The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 1024 Where did the British aircraft carriers and battleships go?

Atlantic Ocean, 150 nautical miles southwest of the Faroe Islands.

1914年4月15日，凌晨3时17分。

Dawns in the North Sea always arrive early and suddenly in spring. However, the weather was somewhat disappointing; the leaden clouds hung low, as if a downpour might strike at any moment, and the sea was quite rough. The task force of ten Enterprise-class aircraft carriers maintained a tight formation on the turbulent sea, their bows cleaving through the dark waves, leaving long white trails in their wake.

Inside the combat information center of the flagship HMS Enterprise, Admiral Frank Fletcher stood before a table covered with nautical charts. His fingers unconsciously tapped the location of Scapa Flow, his knuckles turning slightly white from the pressure. Three days had passed; three whole days without any intelligence on the movements of British ships in Scapa Flow. And the U.S. Navy's First Task Force, under radio silence, was unable to use the radio waves to inquire with the Navy Department about the situation in Scapa Flow; they could only wait passively.

"Any new reconnaissance reports?" he asked in a low voice, his voice tinged with suppressed anxiety.

Rear Admiral William Morris, the fleet's chief of staff, shook his head, his eyes bloodshot: "The last report indicated there might be six battleships, two battlecruisers, and six motherships in Scapa Flow, but that was seventy-two hours ago."

Fletcher's knuckles slammed heavily on the table, making a dull thud. Everyone in the cabin held their breath.

“The British can’t be completely unprepared,” he muttered to himself. “Their seaplane patrols have long covered this area, and we will definitely be discovered after daybreak.”

He looked up abruptly, his gaze sharp as a knife: "How far are we from Scapa Flow now?"

“230 nautical miles, sir,” Morris replied quickly. “Sea conditions are fair, wind speed 12 knots, northeasterly wind.”

Fletcher took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the faces of every officer in the cabin. Everyone held their breath, awaiting his decision.

"Are the carrier-based aircraft ready to take off?"

Morris quickly did the calculations and nodded, saying, "Although the distance is a bit far, we can carry out a single-wave saturation air attack. Each aircraft carrier will deploy 60 carrier-based aircraft, escorted by fighters, and attacked in coordination with dive bombers and torpedo bombers."

Fletcher was silent for a moment before finally giving the order: "Then do it. Leave immediately after you succeed!"

4:45 AM.

The Enterprise was speeding against the wind, creating a howling deck wind. On the flight deck, ground crew waved signal flags and moved quickly in the dim morning light. The roar of the engines was deafening as the first F4B-3 Wildcat fighter roared into the air with the help of the deck wind, followed by the second, and the third.
Within fifteen minutes, six hundred carrier-based aircraft took off from ten aircraft carriers, assembling into a massive attack formation in the dim sky. Fighters led the way, dive bombers followed in the middle, and torpedo bombers brought up the rear. The formation resembled a steel cloud, pressing towards Scapa Flow in the northeast.

Lieutenant Jack Anderson of VF-6 Squadron gripped the control stick tightly, his knuckles white from the effort. Outside the cockpit, the sky remained dark, with only a faint glimmer of light on the eastern horizon. His Wildcat fighter climbed to 3000 meters, its wings swarming with friendly aircraft. The squadron leader's voice came through the radio:
"Maintain formation, target Scapa Flow. If the British are prepared, we may encounter Gloucester Gladiator biplanes."

Jack licked his dry lips, his fingers lightly tapping the machine gun trigger. This was his first combat mission, and the target was possibly the world's most powerful naval base. He glanced down at the instrument panel: full fuel and ammunition.

"I hope those British guys are still asleep," he muttered to himself.

At 5:20 a.m., 50 nautical miles east of the Faroe Islands.

Ensign Richard Black, a Royal Navy Short seaplane pilot, rubbed his sore eyes. His aircraft was cruising at an altitude of 3000 meters, on a mission to monitor unusual activity in the waters southwest of the Faroe Islands. The cold wind from the North Sea seeped into the cabin through the gaps, making him shiver involuntarily.

Suddenly, his observer slapped him on the shoulder and pointed southwest.

"God, what is that?"

Blake looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a dark mass of planes flying northeast on the distant horizon. His blood froze instantly.

"The Americans have really come!"

The observer had already rushed to the radio, his fingers trembling as he tapped out Morse code:
"Emergency alert! Large-scale enemy aircraft formation detected, heading northeast at an altitude of 3000 meters, numbering in the hundreds! Also, US aircraft carriers detected, numbering at least 8 out of 56!"

Blake immediately turned the plane around and pushed the throttle to maximum. They had to get away quickly; if the American fighters spotted them, his seaplane would be finished!
5:40 a.m., Faroe Islands anchorage.

Vice Admiral David Beatty stood on the bridge of the aircraft carrier USS Illustrious, the telegram in his hand trembling slightly. The cold wind of the North Sea howled in through the open portholes, but he was oblivious.

"The Americans are already launching their carrier-based aircraft." His voice was low and cold. "The target could be Scapa Flow, or it could be us."

The chief of staff quickly unfolded the nautical chart: "Our position has been exposed; we must act immediately."

Betty's gaze swept over the Sea Vixen biplane fighters that were urgently taking off on the deck. His squadron consisted of six Tejas-class aircraft carriers with a total of 324 carrier-based aircraft, while the Americans had at least eight carriers with a total of 640 aircraft, putting him at a significant numerical disadvantage.

