World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Hipper understood. The general's meaning was clear—if the situation turned unfavorable, he would disobey the emperor's orders and choose to retreat.

"You could face a court-martial for this," Hipper cautioned.

"Then let's go." Scheer smiled bitterly. "At least I'm still alive, and the fleet is still alive. It's better than everyone perishing in the North Sea."

He walked up to Hipper and placed his hand on his shoulder: "Frantz, remember: your primary task is to preserve the fleet. Luring the enemy is a means, not an end. If things turn out badly, retreat immediately, without hesitation."

"The emperor's order for a decisive battle..."

"I'll take care of it," Scheer said. "You just need to bring the fleet back. The rest is up to me."

Hipper looked into his superior's eyes and saw the determination and gravity within them. He stood at attention and gave a standard military salute.

"Yes, Admiral. I will bring the fleet back."

Scheer returned the greeting: "Go ahead and get some rest. There's still a lot of preparation to do tomorrow."

After Hipper left, Scheer stood alone in front of the sand table. He pulled off a small blue flag and examined it in his hand.

This is a model of a battlecruiser, exquisitely crafted, complete with guns, bridge, and funnel.

But on the real battlefield, it was an 18,000-ton steel vessel carrying 1,200 sailors. It had eight 305mm main guns, capable of firing 405-kilogram shells from 15,000 meters away. Its speed could reach 26 knots, allowing it to pursue any enemy at sea.

It was also vulnerable. Its armor was only 250 mm thick at its thickest point, easily penetrated by British 343 mm shells. If its ammunition magazine were hit, the entire ship would be blown to pieces within seconds.

Scher put down the small flag and rubbed his temples. He felt exhausted, not physically, but mentally.

As commander, he had to find the delicate balance between the emperor's fanaticism and the realities of war. He had to find a balance between preserving the fleet and achieving victories. He had to choose between the lives of his men and the honor of the nation.

It's so hard.

A faint ship's horn sounded outside the window. It was the night shift workers making final preparations for departure—loading ammunition, adding fuel, and checking the engine.

Scheer walked to the window and looked at Wilhelmshaven in the night. In the harbor, the outlines of warships were faintly visible in the moonlight. Huge turrets, towering bridges, thick funnels... these were all familiar sights to him, but tonight they looked particularly somber.

"May God bless us," he whispered.

Then he turned off the light and walked out of the operations room.

The corridor was quiet, with only the echo of his footsteps. As he reached the stairwell, he encountered a young sailor on night duty.

The sailor immediately stood at attention and saluted: "Admiral!"

Scher nodded, preparing to leave, but then stopped.

"What's your name?"

"Admiral Hans Weber! Seaman Second Class, HMS Derfflinger!"

How old are you?

"Nineteen years old, a general!"

Nineteen years old. Scheer looked at the young face and thought of his own son. His son was also nineteen, serving in the army, now on the Eastern Front.

"Are you scared?" Scher suddenly asked.

The young sailor hesitated for a moment, then puffed out his chest: "Don't be afraid, Admiral! We've waited so long, it's finally time to strike! We'll teach those British a lesson!"

His eyes shone with the same pure enthusiasm and confidence as that of the major in Berlin.

Scher nodded and patted him on the shoulder: "Do a good job. Germany needs your courage."

"Yes, General!"

Scheer continued down the stairs. When he reached the first floor, he heard the sailor humming a song—a naval anthem, "We Ride the Waves."

A young voice echoed through the empty building, carrying a naive and bold quality.

Scher closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he walked out of the building and into the night in Port William.

The next morning, at the Port William docks.

Hipper stood on the bridge of the "Lützow," watching the bustling scene in the port. This newest German battlecruiser had only been commissioned three months prior, and today was its first combat mission.

On the dock, a crane was hoisting the last crate of ammunition onto the deck. Sailors lined up in two rows, passing crates filled with food and medical supplies. Officers checked inventory lists along the gangway to make sure everything was ready.

"Commander," the adjutant approached, "all the captains have arrived and are waiting in the conference room."

Hipper nodded and walked down from the bridge. In the officers' conference room of the Lütsov, the five captains were already seated—Captain von Kappel of the Moltke, Captain Mohr of the Seydlitz, Captain Hatok of the Defflinger, Captain Zönkel of the von der Tann, and Captain Hard, the captain of the Lütsov.

Everyone's face was serious. They all knew what the upcoming mission was.

"Gentlemen," Hipper said, taking the seat of honor, "I believe you have all received the operational briefing. Today, I will reiterate the details."

He pulled back the curtain on the wall, revealing a map of Beihai.

"The reconnaissance fleet will depart at dawn tomorrow. Our target is the British merchant shipping lanes in the Denmark Strait. We expect to arrive at 10:00 AM local time and conduct a one-hour harassment operation."

His finger moved across the map: "Then, we retreat southeast, heading 115 degrees at 22 knots. We anticipate the British battlecruiser fleet will intercept us from Scapa Flow. Once we confirm Beatty's fleet is in pursuit, we will increase our speed to 26 knots and lure him into the ambush area."

"Where is the ambush point?" asked von Kappeler of the Moltke.

"Southeast of Dogg Beach, 56 degrees north latitude, 5 degrees east longitude," Hipper said. "Admiral Scheer's main fleet will be waiting there. Once Beatty enters the ambush zone, the main fleet will suddenly appear and attack from the flanks and rear."

A moment of silence fell over the meeting room. Everyone was imagining the scene in their minds—Betty's fleet was in pursuit, when suddenly the main German fleet appeared ahead. It would be a perfect trap.

"But there's a problem," said Colonel Moore of the Seydlitz. "If we retreat too quickly, Beatty might abandon the pursuit. If we retreat too slowly, we might get bogged down and suffer heavy losses."

"That's precisely the challenge," Hipper admitted. "I need all the captains to make flexible judgments based on the battlefield situation. The basic principle is: maintain contact, maintain distance, maintain attraction. We need to make the British feel that they can catch up with us with just a little more effort, but they will always fall just short."

"What if the fighting starts?" Hattok of the Doverlinger asked. "What are our principles of retaliation?"