sister Cecilia, it seems I’ll have to make you wait a few more days…”
Koblenz, this ancient city situated at the confluence of the Rhine and Moselle rivers, had always been one of the Teutonic Knights’ most important forward bases on the Western Front in previous battles.
However, as General Mackensen pushed the front line to Rouen, this base had long been downgraded from a forward base to a rear base.
When Morin stepped off the train, a black car bearing the emblem of the Teutonic Knights was already waiting by the platform.
The car followed Morin’s familiar route, passing through layers of checkpoints to reach the base, finally stopping in front of a massive semi-circular warehouse.
This warehouse was obviously newly built. It was surrounded by sentries, and a few knight squires in power armor could even be seen patrolling.
As an aside, these squires were also using the modifications Morin had previously applied to Ludwig’s squad’s squires—a mounting rack was added to the rear of their magitech power armor, allowing for the direct installation of a heavy machine gun to enhance firepower.
As soon as he stepped out of the car, that familiar tall figure came into view.
Leonia von Fortis, the Grand Master known as the “Golden Lion,” was still wearing a practical knight’s uniform today. Her long blonde hair was casually tied back, revealing a slender neck.
Standing there, she looked like a drawn sword, her sharp edge exposed yet striking.
“Long time no see, Lieutenant Colonel Morin. You look much sturdier.”
Leonia looked at Morin, a hint of a smile in her azure eyes, and even couldn’t resist punching Morin’s chest.
As one of the military’s top brass, although she didn’t know the specific details, she was aware of the changes that had occurred in Morin’s body.
Morin rubbed his nose, smiling somewhat awkwardly: “Still a gap compared to you, Grand Master… Let’s get down to business. I heard those two big guys are ready?”
“Follow me.”
Leonia didn’t waste words, turning and walking towards the warehouse door.
As the heavy metal doors slowly opened, a cold draft carrying the scents of radiant crystal fuel, coolant, and metal rushed out.
The interior space of the warehouse was massive. High-intensity lighting equipment hung from the dome, illuminating the entire space as bright as day.
And right in the center of the warehouse stood two steel giants.
The one on the left, Morin recognized at a glance, should be the improved version of the “Siegfried Mark 1″…
Well, according to the latest naming conventions of the Imperial Army, it should be called “Ritterpanzer I B ‘Siegfried’.” ‘A’ represents the original version, and ‘B’ the improved version. If further upgrades are made, suffixes like C, D, and E will be used. Just like the Panzer III.
Compared to the somewhat flimsy homogeneous steel armor of the original, this new improved “Siegfried Mark 1” was noticeably “plumper” around the chest and shoulders.
The biggest difference besides that was the installation of an MG08 heavy machine gun under each of the Armored Knight’s left and right mechanical arms.
Compared to the temporary modifications the instruction unit had previously made to Ludwig’s Armored Knights, the Teutonic Knights’ own improvements were obviously much more refined.
“This is the ‘Siegfried Mark 1B’.”
An old man with gray hair and thick-soled glasses—Chief Technician Staudinger—popped out from behind the scaffolding like a ghost, rushing up to Morin with an excited face.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin, you have no idea… Damn it, this thing is absolutely brilliant!”
Chief Technician Staudinger waved the wrench in his hand, highly emotional, saliva flying.
“Following your idea, we pressed that special fiberglass insulation board behind the ceramics… The test results are simply perfect! It not only absorbs the impact when the ceramic shatters but also greatly reduces the armor’s weight!”
“Moreover, we also referenced your instruction unit’s modification ideas…”
The old man pointed to the two thick gun barrels mounted under the machine’s arms.
“Without compromising the flexibility of the mechanical arms, we added two heavy machine guns. While it adds some weight, with the weight reduction from the composite armor offsetting it, the machine’s overall mobility remains almost unchanged!”
“Oh, right, these two heavy machine guns are also temporary. We might ultimately use 20mm short-barreled autocannons…”
As Chief Technician Staudinger introduced it, Morin stepped closer to the Armored Knight and reached out to touch that layer of cold composite armor. The texture was hard and thick. In his eyes, this was not just a layer of armor; it was the first materialization of an epoch-crossing protection concept in this world.
“Beautifully done, Master Staudinger…” Morin praised sincerely.
“Hehe, this is just the appetizer.”
Staudinger smiled mysteriously and stepped aside, pointing to the even more massive machine on the right.
“This is the main character today.”
Morin’s gaze shifted to the right, his breath catching slightly.
It was an entirely new machine he had never seen before.
It stood half a head taller than the “Siegfried Mark 1B,” its overall lines more rugged and powerful.
The chest armor presented a unique wedge-shaped structure. This was clearly designed with future “armor vs. shell confrontations” in mind, using this structure to increase the probability of ricochets.
The entire back structure was also a size larger, with two thick exhaust pipes protruding from it, hinting at the terrifying power output this machine possessed.
At the same time, “turret”-like devices protruded from the left and right sides of the back. One side housed a long, slender gun barrel, while the other side held a structure similar to twin machine guns.
But none of these were the main point…
The main point was its cockpit.
The single-seat cockpit originally located dead center in the chest was now longer, wider, and clearly divided into front and rear sections.
“‘Projekt Walküre’…”
Leonia walked to the foot of this machine, looking up at the majestic steel giant, and said calmly:
“Meaning ‘Valkyrie,’ the messenger who guides heroic spirits to the battlefield.”
“This is… the two-seater type?” Morin stepped forward, carefully examining this creation that looked somewhat sci-fi even in this magical world.
“That’s right.”
Staudinger took over the conversation, also looking proudly at this tall giant.
“According to your concept, Lieutenant Colonel Morin, we adopted a tandem front-and-rear cockpit layout…”
“The front pilot is responsible for the machine’s movement and close-quarters melee combat, synchronizing with the machine through ‘Sympathetic Operation’.”
“The rear Weapons Officer is responsible for target acquisition, communication, and controlling the additional weapon systems.”
Following the old man’s finger, Morin saw a complex mechanical structure mounted on the ‘Valkyrie’s’ back.
That was not only the location of the internal combustion-magitech hybrid power pack, but the left and right sides also integrated additional long-range weapon components.
Staudinger explained: “On the left is the ‘RAK 15’ 50mm high-muzzle-velocity anti-armor gun that the Krupp factory produced according to our requirements… However, we haven’t figured out how to reload it yet, so it has to be manually reloaded by the Weapons Officer in the back seat…”
Morin: “Wait, hold on, what do you mean ‘manually reloaded by the Weapons Officer’???”
Before Morin could voice his complaints about what he had just heard, Leonia on the other side suddenly turned around. Her azure eyes stared intently at Morin, a challenging smile curling her lips.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin, just looking isn’t going to do anything… You proposed the theory, and you provided the design concept.”
She pointed to the open cockpit hatch of the ‘Valkyrie’ and extended her hand to Morin.
“What do you say, Lieutenant Colonel Morin? Do you dare to come up with me and make this ‘Valkyrie’ truly come alive?”
Morin looked at the hand extended towards him, then at the silently towering steel giant.
He could feel the blood in his veins beginning to boil bit by bit. It was his “Soul of Steel” completely igniting, the primal desire to pilot a steel beast.
He took a deep breath and grasped Leonia’s hand, feeling the strength and warmth radiating from her palm.
“I’d be glad to accompany you, Your Excellency Grand Master.”
“Then let’s begin.”
Leonia gripped Morin’s wrist and led him towards the elevator leading up to the cockpit.