However, the enclosed hangar and armored flight deck of the Tejas-class aircraft make them more survivable in the harsh environment and intense combat of the North Sea.

"Order all carrier-based aircraft to take off!" Beatty shouted sharply. "Fighters take off first to intercept the American formation. Bombers and torpedo bombers prepare for the second wave of attack. Target—the American aircraft carrier!"

He turned to the communications officer: "Break the radio silence and notify Scapa Flow and Faroe Islands airfields to send Atlantic Sentinel torpedo bombers to attack the U.S. fleet!"

At 6:15 a.m., over Scapa Flow, the American aircraft group arrived at the target airspace, only to find Scapa Flow completely empty—no battleships, no battlecruisers, only a few old destroyers and auxiliary vessels.

A jumble of calls came through Jack McCarthy's earpiece:

"The target is not in the port! Repeat, the target is not in the port!"

Just then, dozens of Gladiator biplane fighters suddenly burst out from the clouds in the distance, with the Royal Air Force insignia clearly visible under their wings.

"Enemy aircraft! At the 12 o'clock position!"

Jack slammed the control stick down, and the fighter jet dove to meet the enemy. Machine guns spat fire, and the sky was instantly ripped apart by tracer rounds.

At 6:30 a.m., in the southeastern waters of the Faroe Islands.

Six British aircraft carriers—HMS Illustrious, HMS Formidable, HMS Victorious, HMS Indomitable, HMS Ark Royal, and HMS Furious—were arrayed in battle formation on the turbulent sea. On the decks, ground crews were efficiently pushing carrier-based aircraft onto elevators.

On the flight deck of HMS Illustrious, Sea Vixens fighters were the first to take off, propelled by the fierce deck winds. Next came Swordfish torpedo bombers; these biplanes, though old, were still deadly weapons in the hands of experienced pilots. Finally came the Gull dive bombers, their wings laden with heavy bombs.

Lieutenant Commander James Jimmy Carter, air wing commander on the USS Illustrious, sat in the cockpit of a Swordfish torpedo bomber, feeling the "stability" of the massive biplane. His rear gunner was checking the ammunition in the Lewis gun. Betty's voice came through the radio:

"Attention all pilots, target—American carrier strike group. Remember, the glory of the British Empire is in your hands!"

Jimmy took a deep breath, pushed the throttle, and flew southwest with the formation. Below him, more than 200 British carrier-based aircraft were forming attack waves, heading towards the American fleet.

London, Foreign Office building.

1914年4月15日，上午9时30分。

Sir Edward Grey stood by the window in the Foreign Office lobby, his fingers gripping the telegram he had just received. Outside, the London sky was ominously dark, as if foreshadowing an impending storm. His gaze swept over the words on the telegram, each letter piercing his eyes like a knife: "American fleet attacks Scapa Flow; British Home Fleet engages."

His deputy hurriedly pushed open the door, his voice trembling: "Sir, the American ambassador and the German ambassador have arrived at the same time. They request to see you immediately."

Gray's lips twitched. He should have expected it—the Germans wouldn't stand idly by while the Americans made their move. He straightened his tie and said coldly, "Let them in."

Walter Page strode in, impeccably dressed in a suit, his face bearing an almost arrogant composure. He held a gold-embossed document in his hand, his voice chillingly calm:
"Your Excellency Foreign Secretary of the British Empire, on behalf of His Majesty His Excellency Arthur MacArthur, Head of State of the United States of America, and Congress, I hereby formally inform you—"

He paused for a moment, then looked directly at Gray.

"Due to the continued interference of the British Navy in American affairs and the illegal seizure of our merchant ships, the United States of America is now at war with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland."

Gray's fingers gripped the back of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He had long anticipated this day, but when he actually heard the declaration of war, he still felt a wave of dizziness.

“You will regret this, Mr. Page,” he said in a low voice. “The Atlantic is not America’s backyard.”

Before Gray could even process what was happening, the German ambassador, Carl von Linknawski, had already stepped forward. His military uniform was impeccably tailored, his chin slightly raised, and his eyes held the characteristic coldness of a Prussian.

“Your Excellency Grey,” he said in a thick Berlin accent, “His Majesty the Emperor of the German Empire instructed me to convey to you—”

He took another document from his adjutant, his voice as cold as steel:
"In view of Britain's interference in continental European affairs and its aggressive behavior toward its American allies today, the German Empire hereby formally terminates all diplomatic relations with Great Britain and enters a state of war immediately."

Gray jumped up, the chair scraping loudly on the floor.

"You planned this all along, didn't you?" His voice trembled with anger. "The Americans launched a war without declaring war, and you Germans followed suit as accomplices—you have no shame!"

Linknawski smiled slightly: "Your Excellency, this is called strategic coordination."

Gray grabbed a teacup from the table and smashed it against the fireplace. The porcelain shattered on the brickwork with a crisp cracking sound.

"Get out!" he roared. "Tell your head of state and emperor—the British Empire will make them pay!"

The two ambassadors exchanged a glance, then silently turned and left. The moment the door closed, Gray slumped into his chair, his face filled with terror—the British Empire was now facing two enemies whose industrial strength far surpassed its own!

Moreover, Britain's ally, the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, was in a power vacuum due to Luo Yaoguo's critical illness and was temporarily unable to provide assistance.

Britain is going to fight alone at sea!
(End of this chapter)