Chapter 1 Turkish Decree (4)

  "Aw, I had already written all the drafts, but when I was uploading them, the starting point system crashed and I can only re-code them again. What bad luck!!!"

  In January 1914, the storm that had been raging for days finally began to subside, and warm sunshine broke through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the Golden Horn. The magnificent Sultan's Crystal Palace emerged from the sea mist, its icy peak glinting in the sunlight as Turkish fishermen scurried about in their small boats, hastening to reach the Aegean Sea. The Marmara Sea was calm and peaceful, and the "Wolf of the Sky" tanker, which regularly traveled between Hamburg, Germany and Istanbul, Turkey, suddenly let out a loud whistle and slowly entered the Dardanelles.

  Near the Bosphorus, the old ironclad coastal defense ship Barbaros Hayreddin is undergoing a gunnery test. It's a 105mm single-barrel quick-firing secondary gun, a Knüppel product, with a firing rate of 10.5 rounds per minute. Turkish gunners wearing high-crowned cylindrical fur hats with the distinctive Anatólia style are busy completing the prescribed actions beside the secondary guns on board Barbaros Hayreddin.

  "The fourth artillery group is ready, requesting instructions!"

  Wrapped in a German naval uniform coat, wearing shiny high-top boots, and with an armed belt around her waist, Wang Haitian seemed to have just woken up, her slightly drooping eyelids moving slightly, her arm holding the stopwatch shaking elegantly, freezing time at 32.7 seconds.

  "37 seconds?! The lit cigarette switched from the otaku's left hand to his right, and was then stuffed into his mouth. Choking smoke spewed out of the otaku's mouth as a barrage of sharp, biting words poured out like a Gatling gun, in a metallic storm that showed no quarter to the gunner standing on the deck: "37 seconds?! A small-caliber cannon takes 37 seconds from adjusting firing parameters to completing firing preparations! Tell me, are you professional soldiers from Turkey or shepherds from the Anatolian Plateau? Is it the instructor's level that's too low or is there a problem with your IQ?! Can you be any worse than Stenzel?!"

  King Haide mouth watering, eyes open saying nonsense, also don't care if his mixed Turkish language with North German dialect can be understood by the new moon flag sailors in front of him. He wants to find back the scene he lost at Kiel dock and naval academy that year. With a ferocious face, he scolds the group of Turkish gunners in front of him, who are on average less than 20 years old, until they are ashamed: "If this ship were on the battlefield, with your inefficient efficiency, we would sink five or six times for every enemy ship we sank, and that's when the Brandenburg-class is at its best!"

  "We were originally herders, if not for the high income of the navy..." The fourth group of gunners who messed up the artillery assessment were red-faced and trembling with fear, each shrinking their heads and not daring to breathe, fearing that they would provoke King Haitian's even more brutal suppression.

  "And another thing, I asked for armor-piercing shells and you gave me a high-explosive shell instead. Fine, I'll accept the high-explosive shell, at least it can damage the upper structure and cause casualties. But before loading, can't you wipe off the grease on the shell?! We're firing killing machines, not greasy bread! On the deck, the former peasant-turned-soldier vented his emotions without restraint, ridiculing and scolding the data-poor gunners until he was hoarse and his throat was on fire. He then sneered: 'Fourth squad, double your artillery training next week!'"

  "Xilem is really a devil, those poor gunners were scolded like that just for being a few seconds late..." On the bridge of Barbarossa-Hayreddin, a stoker was watching the commotion, occasionally turning his head to say to the quartermaster beside him with a tinge of sympathy.

  "Who says it's not, Heidi-Saylem is literally the nightmare of us Turks!" Looking at the fourth gunner who was scolded by the tyrant Bekan until he was covered in blood, the logistics soldier working in the kitchen patted his chest and said with a lingering fear: "Fortunately, I'm just a cook, no one has ever asked me to finish a meal within 30 seconds..."

