Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Advance Without Fear (2)
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November 11, 1902.
An agreement was officially signed between Wilhelm II and Edward VII.
Germany and Britain agreed that the Venezuela issue must be resolved in a way that satisfied both sides.
In simple terms, it was a promise that if one side refused the agreement, the other couldn't proceed either.
And this was entirely Germany's demand.
Who could say for sure whether Britain—having stabbed Germany in the back countless times in the past, just like always—might do the same and strike a separate deal with Venezuela?
Especially with the possibility of American intervention.
Of course, the unscrupulous British press poured out negative articles claiming Britain was being dragged around by Germany, but in the end, Britain accepted Germany's terms.
Then, on December 7, 1902, a month later.
Britain and Germany sent Venezuela an ultimatum demanding the resumption of debt repayments and massive compensation for damages suffered by their citizens due to Venezuela.
Venezuela responded that its domestic laws took precedence above all, and the debt issue wasn't even up for discussion.
It was basically telling them to get lost.
Of course, Britain and Germany, who had anticipated this reaction, dispatched their fleets to the Caribbean to begin a full-scale naval blockade of Venezuela, just as agreed.
On top of that, the Kingdom of Italy sent its fleet to support the blockade, and the waters of the Caribbean now teemed with the combined fleets of Britain, Germany, and Italy, united in fury against Venezuela.
"There's the Italian fleet."
What would the pirates who once ruled these Caribbean waters have thought if they saw this sight?
SMS Friedrich der Große's executive officer, Maximilian von Spee, muttered that to himself as he gazed through his binoculars at the ships approaching from afar, standing on the bridge.
It was a remarkably calm remark, considering battle was just around the corner.
Perhaps he was influenced by the warm southern sun shining brightly despite it being winter.
"Captain. Admiral Montgomery and the British captains request permission to come aboard."
"Mm. Granted."
As Spee focused on the slowly approaching Italian fleet, Eugen Kalau von Hofe—the monumental first captain of SMS Friedrich der Große—nodded readily to the boarding report.
Robert Archibald James Montgomerie.
He was the commander of the Royal Navy's special squadron and the highest-ranking officer among the naval commanders gathered here from the three nations.
His boarding of SMS Friedrich der Große was to discuss and coordinate the upcoming joint operation.
Normally, Captain Hofe and Executive Officer Spee would have gone to Montgomerie's flagship, HMS Charybdis, but while Charybdis was a protected cruiser, SMS Friedrich der Große was the only battleship in the European fleets.
For the sake of German naval prestige—and because Friedrich der Große offered a more comfortable conference setting than the cruiser HMS Charybdis—Captain Hofe gladly offered his ship as the venue.
And the British, including Admiral Montgomery, accepted without protest.
"Welcome aboard SMS Friedrich der Große, Admiral Montgomery."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Captain Hofe. Executive Officer Spee."
Admiral Montgomery suppressed an inward chuckle at the pair's awkward English and returned their greetings.
He then glanced around the interior of Germany's much-rumored new battleship.
'Impressive, indeed.'
He'd heard the rumors, but it was undeniably a majestic vessel that stirred a man's heart.
Of course, from what he'd heard back home, its performance didn't quite match its appearance.
Still, Admiral Montgomery kept his thoughts—and the Royal Navy's typical views on Friedrich der Große—to himself.
After all, the German Navy was their ally right now, and this was their ship.
He wasn't so shameless as to mock the German Navy's folly openly aboard a German vessel.
Admiral Montgomery and the British captains headed straight to the conference room with Captain Hofe, guided by Spee.
Once the Italian captains, who boarded Friedrich der Große a bit later, took their seats, the full-scale operations meeting began.
"Our first and most critical target is 'Puerto Cabello.' I assume no gentleman here objects?"
As Admiral Montgomery pointed to a marked city on the map, the British, German, and Italian captains nodded in unison.
Puerto Cabello.
Venezuela's most vital port and outer harbor for the capital, Caracas.
