Chapter 365: Almost Total Annihilation

"What was that sound?" the captain asked sharply.

The lookout swept the starboard sea with a searchlight. In the beam they saw a small wooden boat, the size of a fishing vessel, already smashed and sinking rapidly. A few silhouettes on board were struggling, but were quickly swallowed by the waves.

"It's a fishing boat," the lookout reported, "probably a Danish or Dutch vessel fishing at night. They had no lights, we didn't see them…"

The captain's face turned ashen. Sinking a fishing boat in normal times would be a serious accident requiring investigation and accountability. But now, fleeing, on the edge of a minefield, it was hardly a matter.

The real problem was that the wreck and the drowning men would attract the attention of Yingguo destroyers. If any Yingguo ships were patrolling nearby, they would hear the crash, see the searchlights, and follow the trail.

"Turn off the searchlights!" the captain ordered, "Keep moving, do not stop. May God bless those fishermen."

Cruel, but necessary. In war, at the brink of life and death, mercy is often a luxury.

The Grand Elector pressed on, leaving the shattered boat and its victims behind. Hans Keluobo tried not to think of those struggling in the sea, not to imagine they might freeze or drown within minutes. He focused on the sextant in his hand, on the coordinates on the chart, on getting this battleship and its fleet home safely.

After another twenty minutes of sailing, faint land appeared ahead—the Deguo coastline, the entrance to Helgoland Bay, the direction of home.

But at that moment, lights suddenly flared on the port side.

Not one, but many. Columns of searchlight pierced the darkness, criss‑crossing over the sea. Immediately, gunfire rang out—not heavy artillery, but rapid fire from medium‑small caliber guns, dense as fireworks.

"Yingguo destroyers!" the lookout shouted, "At least four! They're intercepting our scout destroyers!"

Sheer's assessment was correct; John Jellicoe had deployed intercept forces on the west side of the Horne Reef Channel. Fortunately, the Yingguo interception line seemed sparse, perhaps only a few destroyers patrolling. Moreover, they were focused on the interior of the channel and did not expect the Deguo fleet to hug the edge of the minefield.

Now the Deguo fleet's scout destroyer detachment met the Yingguo patrol destroyers. A small night battle broke out.

"Do not engage!" the captain ordered, "Maintain course and speed, let the destroyers handle it! We keep moving!"

It was a cold but correct decision. The main ship could not linger or expose itself here. It had to slip by silently amid the destroyers' chaotic fight.

Hans Keluobo saw, a short distance off the port side, flashes of fire and shells streaking across the night sky. Deguo destroyers were exchanging fire with Yingguo destroyers, both maneuvering at top speed, launching torpedoes, trading shots from their secondary guns. It was a chaotic dance of steel and flame.

To the east of that chaos, the Deguo main fleet—fifteen scarred yet still majestic battleships—moved like a silent phalanx of ghosts, slowly steaming toward the coastline under the cover of darkness and smoke.

Hans Keluobo glanced at the chronometer: 03:10 at night.

In another hour dawn would break. If they could not enter Helgoland Bay and the protective range of the coastal batteries before then, once day came the Yingguo main fleet would catch up and everything would be lost.

He kept measuring and calculating. The stars slipped back into the clouds, but he no longer needed them—the coastline grew clearer, the beacon light of the navigation lighthouse flickered in the distance (the Deguo had temporarily restored part of the coastal lighthouse illumination, using special identification signals to guide the fleet).

"Steer heading to 095," he told the helmsman, "We're almost there."

The helmsman turned the wheel. The massive battleship traced a graceful arc across the sea, avoiding a known shoal.

Hans Keluobo looked out the window. On the brightening eastern horizon he saw a familiar shape—Helgoland Island, Deguo's North Sea outpost, the shield of the naval base.

They made it.

After the daytime disaster, the night escape, and the edge‑of‑the‑minefield adventure, the Deguo open‑sea fleet's main force finally saw the road home.

But the cost was enormous. Keluobo did not know the exact figures, but he knew many ships and many men had not returned. The crews of the Emperor and the Deflinger had not come back.

And he, Hans Keluobo, an ordinary navigation officer, survived.

He ought to feel grateful, yet his heart held only heavy fatigue and sorrow.

The war was not over. Home today, what about tomorrow? The day after? How many more battles like this, how many more ships and lives must be lost before it ends?

He did not know the answer.

He only knew that, at this moment, in the darkness before dawn, his battleship was entering Helgoland Bay, heading for safety, for a temporary respite.

And that was enough.

At least today, it was enough.

In the east, the first ray of dawn pierced the clouds, lighting the sea, illuminating those scarred yet proud Deguo battleships, lighting their journey home.

At 06:20 in the morning, Skapa Bay gradually emerged from the gray‑blue dawn mist.

Admiral John Jellicoe stood on the bridge of the Iron Duke, his hands on the icy rail, watching his fleet slowly sail into this natural harbor in northern Scotland. Twenty‑four Dauntless ships formed a tidy Column, each bearing battle scars—charred blast marks on the decks, twisted railings, secondary‑gun shields torn by Shell, and the weary yet upright backs of the sailors.

"The Malboro is entering the harbor," First Minister of Marine Affairs Frederick Studi, Major General, walked up to him, his voice hoarse from a sleepless night. "Her damage is worse than expected; the forward Main Gun turret's rotation mechanism is seized, and the bow has two breaches, requiring at least three weeks of repairs."

Jellicoe nodded, his gaze never leaving the sea. "Casualties?"

"The Malboro lost 87 killed and 156 wounded. The Iron Duke lost 23 killed and 41 wounded. Reports from the other ships are being compiled, but preliminary estimates…" Studi paused, "For the main fleet, about 600 killed and roughly 1,200 wounded."

He handed over a thicker document: "This is the complete report of the Betty fleet. The Untiring sank, all 1,019 aboard, survivors…32. The Queen Mary sank, all 1,275 aboard, survivors…20."

Those two numbers hammered Jellicoe's heart like a hammer.

One thousand nineteen, thirty‑two survived.

One thousand two hundred seventy‑five, twenty survived.

Almost total annihilation.

"Also the armored cruiser Defender, the Samurai, the Black Prince," Studi continued the list, his voice growing softer. "Defender lost 893, with 11 survivors. Samurai lost 704, with 9 survivors. Black Prince… confirmed sunk last night, all 857 aboard, only 34 survivors found, all rescued by Germans."

(Both sides' losses combine the historical Japanese‑German‑Dutch naval battle)