Chapter 348: Hunter in the Thick Fog

The fog over the North Sea moved like a living entity, slowly writhing in the twilight.

At 6:20 p. m., visibility had dropped to less than eight hundred yards. On the bridge of the Iron Duke, Admiral John Jellicoe stood with his hands behind his back before the chart table, like a granite statue. His fingers tapped the edge of the table unconsciously, the only body language he showed when nervous.

"Betty's last telegram arrived at 18:05," the voice of First Sea Minister Major General Frederick Stude sounded unusually clear in the quiet bridge, "He says he is closing in at full speed, bearing 270°, speed 23 knots. The German Navy main fleet is in pursuit, Distance about fifteen nautical miles."

Jellicoe did not look up, his gaze still fixed on the pencil‑marked symbols and lines on the chart. Red arrows denoted the Yingguo fleet, blue arrows the Deguo fleet—now two red arrows were closing in, a blue arrow tailing closely behind, and another larger red arrow, his own main fleet, was deploying in battle formation, like a slowly unfurling steel net.

"Distance?" Jellicoe asked, his voice so calm no emotion could be read.

The navigation officer measured quickly: "Betty's fleet is currently estimated at Distance about twenty‑two nautical miles, bearing 035. If both sides maintain their present course and speed, visual contact is expected in an hour."

"What about the German Navy main fleet?"

"Based on Betty's report and our sonar detection," intelligence officer Major General William Hall interjected, "She Er's main force is about fifteen nautical miles behind Betty, bearing roughly the same. But in the thick fog the positioning error could reach three to five nautical miles."

Jellicoe finally looked up. In the dim navigation light his eyes seemed unfathomable. "Error," he repeated the word as if savoring its meaning, "At sea, error means death, and it also means opportunity."

He went to the portside window. Outside was a gray‑white chaos, occasionally the vague outlines of nearby battleships could be seen—there was the Orion, about five hundred yards behind his ship, further back the Monarch, the Conqueror… a total of twenty‑four Dreadnoughts formed a steel Column stretching ten nautical miles, each battleship carrying over a thousand sailors waiting at their stations.

Waiting for a battle that could decide the empire's fate.

"Admiral," Stude came to his side, lowering his voice, "Are we really going to keep the line of battle? In this dense fog, moving a Column formation is difficult, and if the Deguo attack from the flank…"

"If the Deguo attack from the flank," Jellicoe cut him off, his tone still calm, "that would mean they know our position. But the crucial point now is, they do not."

He turned to face all the officers on the bridge: "Gentlemen, think carefully. She Er is chasing Betty; his attention is wholly drawn to the fleeing prey. In this thick fog his scouting ability is severely weakened. He thinks he is hunting, yet he does not realize he is barreling toward an even larger hunter."

"Are you sure he will come from the direction we expect?" a young staff officer asked.

Jellicoe shook his head: "I'm not sure. But naval combat has never been a deterministic game. We can only bet on probabilities, and now the odds are on our side."

He returned to the chart table, his finger tracing the possible courses of the Deguo fleet: "She Er has two choices. First, he realizes the danger, stops the chase, and turns to retreat. But based on my understanding of German Navy command style, after achieving an initial 'victory'—sinking our two battle‑cruisers—he is unlikely to readily give up the chance to enlarge his gains."

"Second," his finger tapped the chart, "he continues the chase, being led here by Betty."

That position lay directly ahead of the right flank of the Yingguo main fleet's line of battle, forming an almost perpendicular angle.

"Crossing the T," Stude muttered.

The phrase sparked a surge of spirit in everyone on the bridge.

Crossing the T— the most ideal and lethal tactical posture in naval warfare. When one fleet's Column pierces another fleet's Column from the front at a right angle, the former can only bring its lead ship's guns to bear, while the latter can unleash all its Main Guns along the entire line of battle onto the enemy. It is an absolute crushing of firepower density, the scenario any naval commander dreams of.

"But how can we ensure She Er will run straight into that spot?" Major General Hall asked.

"We cannot guarantee it," Jellicoe said frankly, "But we can create the conditions. Order the entire fleet to adjust course to 080°, speed down to 16 knots. We will move slowly in the fog, like a silent net. At the same time…"

He paused, looking at the communications officer: "Send a dispatch to Betty, in clear code."

"Clear code?!" the communications officer repeated in shock, "Admiral, the Deguo will definitely intercept!"

"We want them to intercept," a sharp glint flashed in Jellicoe's eyes, "Message content: Main fleet has arrived at latitude 56°15' N, longitude 5° E, forming battle formation to support your unit. Repeat, forming battle formation."

Stude inhaled a cold breath: "Are you… telling She Er our position and status?"

"I am giving him a partial truth, omitting the crucial part," Jellicoe said, "He will know where we are, know we are 'forming battle formation'—which to him means we are not yet ready, still adjusting deployment. That will encourage him to accelerate the chase, trying to bite Betty before we finish deployment, then turn away."

He went to the speaking trumpet, connected to the ship‑wide broadcast system: "All ships, attention, I am Fleet Commander Jellicoe. Within the next hour we may encounter the German high‑sea fleet's main force. This is not a skirmish; it is an ambush. We will fight in the most traditional way, a most traditional naval battle. Keep formation, keep discipline, keep patience. When the fire order is given, I want every gun to point at the correct target."

His voice, through the loudspeakers, reached every corner of the Iron Duke, the neighboring Orion, the farther Monarch, and every battleship of the entire fleet.

"The history of the Royal Navy will be written by you. May God bless each one."

The broadcast ended. The bridge fell silent, only the low rumble of the engines and the steady tick‑tock of the navigation clock.

Jellicoe returned to the portside window, watching the fog outside grow ever denser.

He silently calculated time, Distance, and speed in his mind.

He was placing a bet, with the entire fleet, with the empire's fate, on a high‑stakes gamble.