  "What's the big deal with this Heiti-Xilem, is he more hateful than those old-fashioned British advisors? Why do you all seem to be afraid of him?" Just as the boiler soldier and the cook were whispering to each other, a young gunner who was standing a short distance away cautiously approached, adjusted his fur hat, and timidly interjected an untimely remark: "You know, we are descendants of Suleiman the Magnificent, and our Crescent Moon Fleet also has two dreadnoughts!"

  At the end of last December, news of the successful negotiations in London arrived, and Constantinople became a sea of joy.

  The Ottoman Empire had suffered too many humiliations and setbacks in the ten Russo-Turkish wars, the 1878 Berlin Congress, the 1897 Greco-Turkish War, the 1911 Italo-Turkish War, and the two Balkan Wars that had just subsided. The Turkish people yearned for independence and self-strengthening more than at any time in history. After the defeat of the First Balkan War, a military coup occurred in the Ottoman Empire, and the liberal Minister of War Naz?m was killed, while the veteran politician Kamil was forced to resign. The Young Turks took over the government again, establishing a new cabinet led by Defense Minister Enver, Navy Minister Cemal, and Interior Minister Talat. The military oligarchy prepared for war, trying to recover the glory of their ancestors through violence; from the Thracian peninsula to the Anatolian plateau, from the small townspeople of Constantinople to the poor fishermen in the southern Black Sea coast, Turkish civilians also generously donated money to the naval fund, trying to save the declining empire. In a sense, Sultan Osman I and the Re?adiye-class battleship had become the hope for the resurgence of the Turkish nation, so that when young sailors mentioned the still-under-construction Sultan Osman I, they felt a sense of confidence and self-assurance.

  "Weren't you on the Bismarck?" The stoker gazed at the ignorant gunner with disdain, until the young sailor explained that he was a new recruit who had been temporarily assigned to the sixth gun unit, and only then did the stoker put away his surprise, covering his mouth and repeatedly saying "what a pity".

  "Good luck, sailor. The British advisor's stick may be fierce, but it's just flesh and blood pain. Instructor Seylem will never hit you, but he'll use the sharpest and most poisonous language to make your soul restless and miserable." The cook doing logistics slightly raised his head with a proud expression, patted the young sailor's shoulder, and introduced him in a familiar tone: "Heidi-Seylem, joined the navy in 1894, graduated from Kiel Naval Academy in 1897, promoted to naval lieutenant in 1898 and participated in the German Navy Expansion Act, performed outstandingly in the Far East Relief War in 1900. In 1907, he became the commander of the German East African Marine Corps and was promoted to senior lieutenant, and came to Istanbul in December 1912..."

  "Twenty years to get promoted two ranks?" The newly enlisted cannoneer carefully savored the chef's introduction, which was full of ups and downs, and questioned the loopholes in the words of the chef and the boiler soldier: "Can this kind of quality make you fear the enemy like a tiger?"

  "Xī Lài Mǔ is a frequent guest of the high-ranking officials, a honored guest of the three giants!" The gunner's questioning enraged the boiler soldier, who raised his voice and let out a strange cry. Suddenly, all other noises on the bridge ceased, leaving only the sound of people gasping in shock.

  "Prepare the sixth gun group!" A sinister and eerie voice came from below the bridge, the newly enlisted gunner's legs went weak, gritted his teeth and rushed down to the bridge, with a tragic expression he dived into the gunner ranks.

  "Fire cannon, direction 233, distance 11 chains, high-explosive shell one round!"

  Wang Haitao, a typical otaku, sat slumped on the stairway beside the secondary gun, holding a nearly extinguished cigarette in his left hand and a watch in his right hand, shouting at the top of his lungs.

  As soon as Wang Haitie's voice fell, the gunners quickly drilled into the secondary guns with cannon shields. Under the command of the gunner, the operator adjusted the firing angle and elevation angle of the artillery with the help of the hydraulic press, while the gunners skillfully opened the breech and pushed the high-explosive shells sent by the projectile machine into the barrel. In less than 31 seconds, this 105mm recoilless rapid-fire cannon had completed its shooting preparation.

