Chapter 362: The Black Prince

Midnight 00:15, on the bridge of the Yingguo armored cruiser Black Prince, Colonel Thomas Beckett was futilely scanning the dark sea with a telescope.

His warship had fallen out of formation.

Two hours earlier, while responding to a Deguo destroyer's torpedo attack, the Black Prince had to make an emergency turn to evade a torpedo and lost visual contact with the main fleet. The radio malfunctioned—whether the antenna was damaged or the equipment failed, in any case they could not receive signals nor transmit them.

In the thick fog and night, they were completely lost.

"Still no signal?" Beckett asked the communications officer, the third time he had asked the same question within ten minutes.

"No, sir. We've tried every frequency, but only static noise. It could be our transmitter that's broken, or the main fleet may be maintaining radio silence."

Beckett set the telescope down and rubbed his sore eyes. He had been standing on the bridge for fourteen consecutive hours; fatigue pressed on his limbs like lead, yet anxiety kept him from resting.

"Black Prince" is an old‑style armored cruiser commissioned in 1904, with a full load displacement of 13,000 tons, equipped with six 9.2‑inch Main Guns and ten 6‑inch secondary guns. In daytime combat she belonged to the Jellyco main fleet's auxiliary units, tasked mainly with reconnaissance and cover. But now, drifting alone in the middle of the North Sea, the old ship appeared especially vulnerable.

"Course?" Beckett asked the navigation officer.

"Current course 060, speed 14 knots, sir. But without a definite fix I cannot guarantee our exact position on the chart."

Beckett walked to the chart table. The navigation officer drew a large circle with a pencil: "We could be anywhere within this area. Error… possibly twenty nautical miles."

Twenty nautical miles. At sea, that is a fatal error. You might think you are beside friendly vessels, when in fact you are amid the enemy; you might think you are in safe waters, when you are actually heading into a minefield.

"We need to see something," Beckett said, "a ship, a light, anything that can let us fix our position."

"But there's a blackout…" the navigation officer reminded.

"I know," Beckett cut in, "but if we sail completely in darkness we might collide with friendly ships—or worse, run into the Deguo without realizing it."

He was caught in a dilemma. Turning on lights could expose them, inviting Deguo submarines or destroyers. Keeping lights off could keep them lost, even cause a collision.

At that moment, the lookout shouted, "Port! Lights! Distance… far, maybe five to ten nautical miles!"

Beckett rushed to the port side window, raised the telescope. On the dark horizon, indeed several faint points of light were moving—not the navigation lights of warships, more like flashlights or signal lamps, appearing and disappearing.

"Can you identify them?" he asked.

The signalman observed through the telescope for several minutes, then uncertainly said, "Looks like… Morse signals? But they're too weak to read the full content. The rhythm seems… like a Deguo Navy identification signal?"

The air on the bridge froze instantly.

"Deguo? Here?"

"Prepare for combat," Beckett ordered, his voice tight, "but hold fire for now. It could be survivors in the water, or a damaged Deguo ship. We'll close in for observation."

The Black Prince began to turn slowly toward those lights. Beckett ordered the whole ship to battle stations, the Main Gun loaded but the barrel lowered, showing no hostility—under such poor visibility, the risk of hitting friendly ships was equally great.

Distance was gradually shortening. Five nautical miles, four nautical miles, three nautical miles…

Those points of light grew clearer. Now their outlines could be made out—several warships, not large, perhaps light cruisers or large destroyers. They seemed not to have noticed the Black Prince, or they pretended not to, continuing at medium speed toward the southeast.

"They're Deguo," Beckett finally judged, "by hull type, looks like a Glaudenz‑class light cruiser, possibly with a few destroyers. What are they doing? Why aren't they speeding away?"

The navigation officer suddenly thought of something and lunged to the chart: "Sir, if those are Deguo ships and they're heading southeast… that means the Deguo main fleet could be in that direction too! They might be the rear guard or flank!"

Beckett's heart hammered. If this were true, if he had inadvertently run into the side of the Deguo main fleet…

"Record the current position and enemy ship bearings!" he ordered, "then we turn north to withdraw. Once the radio is repaired, report to the main fleet immediately!"

But it was already too late.

Just as the Black Prince began to turn, a Deguo light cruiser on the opposite side suddenly flared its searchlight.

A blinding white beam, like a sword, instantly pierced the darkness, illuminating the entire hull of the Black Prince. In that column of light, the Yingguo warship's gray paint, towering smokestacks, old‑style turrets—all details were laid bare.

Immediately, a second, a third searchlight lit up. Not just one ship—at least four Deguo warships simultaneously switched on their searchlights, all locking onto the Black Prince.

"We've been spotted!" the lookout screamed.

Beckett knew he had made a fatal mistake. He shouldn't have closed in to observe, shouldn't have taken a risk in uncertainty. But now regret was too late.

"Full speed turn! Release smoke! Prepare for battle!" he roared.

But the Deguo reacted even faster.

At the instant the searchlights locked, fire erupted. Not the Main Gun—light cruisers' main guns are small—but a barrage of secondary and medium‑caliber guns. Shells rained down like a storm, landing around the Black Prince and sending up countless water columns.

The first salvo scored at least three hits. One Shell struck the fore deck, blowing off a 6‑inch secondary gun shield. Another hit below the bridge; fragments pierced the observation window, glass shards sweeping the bridge interior.

Beckett felt his cheek heat, reached up, and his hand was covered in blood. A piece of glass had cut his face, but the wound was shallow.

"Return fire! Return fire!" he shouted into the megaphone.

The Black Prince's Main Gun began to swivel. But the old turret turned slowly, and the night‑time fire‑control system performed poorly. The first salvo missed entirely, the Shells falling far behind the Deguo warships.

And the Deguo's fire grew increasingly accurate.

They evidently had undergone systematic night‑combat training. The searchlights stayed locked, the fire‑control officer calculated quickly, and Shell impact points were rapidly corrected. In the second salvo, at least five Shells struck the Black Prince's hull.

One Shell hit near the waterline. The explosion tore a large hole, seawater gushed in wildly. The hull began to list.