Chapter 601: Morning Mist over the North Atlantic

Scher puts down the coffee cup and walks to the chart table.

The light shines down from above, cutting that stretch of the North Atlantic into light and dark halves. His finger points to the Denmark Strait, slides slowly along Iceland's southern coast, and finally stops at a coordinate marked with a red pencil—latitude XX°, longitude XX°.

This is the last intelligence sent from the submarine command four hours ago: a Yingguo transport fleet is sailing southeast, its escort strength unknown, expected to enter this area between 0600 and 0800 this morning.

Scher's finger lingers on that coordinate for a few seconds, then withdraws.

Is the intelligence true or false? Might the Yingguo use this fleet as a decoy? Where is their main fleet? In Scapa Bay, or already at sea?

He doesn't know.

But that's war—always making decisions with incomplete information.

"Navigator."

"Yes, General."

"Our precise current position?"

The navigator immediately leans over the chart, using a compass and protractor to calculate. After thirty seconds he looks up: "Latitude XX°XX', Longitude XX°XX'. Speed twenty knots, heading 240°. Distance from the submarine command's reported fleet route, about ninety nautical miles."

Ninety nautical miles.

At twenty knots, it takes four and a half hours.

At thirty knots, only three hours.

Scher is silent for a few seconds, then says, "Notify the engine room, increase speed to twenty‑four knots. Heading unchanged."

"Understood."

The order is given. Deep within the hull, the engine revs rise, the vibration shifting from a low hum to a sustained resonance. Outside the port window, darkness is torn open by the higher speed, and the sound of waves striking the bow grows louder and more urgent.

Scher walks back to the port window.

Twenty‑four knots. Neither fast nor slow. Fast enough to accelerate quickly when needed, yet not revealing the fleet's top speed too early. If the Yingguo have set an ambush ahead, they need to keep a card in reserve.

This is the lesson he learned from the Japan‑Deguo‑Netherlands Sea Battle.

In that battle, his scouting fleet exposed its speed advantage too early, causing the Yingguo battleship‑cruiser detachment to evade prematurely, missing the chance to annihilate the enemy. Later he often wondered: if he had held back the speed and let the enemy draw nearer, would the outcome have been different?

There is no answer. War has no "ifs".

But the lesson stays in his mind, becoming the basis for the next decision.

Four o'clock thirty‑five minutes.

A report comes from the Signal Room.

It's not a target detection, it's an anomaly detection.

"General, the passive Signal Room has picked up a faint signal, bearing 290°, characteristics unknown," the operator's voice comes through the megaphone, tinged with uncontainable tension, "Signal too weak to identify. But… it doesn't sound like ocean noise."

Scher does not move.

"Continue monitoring. Report every thirty seconds."

"Understood."

The bridge falls silent. No one speaks, no one moves, only the navigator reports the ship's position every fifteen seconds, as regular as a pendulum.

Four o'clock forty minutes. Four o'clock forty‑five minutes. Four o'clock fifty minutes.

The Signal Room's reports become clearer each time.

"... Signal amplified, confirmed as mechanical noise."

"... Preliminary assessment: multiple steam turbines, rotation characteristics... Yingguo warship."

"... Estimated distance, over fifteen thousand meters, cannot be precise."

Over fifteen thousand meters.

At this range, the passive Signal Room can only tell that something is there, not what it is. It could be a battleship, a cruiser, or three destroyers plus a supply ship.

But Scher knows what it is.

He walks to the radar screen.

On the pale‑green screen, the dots are sparse like fireflies. The dot representing Bismarck sits at the center, Tirpitz is five thousand meters to the rear‑right, and four destroyers spread on the flanks. This is their own fleet.

At the edge of the screen, bearing 290°, a new dot flickers.

No. Not a new dot.

It's three.

The radar officer's voice comes through, twice as fast as his usual speech: "General! Contact confirmed! Bearings 289 to 293, distance thirteen thousand meters, three targets! Feature analysis... large vessels, likely battleship‑cruiser class!"

The bridge feels as if the air has been sucked out.

No one shouts, no one panics. Yet everyone holds their breath in that instant—Scher sees it from their rigid silhouettes.

Thirteen thousand meters.

For a warship cruising at thirty knots, that's a twenty‑minute run.

For a 380 mm Main Gun, this is the critical point of optimal range.

For this four‑day hunt, this is... the beginning.

Scher walks to the radar screen and leans forward.

Three dots move slowly across the screen. From their headings, they are sailing west‑south‑west, forming an angle with Bismarck's course. At this rate, in forty minutes the two sides will meet within visual range.

But that's the Yingguo's time.

Deguo's time is now.

"Can the radar identify ship classes?"

The radar officer stares at the screen, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead: "Analyzing propeller features... Target one, likely Hood class. Targets two and three, likely Brave class." (Whether it can truly be identified is uncertain, but assume it can.)

Hood class.

Brave class.

Scher's pupils constrict slightly.

The Hood class battlecruiser, the Royal Navy's fastest warship, has a speed of thirty‑two knots and eight 381‑mm Main Guns. A few months ago, its sister ship Hood sank under the barrel of the Bismarck. Now its number‑two ship has arrived.

The Brave class, a so‑called "large light cruiser," carries four 381‑mm Main Guns, its armor is as thin as paper, and its only advantage is a speed of thirty‑two knots.

Three warships, together mounting sixteen 381‑mm guns.

Two Bismarck Class ships, sixteen 380‑mm guns.

The numbers are the same.

But in quality… the advantage is ours!

She Er's mouth twitched slightly. It wasn't a smile, but some more complex expression.

"Send a signal to Tirpitz: enemy ships detected, three vessels—one Hood class and two Brave class. This ship is ready to engage. Maintain radio silence, use the signal lamp."

"Affirmative."

The signalman ran to the port side and raised the signal lamp. Its light flickered in the darkness like some ancient code.

Thirty seconds later, a reply came from Tirpitz's direction: "Received. Tirpitz ready."

She Er nodded.

They walked back to the side window, looking at the still‑black northern sea. Thirteen thousand meters away, three British warships were sailing; their crew might be sleeping, might be changing watches, might be drinking hot cocoa in the mess, completely unaware that shells were being aimed at them in the darkness.

This is the advantage of radar.

One‑way transparency.

"Notify the engine room to prepare full speed. Load armor‑piercing shells into the Main Guns. All stations, battle ready."