Chapter 724: The "Tenryū"-Class Light Cruiser
Charles politely invited Miyamoto Akira into the meeting room and ordered the attendants to bring in coffee and fruit.
"Tell me, Mr. Miyamoto," Charles said casually as he stirred his coffee, "are you attached to the Navy or the Army?"
Military attachés were usually active officers, and naturally they belonged to one branch or the other.
"The Navy, Lieutenant General," Miyamoto answered respectfully. "I serve in the First Fleet."
"Ah," Charles murmured, his expression suddenly darkening. "So that's why you contacted the Minister of the Navy, not me? I see—Mr. Miyamoto doesn't take a lowly army general seriously, does he?"
Miyamoto jumped in shock, immediately bowing. "I deeply apologize, Lieutenant General. Since we were discussing naval construction, I thought it appropriate to speak to the Navy Minister. I had no intention of slighting you, sir. Please forgive me!"
He remained bent over, not daring to breathe.
The Nihon Navy might have looked down on their own army—but how could they dare belittle the battle-hardened, world-renowned French Army? Especially the man who, just days ago, had crossed the Ardennes and trapped hundreds of thousands of German troops?
Charles's tone softened. "Don't worry, Mr. Miyamoto. I'm not angry. Technically speaking, this is the Navy Minister's area of responsibility. I'm not here as a lieutenant general of the army today—but as the funder of these warships. Understand?"
He was simply putting Miyamoto on edge—to make him feel in the wrong, so that any upcoming demands, even excessive ones, would seem natural and justified.
"Y-Yes, Lieutenant General—no, I mean, Mr. Charles!" Miyamoto bowed again in relief, nodding gratefully.
"Sit down," Charles said with a nod.
"Thank you very much!" Miyamoto carefully took a seat.
"As the funder of these warships," Charles continued, "I believe I'm entitled to discuss the design plans with you, correct?"
"Of course, Mr. Charles," Miyamoto said with a forced smile. "You are our customer—of course you may make requests."
At this point, Miyamoto had already confirmed in his mind: Charles was not only a general—he was also a power player in industry.
"Do you have the proposal?" Charles asked.
Miyamoto quickly took a file from his briefcase and offered it with both hands. "Please review it, sir."
Charles opened it and immediately recognized the design—it was based on the historical Momo-class destroyers sold to France, referred to as the "Arabe-class."
"Mr. Miyamoto," Charles said, displeased, pointing at the specs, "I paid for 2,000-ton warships. And you're proposing ships that displace only 750 tons?"
"No, no, sir," Miyamoto quickly explained. "We're using the Momo-class as a base, but we intend to scale it up according to your needs. We will ensure you are satisfied."
Charles ignored him and continued, "You're in the navy, Mr. Miyamoto. You know destroyers are rising in importance, yes?"
"Yes, absolutely," Miyamoto nodded. "For example, your country's destroyers have proven incredibly effective in anti-submarine and escort roles—very impressive."
He flattered Charles while deftly avoiding the issue.
But Charles saw through it.
While the world's great powers were still obsessing over battleships, Nihon—aware of its limited resources and inability to match the Western powers in sheer tonnage—had already begun developing alternate strategies during WWI.
Their idea was much like Charles's own plan to Wells: rely on large numbers of fast, maneuverable destroyers armed with torpedoes to swarm and sink larger ships.
A squadron of a dozen or so destroyers, each capable of 33 knots.
Battleships were slow, and their guns lacked precision at close range. If destroyers got in close, a few well-placed torpedoes could cripple them. It was a cheap, practical, and deadly tactic.
By 1913, Nihon had already begun formalizing these ideas with the creation of Torpedo Squadrons.
(Note: Nihon's "Torpedo Squadrons" didn't lay mines—they were designed for direct torpedo attacks.)
But they soon encountered a problem.
Destroyers were small. Once they were armed with cannons, torpedoes, and depth charges, there was no room left for command or communication systems. They couldn't act as flagships.
Cruisers, on the other hand, had the space—but not the speed to keep up.
And so, in 1917, Nihon began construction of the Tenryū-class light cruisers.
(Image above: Nihon's "Tenryū"-class light cruiser, standard displacement 3,230 tons, top speed 33 knots. Built to serve as the flagship of torpedo squadrons.)
That was exactly the ship Charles was aiming for.
A displacement around 3,000 tons, top speed of 33 knots, and enough firepower to overpower most enemy destroyers—it fit perfectly with Charles's vision of a future-proof anti-air fleet.
Not wanting to waste time, Charles took a sip of coffee and said coldly:
"Let me be clear about one thing, Mr. Miyamoto."
"The difference between me and the Navy Minister is that he knows very little about naval matters. I, on the other hand, am well-versed in naval warfare."
"Or more precisely, I have a vision for the future of the navy."
"You can verify that from the naval battles I've commanded. Wouldn't you agree?"
Miyamoto quickly sat up straight and nodded.
"Yes, sir. Your battle in the North Sea—sinking seven German warships, including a battlecruiser—it's been added to our naval academy's curriculum."
"And your country's anti-submarine capability is legendary. We've heard that German U-boats no longer dare to attack your convoys."
(France's sonar system was still top secret. Nihon had no idea what mysterious device had enabled such dominance.)
Miyamoto bowed slightly as he continued praising Charles. "Your tactics are awe-inspiring, sir. In both the navy and the army. We hope to learn as much as we can from you."
This was sincere.
Nihon's military had an ingrained admiration for strength, a hunger for modern knowledge, and a remarkable ability to study and adapt.
Charles was fully aware of this—and he intended to use it to his advantage.
"So," Charles said, slamming the design document down on the table, voice suddenly rougher, "this is what you bring to the table?"
"You think scaling up a 700-ton ship to 2,000 tons counts as modernization?"
"They might look like warships to the Navy Minister, but to me? They're fishing boats."
"How do you expect me to cooperate with you based on this?"
Charles was playing hardball.
He knew France needed Nihon's production. But somehow, the situation had reversed—he now held the upper hand.
More importantly, Miyamoto had already developed a deep sense of inferiority under Charles's relentless pressure.
Of course they wanted to please Charles. He represented the nation with advanced torpedo bombers, mysterious sonar equipment, and the ability to destroy the world's second-largest navy.
Even the British Royal Navy—the undisputed number one—might soon be forced to yield to him.
So why would Charles care about some 700-ton "Momo"-class destroyers?
Even scaled up, they'd be clunky and unimpressive.
To offer that was a humiliation.
They needed something that would earn Charles's respect.
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