World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Any discoveries?" asked Moritz, the veteran beside him. Moritz had served in the Navy for twelve years and was the most experienced man in the lookout post.

"There's nothing there." Klaus put down his binoculars, rubbed his eyes, and said, "Just fog, damn fog. I feel like we're sailing in milk."

Moritz didn't laugh. He continued to hold up his binoculars, slowly and systematically scanning the sea. "In the fog, sometimes you hear before you see."

"What did you hear?"

"Engine sounds. Cannon fire. Or..." Moritz suddenly stopped. "Wait."

Klaus immediately raised the binoculars again: "What?"

"Starboard, two o'clock." Moritz's voice tightened. "There's something in the fog..."

Klaus looked in the direction he was told. At first, he saw only a grayish-white expanse. But gradually, he discerned some outlines—huge, dark, slowly moving outlines.

That was not a ship.

There were many ships.

"God..." he murmured.

The outlines appeared and disappeared in the fog, like a mirage, yet terrifyingly real. He could see towering masts, massive turrets, and thick smokestacks... The ships were lined up in neat rows, from left to right, almost filling his entire field of vision.

"It's the British fleet!" Moritz's voice was shrill with shock. "The entire British main fleet! They're...they're right in front of us!"

Klaus's heart pounded. He grabbed the communicator, but his hands were trembling.

"Report! Enemy fleet spotted at starboard two o'clock! Multiple large warships, in formation... in a single column! They... God, they're right in front of us!"

A brief silence followed from the bridge, then the captain's urgent voice: "Distance? Bearing?"

"Distance...they're very close! Less than 10,000 yards! Orientation...they're directly in front of us, heading...wait, their heading..."

Klaus carefully observed the silhouettes moving slowly through the fog. He noticed a frightening fact—the British fleet's column was perfectly perpendicular to the Frankfurt's course. No, not just the Frankfurt, but the entire German fleet's course.

The British fleet was positioned in front of the German fleet.

It's like a wall made of steel.

"They're blocking our way!" Klaus practically roared. "The entire battle line! From northeast to southwest! We're...we're charging straight at the front of their column!"

The captain's gasp came from the other end of the communicator.

Immediately afterwards, the alarms on the "Frankfurt" blared mournfully throughout the entire ship.

At 6:25 p.m., on the bridge of the "Frederick the Great", Admiral Scheer received an emergency report from the "Frankfurt".

At first, he thought he had misheard.

"The main British fleet is right in front of us? Straight across our course?" He stared at the communications officer, repeating the report. "Are you sure?"

"It was the Frankfurt that saw it with their own eyes, Admiral." The communications officer was pale. "They reported: they spotted several British dreadnoughts in single file formation, heading approximately 080 degrees, almost perpendicular to our fleet's heading. The distance... less than 10,000 yards."

10,000 yards.

Within the effective range of the battleship's main guns.

Scheer rushed to the nautical chart. The staff had already marked the location of the British fleet based on the report from the Frankfurt. The moment Scheer saw that mark, he felt his blood run cold.

The main British fleet did not "form battle formation" at the location stated in the telegram.

They have already formed.

Moreover, their battle line was positioned directly across the German fleet's path of advance.

"Crossing the T-junction..." Chief of Staff Trotta murmured, his voice filled with terror, "God, we've crashed into the T-junction..."

Scheer forced himself to calm down. He was the fleet commander; the lives of over 40,000 people rested on his decisions. Panic would only lead to destruction.

"Command the entire fleet," his voice was unusually calm, "immediate turn! Hard to port! Adjust course to 180 degrees! We must disengage immediately!"

"But Admiral," Trotta said urgently, "if we turn now, the entire fleet will be in chaos! And turning takes time, and before that..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear—the German fleet would continue its charge toward the British battle line before the turn was complete, and the British would have ample time to open fire.

"Then release smoke!" Scheer roared. "All destroyers forward, release smoke screens! Light cruisers, prepare for torpedo attack! We must use every means to disrupt them!"

Commands were frantically relayed via radio and light signals. The entire German fleet, like a frightened herd of beasts, began to erratically turn, accelerate, and release smoke.

However, in the dense fog, and with such a large fleet, the transmission and execution of these orders took time.

Time is the most precious thing at this moment.

It was exactly 6:30 PM.

On the bridge of the Iron Duke, Admiral Jellicoe held up his binoculars, staring at the thick fog ahead on the starboard side.

He couldn't see anything. But reports kept coming from the sonar room:

"The enemy fleet is approximately 9,000 yards away and is still approaching..."

"The bearing remains basically unchanged, with an angle of approximately 70 degrees to our ship's course..."

"Changes detected in enemy fleet engine noise; they may be attempting to change course..."

Jellicoe lowered his binoculars. He knew the time had come. The Germans might have spotted them and might be turning away. But turning away takes time, and that time is a window of opportunity for firing.

He walked to the megaphone and connected to the fleet's broadcast channel.

His voice was calm and clear, carrying throughout every corner of the twenty-four British dreadnoughts:

"Attention all fleet members, this is Fleet Commander Jellicoe."

"Target, starboard, German High Seas Fleet."

"Nine thousand yards away."

"All main guns—"

He paused, then took a deep breath.

"Fire."

The moment the order was given, the Iron Duke's hull shook violently.

The ten 13.5-inch (343 mm) main guns fired in two salvos—turrets A and B opened fire first, followed closely by turrets X and Y. Huge muzzle flashes tore through the thick fog, casting orange-red light across the greyish-white sea. The shrieking sound of shells tearing through the air was like a hellish chorus, flying towards the German fleet nine thousand yards away.

Behind the Iron Duke, the main guns of the Orion opened fire. Then came the Monarch, the Conqueror, the Thunderbolt... the entire British battle line, from the lead ship Marlborough to the rear ship Agincourt, the main guns of twenty-four dreadnoughts roared in succession.

More than two hundred large-caliber naval guns completed their first salvo in less than a minute.

It was a spectacular sight rarely seen in the history of human warfare—despite being shrouded in thick fog, the muzzle flashes still illuminated the sea, and the explosions continued like a relentless thunderstorm.

On the German side, however, the scene was hell.

When the first volley of shells landed, Scheer was still on the bridge of the Frederick the Great, trying to steer the ship around. He heard the distant sound of cannon fire and then saw countless huge columns of water suddenly erupt from the sea ahead.

Those water jets were not scattered.

They were terrifyingly dense, like a white forest that suddenly grew from the seabed, covering an entire area of ​​the ocean.