World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Scheer felt a tightness in his throat. He walked up to the old seaman and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Schultz, I can't promise you anything. Naval battles are brutal; some will be wounded, some will die. But I will do everything in my power to bring as many people back as possible. That is my promise as fleet commander."

Schulz looked up and into Scher's eyes. He saw the sincerity and gravity in them.

"I believe you, Admiral." He wiped his eyes. "I'm just... just an old sailor worried about his son. Please forgive my weakness."

"This is not weakness, it's human nature," Scheer said. "Go, make the final preparations. Tell your son, and all the young people—be brave in battle, but live. Germany needs living heroes, not dead martyrs."

Schultz stood at attention and gave a crisp military salute: "Yes, General! I'll tell them!"

He turned and left, his steps more firm than when he arrived.

Scher watched his departing figure, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him. As a commander, he had to consider strategy, tactics, and victory or defeat. But as a human being, he couldn't ignore those living, breathing faces—those people with families, dreams, and futures.

"Admiral," Trotta returned to the bridge, "all ships report readiness. We are ready to depart at any time."

Scheer glanced at his pocket watch—11:00 AM. There was still an hour until the scheduled departure time.

"Notify all ships that they shall begin casting off their mooring lines at 11:30. They shall depart the port in formation at 12:00."

"yes!"

The order was relayed. The entire Wilhelmshaven port began its final preparations. Sailors rushed to their battle stations, officers checked inventory lists, and the steam pressure gauges in the engine rooms slowly rose.

Scheer walked to the open platform outside the bridge. The sea breeze brushed against his face, carrying the salty smell of fish and fuel.

He surveyed his fleet. The warships stood silently and resolutely, like soldiers awaiting battle.

This fleet was a symbol of Germany's challenge to the world order. It was the embodiment of Wilhelm II's dream of "land under the sun." It was the entire nation's yearning for the sea.

But today, it is just a fleet going to fight a battle.

Victory or defeat is unknown, life or death is uncertain.

Scher closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes again, all hesitation and heaviness had vanished. In their place was the calmness and decisiveness befitting a commander.

"Send the signal," he said to the signalman. "Raise the battle flag."

The signalman ran to the signal flag. A few minutes later, a huge flag—black, white, and red—was raised on the mainmast of the Frederick the Great, with the Iron Cross in the center.

The battle flag of the German Imperial Navy.

As if in response, all the warships in the port raised the same flag. Black, white, and red flags fluttered in the wind, like a sea of ​​colors.

"Time's up, General," Trota reported.

Scher glanced at his pocket watch—it was exactly twelve o'clock.

He walked to the megaphone, and his voice was amplified throughout the ship, even reaching nearby warships:

"Attention all ships, this is Fleet Commander Scheer. I now order—departure!"

The ship's horn blared, echoing throughout William Harbour.

Steam gushed forth, and the propeller spun.

The steel behemoths slowly left the dock, sailed into the waterway, and headed out to sea.

Sailing towards the North Sea, towards the fate that awaits them.

2 PM, central Beihai.

Beatty stood on the bridge of the HMS Lion, observing the sea through binoculars. His fleet had been out of Scapa Flow for four hours and was heading towards the Denmark Strait at 20 knots.

The weather was clear and visibility was excellent. The deep blue sea shimmered in the sunlight, and occasionally dolphins would leap out of the water, chasing and playing on the bow of the ship.

"What a wonderful day," Betty said to the chief of staff. "A perfect day for a hunt."

"Hopefully, the prey will appear," responded Chief of Staff Colonel Chatfield. "If the Germans are indeed operating in the Denmark Strait, we should be able to make contact with them before evening."

Betty grinned. "They will. Hipper isn't the kind of person to let an opportunity slip by. Besides, Berlin needs a victory to match the glory on the Eastern Front."

He walked to the chart table and looked at the marked routes: "Tell all ships to remain vigilant. The Germans likely have submarines scouting ahead. Destroyer squadrons to strengthen anti-submarine patrols."

"Yes, Lieutenant General."

The order was relayed. Betty returned to the forward of the bridge and continued to observe the sea.

He was in high spirits. After a long wait, the opportunity to strike had finally arrived. As the commander of the battlecruiser fleet, he yearned for battle and wanted to prove his worth with a victory.

Battlecruisers—a fast, powerful, but vulnerable class of ship—have always been controversial. Traditional battleship proponents argue that their armor is too thin, making them "glass cannons." But Beatty firmly believed that speed and firepower were the future of naval warfare.

He can prove it if given the chance.

"Lieutenant General!" the lookout suddenly shouted, "Smoke column on starboard! Approximately fifteen nautical miles away!"

Betty immediately raised her binoculars. On the horizon, several faint plumes of smoke were indeed visible. At this distance, ships were indistinct, but the number and density of the smoke plumes indicated a sizable fleet.

"Send the signal," Beatty ordered. "All ships prepare for battle. Adjust course to 095 and increase speed to 22 knots. Light cruisers forward for reconnaissance."

The entire fleet sprang into action immediately. Battlecruisers adjusted their course, and their turrets began to rotate. Light cruisers accelerated forward, pouncing on their targets like hounds.

Betty felt her heart race. Not with fear, but with excitement. Like the excitement a hunter feels when he sees his prey.

"Get the lads ready," he said to Chatfield. "Today, we're going to teach the Germans a lesson."

At the same time, fifty nautical miles away.

Hipper stood on the bridge of the Lützow and received a report from the light cruiser.

"The British fleet has appeared, heading northwest, at a distance of about fifty nautical miles. It has been confirmed to include at least four battlecruisers."

Hipper glanced at his pocket watch—2:20 p.m. Slightly earlier than he had expected, but not by much.

"Signal," he calmly ordered. "Retreat southeast as planned. Speed ​​22 knots. All ships, prepare for battle."

The order was relayed to the entire fleet via light signals. The German reconnaissance fleet began to turn, accelerate, and retreat towards the designated ambush area.

Behind them, Betty's fleet was in full pursuit.

Hunter and prey, a chase begins.

Further south, Scheer's main fleet had just left Wilhelmshaven and was heading toward the rendezvous point at an economical speed of 16 knots.

Throughout the North Sea, three massive fleets are moving toward the same point.

Like three giant planets about to collide under the influence of gravity.

No one knows the outcome of the collision.

Nobody knows who will be the winner.

The only certainty is that when the steel collides, flames will illuminate the sea and explosions will tear the sky apart.