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The major port city of Hambrück was about an hour away from the capital, as the mage flies. The streets below were quiet as I glided through the predawn gloom. As I drew near the coast, I saw some fishermen bustling about their ships, preparing for the day's work. My destination, the largest shipyard in the country, was immediately obvious even before I overflew it.

I huffed slightly in frustration as I descended to land by road leading to the front gate. I could have spent another half hour in bed if I hadn't decided to depart early in case I got lost. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

I touched down and cut off the power to my computation orb. Doing so exposed me to the icy breeze that had been held at bay by my passive shield. I shuddered, drawing my overcoat tight. The weather this far north was no joke, even if it was just the end of October, not yet truly winter.

Of course, a veteran from the Norden campaign would laugh at the idea of being bothered by this little cold snap. And they'd have a point. I'd spent my difficult nights lately sipping hot cocoa and reading reports by a fire, not huddled in a shell hole trying to keep my hands warm enough to function. I frowned. I really needed to stop letting Weiss postpone my participation in the magical academy's training exercises.

I was almost ready to resort to the use of my computation orb as a hand warmer when a black Rolls Royce sedan rolled to a stop in front of me. The back door opened to reveal Mr. Lloyd, the ambassador from the Allied Kingdom. He was joined by a second man whom he introduced as a Mr. Flemons, his naval attache. Mr. Flemons was emitting the low level of mana usage associated with a recording spell. Good. I had been a little worried that they wouldn't take my offer seriously.

"Thanks for coming," I said.

"We could hardly refuse your invitation," Mr. Lloyd replied.

"I suppose not," I said. "Oh, before I forget, congratulations on dropping the gold standard. I'm glad your parliament finally saw sense."

"Yes, well," Mr. Lloyd said, "let's hope that it helps with the present difficulties."

"When you're drowning, letting go of an anchor chain can't hurt," I said. "Although it would be better if you opened up to international trade. You can survive on trading with your colonies, but wouldn't you rather thrive?"

"You should be writing speeches for the opposition," Mr. Lloyd replied.

"You flatter me," I said.

I turned and led the way to the front gate. The guard waved us in without comment. Waiting just inside was the ensign who would be acting as our tour guide.

Just a week earlier, I had been notified that our new ships were ready to put to sea. At first, I had taken it as very welcome news that we were ahead of schedule, as they weren't supposed to be complete until next March. It was a stark contrast with our other military projects. Our attempt at a 45-ton tank had set itself on fire the first time it was taken for a drive, while the prototype of our new fighter had crashed during its second flight. A certain amount of unexpected crashing and burning was expected on the cutting edge of military technology, of course, but I naturally preferred to receive good news.

My good mood had been dampened after an admiral explained to me the difference between putting a ship in the sea and a ship being ready for service. The ships were actually on schedule rather than ahead of schedule. The navy had simply allocated a healthy amount of time for testing of the new platforms before putting them on the official register. Still, I couldn't complain. At least things were going to plan and nothing was on fire.

Another new tidbit of information had come in from Elya, namely that the Allied Kingdom was unusually curious about our new ships. I was surprised to learn that. Our naval budget would be a rounding error in the funding going to the Royal Navy, and they certainly weren't going to learn anything from our shipbuilding techniques. On the other hand, I could understand that a country whose defense depended on the strength of their navy felt it needed to pay close attention to foreign navies, no matter how small.

It was cute, how proud Elya was of stymieing the Allied Kingdom's efforts. I appreciated that she had given us the choice about how much information we wanted to reveal. However, we didn't really benefit much from keeping them in the dark. While I wanted the Allied Kingdom to take us seriously, I didn't want them to feel any genuine concern over our navy. Since our new ships were in fact no threat to their navy, the easiest way to allay any fears they might have should be to let them have a good look at our ships.

The simplest way to accomplish that goal was to invite an observer from the Allied Kingdom to take a tour of our new ships before they were launched. I'd asked the navy to provide their friendliest, most blindly jingoistic sailor to act as our guide. I had to admit, however unhappy they must be with their budget, the navy was still following my orders. Even just walking through the shipyard, the ensign wasted no time before pronouncing Germanian shipbuilding the most sophisticated in the world, lauding every half-built ship we passed as a miracle of engineering.

He paused only briefly in his patter as we passed the privacy screens that had hidden the new ships from sight. After giving us a moment to take in their appearance, he launched into a speech predicting that the reborn Germanian navy would soon rule the waves.

