World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

At the same time, the flagship of the German High Seas Fleet, the "Frederick the Great", was also on board.

Admiral Reinhard Scheer's mood was quite different from Jellicoe's. He stood on the bridge, holding the British telegram he had just intercepted in plain text, a confident smile on his lips.

"56 degrees 15 minutes North latitude, 5 degrees East longitude," he told Chief of Staff Major General Trotta. "Jellicoe's main force is there, and 'is forming a battle formation'—what does that mean?"

Trotta pondered for a few seconds: "It means they weren't ready. Betty's collapse was faster than expected, and Jericho probably didn't anticipate that we needed to provide backup in advance."

"Exactly!" Scheer walked to the chart table, his finger emphatically pointing to the location marked on the telegram. "Look, this position is about twenty-five nautical miles northeast of us. If we continue on our current course to pursue Beatty, we'll arrive in an hour..."

His finger moved along the course of the missile: "Here, about 56 degrees 20 minutes north latitude and 4 degrees 40 minutes east longitude. That position is about twenty nautical miles from Jellicoe's main force—right at the edge of our effective range."

"But what if Jericho has already completed the deployment..." Trotta cautiously reminded him.

"He can't possibly do it." Scheer shook his head confidently. "In this thick fog, regrouping the battle lines takes time. And look at the direction Beatty is fleeing—he's retreating west-southwest, clearly trying to draw us away from Jellicoe's main force. This precisely shows that the main British force isn't ready to engage."

He turned to the officers on the bridge, his voice booming: "Gentlemen, this is the opportunity we've waited two years for! We've already sunk two British battlecruisers and severely damaged their vanguard fleet. Now, if we can take down Beatty's remaining ships before the main British force completes its deployment, it will be a perfect victory!"

"But Admiral," the voice of Franz von Hippel, commander of the reconnaissance fleet—whose flagship, the Lützow, was guiding the way—came through the communicator, "the fog is getting thicker and thicker, and visibility is less than 600 yards. We have lost visual contact with Beatty's fleet and can only roughly determine our direction by sonar."

"Then let's use sonic booms!" Scheer said decisively. "Maintain the pursuit, keep course unchanged. Tell all ships to load armor-piercing shells into their main guns and be ready to engage at any time. We must end the battle before nightfall."

The order was relayed. The entire German High Seas Fleet began to accelerate, with twenty-two dreadnoughts, six pre-dreadnoughts, eleven light cruisers, and sixty-three destroyers charging southwest through the thick fog like an enraged steel behemoth.

At the forefront of the fleet, on the bridge of the "Lützow," Hipper felt a strange unease.

The 54-year-old reconnaissance fleet commander was known for his caution. At this moment, he stared at the markings on the nautical chart representing his own and the enemy's positions, his brow furrowed.

"Commander," the adjutant whispered, "General Scheer seems quite certain."

"Too much certainty," Hipper murmured. "Sometimes at sea, being too certain isn't a good thing."

He stepped onto the open bridge, where a damp fog immediately enveloped him. Visibility was horribly poor; he couldn't even make out the Seydlitz, which was five hundred yards behind. The whole world seemed to consist only of gray and white, and the monotonous roar of engines.

"Sound room, report the location of Betty's fleet."

"Bearing 280, estimated distance 12 to 15 nautical miles, signal is weakening," the sonar operator replied. "They may be accelerating, or... turning."

Turn?

Hipper's heart skipped a beat. If Betty was turning, what did that mean? It meant he might not be running away, but guiding—like a hound leading its prey to the hunter.

But General Scheer's assessment also made sense. If the main British force had already been deployed, Beatty should have moved directly towards it instead of continuing to flee southwest, which did indeed seem like an attempt to lure the German army away.

"Maybe I'm overthinking it," Hipper said to himself. He rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the ominous feeling.

That's how war works; with incomplete information, commanders must make judgments. And the right or wrong of those judgments often determines the life or death of thousands.

"Maintain course," he finally ordered, "but order the light cruisers to advance and scout, increasing the distance to five nautical miles. I need more eyes."

"Yes, Commander!"

The order was relayed via light signals. Several light cruisers accelerated forward, reaching into the depths of the dense fog like tentacles.

Hipper watched them disappear into the fog, but his unease did not dissipate.

He recalled what the old captain had told him many years ago when he first went to sea as a junior lieutenant: "At sea, when you feel that everything is going well, it's best to stop and think about whether you've missed anything."

Right now, everything seems to be going well – they have crushed the British forwards and are pressing their advantage, while the British main force doesn't seem ready yet.

Everything went too smoothly.

"Commander!" the lookout suddenly shouted, "Starboard, light signal!"

Hipper raised his binoculars. In the thick fog, there was indeed a faint light flickering—it was Morse code.

"It's the 'Frankfurt'," the signalman quickly deciphered. "She reports: the fog ahead has cleared slightly, and visibility has increased to 800 yards. No enemy ships spotted."

Has the fog dissipated?

Hipper looked up ahead. Indeed, the fog seemed to be thinning a bit, and the horizon was faintly visible. But the improved visibility did not reassure him; instead, it made him more vigilant—at sea, changes in visibility often meant changes in weather conditions, and changes in weather conditions could lead to unexpected tactical situations.

"Reply to Frankfurt," he said, "Continue reconnaissance, paying particular attention to the northwest and northeast. Report any findings immediately."

"yes!"

The clicking of the traffic lights echoed in the fog, like some ominous rhythm.

Inside the forward main gun turret of the German battleship "Emperor," gunnery officer Sergeant Karl Horst is inspecting the gun loading mechanism.

This twin-mounted 305mm main gun turret is the most crucial weapon on the entire warship, and it's where Horst spent eight years. He knows every part and every inch of space inside like the back of his hand; he's as familiar with it as if it were his own home.

But today, the atmosphere in this "home" is unusually tense.

"Loading complete!" the loader, Hans, shouted, sweat streaming down his young face. Despite the ventilation system inside the turret, the tension and heat still left everyone drenched in sweat.

Horst checked the breechblock and confirmed it was locked. "Good. Now stand by."

He walked to the observation port and tried to look outside, but could see nothing but a hazy fog. The turret was a closed steel fortress, and they were like people sealed in a can, almost completely unaware of what was happening outside.