For the allied fleets of the three nations, it was a place that absolutely had to be blockaded, no exceptions.
Even if it meant firing a few shells.
"Venezuela's navy is currently assembled off Puerto Cabello. As you all know, it's mostly torpedo boats, with a handful of gunboats and one outdated protected cruiser gifted by the Yankees..."
Like most naval officers, the chain-smoking Admiral Montgomery inhaled deeply and continued.
"The problem is the reconnaissance report from a few hours ago: the U.S. fleet was spotted nearby."
The captains, who had been smirking inwardly at the pitiful state of the Venezuelan navy—feeble even compared to regional powers like Brazil or Argentina—now buzzed with unease.
The U.S. fleet?
Were the Americans really planning a full-on war with the combined fleets here for Venezuela's sake?
"Who's commanding the U.S. fleet?"
"Intelligence says Admiral Dewey."
The murmur grew louder at the name Dewey.
George Dewey.
The U.S. Navy's finest admiral and hero of the Spanish-American War.
No one present was unaware of him.
"However, the U.S. Navy is positioned quite a distance from Puerto Cabello and the Venezuelan fleet. I believe the Americans intend to avoid direct engagement with us."
"Ha! Another warning? The Yankees are barking like scared dogs."
Admiral Montgomery nodded in agreement at Spee's sneer.
Then he declared firmly to the captains.
"Nothing changes. We'll blockade Puerto Cabello as planned. Just avoid friction with the U.S. fleet unless they strike first. Does everyone agree?"
"Of course."
"Regia Marina concurs as well."
As the German and Italian captains nodded, Admiral Montgomery stood.
"Then no need to give them extra time. Gentlemen, let's go show those Venezuelans what we're made of."
With that, the meeting ended.
Now it was time for action.
Off Puerto Cabello, Venezuela.
"Damn it. What the hell is the president thinking?"
The Venezuelan navy—every available ship scraped together by orders to defend Puerto Cabello—muttered anxiously without exception.
The Royal Navy. The mighty Royal Navy of the British Empire.
And not just them—the German and Italian navies too.
In contrast, Venezuela's navy consisted of torpedo boats, gunboats, and one rusty cruiser recently tossed their way by the Americans out of pity.
"Fucking government bastards. They're just telling us to go die."
Venezuelan sailors and officers alike cursed the president and government.
They had no loyalty to Castro to begin with.
He was no different from the incompetent, corrupt leaders of Venezuela's past.
"Multiple enemy ships at 2 o'clock!"
Their anger toward their president swelled further as the British, German, and Italian fleets finally appeared.
"Son of a...!"
"We're all dead. Dead!"
At the sight of the enemy fleet—majestic enough to annihilate Venezuela's feeble armada in moments—the Venezuelans clutched their heads in despair.
But that wasn't the end.
The gods were cruel. Incredibly cruel.
"B-Battleship!"
As a massive vessel twice the size of the others emerged from behind the European fleet, flying its black-white-red ensign with majestic pride, the Venezuelan sailors collapsed to their knees, wailing.
"Crazy... The Germans actually brought a battleship!"
"Those ruthless Krauts! We're not Brazil or Argentina—why the hell a battleship?!"
It was over.
Venezuela's navy was finished.
A battleship. An actual battleship.
How were they supposed to take down that monstrous sea beast?
'Better to raise the white flag and surrender than die like dogs...'
"Send a flash signal to the European fleet."
"A-Admiral?"
"This is Venezuelan territorial waters. Tell them to withdraw immediately."
But the Venezuelan admiral's words betrayed his sailors' last glimmer of hope.
'Is this guy insane?'
The sailors stared at their admiral in shock, but he urged them again to send the signal, as if he had some ace up his sleeve.
"The Venezuelans have gone mad."
"Indeed."
Captain Hofe and Spee's reaction to Venezuela's signal was no different from their sailors'.
"Captain. Shall we reply?"
"Did the British send one?"