I had to admit, the ships did look good. Perhaps I'd been infected by the values of my countrymen, or perhaps it was something I'd brought with me from my previous life, but seeing these massive multi-thousand ton masterpieces of industrial engineering struck a chord in my heart. I suddenly felt some sympathy for the Emperor and his foolhardy infatuation with big ships that had driven a wedge between the Empire and the Allied Kingdom back before I was reborn.

I shook my head. I had learned from history twice over the foolishness of pursuing naval power from my position. I steeled myself as we followed our guide to KMS Count Bützow, Germania's first aircraft carrier. No matter how impressive the ship might look in person, I couldn't let it sway me from rational decision making in our future naval planning.

The first stop was the flight deck. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Sure, the Unified States had carriers that could put up swarms of aircraft that would dwarf what this ship carried. The Allied Kingdom had carriers that were not only bigger, but also armored well enough to shrug off hits that would sink the Count Bützow. In the Akitsushiman navy, this ship would be second rate. After all, they weren't about to share the plans for their best carriers. Even so, this was still a floating airfield over two hundred meters long, and it was ours.

Our guide's boast that the Count Bützow was a revolutionary new design that would sweep the seas clean of Germania's enemies helped me snap out of it. After eight years in the military and almost that much time in politics, my body had developed what was almost an allergic response to bullshit. Objectively speaking, this ship was an old design that could only dominate the waves as long as the first rate navies of the world politely stayed out of the way. I held back a disdainful snort and contented myself with a small smile. I'd asked for this ensign for a reason, after all.

My decision paid off as we were touring the upper hanger. Our guide was extolling the virtues of the system the ship used for storing aviation fuel, namely in tanks built into the ship's structure, when Mr. Flemons finally snapped.

"It's a lovely system as long as nothing rattles the walls, I suppose."

I didn't give any outward response, but I did make a mental note to raise the issue with the naval design bureau in the future. Any profits from this little subterfuge would rely on my memory. Our guide had no idea that his appointment served any larger purpose, in order to ensure that he gave the most authentic possible performance. Indeed, he was magnificently oblivious as he insisted that the Count Bützow's invincible air wing would ensure that enemies would never lay their eyes on the carrier itself.

Flemons kept himself under control as we proceeded to tour the ship from stem to stern, either out of a sense of courtesy or perhaps an intuitive sense of paranoia. I only harvested two more comments to share with our engineers during the remainder of our exploration, even as I myself was growing sick of hearing praise for Germanian engineering. The most remarkable exchange occurred as we disembarked from the carrier, when Flemons commented on its similarity to its Akitsushiman sister ship. Our guide hardly missed a beat before suggesting that the Akitsushimans must have stolen our early design documents.

I had to admit, I was impressed. I had expected a lie about convergent evolution in design. Even I would have choked on the claim that the Akitsushiman's had copied our plans when their ship had put to sea before ours had even been laid down. If he managed to survive his term of service, our guide had a bright future in front of him in politics.

The trip through the KMS Altenburg, our new destroyer, didn't take nearly as long. At the end of it all I thanked our guide for his service and sent him on his way. That left me alone with my two guests from the Allied Kingdom, gathered near the prow of the Altenburg. We were completely isolated from any eavesdroppers. An ideal situation for honest conversation.

"Well," I asked, spreading my arms to encompass the ships around us, "what do you think?"

"Both ships are match for the specifications that you sent us," Mr. Lloyd said.

"Of course," I replied.

"You've certainly been generous with the anti-aircraft armament," Mr. Flemons said, gesturing at the Altenburg's forward turret. Indeed, the ship's main guns were best described as anti-aircraft cannons that could also be aimed at surface targets in a pinch. Again, I could only count myself fortunate that the navy followed my orders, regardless of our disagreements.

"Naturally," I said. "Victory at sea begins in the air."

Both men looked skeptical at that. They were polite enough not to contradict me directly.

Of course, anti-aircraft guns were unlikely to prove truly decisive in a major battle. Still, it was nice to have as much protective firepower as possible surrounding our one and only aircraft carrier. Also, our destroyers' ability to defend themselves against enemy mages would free up our own mages for better uses. I would always rather have one big group of mages available to go on the attack rather than a bunch of small groups tied down on defense.

"You truly don't intend to build any battleships?" Mr. Lloyd asked. He was looking around the shipyard as though a thirty-thousand ton ship might suddenly materialize on one of the surrounding berths.

"Of course not," I said. "Honestly, it would be more efficient just to dump thousands of tons of steel into the sea. At least that wouldn't cost me any sailors."

"I've seldom heard such an enthusiastic embrace of the Jeune École," Mr. Lloyd said.

"The young school?" I asked. I recognized the words, but he seemed to be referring to something specific.

