World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Which ship are you on?" Archer asked.

"HMS Black Prince, sir," the young sailor replied, his voice hoarse. "We...we're surrounded by the Germans. Lots of German ships, battleships, cruisers...they're shining searchlights on us, then opening fire. Captain Beckett ordered us to abandon ship..."

He choked up and couldn't continue.

Archer's heart sank. The Black Prince, an armored cruiser, had been surrounded and sunk by the main German fleet. What did this mean? It meant that the main German fleet was nearby and was moving in a certain direction.

"Did you see which direction the German fleet went?" he asked eagerly.

The young sailor thought for a moment, then pointed southeast: "That way. After they sank us, they went that way without stopping."

Southeast. That's the direction of the He'en Reef Channel.

Archer rushed back to the bridge and yelled into the megaphone, "Send light signals to HMS Dublin! German main fleet sighted, southeast, distance unknown! Requesting instructions!"

The signalman began signaling Morse code with his lights. A few minutes later, a faint light responded from afar—it was HMS Dublin, who had received the signal and was on her way to rendezvous.

But at that moment, an urgent report came from the sonar room: "Underwater contact! Bearing 150, distance approximately 3,000 meters, speed... very slow, possibly a submarine!"

Archer's heart pounded. A German submarine was nearby, possibly targeting them.

"Emergency turn! Deploy depth charges! Standard intervals!" he ordered.

The "Shark" suddenly turned, and the depth charge racks at the stern began to operate. One by one, cylindrical depth charges were dropped into the sea, where they exploded after sinking to the predetermined depth.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

A muffled, thunderous explosion came from the seabed, sending ripples across the surface. But there was no definite indication of a hit—the submarine had likely already submerged or taken evasive action.

"Keep firing! Maintain maneuverability!" Archer roared. He knew that a destroyer fighting a submarine was like a hound fighting a viper; it had to keep moving and not give the submarine a stable opportunity to fire.

More depth charges were dropped. Columns of water erupted on the surface. Suddenly, after the third simultaneous explosion, the sonar operator shouted, "Hit! I heard a metallic twisting sound! The submarine is surfacing!"

Archer rushed to the side of the ship. In the spray of the exploding water, a dark, streamlined object slowly emerged from the sea—a submarine, a German U-boat, its hull number illegible. It was visibly damaged and listing.

"All guns, aim at the enemy submarine! Fire!" The 4-inch guns and machine guns of the "Shark" began to fire. Shells and bullets struck the submarine's hull, creating numerous bullet holes. The submarine began to sink rapidly—this time it truly sank, not just submerged.

Minutes later, the submarine disappeared completely beneath the surface of the sea, leaving behind only an oil slick and floating wreckage.

"Sinking confirmed," the sonar operator reported. "The propeller noise has stopped, but the cracking sound of the hull continues."

Archer breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately tensed up again—sinking a submarine would be good, but the submarine might have already launched torpedoes before it sank.

"Watch out for torpedo tracks! All ships on alert!"

The lookouts frantically scanned the sea with their binoculars. Sure enough, in the moonlight, several white contrails were extending from the direction the submarine had sunk—torpedoes, at least three.

"Hard to port! Full speed!" Archer roared.

The USS Shark made an emergency turn, listing to an angle that nearly capsized. The first torpedo grazed less than twenty meters ahead of the bow, the second swept past the stern. The third…

The third one hit.

But the torpedo didn't hit the ship's hull; instead, it struck a small motorboat that had just been launched—aboard which two sailors were rescuing survivors. The force of the torpedo explosion shredded the boat, killing both sailors instantly and capsizing several nearby life rafts.

Archer closed his eyes. Two more lives were lost because of his decision—stopping to rescue the survivors gave the submarine the opportunity to attack.

That's how war is; every choice can come at a price. Saving lives might kill more; pursuing the enemy might lead to a trap; careful avoidance might result in missing a crucial opportunity.

"Continue the rescue," he finally said, his voice weary, "but speed up. We can't stay here any longer."

He walked to the nautical chart and marked the location where the survivors were found, the location where the submarine was sunk, and the approximate location where the "Black Prince" sank. Then, he drew an arrow in red pen pointing southeast.

The main German fleet is moving towards Horn Reef. His mission is to deliver this intelligence to Jellicoe.

No matter the cost.

At 2:30 a.m., on the western edge of the minefield at He'en Reef.

On the bridge of the German battleship "Grosshai" (Great Elector), Captain Hans Krupp, the navigator, held a sextant with trembling hands, trying to orient himself by the occasional stars peeking through the clouds.

In the dense fog and darkness, traditional navigation methods were almost useless. Gyrocompasses were inaccurate, log readings were erratic, and even the direction of ocean currents was difficult to determine. Their only reliance was their familiarity with the area—and prayer.

"Location?" the captain asked as he walked over, his voice equally tense.

Krupp glanced at the calculated coordinates, then at the nautical chart, cold sweat beading on his forehead: "Sir, according to astronomical positioning, we should be here now."

He pointed to a point on the nautical chart, which was exactly on the edge of the minefield at Horn Reef—no, not on the line, but just a little inside the line.

"Are you sure?" The captain's expression changed.

"It's uncertain," Krupp admitted. "The margin of error could be two nautical miles. We could be inside or outside the minefield."

Two nautical miles. On land, that's a safe distance. But at the edge of a minefield, it's a line between life and death.

The captain walked to the megaphone and connected to the engine room: "Reduce speed to 12 knots. Repeat, 12 knots. Remain absolutely silent."

The roar of the engines subsided. The Great Elector, like a cat stalking in the dark, moved slowly and cautiously forward. Around her, the other German warships also slowed, the fleet's speed dropping from 18 knots to 12, and then to 10.

This was the most dangerous part of the Scheer Plan—navigating close to the edge of a minefield, like walking on a knife's edge; one wrong step and it would be all over.

Krupp continued observing the stars with his sextant. Whenever the clouds parted and even a single star was revealed, he would immediately measure, calculate, and adjust the course. His hands trembled with tension and cold, but he forced himself to remain calm. The lives of all twelve hundred men on board might depend on this instrument in his hands.

Suddenly, a muffled thud came from the starboard side.

It wasn't an explosion; it sounded more like an impact—the sound of wood hitting steel.