In London, within the third-floor meeting room of the Admiralty, the Secretary of the Army, the First Lord of the Admiralty, and a group of progressive naval officers, including General Winter, held a heated debate on the disastrous Dardanelles campaign.

“We need to stop this operation!” General Winter declared firmly. “Perhaps it had a chance of success in the beginning, but it’s failed now. We have to face that reality. Pouring more troops and resources into a battle with virtually no chance of success isn’t warfare—it’s gambling!”

Many of the younger officers agreed with Winter and shared Charles’s perspective. They believed it was naïve to think that naval power alone could win a war and force an entire country to surrender. Those days had passed. Even if the Allied fleet managed to break through to the Sea of Marmara, even if they could bring Constantinople to its knees, would the Ottoman Empire actually surrender?

The younger officers argued, “They’d simply withdraw their forces a few miles back and leave us to do whatever we please. Why would they surrender?”

The First Lord of the Admiralty’s face was grim as he retorted, “And why isn’t war a gamble? Does one minor setback mean we should declare defeat? No! We must not give up so easily!”

“Sir!” General Winter was incredulous. “A minor setback? We lost three battleships in a single day, and three others are critically damaged and can no longer fight. You call that a ‘minor setback’?”

One-third of the fleet had been destroyed, a fleet that could make or break a nation’s navy.

The First Lord smiled slightly, maintaining his composure as he addressed the room. “Gentlemen, first, let’s look at the casualties of this battle.”

He held up a report and continued, “You may have already seen the figures. Only 728 personnel were killed or injured in this entire engagement.”

He tossed the report onto the table and tapped it with his finger for emphasis. “728. It’s a minimal loss. The army suffers thousands, even tens of thousands, of casualties in a single day. Are we, the navy, going to be frightened by a few hundred losses?”

Of course, the First Lord’s statement lacked any real breakdown of these figures. Everyone knew the truth: nearly all of those 728 casualties had been from the Bouvet.

When the Bouvet was struck, it sank in just over two minutes, and most of its crew hadn’t been able to escape. Over six hundred men went down with the ship.

But the Bouvet was a French ship. The dead were mostly Frenchmen, so for Britain, the loss of life was relatively “minimal.”

General Winter immediately pushed back. “We aren’t the army, sir! We lost six capital ships…”

“Three ships, General Winter,” the First Lord interrupted. “The others were only damaged.”

The First Lord pressed on with renewed vigor, “The damaged ships can be repaired at the Malta dockyard in just a month or six weeks, then return to the fight.”

“As for those that sank, they were due to be scrapped anyway! Even if they hadn’t been sunk, they would soon be dismantled.”

His words incited a wave of furious objections from the officers present.

“Sir, mines don’t distinguish between old and new ships!”

“The only reason older ships were lost was because they led the charge, clearing the way for newer ships! If the older ones are destroyed, the newer ships will be next.”

“If you truly believe that, why don’t you command the Queen Elizabeth yourself?”

The First Lord’s argument defied common sense. Yes, the ships lost might have been “old” by British standards, but globally, they remained formidable. When it came to dealing with mines, the distinction between new and old was irrelevant.

The remark had wounded the pride of the Royal Navy. General Winter stood up, glaring at the First Lord. “Sir, you should understand that these ships are sacred.”

“When sailors first step aboard as young officers, the very first thing they’re taught is this: ‘Abandoning a ship is shameful. You’ll be bound to your ship till the end.'”

“Even as they rise through the ranks, they never forget these words. But here you are, treating these ships as expendable junk, as if they’re nothing more than scrap metal to be dismantled if not sunk.”

The First Lord cut him off, his tone firm. “I understand, General. But to a leader, a ship has no sentimental value in wartime.”

“A ship is a tool, a machine designed to be risked in battle. And when necessary, it must be sacrificed for the greater good, for our shared goals and national policy. I believe this is worth the price!”

General Winter and the other officers were at a loss for how to respond. The First Lord’s argument rang hollow to them, yet he was winning. The naval officers had humanized the ships, while the First Lord stripped them of all sentiment, reducing them to mere political chess pieces.

This was the grim reality of politicians commanding the military. They cared nothing for the morale, emotions, or real conditions on the battlefield. Their calculations were limited to political gains and public image.

And politicians often had sharper tongues than soldiers. In the battlefield of the conference room, the First Lord easily bested his military counterparts, leaving them speechless—even though reality had already proven him wrong.

In the end, the British Royal Navy reluctantly agreed to continue the campaign, though they rejected the foolish notion that “the navy alone can win.”

This suited the First Lord’s plans perfectly. He had already convinced the Secretary of the Army to join the operation.

Their thinking was simple: “The navy was so close to victory; a little army support will guarantee a glorious conclusion to this campaign.”

When the dust settled, they would be heralded as the architects of a grand victory—the very ones who turned the tide in the Great War. Their success would bring unimaginable political rewards.

But General Winter, deeply pessimistic, sent Charles a telegram:

“I feel as if we’re sinking deeper into a quagmire, stumbling from one disaster toward an even greater one.”

“But I can’t stop it. All I can do is place my hope in you.”

“If anyone can save them, I believe it’s you. Please, be ready.”

The message struck a chord with Charles. Up until now, he’d been focused on preventing this campaign from devolving into a catastrophe, hoping that intelligence could somehow nudge it in a better direction. But it was clear that his efforts had fallen short.

If he couldn’t prevent it, then perhaps he could prepare for the inevitable.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep