Chapter Sixteen: The Trump Card (8)

  At 2:50, in the North Sea, 50 nautical miles southwest of the middle line of Skagerrak Strait, and 100 nautical miles from the coast of Jutland, a formidable fleet had just emerged from the faint light on the surface of Heligoland Bay on March 4, 1915, only to encounter a thick white fog.

  The German naval flag with iron cross and black eagle, as well as the fleet flagship's pennant, fluttered at the top of the mainmast of the battleship Friedrich der Grosse, as the biting wind whipped across, penetrating deep into the thick winter clothing of the lookout's collar. The chilled lookout could only rub his hands and stamp his feet on the observation deck, seeking a moment of warmth.

  His fatigue was like a maggot attached to his bones, and after climbing up the stern of the warship with great effort, he hid his slightly stout body in the leeward position and lit a cigarette. The smoke had just passed through his lungs when the distant east transmitted a low and muffled sound of gunfire, which sounded like the dull roar of a wounded beast.

  "East?" A hint of surprise crept onto the old face, etched with years and sea winds, as the just-lit cigarette was tossed onto the deck and then brutally trampled by high leather boots. The general leaned against the gangway, rushing towards the command tower of the Frederick the Great, while at the same time, the lookout on the general's head hastily raised his binoculars, scanning the calm sea surface.

  Just a few seconds before the sea fog came in, the lookout was surprised to find some sparks of fire several kilometers away on the left side. The beautiful fire dance obviously couldn't bring any new imagination to the lookout, because what corresponded to it was always slaughter under the background of steel!

  "Command tower, unidentified fleet spotted on the port side, numbering more than five vessels, distance exceeding 6,000 meters, heading roughly parallel to that of the Oceanic Fleet!"

  The cannon thundered, like a sharp iron hammer pounding on the lookout's chest, it was a desperate feeling, because the Frederick the Great had already entered the sea fog area, and the dense water vapor was in sight everywhere. The general leaned against the half-closed thick cabin door of the command tower, his breathing was not smooth, but short orders were still being issued.

  "Signal the Fourth Division to inquire about the situation! Report to the First Scouting Group, the Grand Fleet has discovered the British Fast Division, order the First Scouting Group to turn around and cooperate with the Grand Fleet for a pincer attack!"

  "Would that be the God of War Heidrich-Seylem's desperate struggle against the British fast fleet for nearly a night?" Colonel Noel, deputy chief of staff of the Ocean Fleet, was filled with incredulity on his face. As an existence named Seylem, David Beatty was by no means a simple-minded roughneck, how dare he challenge the Ocean Fleet with its 17 main battleships with only 10 thin-skinned fast main battleships!

  The doubts of the deputy chief of staff, Admiral Neuer, were dispelled by a curt or decisive order from Scheer: "Finally, the main body of the High Seas Fleet is to deploy in line ahead!"

  Considering the possible direction of the British, Scheer deployed his High Seas Fleet main force in a line from left to right: the 4 Nassau-class battleships of the Second Division of the First Battle Squadron, the 4 Helgoland-class battleships of the First Division of the First Battle Squadron, the 4 Kaiser-class battleships of the Fifth Division of the Third Battle Squadron, and the fleet flagship Friedrich der Grosse, followed by the 4 K?nig-class battleships of the Seventh Division of the Third Battle Squadron. Each line was spaced 1800 meters apart.

  At 2:58, even the flagship of the Third Battle Squadron, Kaiser, was deep in a fog bank, but the terrifying explosion on the east side pierced through the impenetrable fog and directly invaded the eardrum, stunning people.

  "Is it the end of the Fourth Division or the Royal Navy's doom?" Vice Admiral Kaff whispered.