"Bunch of boffins in Francois fifty years ago thought the torpedo spelled the end of the big warship," Flemons said. "They're long gone, and the battleship's still around."

I felt a twinge of sympathy for the Frankish theorists of yesteryear. While a man who was one year ahead of his time would soon be known as a genius, a man stuck fifty years ahead of his time would be labeled a pie-in-the-sky dreamer until the day he died. If I'd never cracked open a history book in my previous life, I could have been stuck in the same boat. I certainly wouldn't have gotten as far as I had if I had been trying to reproduce the Internet instead of combined arms tactics.

"The age of great naval gun battles is drawing to a close," I said. "But you're right, it's not over yet."

The dominance of the battleship was the outgrowth of the dominance of naval gunnery. As long as naval battles were decided by cannons, a ship that could both dish out and absorb a great deal of cannon fire would naturally rule the waves. Things would only change if some other sort of weapon could out-range cannons and sink big ships. For example, aircraft and radar guided bombs and missiles. While the battleship was the ideal gun-carrying vessel, as the premier weapon system changed, the ship that best carried such weapons would become the premier naval vessel.

"For now, the battleship is still king of the waves. That means the Allied Kingdom has to field them," I continued. "We only need our navy to bottle up the Rus in Ulanograd and to give the Francois second thoughts about imposing a blockade."

Germania was fortunate not to need much out of its navy. That good fortune was paid for with interest by the country's need to defend itself against potential invasions from every direction. Still, in this area at least we had the luxury to build with an eye toward the future and not worry too much about the present.

It was a stark contrast to Albion's situation. If they were to go to war with the Republic of Francois and somehow lost control of the Albish Channel, it would be an utter disaster. For us, on the other hand, even if our ships couldn't deal with a Frankish blockade, our army could resolve the situation by occupying Parisee.

I clapped my hands together in satisfaction. "This cheap, adequate navy should be sufficient for our purposes."

Both men looked a little shocked by my frank admission. Mr. Lloyd was the first to recover. "That..."

Of course, I wouldn't be so dismissive of our fleet in public. If I couldn't speak my mind freely in private, though, what was the point of being Chancellor? In the long run, I expected they would appreciate my honesty.

"Now," I said, checking the time, "please forgive me for not seeing you out."

Our meeting was hardly top secret, but it was meant to be somewhat quiet. The shipyard had been growing more active as the day wore on. It was almost late enough in the morning for my alarm clock to have gone off back home. The last thing any of us wanted was a picture of the three of us walking out of the shipyard together showing up in tomorrow's papers. So, after saying our goodbyes, Flemons slung Mr. Lloyd's arm over his shoulders and a moment later the three of us were in the air. The other two headed out over the water, intending to circle around and then freshen up before attending the launch ceremony later as honored guests. I, meanwhile, headed into town for a nap.

Once I'd rested, I unfortunately had to put away my comfortable flying clothes and dress up in my trademark dress and jacket. I still felt an occasional twinge of reluctance at putting on a dress. I wasn't exactly spoiled for choice when it came to outfits meant for public occasions, though, and I was even more reluctant to embrace the aesthetic of a tin pot dictator and start wearing a military uniform everywhere.

Suitably attired, I left to meet up with my entourage. Erich von Lergen, Hans von Zettour, and Admiral Breyer had nearly a century of military service between them. Once I was added to the mix, it made for a very respectable representation of the government's interest in the new ships. I thought it might be overkill until I saw the crowds gathered around the shipyard as we approached.

The public enthusiasm for the new ships was all out of proportion for the relatively meager naval power that they represented. I suppose these were the first modern ships the country had put to sea in some time. Still, I wouldn't have bothered to show up myself if I had lived in the area and been blessed with a comfortable, uneventful job.

Fortunately, I was long since inured to the pressure of public speaking. I gave my perfunctory remarks declaring that Germania was sailing into a bright new day and received some perfunctory applause. The navy had managed to dig up the granddaughter of the Count Bützow who had pioneered the development of rigid airships in order to perform the symbolic christening of the new aircraft carrier. She smashed the ceremonial bottle of wine against the ship without anything untoward happening, as did the local official's daughter who had been pressed into service to christen the Altenburg.

Both ships trundled down into the water according to plan. I would have liked to applaud and head home, but unfortunately my duty was not yet over. The Count Bützow was carefully maneuvered around to the point that a gangplank could be attached to allow its distinguished guests to board. Namely, myself, my entourage, and our friends from the Allied Kingdom.

