World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Fire!" Horst ordered.

The turret shook, and two 305mm shells flew toward the British. But Horst knew it was more of a symbolic retaliation—in such a chaotic situation, aiming was virtually impossible.

Suddenly, the turret shook violently, more violently than ever before. All the lights went out, and the emergency lights came on, their red glow making the inside of the turret look like hell.

"Hit!" someone screamed. "We've been hit directly!"

Horst felt warm liquid flow into his eyes. He touched them; it was blood. A shard of glass had struck his forehead.

"Casualty report!" he roared.

"Hans... Hans isn't moving!" Fritz's voice was choked with sobs.

Horst struggled to crawl over. Hans lay beside the loader, a horrible wound on his chest, blood staining his uniform. The twenty-year-old, who had been loading shells just a minute ago, was now lifeless.

Horst closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them, his voice icy: "Move him over there. Fritz, take over the loader's position. The rest of you, check the guns. As long as they're still firing, we'll keep firing."

But the turret could no longer rotate. The hydraulic system was damaged, and they were stuck at their current angle.

Meanwhile, the "Emperor" itself is slowly sinking.

At 6:35 p.m., on the bridge of the "Frederick the Great", Admiral Scheer witnessed the carnage at the front of the entire German column.

The Lützow caught fire and lost speed drastically. The Emperor listed severely and was clearly beyond repair. The Pomeranian—an old pre-dreadnought—was hit by at least three large-caliber shells, broke in two, and was sinking rapidly.

The British artillery fire did not diminish in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be hitting their targets even more accurately.

"Admiral!" Trotta grabbed his arm, his face deathly pale. "We must disengage immediately! The entire bow of the fleet is going to be destroyed!"

Scheer looked at the nautical chart, then at the hellish scene outside the window. He knew Trotta was right. Continuing like this wouldn't be a battle, it would be a massacre. The German High Seas Fleet—the fleet he had painstakingly built and commanded over many years—might be completely annihilated this afternoon.

However, turning to break away is equally dangerous under heavy enemy fire. Turning exposes a larger side projection of the warship, making it easier to be hit. Furthermore, a chaotic turn could lead to a collision, worsening the situation.

He didn't have much time to think.

"Command the entire fleet," Scheer's voice was hoarse but firm, "execute the 'battle turn.' All ships simultaneously turn 180 degrees on the spot, maintaining formation. Once the turn is complete, heading 000, disengage at full speed."

Battle turn—this was a highly complex tactical maneuver that the German Navy had trained for many years. All ships in the entire fleet turned 180 degrees at the same time and place, allowing for a rapid disengagement while maintaining a relatively intact formation. However, it was extremely risky; if even one ship misjudged the timing or angle, it could trigger a chain collision.

"Turn around at the same time..." Trotta gasped, "In this thick fog and under this barrage of gunfire?"

"We have no choice," Scheer said. "Pass the orders. Use every means at your disposal: radio, lights, flags. I want every captain to understand—at 6:40 p.m. sharp, the entire fleet turns. A second earlier or later could kill everyone."

The order was relayed frantically. Amidst the sounds of cannon fire, explosions, and alarms, the captains of the German fleet received this near-suicidal order.

But they were the German Navy, renowned for its discipline and training. Despite the critical situation and the continuous hitting of warships, orders were resolutely carried out.

It was exactly 6:40 PM.

On a stretch of ten nautical miles, more than thirty of the German High Seas Fleet’s main warships began to turn simultaneously.

It was a breathtaking sight—the massive steel hull traced white arcs across the sea, smoke billowed from the funnels and smoke screens, and shells continued to fall, exploding into countless columns of water.

Some warships were hit during the turn. The Silesia—another pre-dreadnought—was hit on the bridge halfway through the turn, paralyzing its command system, causing it to lose control of the turn, and nearly collide with the Posen behind it.

But miraculously, most of the warships managed to change course. The entire fleet, like a giant sea serpent, completed a U-turn at sea, turning from a southwest dash to a northeastward escape.

Jellicoe witnessed this scene through his binoculars on the British fleet's side.

"They're turning to disengage," Study said, his tone a mix of admiration and regret. "A beautiful maneuver. But that means they've escaped our T-junction."

Jellicoe nodded. He knew the perfect tactical opportunity had passed. The Germans had broken free of the trap, albeit at a cost.

"Order the entire fleet," he said, "to set course to 045 and increase speed to 18 knots. Maintain contact, but do not rush to pursue. In this fog, pursuing too aggressively could result in a torpedo collision or getting caught in the melee."

He paused, then added, "Besides, it's getting dark. Night fighting isn't our forte."

The communications officer ran off to relay the order. Jellicoe continued to watch the fleeing German fleet. Smoke and darkness were rapidly swallowing their outlines.

The first phase of the battle has ended. The British have achieved a major tactical success—severely damaging several German capital ships, sinking at least one, and suffering almost no losses themselves.

Strategically, however, the battle was far from over. The German fleet was still there and capable of fighting. And the North Sea at night lurked with even more unknown dangers.

"They'll come back," Jericho whispered, whether to himself or the officer beside him, "or we'll go find them. This war... today is just the beginning."

On the sea, the surviving German warships, under the cover of smoke and darkness, desperately fled northeast. Behind them, the British battle line slowly adjusted its course, like a beast that was not in a hurry to pounce, continuing to cruise in the fog.

The sea breeze carried the smells of gunpowder, burnt smells, and a faint, lingering smell of fuel oil from sunken warships.

The bridge of the "Frederick the Great" shook violently in the water column caused by the explosion of the eighteenth near miss. Seawater poured onto the observation windows like a torrential rain, turning the already blurred vision into complete chaos.

General Reinhard Scheer grabbed the edge of the chart table to avoid falling. His uniform lapels were drenched, leaving mottled water stains on the dark blue fabric, like some kind of ominous sign.