Chapter 493: The Eve of the Final Battle 2

The officers gradually left the war room to prepare their respective ships. Wei'er Si Li stayed alone before the chart, his finger sliding along the planned route.

Skappa Bay – Setde Lan Archipelago – Norwegian Sea… about five hundred nautical miles. At twenty‑five knots this requires twenty hours. If the Deguo task force maintains its heading and speed, the two sides may meet tomorrow morning about one hundred miles west of the Norwegian coast.

That will be an open sea area, deep enough, with no islands for cover. Suitable for a battleship duel, and also for fleet maneuver.

But the premise is that the weather must not be too bad.

Wei'er Si Li looked toward the porthole. In the anchorage, the Hood's smokestack began belching thick smoke as the boilers rose in pressure. On deck, the sailors were busy with final departure preparations—securing deck gear, checking turrets, testing communications equipment.

These young men, most under twenty‑five, do they know what they are about to face?

Perhaps they know, perhaps they don't. Either way, they will obey orders. Because they are the Royal Navy, because they believe the sea belongs to Yingguo.

Wei'er Si Li recalled Nelson's pre‑Battle of Trafalgar remark: "England expects every man to do his duty."

Two hundred years later, the expectation remains.

Only the enemy has changed from Faguo and Spain to Deguo.

And the warships have changed from wooden sailing ships to forty‑thousand‑ton steel beasts.

But the ocean has not changed, the war has not changed, the duty has not changed.

"General, the Hood is ready, can weigh anchor at any time," Colonel Tuo Wei's voice came from the doorway.

Wei'er Si Li gave the chart one last glance, turned and said, "Weigh anchor. Let's see how impressive the Germans' new toy really is."

"Yes, General."

At eleven o'clock sharp, a long whistle sounded in the anchorage of Skappa Bay.

The Hood weighed anchor first, the massive anchor chain being hauled up by the windlass, dragging seabed mud and seaweed. The battleship slowly turned, heading toward the harbor exit. The Queen Ship followed closely, then the light cruisers and destroyers.

On the other battleships in the anchorage, sailors lined up on deck to salute the departing fleet. Some waved hats, some shouted blessings loudly. But there was no cheering—because everyone knew this was not an exercise, it was a real combat mission.

The fleet exited the narrow channel of Skappa Bay into Pentland Bay. The wind and waves were already strong here, and the battleship began to sway noticeably. Wei'er Si Li stood on the bridge of the Hood, feeling the vibration transmitted through the hull as the sea slammed against the ship.

The northern sky was lead‑gray, the sea a deep gray, white crests breaking in the wind. Visibility was indeed poor; the distant Queen Ship had already become a blur.

"Report!" the radar officer called, "Thirty nautical miles ahead, no surface target. In the air… a flock of birds, many."

"A flock of birds?" Wei'er Si Li frowned.

"Yes, General. It may be a storm coming, the seabirds are migrating."

Storm. Wei'er Si Li looked north. The cloud layer there was lower, darker, spreading on the horizon like ink dropped into clear water.

A storm, two steel beasts, about to meet in the raging North Sea.

Who will win?

Only the ocean knows.

North Sea, November 2, pre‑dawn

The tempest reached its peak at midnight.

The Bismarck struggled forward through eight‑meter‑high waves. The battleship rose and fell like a small boat, each drop accompanied by a moan from the ship's Keel. Sea water surged onto the deck, rushing between turrets and superstructures, then spilling out of the scuppers.

Admiral She Er steadied himself on the bridge rail, his face pale but his eyes steady. He had not slept for twenty hours, his coffee made him nauseous, yet he dared not rest.

"Report heading and speed!" he shouted into the speaking tube.

"Heading 310, speed eighteen knots!" the helmsman's voice was torn apart by wind and wave, "General, we can't go faster! The sea is too rough!"

She Er knew. Eighteen knots was already the limit; any faster and the bow could be smashed by the waves, or worse—structural damage from violent sway.

But slowing down was even riskier. If Yingguo caught up…

"Any radar contacts?" he asked the radar officer.

"None, General! Surface clutter is too strong, effective detection Distance under ten nautical miles! And…" the radar officer's voice trembled with panic, "the radar antenna may be damaged! Echoes unstable!"

Damned weather. She Er cursed. The storm had scrambled every plan. The fleet was forced to reduce speed, formation blown apart, communications intermittent. He wasn't even sure if Tirpitz was still behind— the last light signal was two hours earlier, when she was still within a mile, but now nothing was visible.

"General!" the communications officer shouted suddenly, "We have received a light signal from Tirpitz: 'Engine failure, reducing speed to twelve knots, awaiting orders!'"

She Er's heart sank. Engine failure? In this weather?

"Reply: maintain heading, repair as best you can. We will reduce to fifteen knots and wait." He ordered, then added, "Also, request detailed fault information."

The minutes waiting for a reply felt like hours to She Er. The bridge rocked violently, the chart, ruler, and pencils on the table all slid to the floor. A young officer lost his footing, slammed into the bulkhead, his forehead bleeding, but was immediately hauled away by the corpsman.

"Reply received!" the communications officer called, "Tirpitz reports: starboard outer propulsion shaft overheated, forced to stop. Requires at least six hours of cooling and repair."

Six hours. She Er closed his eyes. In this storm‑tossed North Sea, slowing to twelve knots and staying for six hours… was like nailing oneself to a cross, waiting for Yingguo to arrive.

But could they abandon Tirpitz? No. She is a sister ship, half the task force's strength, the pride of the Deguo Navy.

"Notify all ships," She Er finally decided, "All units reduce speed to twelve knots, keep heading. Destroyers patrol the perimeter, cruisers scout ahead. Also… send a broadcast to the open‑sea fleet main force, reporting our position and situation."

"Broadcast?" the Chief of Staff asked in surprise, "General, radio silence…?"

"Silence has already been broken," She Er said wearily, "Engine failure needs time to repair; we can't move. If Yingguo pursues, we need main‑fleet support. Send the broadcast, using an encrypted band."

"Yes…"

Encrypted waves cut through the storm, heading south. She Er did not know how far the main fleet was, whether they could receive, nor whether, even if received, they could arrive in time through the storm.

All he could do now was wait. Wait for Tirpitz to be repaired, wait for the storm to pass, wait… for the moment the British fleet might appear.

Time ticked minute by minute. At three A. M., the storm showed no sign of abating. At four, Tirpitz reported: the overheating issue had eased, but she could only maintain eight knots, and could not reverse at full speed.

Five A. M., the sky remained pitch black. The radar suddenly alarmed.

"Contact! Bearing 270, Distance… fifteen nautical miles! Multiple targets, large surface vessels!"