World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Report damage!"

"Slight water ingress into the engine room! We are sealing it!"

"Battery pack number two is short-circuited! Switch to backup power!"

The second and third depth charges exploded, but at a greater distance. The destroyer clearly hadn't pinpointed the location; it had only dropped bombs in a general area.

"They're past," the soprano breathed a sigh of relief. "They're moving away."

Dönitz wiped the sweat from his brow—he hadn't even realized he was sweating. "Survate back to periscope depth. Check the torpedoes' status."

"Torpedo compartment report: all torpedoes normal, sir."

"Very good." Dönitz raised the periscope again. In his field of vision, the Iron Duke had moved even closer, its massive silhouette almost filling the lens. "1500 meters. Torpedo tubes ready, tubes one through three, fire!"

Three torpedoes were launched from the forward launch tubes of the U-68 at a speed of 44 knots, leaving three almost invisible white bubble trails six meters below the sea surface.

It took the torpedo about a minute to reach its target. That minute was the longest minute of Dönitz's life.

Inside the submarine, everyone held their breath, the only sounds the beating of their own hearts and the faint sounds of explosions outside. The sonar operator, wearing headphones, listened intently. The sound of the torpedo propellers gradually faded into the distance, and then—

The first muffled thud. Traveled through the water, it sounded like distant thunder.

The second sound was louder and closer.

The third sound was deafening, even the air inside the boat resonated.

"Hit! All three shots hit!" the soprano shouted excitedly.

Dönitz quickly rotated the periscope. In his field of vision, a huge fireball erupted from amidships of the Iron Duke, billowing thick smoke. The ship was clearly listing to starboard, its speed dropping sharply. The surrounding British warships were thrown into chaos; some swerved to try and avoid any remaining torpedoes, while others fired in the possible directions of the submarine—but the shells landed on the empty sea.

"Buses four through six, fire!" Dönitz ordered. Since they'd already been exposed, they might as well bet everything.

Three more torpedoes. This time only one hit, striking the already damaged stern of the Iron Duke. But it was enough. The massive battleship listed at a 15-degree angle, and the sailors on deck jumped into the sea like ants.

"Dive! Maximum depth! Full speed ahead!" Dönitz retracted the periscope. Now it was their turn to escape.

The sound of depth charges exploding overhead rang out again, but this time it was more chaotic and disorderly. The British fleet was stretched thin, having to rescue its sinking flagship, hunt down German submarines, and continue to blockade Hipper's fleet.

On the bridge of the "Von der Tann", Hipper witnessed that shocking scene.

First, the Iron Duke suffered three massive explosions amidships, with thick smoke and flames engulfing half of the ship. Then, the British fleet was thrown into chaos, and a gap appeared in the previously tight encirclement.

"It's a submarine!" Colonel Muller shouted. "Our submarine!"

Hipper had no time to celebrate. He immediately seized the opportunity: "Full fleet, turn 90 degrees to the left and charge out through the gap! Maximum combat speed!"

Like a pack of wolves breaking free of a trap, the German fleet slipped through the chaos of the British fleet. Destroyers released a final wave of smoke to cover the retreat of the capital ships. The British warships attempted to reorganize the pursuit, but the sinking of HMS Iron Duke diverted too much attention—rescuing those in the water, monitoring any remaining submarines, reorganizing command structures…

Two hours later, the German fleet entered the dense fog zone at the edge of Norwegian territorial waters. The British pursuing ships hovered along the border before eventually giving up—pursuing a neutral country in its territorial waters would be a serious diplomatic incident.

Hipper finally allowed himself to sit down. He took the water glass from his adjutant, his hand trembling slightly—only now was the adrenaline starting to subside.

"Casualty report," he said in a hoarse voice.

"The 'Von der Tann' was hit by three small-caliber bullets, sustaining minor damage. Seven were killed and nineteen wounded," Müller reported. "The 'Mooch' suffered severe damage to its bow, taking on approximately 800 tons of water, but the watertight compartments functioned, and it is not in danger of sinking. Twenty-three were killed and forty-one were wounded."

"Where is the Seydlitz?"

Müller's expression darkened: "The aft main turret is completely destroyed, the forward main turret's hydraulic system is malfunctioning and can only be operated manually. A 13.5-inch shell hit the starboard side, tearing a four-meter-long gash. The engine room is flooded, and the speed can now only be maintained at 15 knots. Fifty-seven dead, over a hundred wounded. In addition, her captain, Colonel von Egerdy, was killed; the shell hit the bridge directly."

Hipper closed his eyes. Egidi was his friend of many years; they had graduated from the Naval Academy together, risen through the ranks together, and survived the life-or-death ordeal in Jutland together. Now, he was dead, killed in a "political performance" mission.

"Where's the submarine? The one that saved us?"

"U-68, Commander Lieutenant Karl Dönitz. They have successfully escaped the British destroyers and are on their way back. However…" Müller paused, "they have used up all their torpedoes and were damaged in a depth charge attack, so they can only navigate underwater at four knots. It will take at least three days to get back to port."

"Send a telegram to Lieutenant Dönitz," Hipper opened his eyes, his gaze regaining its resolve, "that I, Franz von Hipper, and all the officers and men of the entire task force owe him a life. If he returns safely, I will personally apply for a medal of honor for him."

"Yes, sir."

Communications officer Walter poked his head out again: "General, a call from Berlin. His Majesty the Emperor... is 'satisfied' with the outcome."

"Satisfied?" Hipper smiled bitterly. "We lost over a hundred men, all three capital ships were damaged, and the 'Seydlitz' was almost totaled, all for the sake of bombarding a port and sinking a battleship. And His Majesty calls this 'satisfied'?"

Walter didn't dare to reply.

Hipper waved his hand: "Reply: Mission accomplished, fleet is returning. Detailed battle report to follow. Also... inquire about the whereabouts of Lanfang's two new warships."

Port William, July 10.

The battered fleet slowly entered the harbor. Thousands of people gathered on the dock—officers, sailors, shipyard workers, and reporters who had rushed to the scene. When the Seydlitz appeared, gasps rippled through the crowd: the massive breach on her starboard side was horrifying, the deck was covered in charred marks, and the aft main turret was askew, its barrels pointing skyward, like the limbs of a dead behemoth.

Field Marshal Tirpitz personally went to the dock to greet him. As Hipper descended the gangway, the old marshal stepped forward, grasped his hand tightly, and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he only said, "You've had a long journey."

At the subsequent battle briefing, Hipper recounted the battle in detail, emphasizing the decisive role of Dönitz and U-68. When they heard that the Iron Duke had sunk, the officers in the conference room let out a suppressed cheer.

But Tirpitz was concerned with more than just that: "How long will it take to repair our damage?"