Chapter 602: She'er Was Not Fooled

The order was given.

The alarm bell did not sound— that was a thing of the past combat. Now the entire ship entered silent combat mode. The gunners took their stations, shells were hoisted from the magazine to the turret, the fuze men tightened each fuze, and the aimers pre‑adjusted the firing angle according to the distance data supplied by the radar.

Everything proceeded in darkness, quiet as the prelude to a murder.

Exactly five o'clock.

The sky began to change.

It wasn't bright; the pure black shifted to deep gray. On the eastern horizon, a barely visible pale streak appeared, like a light pencil stroke on rice paper. The fog remained, but its density lessened, and visibility rose slowly from under three hundred meters to five hundred, then eight hundred meters.

In eight minutes the sun would rise.

She'er stared at the pale gray streak and suddenly thought of someone.

Alfred von Tirpitz, Grand Admiral, his former superior, the old man now sleepless through the night in the study of the Wuyou Palace in Berlin.

Before departing, Tirpitz told him, "She'er, you are my most outstanding officer. But excellence does not equal luck. Ridelan you didn't die, that doesn't mean you won't die next time."

He replied, "I know."

Tirpitz was silent for a long while, then said, "Come back alive."

Now he stood here, waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for the sea fog to clear, waiting for those three Yingguo warships to appear in the telescope.

He did not know whether he could return alive.

But he knew that once the fog cleared, the world would remember today.

Major General Beatty stood on the bridge of the Queen Ship, and had been standing there for three hours.

He could not sleep either.

Since the preparation to avenge the Hood, he had not had a single uninterrupted sleep. Every night he would wake, rise to look at the radar screen—

Now they were in the fog again.

"Radar room report," a voice called from behind.

Beatty turned.

The radar officer stood three meters away, his face pale.

"General, contact. Bearing 260°, Distance 22,000 meters. Two targets. Signature analysis… Bismarck Class."

The bridge was silent for a full three seconds.

Then Beatty said, "Repeat it."

"Two Bismarck Class battleships, bearing 260°, Distance 22,000 meters, moving toward our ship," the radar officer's voice began to tremble, "They… they are already at the edge of our range."

Beatty did not move.

His mind flashed countless thoughts in that instant: Bismarck Class. Two ships. When had they appeared? Why didn't the sonar detect them? Why did the lookouts see nothing? Twenty‑two thousand meters is a radar distance, not a visual one. In the fog, the Deguo crew might have seen them long ago.

They have radar.

Intelligence had reported three months earlier that the Bismarck Class was equipped with new radar capable of detecting targets beyond twenty nautical miles in any weather.

At the time many did not believe it.

Now Beatty believed it.

"Send report," his voice was unexpectedly steady, "To London, to General Jeliko. Bismarck and Tirpitz detected at latitude XX°XX′ north, longitude XX°XX′ west, heading southwest, speed about 25 knots. Our ship is in contact with the enemy."

The telegrapher's fingers danced over the keys.

Three minutes later the telegram was sent.

Another three minutes passed, and London's acknowledgment signal returned.

Then came Jeliko's reply: "The fleet is on its way. Hold firm. Lure the enemy east."

Lure east.

Beatty stared at the chart, quickly calculating. Their present position was about two hundred nautical miles southeast of Iceland. If they sailed east, in roughly three hours they would enter Jeliko's fleet's search area. Those five Elizabeth Queen Class battleships, those 380 mm guns, those armor‑piercing shells that could tear through Bismarck Class armor.

As long as they lure the Deguo ships over.

As long as they are willing to follow.

"All fleet, turn northeast, speed 28 knots," Beatty ordered, "Signal the Brave and the Glorious: follow me, maintain formation."

The signal lamp flashed.

The two Brave‑class battlecruisers responded almost simultaneously.

Three Yingguo warships turned in the fog, their bows cutting through the waves, sailing toward the northeast.

Beatty stood by the porthole, watching the still‑black fog behind him.

Come, She'er. Follow me.

"The Yingguo have turned," the radar officer reported, "Heading northeast, speed 28 knots."

She'er did not speak immediately.

He walked to the chart table, bent over the North Atlantic chart smeared with pencil lines. The Yingguo's current position, their heading, their speed—feeding those data into his mind, projecting the possible outcomes.

Northeast.

That was the direction of Jeliko's fleet.

The Yingguo wanted to lure them over.

"Childish," he whispered.

No one nearby dared to answer.

She'er straightened up, walked back to the porthole. The fog was lifting, visibility now over fifteen hundred meters. In another twenty minutes they could see those three Yingguo warships with the naked eye—if the Yingguo were still in that direction.

"Issue orders," he said, "All fleet turn southwest, speed 30 knots."

The navigation officer stared blankly for a moment, then immediately repeated the order: "All fleet turn southwest, speed 30 knots!"

The rudder turned. The Bismarck's bow slowly veered, from due west to west‑south‑west. Tirpitz followed closely, and four destroyers adjusted their positions like shepherd dogs.

Outside the porthole, the waves were split by the bow so fast that spray struck the base of the forward deck's B‑turret.

She Er gripped the rail, feeling the tremor of the 45,000‑ton steel beneath their feet.

30 knots.

This is the card he left for himself.

Yingguo people think they have 32 knots, thinking they can easily tease Deguo. But they do not know that the Bismarck Class at 31 knots and the Queen class at 32 knots are almost indistinguishable in an actual chase. With the advantage of radar, with the advantage of armor—

"General." the navigation officer reported, "Distance is increasing. Yingguo are moving east, we are southwest. In about twenty minutes, both sides will lose visual contact."

She Er nodded.

Let them go. Let them chase that phantom they can never catch.

Wait until they are exhausted from the chase, until Jieli Ke cannot find anyone, until they begin to doubt—then, he will turn around.

But now, it is not yet time.

"Deguo did not follow."

Beidi heard the words while staring at the plotted line on the chart. His hand paused, then slowly lowered the protractor.

"What?"

"Deguo has turned southwest, speed at least 30 knots. Distance is increasing."

Beidi walked to the radar screen—he should not have been in the radar room, but now he needed to see with his own eyes.

On the screen, two light dots moved toward the southwest, the Distance growing, the signal growing weaker.

He did not follow.

She Er was not fooled.