World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The Tirpitz did not retaliate.

It is waiting.

Wait until it reaches the optimal firing range.

8:03 AM.

The distance is 13,000 meters.

Hoffmann ordered: "Aim the main guns at the Courageous, fire three salvos, a barrage of fire."

The Tirpitz's eight 380mm guns roared simultaneously.

The first salvo was a straddle shot. The shells landed in front of and behind the Courageous, and the resulting columns of water almost engulfed it.

Second salvo, adjustment. One shell hit near the port waterline of HMS Courageous.

The shell tore through the armor and exploded three meters below sea level. Seawater rushed in through the breach, instantly flooding the three boiler rooms. The Courageous's speed plummeted from thirty-two knots—thirty knots, twenty-eight knots, twenty-five knots—

"Damage control report! Severe flooding on the port side, out of control!" The damage control captain's voice screamed into the radio.

Jason knew it was over.

At a speed of 25 knots, at a distance of 13,000 meters, facing a Bismarck-class battleship with a speed of 30 knots would be a death sentence.

"Keep firing!" he roared. "Fire all the shells!"

The gunners on the Brave went mad. They loaded, aimed, and fired at top speed, regardless of the low probability of a hit. The four cannons spewed fire like the final roar of a dying beast.

But the Tirpitz showed no mercy.

Third salvo. Fourth salvo. Fifth salvo.

8:19 AM.

Two more 380mm shells hit HMS Courageous. One exploded below the bridge, blowing away the entire operations room. The other penetrated the main deck, exploding above the ammunition magazine and detonating the stored propellant.

HMS Courageous shuddered violently from the explosion and began to list to starboard.

Jason lay trapped in the rubble of the bridge, his lower body pinned under steel beams, unable to move. He heard the sound of water taking on, the sound of explosions, the sounds of crew members running and screaming. Then he heard a voice shouting, "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

That was the first mate's voice.

He tried to shout "Don't abandon ship!" but only blood came out of his mouth.

8:27.

The bow of the HMS Courageous slowly rose, and the stern submerged in the water. It remained there on the surface for about thirty seconds—like a dying man gazing at the sky one last time—before it began to sink.

It disappeared completely within three minutes.

All that remained on the sea surface were oil slicks, debris, and a few scattered life rafts.

On the Tirpitz, Hoffman lowered his telescope.

"Target: Glory," he said. "Full speed ahead."

When Betty received news of the Daring's sinking, her fingers froze on the telescope for a full five seconds.

Those were his warships. Those were the men he brought. Those were…

He shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind.

Now is not the time for sorrow. The Brave is gone, and the Glorious is soon to follow. He is left with only himself—and the approaching Bismarck.

Since 7:50 AM, he has been hit by three 380mm shells. One hit the secondary gun deck, causing a fire that has been extinguished. One hit below the bridge, blowing up the radio room and killing thirteen communications soldiers. One hit near the waterline on the broadside; the flooding has been stopped by the damage control team, but the ship's speed has begun to fluctuate.

Meanwhile, the Bismarck was still approaching.

12,000 meters. 11,500 meters. 11,000 meters.

The closer the distance, the higher the hit rate. Beatty knew that if the Bismarck got within 10,000 meters, he might not last more than twenty minutes.

"Hard to starboard!" he roared. "Full speed, southeast!"

The Queen Elizabeth drew huge arcs across the sea, trying to create distance. But the Bismarck, like a persistent leech, clung to its course, and the distance not only didn't increase, but continued to shrink.

Betty called Glorious repeatedly, but there was no response.

He called Jericho, and the reply was always, "Coming at full speed, hang in there."

But how much longer does he need to hold on?

One hour? Two hours? Or...?

His gaze fell on the radar screen—empty. He could only guess: where was Jellicoe's fleet now? Eighty nautical miles? One hundred nautical miles? Or even further?

he does not know.

All he knew was that if things continued like this, he wouldn't make it to Jericho's place.

8:43.

The lookout cried out in a trembling voice, "New ship sighted to the left rear!"

Betty raised the binoculars.

The bow of the Tirpitz is rising from the horizon. It's here. It sank the Courageous and the Glorious, and now it's coming for the Queen.

Two Bismarck-class battleships, one on the left and one on the right, are flanking the Queen Elizabeth.

Betty lowered her binoculars, stood at the porthole, and watched the two German warships getting closer and closer.

He suddenly remembered what the sailor he had pulled from the sea had said a few months earlier when the HMS Hood sank: "We didn't see anything."

Now he sees it.

It's crystal clear.

"Send a telegram to Jericho," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "The Queen's last position is as follows..."

Scheer stood by the porthole, watching the three dots on the radar screen turn into two, and then into one.

The Brave has disappeared. The Glory's signal is weakening. The Queen moves on the screen like a hunted deer, darting left and right, but unable to escape the encirclement.

"Tirpitz reporting, Glorious's speed is decreasing, the battle is expected to be resolved within twenty minutes." The communications officer's voice came from behind.

Scher nodded.

"Continue to approach the Queen. Within 10,000 meters."

The Bismarck's main guns were still firing. Every forty seconds, the eight 380mm guns would spew fire. The water around the Queen Elizabeth II rose and fell like a boiling sea.

8:51 AM.

Another shell hit the stern of the Queen. This time, its speed dropped noticeably—from thirty knots to twenty-eight knots, and then from twenty-eight knots to twenty-six knots.

"Tirpitz reporting that Glorious has sunk and is approaching."

Scher looked at the rapidly approaching dot of light on the radar screen.

Two male lions and one lone female lion.

It's time to hunt.

"Full speed ahead," he said. "Once we get within 10,000 meters, fire at will."

8:58.

The two Bismarck-class battleships deployed 10,000 meters to the left and right of the Queen Elizabeth II, beginning the final assault.

Shells came from two directions. The Queen Elizabeth was like being repeatedly pounded by two giants, each hit causing the ship to shudder violently. The forward main gun turret was penetrated and stuck at a 15-degree elevation angle. Half of the bridge was blown off, and the navigator was killed instantly. Several large holes were torn in the sides, and seawater rushed in, reducing the ship's speed to below 20 knots.

Betty stood in the wrecked bridge, refusing the life jacket offered to her by her subordinates.

"Has the telegram been sent?"

"Sent, General. Final coordinates."

"it is good."

He walked to the porthole—there was no glass left, only a twisted frame. He looked at the two German warships, at the muzzles of their cannons flashing in the firelight, at the spray of water kicked up by their shells on the sea.

He recalled many things. He remembered his youth, the excitement of boarding a warship for the first time. He remembered the Battle of Jutland, the hours he spent facing off against the German reconnaissance fleet. He remembered the news of the HMS Hood's sinking…