  "Admiral, in front of the arrogant British, Germany is not yet qualified to wait for everything to be revealed!" Admiral Hipper stood on the narrow observation slit of the command tower of the battleship Kaiser, turned his head and looked deeply at the sea fog that was drifting over the surface of the ocean, firmly saying: "The mistake of Dogger Bank will not be repeated. Order, Third Battleship Squadron Seventh Division to advance at 22 knots, Fifth Division to advance at 20 knots, gradually turning left rudder thirty degrees, correcting course north by east forty degrees!"

  The helm orders were repeated in the telegraph room, the power-driven steering gear began to work, and the massive hull of the battleship weighing tens of thousands of tons drew a light dance circle on the surface of the North Sea, rushing straight towards the direction of the last exchange of fire.

  At 3 o'clock, the command tower of the battleship "Friedrich der Grosse" was brightly lit, and the atmosphere was slightly solemn.

  "The first squadron is advancing at a speed of 18 knots, the second squadron at 16 knots. The turn and reorganization will take at least fifteen minutes..." The chief of staff flipped through his thick notebook, reading out the dense data on the last page one by one.

  Colonel Neill wanted to say more, but the odious cipher clerk from the telegraph room squeezed over and fed back the disastrous situation on the right wing after a brief clash of arms in a tone devoid of any gunpowder.

  "The 4th Division of the 2nd Battle Squadron encountered eight British fast battleships, and the Prussian-class battleship Schleswig-Holstein was hit by multiple British war cruisers and sank after a magazine explosion around 02:58! Her sister ship Schlesien had three boilers destroyed but managed to maintain steam and escaped into the fog."

  As an enhanced version of the Braunschweig class, the Preussen-class battleships had a standard displacement of 13,190 tons, and were equipped with two 283 mm (40 calibre) main guns, and fourteen single-mounted 170 mm secondary guns. Due to the adoption of the most advanced water-tube boilers at that time, the Preussen-class battleship's main engine power reached as high as 20,000 horsepower, so that as a pre-dreadnought it could easily run out of a speed of over 19 knots, and Schleswig-Holstein even reached a speed of 19.5 knots under forced ventilation conditions. In terms of defensive capabilities, the Preussen-class battleship's waterline belt main armour thickness reached up to 240 mm, and the main turret defence armour, which had always been neglected, was also strengthened to an unprecedented 280 mm.

  SMS Schlesien-Holstein was the last battleship of the Brandenburg class to be laid down, and had her boilers strengthened, allowing her to reach speeds of up to 19.5 knots under forced draft conditions. As such, SMS Schlesien-Holstein was not only the swan song of the Brandenburg-class battleships but also the final curtain call for Germany's pre-dreadnoughts. Yet this behemoth that ruled supreme in the pre-dreadnought era met its demise in a matter of minutes when it succumbed to a magazine explosion and sank into the icy, desolate mud of the North Sea floor.

  Sherer, who had been awake all night, seemed to have sat for a long time on the crooked and deformed chair, his eyes filled with bloodshot threads, glanced at his deputy chief of staff again, repeating the annoying question: "Colonel, how far is the Pacific Fleet from the First Reconnaissance Fleet?"

  "About 34 nautical miles!" The brilliant words were interrupted again, the deputy chief of staff disregarded the commander's furrowed brow, silently cursed in his heart, and replied with a tone of discontent.

  The distance between the two fleets seemed not to have been shortened, Scher recalled those who were impatient, and only when he took out his pocket watch did he realize the truth: the hands of time had only slipped for a few laps, and it was only three or five minutes since the last inquiry. Looking at the eager-to-perform Chief of Staff, the General's tightly closed face showed a tendency to collapse, and he said indifferently:

  "Young man, I have a premonition that after a night of mystery and uncertainty, the truth will be revealed with the first light of dawn, bringing either survival or destruction, glory or shame!"

  Noel, the young deputy chief of staff of the Grand Fleet, who was not yet thirty-four years old, unconsciously scratched his white hair. It was now the perfect moment to annihilate the British fast fleet, and Captain Noel did not understand where Admiral Scheer's sighs came from until the morning of the 4th when a strip of pure white light pierced through the fog and turned over the trump card...