Chapter 17: Uncovering Hipper's Solo Prowess

If Lelouch had simply said, “The Empire’s radio codes have been cracked by Britannia,” Major General Karl would never have believed him—one hundred percent no. A mere lieutenant, and one who had only been a sergeant three days prior, with no prior access to high-level secrets—what standing did he have to make such a definitive claim?

Yet Lelouch approached the matter from his own narrow field of responsibility, citing the earlier sabotage of the undersea cable by enemy ships and the presence of a Britannian traitor within the Netherlands Telegraph Company. He then skillfully exaggerated the scope and risk of the leaks, weaving in some personal conjecture. This left Major General Karl no choice but to believe him.

At least two points were now certain for Karl:

First, there was indeed a breach in communications intelligence.

Second, the extent of the information leaked remained unclear.

But since it was wartime and the situation uncertain, prudence dictated assuming the worst. For security’s sake, all communications should avoid using telegraph methods if possible, whether wired or wireless.

Traditional Demanian officers were generally inexperienced in intelligence work and deception tactics, so Karl could only continue with the principle of “one task, one master.”

“So, what do you think? How should we persuade Major General Heppel? And what communication method should we use to contact him? Also, how exactly do you envision this ‘counterintelligence verification’ working?” Karl asked, grateful for the extra brainpower—listening couldn’t hurt.

This was a significant question, and Lelouch could not answer immediately. After careful thought, he spoke cautiously:

“At present, the safest way to contact Major General Heppel is to send a plane directly to Wilhelm Harbor for a face-to-face meeting. To avoid Dutch airspace, the flight would be about 500 kilometers, which a plane could cover in three to four hours. But to arrange such a meeting, a high-ranking person must appear in person or at least provide a personally signed letter bearing a seal of authority.”

Before Lelouch could finish, Karl pounded his chest, “That’s no problem—I can provide a signed letter. The plane can make a stopover to get higher authorization from my brother the prince, as long as the letter’s contents are sufficiently convincing.”

Karl realized his own persuasion might be insufficient and sought to involve his elder brother, a full admiral and former superior to Major General Heppel, whose endorsement would carry more weight.

Having settled on the method of contact, Lelouch continued explaining the counterintelligence strategy:

“To confirm whether the enemy can intercept our wired communications or decrypt our wireless, we can simultaneously fly the real intelligence in person while sending two false messages—one by wired telegraph and the other by wireless telegraph.

The first message, via wired telegraph, could serve as a diversion to cover for Major General Heppel. As you know, over the past three months since the war began, Heppel’s First Raiding Fleet has bombarded Britannian ports twice, damaging docks, shipyards, and merchant vessels before swiftly retreating.

We can send a wired telegram to Wilhelm Harbor claiming, for example, ‘Upon investigation, the Britannian cruiser that unexpectedly evacuated King Billikin has established a forward anchorage near De Panne…’ The exact wording is not critical—I’m not an expert in naval tactics, so Heppel himself can decide the details.

The key is to feed the enemy a false narrative: the Empire is ‘enraged’ because the Britannian cruiser absconded with King Billikin, and now we have discovered a suspected new anchorage for this cruiser’s patrol near a certain port, warranting a retaliatory bombardment carried out with a ‘hit-and-run’ tactic.

If this wired telegram is intercepted and the enemy consequently strengthens the port’s naval defenses or reallocates their bombardment fleet—originally possibly destined for Neopole—to defense, the Empire will know the underwater telegraph cables passing through the Netherlands have been compromised by spies at the relay stations.”

“The second message,” Lelouch went on, “would be sent by wireless telegraph, perhaps as a reply from our rear command. It would say something like, ‘The above request has been forwarded to Major General Heppel’s unit, but he is currently at sea on another mission and maintaining radio silence. His fleet’s wireless station is set to ‘receive only’ to avoid revealing their position; therefore, no reply is possible.’ The reply could subtly include an encrypted message indicating Heppel’s original objective was ‘to randomly bombard several ports on Britannia’s east coast according to the actual situation.’

