World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

5:34 a.m.

"12,000 meters!" In the Bismarck's firing control room, gunnery officer Lieutenant Commander Carl von Müller roared into the radio, "Target confirmed, enemy ship on starboard! All main guns, prepare—"

Scheer stood at the firing command post behind the bridge, holding up his binoculars. Although he couldn't see anything, the sense of ceremony was important. He could feel the vibrations of the ship beneath his feet change—the eight 380mm main guns had completed their final angle adjustments, and the firing mechanisms at the breech were ready.

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

The order was simultaneously delivered via electric bell and shout. The Bismarck's midsection jolted violently, and its four twin-gun turrets unleashed a torrent of orange-red flames, each dozens of meters long. The muzzle storm tore a vacuum across the sea, instantly evaporating and dispersing the surrounding rain. Armor-piercing shells, weighing 800 kilograms, ripped through the air with a piercing whistle like a train passing through a tunnel, hurtling towards their targets 12,000 kilometers away.

Projectile flight time: approximately 25 seconds.

Scheer lowered his binoculars and turned to the radar screen. "Prepare to record the impact point."

"Muzzle flash! 30 degrees to starboard!"

The lookout on the Hood shouted at the top of his lungs. Almost simultaneously, the radar officer confirmed: "Enemy ship fires! Ballistics calculation in progress—"

Wellesley didn't even have time to order an evasive maneuver. Eight German shells had already pierced the rain and were falling.

The first salvo was a test firing. Four missiles landed 200 meters ahead of the HMS Hood on its port side, sending huge columns of water 30 meters into the air, with seawater crashing onto the deck like a waterfall. The other four long-range missiles created another water wall aft on the starboard side.

"Near loss! No damage!" came the report from the damage control center.

"Retaliate!" Wellesley's voice was as cold and hard as iron. "Target the enemy lead ship, fire all main guns at once!"

Colonel Tovey personally repeated the order into the radio: "Turret A, Turret B, Turret X, Turret Y—Fire!"

The Hood's first salvo.

The simultaneous roar of eight 15-inch guns sent a jolt through the warship, making it feel as if it had been kicked by a giant. John Miller felt the steel plates beneath his feet lurch violently in the ammunition magazine, and the lights overhead flickered wildly. The whirring of the turret's motors, the metallic clang of shells being loaded, the exhaust blasts after firing—all these noises blended together into a continuous, low-frequency rumble.

"Second round! Hurry!" the turret officer shouted again.

Miller and his teammates rushed towards the next shell. Their movements were mechanized: unfastening the securing cables, pushing the tray, checking the ammunition packs, and starting the elevator. Sweat soaked through everyone's rough sailor suits.

On the deck, shells are flying.

In the Bismarck's firing control room, the observer kept a close eye on the stopwatch.

"Landing point... almost lost! Two on the port side, two on the starboard side! Target still on its original course!"

"Correct to the left by 50 mils, reduce distance by 200 meters." Lieutenant Colonel Muller's voice was flat. "Second round, load—"

"Enemy ships are returning fire!" the radar officer suddenly shouted. "Eight shells, trajectory calculations... impact points around our ship!"

Scheer sensed the ship beginning to turn. Helmsman Bernhard was performing a zigzag maneuver, the standard procedure for avoiding gunfire. But the 40,000-ton behemoth was clumsy at turning, and even slower in the storm.

The first British shell landed fifty meters to the port side of the Bismarck. The second was even closer—twenty meters. Seawater splashed onto the bridge windows, blurring the view.

"Near miss fragments hit the port secondary gun position!" Damage control report: "Three personnel sustained minor injuries; guns are undamaged."

"Don't stop!" Scheer said into the radio. "Keep firing!"

The Bismarck's second salvo was fired thirty seconds later. This time, the corrections worked.

"Hit! Hit the midships of our ship!"

On the bridge of the HMS Hood, the lookout's screams sent a chill down everyone's spine.

Wellesley rushed to the porthole. He saw it—between turret B and turret X, on the lifeboat deck, a ball of orange flames was stubbornly burning in the downpour. Black smoke billowed from the breach, then was dispersed by the strong wind, but the fire was clearly spreading.

"Damage report!" Tovey yelled into the communicator.

"The lifeboat deck behind turret B has been hit! A 380mm armor-piercing shell penetrated the upper armor and exploded inside the hangar! The fire has spread to ventilation shaft number 2! Damage control team is en route!"

"Can the fire be controlled?"

"The rain is heavy, General! But the explosion ignited the paint and woodwork—"

Before the words were even finished, the Hood fired its third salvo. The ship shook again, but this time the shaking was accompanied by an ominous sound of metal tearing apart.

Wellesley stared at the burning area. The firelight illuminated the nearby deck, where he saw twisted steel, scattered lifeboat debris, and several small figures running through the flames—damage control personnel desperately trying to escape.

"General," Tovey approached him, lowering his voice, "this can't go on. We're in a storm, our artillery is too scattered. The Germans have the upper hand, and they have two ships—"

"I know," Wellesley interrupted him. He walked back to the chart table and pointed to the two markings representing the Hood and the Bismarck. The two ships were almost parallel, 11,000 meters apart, and both were firing at each other with all their broadside firepower. This was the most classic formation in battleship duels, but also the one that relied most heavily on protection and firepower.

HMS Hood, as a battlecruiser, was designed for high speed and firepower, while its protection was intended to counter the guns of cruiser-class ships.

"Give the order." Wellesley looked up. "Twenty degrees to port. We're going to cut inside, close the distance, and concentrate all main gun fire on the Bismarck. At the same time, order the Queen Elizabeth to maneuver to the right to disperse enemy fire."

"General, closing the distance means—" Tovey hesitated before speaking.

"That means we'll be easier to hit, and it also means our hit rate will improve." Wellesley looked at his captain. "Colonel Tovey, do you have a better suggestion?"

Tovey paused for two seconds. "No, General."

"Then let's do it."

The order was given. The helmsman began to turn the massive rudder wheel, which was over six meters in diameter. The 40,000-ton HMS Hood slowly listed to port amidst the waves, its bow cutting through the sea as it began to change course.

Inside the ammunition depot, John Miller sensed that the ship's tilt angle had changed.

"We're turning!" Tom shouted.

"Get back to work!" Miller shoved him back to his post. "Turning isn't your job! Send the shells up!"

But Miller knew in his heart. A change of tactics meant a shift in strategy. It meant that the higher-ups thought the current approach was ineffective. It meant... the situation might not be good.

He looked up at the steel ceiling above him, as if he could see through the layers of decks to the burning lifeboat decks. The sound of an explosion could be faintly heard, like muffled thunder.