World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

London, Admiralty Operations Room, 6 p.m., June 2.

The atmosphere in the room was so heavy it seemed ready to drip water. Six senior officers and staff stood around a huge map of the North Sea on the wall, each staring intently at the small magnets representing the fleet's positions on the map.

The red magnets representing the British fleet are divided into two groups: one in the northern North Sea, labeled "Betty's Fleet"; the other further south, labeled "Jellicoe's Main Force". The blue magnets representing the German fleet are also divided into two groups: one near the Denmark Strait, labeled "Hipper's Scout Fleet"; the other, which just departed from Wilhelmshaven, labeled "Schelle's Main Force", is not yet clearly located.

"Breaking intelligence." Rear Admiral Hall, Director of Naval Intelligence, pointed to the map. "Our submarine has detected signs of a large fleet leaving port, fifty nautical miles west of Heligoland Bay. At least twenty large ships are heading northwest at 16 knots."

"It's Scheer's main force," Lieutenant Admiral Study, First Sea Lord, judged. "They've finally come out of hiding."

"What about Betty?" someone asked.

"Betty's fleet is pursuing Hipper," a staff officer reported. "The latest telegram indicates that the two sides have exchanged fire in the Denmark Strait, but it has all been long-range shelling with no actual contact. Hipper is now retreating southeast, and Betty is hot on his heels."

General Jellicoe stood before the map, hands behind his back, his expression calm, but his eyes gleaming sharply. He had been standing there for half an hour, motionless, like a statue.

"Distance," he finally spoke, his voice calm. "The distance between Betty's fleet and Hipper's fleet?"

"About twenty nautical miles, Admiral," the staff officer replied. "Betty's speed is 22 knots, and Hipper's is also 22 knots. They've maintained this distance for three hours."

"It's too obvious." Study frowned. "Hipper is deliberately keeping his distance. He's trying to seduce Betty."

"We know, and Betty knows too," Jericho said. "But Betty will still chase. Because he wants to play, he needs a win."

He walked to the chart table, picked up a compass and ruler, and began to calculate.

"If Hipper continues to retreat southeast and Betty continues the pursuit... they'll reach here in six hours." He marked a location on the map with his pencil: "Southeast of Dogg Beach, 56 degrees North latitude, 5 degrees East longitude."

"That is..." Major General Hall leaned closer to look, "The central part of the North Sea. It's about the same distance from us and them."

"The ideal ambush point." Jellicoe put down his pencil. "Sher's main fleet is headed there. They want to ambush him there, wait for Betty to catch up, and then suddenly appear and catch him off guard."

The room fell silent. Everyone realized the danger of the plan—if Betty actually pursued them into the ambush zone, his fleet could suffer heavy losses.

"We should order Betty to stop the pursuit," one of the staff officers suggested.

"No," Jellicoe shook his head. "That would play right into the Germans' hands. They want us to be cautious, they want us to back down. We can't give them that signal."

He turned to face everyone: "Send a telegram to Beatty: Continue the pursuit, but remain vigilant. Once you spot any sign of the German main fleet, immediately turn and converge on it."

"What if we run into the main German team?" Study asked.

"Then let's fight," Jellicoe said calmly. "That's why we set sail. At sea, we'll fight the German High Seas Fleet."

His gaze swept over everyone: "Gentlemen, we've been waiting for this day for two years. The Germans have been hiding in the harbor, and we can't do anything about them. Now that they've come out, this is both an opportunity and a challenge."

He walked to the map, tracing the routes of the two red fleets with his finger: "Betty is the bait, and also the fist. I am the net, and also the hammer. Let's see if the Germans dare to crash in."

The order was issued. The communications officer ran in and out, bringing the latest telegrams and taking away new instructions.

The clock on the wall ticked away, and time passed second by second.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, new intelligence arrived.

"German submarine activity has increased," Rear Admiral Hall reported. "At least eight German submarines have been spotted in the central and northern North Sea. They may be preparing for a decisive battle."

"Increase anti-submarine patrols," Jellicoe ordered. "All destroyers must remain vigilant. We cannot afford to be attacked by submarines before the final battle."

Weather report at 5 PM.

"Light fog is expected in the central Beihai area over the next six hours, with visibility below moderate. Wind force 3, waves 1.5 meters high."

"It's disadvantageous for both us and the Germans," Study said, "but perhaps more advantageous for us. Our gunnery is better trained than theirs, and we have a greater advantage in poor visibility."

Betty's latest telegram at 6 p.m.

"Maintain contact with the German ships. They seem to be deliberately slowing down to lure us deeper. Requesting instructions."

Jellicoe pondered for a few seconds, then dictated a reply: "Maintain pursuit, but be prepared to turn at any time. You are about eighty nautical miles from the main fleet; you can rendezvous in three hours at full speed. Beware of submarines."

The telegram was sent. Jellicoe walked to the window and looked out at the London sunset.

The setting sun painted the sky a golden-red hue, and the clouds resembled burning flames. It was beautiful, but its beauty was tinged with melancholy.

"General," Study approached him, "do you think... the battle will begin at this time tomorrow?"

"Maybe sooner," Jellicoe said. "Maybe tonight. Naval battles never go according to plan."

He turned to look at the magnets on the map. Red and blue ones were moving across the chessboard of Beihai, getting closer and closer, step by step heading towards a collision.

"Frederick," he said suddenly, "do you remember what our first lesson was when we were young at the Naval Academy?"

Study thought for a moment: "It seems to be... 'The sea is Britain's best defense.'"

“Yes,” Jellicoe nodded. “Nelson said that Britain’s security rests on the sea. A hundred years have passed, and that statement remains unchanged. Now, it is our turn to defend that security.”

His voice was soft, but firm: "No matter the cost."

Outside the window, the lights of London gradually came on. The fate of this city, the fate of the empire, now rested on the North Sea, on the warships sailing the waves, and on the sailors about to face the gunfire.

In this room, a few people used pencils, rulers, and telegrams to make all the decisions.

War is sometimes so abstract, yet sometimes so concrete.

Berlin, Admiralty building.

Marshal Tirpitz sat at his desk, a newly released map of the North Sea situation laid out before him. But he wasn't looking at the map; he was looking at a report that had just arrived—an assessment of the domestic economic situation.

The report was terrible.

Due to the British naval blockade, Germany's imports have decreased by 60%. Food reserves can only last for three months, and there is a severe shortage of industrial raw materials, especially rubber, copper, and oil.

Worse still, public morale began to decline. After more than two years of war, rationing had become increasingly stringent, and the casualty lists from the front lines were growing ever longer. While the victories on the Eastern Front brought a brief period of euphoria, it was short-lived. Victory wouldn't increase bread production, nor would victory bring warmth.