World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

As he dropped the letter into the mailbox at the camp gate, he looked up at the starry sky. The Tokyo night sky wasn't this clear, and there weren't this many stars.

So beautiful. He wondered. Could the European night sky be this beautiful?

Under the same starry sky, the cargo ship "Huanghai" slowly entered the port of Marseille.

When Jin Shuntai was brought onto the deck, he could barely stand. More than twenty days adrift at sea had left him emaciated, his eyes sunken. Of the five hundred men in his group, fewer than four hundred were still standing. The others had either died of illness, jumped into the sea, or were thrown overboard alive.

The searchlights in the harbor were so bright he could barely open his eyes. The air was thick with the smells of coal smoke and seawater, along with a strange, European scent.

They were forced off the ship and lined up. A British officer walked over, accompanied by a Japanese translator.

"Welcome to France," the translator said in broken Caoxian dialect. "From now on, you are auxiliary personnel of the British Eighth Army. Obey discipline and orders, and you will receive the treatment you deserve."

"The pay?" someone whispered in the crowd. "Weren't we supposed to be here to work?"

The translator glared at him: "Battlefield support is work too! Now, go collect your equipment and get in the vehicle! The front lines need you!"

They were taken to the warehouse, where each was given an ill-fitting, musty-smelling old British uniform, a rifle, twenty rounds of ammunition, and a tin mess kit.

Then they were crammed into trucks. The convoy drove away from Marseille in the night, heading north towards the Somme.

Kim Soon-tae, clutching his rifle, huddled in the corner of the truck. Outside lay the unfamiliar European countryside, with a few lights occasionally flashing by. He thought of his home in Seoul, of his mother, and of his brother.

Brother, if you are still alive, where are you?

Will we ever see each other again?

The truck bumped and jolted as it drove into the endless darkness. Ahead, the faint sound of artillery fire could be heard, like distant thunder.

A new hell awaits.

The iron-grey waters of Scapa Flowed with countless fine ripples in the rain.

Rear Admiral Horatio Wellesley stood on the bridge of the battlecruiser HMS Hood, gazing at the anchorage through the rain-blurred portholes. His new flagship—the 41,000-ton steel behemoth—was quietly anchored in the deep waters between Hoy Island and the main island, its eight massive anchor chains taut, like the tendons of a behemoth temporarily bound.

But Wellesley knew this was just a facade. Beneath the calm of the anchorage, the tension was palpable.

"General, weather forecast." The adjutant handed over the documents. "In the next 72 hours, there will be strong winds in the North Sea, with waves expected to be four to six meters high. Visibility will be poor."

Wellesley took the documents, glanced at them, and said nothing. He turned to look to his starboard side—about eight hundred yards away, the silhouette of the battlecruiser HMS Queen was faintly visible in the rain. That sister ship had only just finished its final painting yesterday and hurriedly entered Scapa Flow to join the Grand Fleet.

Two Hood-class destroyers. The handover ceremony is still fresh in our minds; now they are painted in the Royal Navy's dark grey-blue livery, with the St. George's Cross flying from their masts. Only the repaired old bullet holes on the sides of the hull serve as a reminder of their extraordinary origins.

"General?" the adjutant asked cautiously.

Wellesley snapped out of his reverie and handed back the weather report: "Notify all ships to prepare for anchoring in rough seas. Also... have the captains of the HMS Hood and HMS Queen Elizabeth come to my cabin for a meeting in an hour."

"Yes."

After his adjutant left, Wellesley continued to gaze at the anchorage. Further away, the main battleships of the Grand Fleet were scattered like stars—Queen Elizabeth-class battleships, Iron Duke-class battleships, Invincible-class and Inexhaustible-class battlecruisers, totaling more than thirty ships. This was the most powerful steam-powered steel fleet in human history, a symbol of the British Empire's maritime supremacy.

But Wellesley felt no pride, only a heavy sense of pressure.

He knew what had happened to the army at the Somme. More than 60,000 Asian auxiliary troops had been killed or wounded, the tank units had been wiped out, and the front line had been pushed back twenty kilometers… He had read these battle reports repeatedly. The army's defeat meant that all eyes were now on the navy.

"A decisive victory must be achieved at sea." The war cabinet's directive was clear: "Break the German naval blockade, secure sea lanes of communication, and create conditions that force Germany back to the negotiating table as much as possible."

The negotiating table. Wellesley smiled wryly. Two and a half years of fighting, millions dead, and now both sides were starting to think about "negotiations." But negotiations required leverage, and the navy was the British Empire's biggest, and perhaps last, bargaining chip.

An hour later, in the captain's conference room.

Captain John Tovey, captain of the HMS Hood, and Captain William Goodnow, captain of the HMS Queen Elizabeth, sat across from each other at the long table. Both were experienced naval officers in their early forties, but their faces showed undisguised fatigue.

"Gentlemen," Wellesley said bluntly, "I need to know how the integration of the two new ships is progressing. Frankly, we don't have time."

Tovey spoke first: "The 'Hood' has completed its basic break-in period, and the main gun firing tests have been conducted three times, with the average dispersion within the expected range. However, there are a few problems: First, the fire control system is not fully compatible with our existing standards and requires time to adjust; second, the engine department reported that the steam turbines designed by Lanfang vibrate excessively under high loads, which, although not affecting performance, does affect crew comfort."

"Comfort isn't important," Wellesley interrupted. "What about combat capability?"

"The firepower is undoubtedly top-notch," Tovey affirmed. "The eight 15-inch main guns demonstrated excellent penetration and rate of fire in testing. As for protection... although there are some old wounds, after repairs, the armor in the core area is sufficient to withstand the main guns of any active German warship."

Goodnow continued, "The situation with the 'Queen's' is similar. But I have a concern. The design philosophy of these two ships seems to emphasize speed and firepower, with relatively... balanced protection. On the other hand, the Germans' latest battleships are said to have very heavy armor."

"You mean the Bismarck-class?" Wellesley asked.

"Yes. Intelligence indicates that the two Bismarck-class battleships Germany received from Lanfang have a standard displacement of over 45,000 tons, a main armor belt thickness of 320 millimeters, and an inclined arrangement we've never seen before." Goodnow tapped the sketch on the table. "If these figures are accurate, our 15-inch guns may have difficulty penetrating their core armor at normal engagement ranges."

A brief silence fell over the meeting room.

Wellesley stood up and walked to the North Sea chart on the wall. He pointed to Wilhelmshaven: "The main force of the German High Seas Fleet is here. According to the latest intelligence, the Bismarck and Tirpitz have completed their sea trials and may set sail at any time."

He turned to the two captains: "Our advantage is in numbers. The Grand Fleet has twenty-four battleships and battlecruisers, while the Germans only have sixteen. Add the Hood and the Queen Elizabeth, and we have superior firepower."