If the Britannians then bolster defenses at those ports or dispatch ships from northern Scotland to ambush, we can conclude our wireless codes have been cracked. Of course, Minister Walton is cunning enough to possibly leave defenses unstrengthened deliberately, to convince us ‘our codes remain secure,’ lulling us into complacency.”

Karl and Colonel Lister, listening, felt a bit overwhelmed. So many twists and turns—it was dizzying!

“Wait! You say one communication uses wired telegraph, but the reply is wireless? Doesn’t that seem too obvious?” Karl pondered and quickly posed the question.

“That’s easy,” Lelouch responded offhandedly. “When we send the wired telegram, we can indicate ‘frontline conditions are rapidly changing; the Sixth Army headquarters’ location may shift at any time; please do not reply by wired telegraph.’ Once the headquarters moves, any wired telegram sent back along the same route will find no one at that address.”

For Lelouch, a man from a modern era, such an excuse was perfectly natural—like someone calling on a landline, then asking to reply by mobile phone because they’re leaving and won’t be reachable by landline. Anyone familiar with mobile communications would find this obvious. But in 1914, the concept of wireless communication’s superior flexibility was not universally appreciated, so such a reason might not occur readily to others.

Karl mulled over Lelouch’s explanation and, when he looked at him again, his eyes were filled with growing reverence. This young man’s mind was incredibly sharp.

Seizing the moment, Lelouch added, “Of course, this entire counterintelligence deception will require follow-up measures to cover any gaps.

For example, if the upcoming naval battle sees Major General Heppel victorious, we must not gloat afterward. Otherwise, Britannia will immediately realize ‘we know they know our codes.’

We might even stage a scenario to reprimand Heppel for ‘disobeying orders’ and acting independently rather than following the Navy Department’s original plan to bombard enemy ports. Heppel’s victory would be portrayed as his own ‘bold insubordination and reckless ambition,’ not a plan sanctioned by the Imperial Navy Department.

This way, even if Britannia suffers losses, they will attribute defeat not to poor intelligence or flawed reconnaissance, but to a rogue forward commander acting against orders.”

Lelouch believed this last point was crucial.

The mere fact that “the Demanian Navy knows the enemy has cracked its radio codes” was immensely valuable. It would be wasteful to blow such a secret just to verify it by bombarding two ports and sinking some dreadnoughts and cruisers.

Historically, the High Seas Fleet remained trapped, unable to act decisively, largely because their radio transmissions were transparent one-way. When they finally resolved to fight the Battle of Jutland, the enemy had already gained a ‘cheat code,’ exposing their entire battle force composition.

If the Demanians could discern this and preserve the secret until Jutland, they could strike a decisive blow all at once.

This secret must be carefully guarded; the current probe is only a test, and the subsequent cleanup equally important.

We must convince the enemy that the Britannian intelligence on our operations was accurate, and that their defeat was due solely to an insubordinate commander in our ranks who failed to follow orders.

When Karl heard this, his eyes regarded Lelouch as if seeing a god or spirit.

This must be divine will! God punishes the wicked Britannians by sending down this prophet’s revelation!

With such a sage and brilliant strategist on our side, what cause could fail?

Karl stared deeply into Lelouch’s eyes, searching for signs of sincerity or deceit.

But Lelouch’s gaze remained honest and resolute, unwavering.

Karl also noticed the young man’s bloodshot left eye, still discolored from tear gas poisoning, and felt an inexplicable surge of admiration and trust.

That eye proved this youth had risked life and death for the Empire. There was no reason to doubt his loyalty.

In 1914, remnants of mysticism still lingered; many high-ranking officials, especially ignorant royal nobility, believed in miracles.

For a fleeting moment, Karl even convinced himself: Lelouch’s blood-red left eye must possess the divine power to see through all deceit. Therefore, trusting him was the only right choice.