Chapter 334: Twin Departures

The thick fog began to lift slowly. Sunlight pierced the clouds, falling on the sea, reflecting glittering ripples. As visibility improved, the full view of the anchorage gradually appeared.

Jielike inhaled a breath of cold air.

Even though he had been mentally prepared, the sight before him still shocked him.

Dozens of warships were neatly moored in the bay, from battleships to destroyers, from small to large, forming a massive steel array. Black smokestacks billowed faint smoke, showing the boilers were lit. The ship guns pointed to the sky like a forest of steel.

This is the power of Yingguo, the empire's muscle.

"Signal," Jielike ordered, "All warships, raise the battle flag."

The signalman ran to the flagstaff and began operating. Minutes later, a huge white flag rose on the main mast of the "Duke of Iron" ship, bearing a red St. George's Cross—the Royal Navy's battle flag.

As if in a chain reaction, every warship in the anchorage began raising the same flag. One, two, ten, a hundred… the white flags fluttered in the morning breeze like a sea of white.

This has been tradition for centuries. Nelson raised this flag at Trafalgar, Horatio Nelson at the Nile, Drake also raised it when confronting the Spanish Armada.

Now it is their turn.

"Steam pressure has reached departure standard!" the chief engineer reported.

"Cast off!" Jielike commanded.

The order rang through the ship via speaking tube. Sailors rushed to the rail, untied the massive ropes. The steam winch roared, hauling the lines back to the hull.

"Port rudder five degrees, slow ahead."

The massive hull of the "Duke of Iron" began to move slowly, pushing aside the sea, leaving a white wake. Behind it, other warships also cast off in turn, forming a formation.

The whole Skapa Bay came alive. Whistles blared, steam surged, spray flew. The steel behemoths awoke from slumber, beginning their march.

Jielike stood on the bridge, watching it all. His expression was calm, but his clenched fists revealed inner turbulence.

【8】 "Send a telegram to the Navy Department," he told the communications officer, "The fleet has departed. Repeat, the fleet has departed."

"Send a telegram to the Navy Department," he said to the communications officer, "The Grand Fleet has set sail. Repeat, the Grand Fleet has set sail."

"Yes, Admiral!"

The telegram was sent. Minutes later, all of London, all of Yingguo, would know—the Royal Navy had set sail.

Studdy walked up to Jielike and whispered, "May Your Majesty protect us."

Jielike nodded, offering no reply.

He watched the sea ahead open up, watching the fleet form a massive Column in the morning light.

This fleet bore too many things— the empire's honor, the nation's fate, the lives of tens of thousands.

And now, he was the commander of this fleet.

He had no retreat.

Weilian Port.

She Er stood on the bridge of the "Frederick the Great" and watched the scout fleet slowly depart the harbor.

Xipeier's fleet slipped out of the mist one after another—first light cruisers and destroyers, then five battlecruisers. Their massive hulls pushed aside the sea, vanishing into the fog like ghosts returning to void.

"They have set out," Chief of Staff Major General Teluota said.

She Er nodded, "Now it's our turn."

He glanced at his pocket watch—six thirty in the morning. According to plan, Xipeier would reach the Danish Strait in three hours to begin harassment operations. His main fleet would depart at noon, keeping distance and following.

"Are all warships ready?" She Er asked.

"All prepared, Admiral," Teluota replied, "Twenty‑two dreadnoughts, six pre‑dreadnoughts, eleven light cruisers, sixty‑three destroyers. All vessels have completed ammunition loading and fuel topping up."

She Er walked to the chart table. It was marked with detailed action plans—routes, rendezvous points, communication frequencies, emergency contingencies…

Every detail had been repeatedly scrutinized, but the greatest trait of naval warfare is that plans never keep up with change.

"Admiral," a young communications officer ran onto the bridge, "Berlin, an urgent telegram from Grand Admiral Tirpitz."

She Er took the telegram paper and read quickly. The message was brief:

"Your Majesty the Emperor reiterates: seize every advantageous opportunity, seek decisive victory. The empire looks forward to your swift report. —Tirpitz"

She Er's complexion darkened. He handed the telegram to Teluota, who, after reading, also furrowed his brow.

"This…" Teluota began, then stopped.

"I understand," She Er said, "but an order is an order. Record it, file it."

He returned the telegram to the communications officer, then turned to Teluota: "Notify each ship to prepare for departure as planned. Other matters… we'll discuss once at sea."

Teluota grasped his meaning. At sea, the fleet commander holds discretionary authority. So‑called "imperial orders" still depend on the commander's choice at critical moments.

"Yes, Admiral."

Teluota left the bridge to deliver the order. She Er stood alone by the window, watching the morning scene of Weilian Port.

In the harbor, his main fleet lay neatly moored. From the newest "King"‑class dreadnoughts to the aging "German"‑class pre‑dreadnoughts, each bore the dreams and ambitions of the German Navy.

This fleet took twenty years to build, cost billions of marks, and embodied the labor of countless engineers, workers and sailors.

Now, it was to gamble on a dangerous wager.

"Admiral," a voice sounded behind him.

She Er turned, seeing an elderly sailor chief standing there. He recognized him—Hermann Schulz, who had served thirty years in the navy, since the days of sail‑training ships.

"Chief Petty Officer Schulz," She Er nodded, "What is it?"

Schulz hesitated, then said, "Admiral, forgive my presumption. But I just saw the scout fleet depart… we are to set out as well, correct?"

"Yes," She Er replied without concealment, "Depart at noon."

The senior sailor fell silent for a few seconds. Deep lines etched his face, the marks of constant sea wind and years.

"Admiral, I have served thirty years in the navy," he said slowly, "I have seen many captains sail out, and many return. Some returned, some did not. But this time… it feels different."

"What's different?"

Schulz looked out the window at the massive fleet: "It's too big. The whole fleet, every ship that can go to sea, is leaving. I wonder, if we all go out, can we all return?"

She Er gave no answer. He himself had no answer.

"My son is on the 'Defringe'," Schulz continued, "He is a loader of the Main Gun turret. Yesterday he wrote to his mother, saying this mission is important, he will fight for the glory of the German."

His voice was a little hoarse with emotion: "He's only nineteen, General. Nineteen. He hasn't seen much of the world, hasn't taken a wife and had children, hasn't… hasn't lived enough."