World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"This may be the last order I give you. So I want to say: it has been an honor to serve alongside you. Whatever happens after today, you have proven the courage and loyalty of German sailors."

He took off the communicator and looked at the captain: "Turn around. Heading 270, straight to the British battle line. Turn on all the lights that can still be turned on, and sound all the horns that can still be sounded. We must make it clear to the British—the German Navy will fight to the death."

The Lütsov drew a heavy but resolute arc across the sea.

Behind her, the Derfflinger, Seydlitz, and Von der Tann—the remaining battlecruisers of the reconnaissance fleet—along with several light cruisers and destroyers, also turned and followed their flagship toward the wall of death that spewed flames.

In the thick fog and darkness, this battered little fleet, like moths drawn to a flame, went forward without hesitation.

On the bridge of the Iron Duke, Admiral John Jellicoe held up his binoculars, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

"What are they doing?" he murmured, more as if asking himself.

In the direction he was observing, several German warships—judging from their outlines, mainly battlecruisers—suddenly broke away from the retreating main force, turned around, and headed straight for the British battle line. Moreover, they turned on all the lights they could, searchlights piercing the night and smoke, as if deliberately revealing their position.

"A suicide charge?" Lieutenant General Study also witnessed this. "Has Hipper gone mad?"

Jellicoe did not answer. He put down his binoculars and strode back to the chart table. The staff officers had already marked the positions and course of the German warships based on the lookout's report.

"Heading 270, almost directly towards us," the navigator said. "Speed... not fast, about sixteen to eighteen knots. Formation is loose, looks badly damaged."

"It's a decoy," intelligence officer Major General Hall deduced. "They want to draw our fire and create an opportunity for the main fleet."

Jellicoe stared at the nautical chart. The blue arrow representing the main German fleet was accelerating away to the northeast, while the German warships that had turned were like thin spikes branching off the arrow, stabbing back towards the British battle line.

A classic sacrifice tactic. Sacrificing some ships to ensure the safety of the main force.

But the question is—why now? Why use these battlecruisers that are clearly already heavily damaged? While the German main fleet has suffered losses, most of its warships are still intact and combat-ready. If sacrifices are truly necessary, why not sacrifice some older pre-dreadnoughts?

unless……

Jellicoe abruptly looked up: "Order the entire fleet to immediately adjust its course to 030! All main guns to remain on alert, but do not fire on those charging enemy ships for now! Closely monitor the movements of the German main fleet!"

"Admiral?" Study asked, puzzled. "Those German warships are already within 10,000 yards! If we don't open fire, they might launch torpedoes, or even ram us!"

"Their goal wasn't to ram us," Jellico said, his eyes fixed on the position of the German main fleet on the chart. "You see, Scheer's main force is accelerating, but its course hasn't changed; it's still heading northeast. If these warships were truly launching a suicidal charge to cover the main force's retreat, then the main force should have taken the opportunity to turn around, change course, and use the window of opportunity while our attention was diverted to escape. But they didn't."

He tapped his finger on the chart: "So Hipper's charge wasn't to cover the retreat—it was to cover the assault. Scheer wanted us to turn our guns toward these conspicuous targets, and then his main force would suddenly turn and charge toward the weak points of our battle line."

"But our battle line has no weak points..." Study said, then suddenly realized, "unless we adjust our course and firepower to deal with Hipper, causing our formation to break down or some of our ships to be unable to fire."

“Right.” Jellicoe nodded. “So we’ll do the opposite. Ignore Hipper, maintain formation and course, and keep a close eye on Scheer’s main force. If Scheer does turn to attack, we’ll crush him with a T-shaped charge during his turn.”

The order was relayed. The entire British battle line began to slowly turn, the twenty-four dreadnoughts tracing elegant arcs across the sea like a giant sea serpent. The turrets remained pointed northeast—towards the German main fleet.

As for the German battlecruisers that were getting closer and closer, the British warships only used their secondary guns and medium-caliber guns to harass them, without firing a single shot from their main guns.

This reaction clearly took the Germans by surprise.

On the bridge of the "Frederick the Great", Scheer observed the British fleet's reaction through his binoculars.

"They didn't take the bait." Trotta's voice was filled with disappointment, but also a hint of relief—at least Hipper wouldn't have sacrificed himself in vain.

But Scher's expression grew even more serious.

"No, they took the bait," he said in a low voice, "but the hook was in the wrong direction."

He pointed to the nautical chart: "Look, Jellicoe has adjusted his course, from 080 to 030. This angle... this angle is perfect."

The navigator quickly calculated, then gasped: "My God... this new course will allow our main fleet to crash into the front of their battle line again in twenty minutes!"

Scher closed his eyes. He felt it—that sense of powerlessness of being completely seen through and controlled by a more skillful opponent.

Jellicoe not only avoided the trap but turned it on. He seemingly adjusted his course to counter Hipper's charge, but in reality, he was setting a new trap. Meanwhile, the main German fleet, forced to maintain its distance from the British fleet, was compelled to keep its course, resulting in… another collision with the T-bow.

"We must turn around immediately!" Trotta exclaimed urgently. "It's not too late to turn around!"

"Where to turn?" Scheer opened his eyes, his voice carrying an almost desperate calm. "East? That's shallow water and minefields. West? That's the British fleet's embrace. North? That would prolong our exposure to gunfire. South? That's the direction we came from; Beatty's remnants might still be there waiting to pick up the pieces."

Every direction leads to a dead end.

This is the most terrifying aspect of naval warfare—when you lose the tactical initiative, the seemingly vast ocean can suddenly become as narrow as a prison.

"What should we do then?" A young staff officer's voice trembled.

Scheer didn't answer immediately. He walked to the observation window and looked outside. Night had completely fallen, and the thick fog turned an eerie silvery-gray under the moonlight. Visibility was intermittent; sometimes the outlines of British warships could be seen in the distance, and sometimes nothing at all.

In this environment, traditional tactics become virtually ineffective. Fire control systems malfunction, formations are difficult to maintain, and even the location of the enemy can only be guessed.

Perhaps... perhaps the chaos itself is an opportunity.