World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Sergeant," Hans asked in a low voice, "did we really sink two British warships?"

Horst nodded. "That's what the broadcast said. The 'Indulgence' and the 'Queen Mary'."

A low cheer rose from inside the turret. But Horst did not join in. He had been through too much; he knew the truth of war—behind every victory lay countless deaths. The British died, and the Germans died. At sea, before steel and fire, all were equal.

"Don't be too happy yet," he said in a deep voice. "The battle is not over yet. The main British force is ahead, and the real battle is yet to come."

"But we have twenty-two dreadnoughts!" Another loader, eighteen-year-old Fritz, exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. "We can defeat anyone!"

Horst looked at the young man and thought of himself eight years ago—just as passionate and believing in the power of the Empire. But now, he believed more in training, discipline, and a little bit of luck.

"Fritz," he said, "at sea, numbers aren't everything. Location, timing, weather... all these can change everything. Remember the first lesson I taught you?"

"I remember, Sergeant." Fritz straightened his back. "In the turret, you only need to do three things: aim accurately, reload quickly, and stay calm."

"Yes." Horst patted him on the shoulder. "Now, get these three things done. The rest is up to God and the commander."

The communicator in the turret suddenly crackled to life; it was the bridge's broadcast: "Attention all ships, engagement anticipated within twenty minutes. All positions, prepare for battle. Repeat, all positions, prepare for battle."

The atmosphere froze instantly. Everyone returned to their positions, their eyes fixed on the instruments or cannons in front of them.

Horst put on his headset and connected to the fire control center: "Forward main turret ready, awaiting target data."

"Roger, forward main turret. Standby." The fire control officer's voice was calm and professional.

Waiting. This is the longest part of naval warfare. You know the battle is about to break out, you know shells could come at any moment, but you can only wait, in a steel cage, listening to your own heartbeat, counting every second.

Hans began to mutter a prayer. Fritz checked the location of the gas masks. Horst closed his eyes, mentally reviewing emergency procedures—what if the turret was hit, what if a fire broke out, what if the ammunition depot was in danger…

Unbeknownst to him, several nautical miles away, in the fire control room of the British battleship HMS Iron Duke, a group of British officers were doing almost the same thing.

The fire control room of the HMS Iron Duke, located below the bridge, is a cramped space filled with instruments, calculators, and blueprints. Here, fire control officer Major Archibald Smith and his team are making final preparations for the upcoming battle.

"Target bearing 045, distance 15,000 yards," a calculator reported, rapidly sliding a slide rule across his hand. "Based on sonar signals and the last report from Betty's fleet."

Major Smith stared at the Demeric calculator in front of him—a complex mechanical calculation device that could calculate the firing data of artillery by combining multiple parameters such as distance, bearing, speed, and wind direction.

"Visibility?" he asked.

"Currently around 800 yards, but the scout ship ahead reports that the fog may be thinner in the direction of the German fleet, reaching over 1,000 yards."

Smith frowned. A thousand yards was practically face-to-face with a battleship's main guns. But the problem was that in the dense fog, even if the enemy was visible, the entire fleet might not be visible at the same time, making it impossible to form an effective fire distribution.

"We need more precise target data," he said. "We've notified the lookouts and reconnaissance aircraft—wait, can reconnaissance aircraft even take off in this weather?"

"Impossible, Major." The communications officer shook his head. "The visibility on the deck is too poor; taking off would be suicide."

"Then we'll have to rely on sight and voice." Smith walked to the megaphone, connected to the bridge, and said, "Sir, fire control room reports: we need more precise target location data. The current error may be up to three nautical miles, which will affect the accuracy of the first salvo."

There was a few seconds of silence on the bridge, then Admiral Jellicoe's calm voice came through: "Major Smith, do you know what 'crossing the T-shaped bridge' requires?"

"Understood, sir. We need the enemy to pass perpendicularly in front of our battle line."

"Then tell me," Jericho's voice remained completely flat, "if an enemy passes perpendicularly in front of you, will a distance error of three nautical miles affect your shooting effectiveness?"

Smith was stunned. He instantly understood what the general meant.

By positioning yourself across the T-bow, the enemy's entire column will be exposed to your broadside fire. Range error means you might hit a ship near the front or rear of the column, but you'll hit something regardless. The targets are so dense and so large that missing is virtually impossible.

"It won't affect anything, sir," Smith replied, his voice now tinged with respect. "In fact, the entire battle line can open fire as soon as they get within range."

"Very good," Jellicoe said. "Then prepare yourselves. When the order is given, I want all the main guns of the Iron Duke—remember, all the main guns—to fire their first salvo within thirty seconds. Then maintain maximum rate of fire until I order a halt."

"Yes, sir!"

The communication ended. Everyone in the fire control room looked at Smith.

"You all heard that." Smith took a deep breath. "This isn't a precise sniper shot; it's a barrage of firepower. What we need to do isn't aim at a single enemy ship, but bring the entire German fleet into our line of fire."

He walked to the nautical chart and drew a fan-shaped area in red: "According to calculations, the German fleet will come from this direction. Our battle line is in this direction. When they appear in the fog, they will probably see our lead ship 'Marlborough' first, then 'Iron Duke,' and then in succession."

"Which ship should we attack first?" a young officer asked.

"Whichever ship comes into range first, fire on that one," Smith said. "But remember, the order to fire will come from the flagship. We'll wait until the entire battle line is in good firing positions before we fire together. That will be..."

He glanced at the clock on the wall: "...around 6:30 PM. If everything goes according to plan."

The fire control room fell silent. Everyone was silently calculating the time in their minds.

It's 6:30 PM. Less than 40 minutes left.

At 6:22 p.m., on the lookout tower of the German light cruiser "Frankfurt", seaman Erich Krauss was trying to pierce through the thick fog with his binoculars.

He had been standing in this position for four hours, his eyes aching from focusing for so long, but he dared not relax. At sea, the lookout post is the eyes of the fleet, and today, the fog had almost blinded those eyes.