  "Report to the officer, No. 6 gun team is ready, requesting instructions..." The young and simple Turkish naval sailor stood pitifully in the turret, staring at Silim's purple lips with fear and unease, waiting for the tyrant's nitpicking.

  "35 seconds, this score is already infinitely close to my psychological expectations for you......" Xilai deliberately dragged out a long tone, and just before the gunner's heart was filled with a hint of luck, he shattered their illusions: "But... I'm still not satisfied!"

  "Why? The training outline only requires 30 seconds." A newly enlisted gunner asked with his head shrunk.

  "Although this is just a weekly assessment, and we're using training shells, that doesn't mean I can smoke near the turret. Everyone knows the regulations for damage control on board, so why didn't anyone stop me?! The New Moon Fleet's naval champion, who had been dominating for many years, impatiently explained in a few words, and then lazily added: "No need to explain, add 100 rounds of cannon training!"

  The brutal artillery assessment ended, and the gunners trudged back to their positions with their heads hung low in dejection. They reluctantly began the simple and monotonous training exercises. But being young, the Turkish sailors' spirits quickly recovered. Braving the icy sea winds, they shed their thick outer garments and, exposing their upper bodies, sang an ancient and melancholic Turkish folk song as they repeated the mechanical motions of operating the cannons on the winter seas.

  "Xilem, I really don't understand where the driving force behind your dedication comes from..." Gunther-Lüttgens stood on the commanding tower with a broad view, looking at Xilem who was climbing up the commanding tower with a scowl, the cigarette butt between his fingers flickering. "The British aren't as diligent as you!"

  In consideration of competition with Germany, the British Empire sent advisors to the impoverished and weak Ottoman Navy, sparing no effort in helping the Turks rebuild their navy, attempting to expand its influence over Turkey. The starting point for the British was good, but the inherent contempt that proud John Bull had for the "Sick Man of Western Asia" had penetrated deep into his bones, and their actual actions always deviated from this, to the extent that General Mark Kerr, who worked with the Turks, believed that "the Turks were not born to be sailors", and instead went on to advise the Greek Navy, which was "small but very clean and tidy", in a final act of treachery.

  In 1912, Lüttgens was lured into the Ottoman Navy by the German Naval Ministry's inflammatory rhetoric. At that time, he was full of passion and ambition, vowing to fight for German interests. However, due to the British advisors' overt and covert obstruction, language barriers in a foreign land, and the "odd" Turkish sailors, Lüttgens soon found himself disillusioned with reality. Within less than a month, he wanted to return home in tears, and his attitude towards training work also became perfunctory.

  When Lüders first met Wang Haitian, the house man was already over 30 years old, middle-aged with a family to support, and was very frugal. At first, Lüders was certain that Wang Haitian had come for the high overseas allowance of the Navy Department and the huge commission offered by the Turkish government, but from the house man's meticulous attitude towards training work, Lüders hesitated again.

  "Let's not consider that the Turks don't have the makings of a naval power, even if you could defy heaven and whip up a barely usable team with trash talk, it would still only benefit the British. Silim, this is a one-man show without an audience! Who can see distant Turkey?"

  The otaku extinguished the cigarette butt, casually swept a glance at the small traffic boat that was slowly chasing the Shanghai defense ship, leaned against the cold and piercing armor shield of the command tower, and let out a long and distant sigh.

  "Because... because this is the final port of call for my naval career!"

  Note

  1. Barbaros Hayreddin, originally the German Brandenburg-class battleship Kurfürst Friedrich Wilhelm, with a full load displacement of 10,013 tons, maximum speed of 17 knots, and six 260mm main guns, was sold to the Ottoman Navy in 1901.

  2. Sublime Porte: another name for the Turkish government.