The flight deck provided a good deal of unused space that allowed our party to gather and make small talk while the Count Bützow made her way out to sea. I held my tongue and let the others carry the conversation. I'd never been much of a schmoozer. I could socialize adequately with my co-workers when the situation demanded it, but I'd always found it draining. I could play to a crowd, I could have a reasonable one-on-one discussion with anybody, but even as a professional politician, I still didn't like working the proverbial room. Fortunately, Zettour and Lergen were more than capable of picking up the slack.

As the ship made it out to the open sea and began to pick up speed, standing around on the flight deck became more challenging. The others began to make their way inside, heading for the bridge to continue monitoring the Count Bützow's shakedown cruise. I decided I could afford to shirk my duties for a while. Or rather, I decided to delegate in the interest of efficiency.

Instead of heading inside, I made my excuses and separated from the group to head towards the leading edge of the flight deck. I tapped into just a bit of magic to keep my balance. Finally reaching the end of the deck, I sat down. My legs dangled out over the edge, swaying with the motion of the ship. The privilege of being the boss: over a thousand people on board, and I could still enjoy a moment of solitude.

The ship picked up speed. The captain wouldn't test her limits until it was time for the official speed trials, but even on this first run he would push her a bit, just to see how she handled. As far as I could tell, the Count Bützow was holding up well. It really was an impressive feat of engineering for something so large to travel so fast.

Ah, sea power could be seductive. The Count Bützow was a ship of the Germanian navy. Ultimately it belonged to the nation and people of Germania. I could exercise some influence over where it went, but it was hardly my personal property. Even so, I kept catching myself slipping into the habit of thinking of it as mine.

I watched the waves as they marched toward us and felt the power of the ship beneath me as it plowed its way forward. I could feel the temptation to show off. To tell people about what a wonderful thing Germania had built and how it was all my idea. As if the fact that I had told the navy to build an aircraft carrier made me responsible for the thousands of people who poured years of their lives into making the Count Bützow a reality.

There was a darker side to sea power as well. Trying to intimidate somebody by using an army required expensive mobilization and tended to provoke all of your neighbors. Intimidating somebody with a navy was as simple as having a ship drop by for a visit. Just the sight of a capital ship was enough to remind any troublesome foreigners of the destructive force waiting to be unleashed at your whim.

It would be foolish to let my ego get puffed up by that kind of thinking. I hadn't built the Count Bützow, and any influence I had over it could disappear in the course of a single election. What's more, even the ability of the Count Bützow to influence international events was an illusion. The truth was, there could only be one king of the waves. Other navies stayed afloat at his sufferance. And that king was not, and never would be, my country.

The Count Bützow was a boondoggle that I had agreed to in order to placate my navy and forestall an outright mutiny. Even if it wasn't as egregiously wasteful as a battleship would have been, the money spent on it was still a waste. I sighed and patted the deck apologetically.

I did my best to put such thoughts out of my mind and simply enjoy the moment. My attempt to relax was complicated by the need to keep myself planted safely on the deck, but I'd long since learned to perform that level of magic without conscious thought.

I was drawn out of my woolgathering when I sensed somebody approaching from behind me. I turned around and saw Flemons carefully placing one foot in front of the other. From the feel of things, he had a flight spell cued up and just about ready to go, even though the Count Bützow was noticeably slowing down.

He stopped within earshot, a few paces back from the edge of the deck. "Thirty knots."

"Oh?" I asked. It sounded good, but I hadn't paid close attention to the projected technical specs.

"I'd wager both ships have a bit in reserve, too," he said. "Nice little commerce raiders you've got here."

I laughed. "Surface raiding died with the invention of the sea plane. With the spread of electronic range finding it will become downright futile."

"You're rather cavalier with military secrets," he said, surprisingly sour for a spy who was being handed information.

"Did you believe the antennae were decorative?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Really, his remark was a little unfair.

Even if I had wanted to keep everything secret, there were practical limits to what I could do. In particular, the primitive radar set hooked up to our new destroyer was not subtle at all. Whether or not I had invited the Allied Kingdom's representatives to this event, they'd know what was going on as soon as they saw our destroyer out in the wild. They could probably even calculate how it worked based on how the antenna looked.

By contrast, the secrets that I actually wanted to keep secret had been secured by way of their absence. The Count Bützow's hanger bay was empty because I didn't want the Albish getting a good look at our carrier aircraft. The tanks containing hydrogen peroxide for our new torpedoes were also absent, their place filled in by more ordinary gas tanks.

Of course, it would defeat the purpose of all that effort if I were to brag about it.

"Still-" Flemons said, before catching himself as the water ahead and to the side began to move in an unnatural fashion. "What's that?"