"No. No response."
"Then ignore it."
Captain Hofe ordered Spee while continuing to observe the Venezuelan navy through his binoculars.
Then—
"Multiple enemy ships at 10 o'clock!"
"What?"
Spee blurted out in surprise at the unexpected lookout report.
He hurriedly raised his binoculars.
"Stars and Stripes! U.S. Navy!"
"Damn Yankees."
Captain Hofe's face darkened at Spee's report.
Soon, the U.S. fleet appeared on the European flank, Stars and Stripes flying boldly.
So brazenly confident it almost made one mistake them for the villains and the Americans for the heroes.
"U.S. Navy! U.S. Navy! We're saved!"
"I knew it!"
Of course, to the Venezuelan navy glimpsing hope at death's door, the U.S. Navy truly were heroes.
As the Venezuelans cheered, the U.S. fleet sliced through the waves toward them before halting leisurely beyond the European fleets' range.
They immediately flashed a signal at the Europeans.
[Do not approach the Venezuelan fleet any further.]
Spee gritted his teeth.
He wanted to urge the captain to show those arrogant Yankees the power of Friedrich der Große, but that would mean all-out war with America.
He had to hold back. He had to...
[European fleets, withdraw from Venezuelan waters immediately. Otherwise, we will force you out.]
"Those Venezuelan bastards!"
But he couldn't tolerate the Venezuelan navy's provocations, emboldened by the U.S. arrival.
"Captain. How about warning shots at the Venezuelan fleet?"
"Warning shots? Hm, good idea. Signal Charybdis."
"Aye, Captain!"
[Permitted.]
Admiral Montgomery's reply was short and swift.
They were quite pissed at the Venezuelans' insolence too.
"All hands, prepare salvo. Target just ahead of Venezuela's cruiser."
"Aye! All hands, prepare salvo!"
As flagship, Captain Hofe ordered a salvo just ahead of Venezuela's protected cruiser—the former USS Philadelphia—anchored slightly behind their main line.
A distance no older battleship could reach, let alone hit.
But Friedrich der Große could manage it with room to spare.
Officers scrambled to operate the fire control systems per their training.
Rumor had it they'd bought up every gyroscope and cutting-edge tech available to develop it, bribed British scientists like Arthur Pollen researching fire control, and mobilized every engineer in the Empire.
The result wasn't perfect, but it paid off handsomely.
Worth every penny and every engineer's sacrifice.
Creeeak—
SMS Friedrich der Große's 12-inch main guns groaned loudly as they trained on the enemy cruiser.
But Spee didn't know.
Nor did Captain Hofe, Admiral Montgomery, the Venezuelan navy, or even the U.S. Navy.
No one did.
Because it was pure coincidence.
A strong wind blowing toward the Venezuelan fleet, or nervous German officers slightly miscalculating on their first combat fire—pure happenstance.
But sometimes, coincidences pile up into the unforeseen.
"Fire!"
BOOM—!!!
With a thunderous roar, Friedrich der Große's 12-inch mains spat flame and shell toward the Venezuelan cruiser.
The shells streaked through the smoke...
"Huh?"
"Wha? Wh-what?!"
CRASH!!!
And plunged straight into the Venezuelan cruiser.
"..."
In that instant, no one could speak.
No one could.
No one had anticipated or understood it.
"Bloody hell..."
Admiral Montgomery, seasoned by countless battles, recovered first and muttered.
He stared, dumbfounded, at the Venezuelan cruiser engulfed in flames—perhaps a magazine hit—and sinking.
What the devil was this?
The Germans said it was just warning fire.
"Then why's the Venezuelan cruiser sinking?!"
No, before that—how did they hit at this range?
His head spun in the incomprehensible chaos.
And then, an image flashed: Admiral Fisher ranting about Kaiser Dewey.
"Fuck."
Realizing the truth he didn't want to believe, Admiral Montgomery clutched his head.
We're screwed.
He—and the Royal Navy—were screwed.