World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

In the Bismarck's firing control room, an observer suddenly shouted excitedly, "The enemy ship is turning! Turning about 20 degrees to port! They're trying to cut inside!"

Scheer immediately understood the other party's intention. "They want to close the distance, trading accuracy for survival." He walked to the nautical chart and quickly calculated, "We're currently heading 310. After they turn... they'll get within 10,000 meters."

"Should we increase the distance?" the chief of staff asked.

"No," Scheer shook his head. "Continue the exchange of fire. Order the Tirpitz to concentrate its fire on the same target. Two ships against one, we have a greater advantage at close range."

"But the Hood's 15-inch guns could also penetrate our main armor belt at close range—"

"Then sink her before she's breached." Scheer's voice was icy. "Prepare for the fourth salvo. Aim for the midships; that burning spot is an excellent target designation."

The order was relayed. The Bismarck's turrets rotated again, and the eight gun barrels were lowered slightly—the distance was closing, and the trajectory of the bullets was becoming flat.

Meanwhile, on the HMS Hood, the turning was mostly completed.

Through the porthole, Wellesley saw the Bismarck's silhouette gradually become clearer in the rain. The German behemoth's lines were more solid than the Hood's, its superstructure lower, and its four main gun turrets resembled a crouching beast. The distance between the two ships had closed to nine thousand meters—at a distance where, even in a storm, the probability of a hit would be greatly increased.

"All main guns, aim near the enemy ship's waterline!" Tovey personally directed the firing. "This time, we must penetrate her armor!"

The Hood's fourth salvo.

Eight shells flew from the cannons. Almost at the same second, the Bismarck's fourth salvo came in.

This time, both sides hit the target.

The first 380mm shell to hit HMS Hood struck the base of the X turret.

The shockwave from the explosion traveled along the ship's structure. John Miller, inside the ammunition depot, felt a violent, high-frequency vibration coming from the steel plates beneath his feet, as if someone were pounding the ship with a giant sledgehammer. The overhead lights went out instantly, and a few seconds later, the emergency lights came on, casting a ghastly white glow.

"Turret damage report!" came an anxious shout from the megaphone.

"Turret X is jammed! It can't rotate!" The turret officer's reply was accompanied by static noise. "But the gun can still fire! The loading mechanism is normal!"

"Keep firing!"

The second hit followed immediately.

The shell struck the HMS Hood amidships on its starboard side, penetrating a thin bulkhead and exploding in the officers' quarters. Flames and shrapnel swept through three compartments, instantly killing fifteen officers and sailors who were on standby. The fire alarm blared piercingly.

Meanwhile, on the Bismarck's side, the Hood's two 15-inch shells also found their targets.

A shell struck the front of the bow A turret—the 320mm sloped armor withstood the impact, the shell deflected, and exploded in the sea, creating a column of water. However, the impact jammed the rotating mechanism of the A turret for thirty seconds.

The other shell was even more lethal: it struck the Bismarck amidships on its starboard side, just five meters from the waterline. The shell pierced the 150mm upper armor belt and exploded in the corridor outside the No. 2 boiler room. Shrapnel broke through the boiler room bulkhead, and high-temperature, high-pressure steam erupted instantly.

"Boiler compartment number two is damaged! Casualties...at least twenty!" came the damage control report. "Steam leak, but the main turbine is unaffected!"

Scheer's expression remained unchanged. "Continue firing. Fifth salvo, aim below the enemy ship's fire. I suspect their armor has a weak point."

"General, shouldn't we—" the chief of staff suggested, "we should move."

"No," Scheer said firmly. "Whoever backs down first loses. Keep fighting."

The bridge of the HMS Hood was in a complete mess.

A near-miss shrapnel bullet shattered the porthole, sending shards of glass flying throughout the room. A communications officer was struck in the neck; a medic pressed the wound, but blood was already seeping through his fingers. Wellesley was also lacerated on the forehead, blood streaming down his cheek, but he was oblivious.

"The X turret has resumed rotation! But at only half the normal speed!" Tovey reported. "General, our firepower output has decreased by a quarter."

"Where is the Queen?"

"She is containing Tirpitz on the right wing. But Goodnow reports that Tirpitz's counterattack is weak and there may really be a problem."

Wellesley stared at the nautical chart. Distance between the two ships: 8,500 meters. Too close; for a battlecruiser like the Hood with relatively weak armor, this distance would be almost fatal.

But he had no choice. The turn was complete, and now the Hood was almost directly facing the Bismarck, with all eight main guns aimed at the target. The Bismarck, due to the Hood's turn, also needed to fine-tune its firing angle.

"All main guns, final corrective fire." Wellesley wiped the blood from his face. "And then..."

He didn't finish speaking, because the Bismarck's fifth salvo had already been fired.

Eight shells, with a flight time of less than fifteen seconds.

The first shell was a long-range shell; it flew over the Hood's mast and exploded aft of the port side.

The second missile was nearly lost, creating a wall of water twenty meters off the starboard side.

The third... struck the command tower below the bridge. The 320mm armor of the command tower withstood the direct penetration, but the massive impact knocked everyone inside to the ground. Communications were interrupted for ten seconds.

The fourth and fifth coins were both close to being lost.

The sixth missile hit the front of the Y turret—and was deflected.

The seventh missile grazed the stern and tore off a large section of the deck.

The eighth one—

John Miller heard a strange sound in the ammunition depot.

It wasn't an explosion, nor the sound of metal tearing apart, but a dull, deep impact, like someone slamming a giant hammer into the spine of a warship. The sound came from above, passing through layers of decks, growing lower and lower, but the vibrations grew stronger and stronger.

Then he felt the heat.

It wasn't the dry heat of a boiler room, but a scorching, gunpowder-smelling heat wave that surged in from the ventilation ducts, from the deck seams, and from all directions.

"What..." Tom had just opened his mouth when all the lights in the entire ammunition depot went out.

The emergency lights are not working.

Absolute darkness. Only the heatwave churning.

"Corporal?" Tom's voice trembled.

Miller fumbled and grabbed the young man's arm. "Don't panic. It's probably an electrical malfunction." But he himself didn't believe it. An electrical malfunction wouldn't cause this heat, this... ominous, increasingly intense vibration.

The sound of running footsteps came from overhead; many people were running and shouting, but the sounds were muffled and indistinct through the thick deck. Then came a loud bang—not an explosion, but more like the sound of a massive structure breaking.

"We need to go up!" Miller pulled Tom towards the elevator. "Quick!"

They reached for the elevator door. The door was closed. Miller tried to pull the handle—it wouldn't budge. It was jammed.