A form came rising up out of the depths in front of our eyes. The water sheeting off the sides finally settled down, revealing the sleek lines of our prototype submarine. Unlike other nation's submarines, this one was designed as a vessel that truly thrived underwater, rather than as a boat that could dive. Also unlike other nation's submarines, there was a small but significant chance that this submarine would explode of its own accord every time it put to sea.

Once enough testing had been done to prove that the hydrogen peroxide fueled engines worked and to prove that the safety problems were insurmountable, I had ordered our rocket submarine to be kept out of regular service. The experience working with it had helped the navy develop a set of procedures for safe handling of our hydrogen peroxide fueled torpedoes, which was more than enough return on investment. Pushing any further ran the risk of one of the many not-quite-catastrophic disasters the sub had suffered finally sinking the ship, in exchange for little gain. Accordingly, I had instructed that it was only to be taken out on special occasions.

"Ah, it's time," I said. I pressed down with both arms and hopped up to my feet. "You should have gotten the notice that we were building a submarine."

If there was one thing I paid close attention to, it was following every agreement with the Allied Kingdom to the letter. We hadn't sent them the detailed plans for the submarine as we did with the other two ships, but they should definitely have gotten the notice they were entitled to under our treaty.

"Yes," Flemons said. He still sounded puzzled.

"I thought it best to get all of our demonstrations over with at once," I said. I walked past him back down the length of the flight deck.

Flemons trailed behind me. "What's so special about that submarine?"

I glanced back at him and smiled. "I've been told not to be cavalier with military secrets, I'm afraid."

The two of us soon arrived at the bridge. It provided an excellent view of the submarine down below. A hatch was propped open and a man had stuck his upper body up through it. He was vigorously waving a signal flag. I could only hope that he wasn't communicating the tale of an ongoing disaster.

It seemed our luck was good. The man disappeared into the submarine, closing the hatch behind him, before it began a controlled dive. On our ship, the captain instructed his crew to proceed as planned.

The plan was for the Count Bützow to increase its speed to twenty knots and to hold it there for half an hour. If I said it was interesting, that would be a lie. After all, we couldn't see the submarine, so we were just watching an empty stretch of sea. If I said it was relaxing, that would also be a lie. After all, at any moment a geyser of water could announce the catastrophic demise of our precious experimental submarine.

What was the truth, though, was that it was a monumental relief when the allotted half hour passed and the submarine rose to the surface, more or less in the same spot relative to the Count Bützow that it had occupied before. Once more, the hatch opened, and the same man appeared, waving another flag. I could again only hope that he wasn't warning us of the imminent demise of the sub.

Of course, I kept all of that relief and nervous tension from showing in my expression or my tone of voice as I turned to address Mr. Lloyd.

"Not bad, right?" I asked, a cheerful smile on my face. "They're still working out the kinks with waste disposal during extended dives, but I'm told that will be fixed before we move into production."

In actual point of fact, the prototype submarine couldn't stay underwater long enough for waste buildup to become a problem. I'd honestly hesitate before even ordering them to load up with enough rocket fuel to make such a thing theoretically possible. Of course, Mr. Lloyd didn't know that. Not for sure.

The best time to get somebody to accept a whopper is when they've just had their worldview shaken. Before now, they would have been under the impression that submarines topped out at around seven or eight knots underwater. As we had just proven to be capable of more than doubling that speed, it should at least sound plausible that we had also greatly extended the time that a submarine could spend underwater.

"That's a prototype?" he asked, staring out at the submarine idling along beside us.

"Of course," I said. "It's been so long since we've built a submarine. We couldn't jump into large scale production."

"Though," Admiral Breyer said, "we can settle on our fleet composition soon that all three of the new designs are in the water."

I glanced over at Zettour, but my Foreign Minister had already spotted his cue.

"I believe the relevant treaty provides us with great flexibility when it comes to destroyers and aircraft carriers," Zettour said, "but given the projected tonnage we're allowed only twenty submarines, more or less."

General Lergen did his part by looming in the background. If I had to pick one man who embodied our military's ability to wreak havoc when given a technical advantage, he would be my choice.

"Twenty," Mr. Lloyd echoed, still staring down at the submarine outside.

"Of course," I said, drawing his attention back to me, "we could negotiate a plan more to your liking. I am, after all, a reasonable person."

If I couldn't open up trading markets by means of reasonable persuasion, then I wouldn't scruple to use deception. Ideally, Germania could score a generous payout in exchange for refraining to do something we weren't going to do anyway. I couldn't live out my own dream, stuck as I was in a position of responsibility, but I could at least live vicariously through my nation's accomplishments.