Chapter 605: The Drowned Are Left for Jieli Ke to Salvage

Now, it's his turn.

09:03.

Another Shell hit the midsection of the hull. The explosion flipped the entire after deck, and the X turret was torn into the sea.

The Queen Ship began to tilt.

Betty braced herself against the window frame, steadying her body.

He took one last look east—the direction Jieli Ke was coming from, and also where the sun rose. Sunlight streamed from there, tinting the sea surface a golden‑red.

Beautiful.

He whispered a sentence, but no one heard.

09:07.

The Queen Ship's hull tilted right over thirty degrees, and the deck began to take on water. As seawater surged into the bridge, Betty still stood at the porthole, watching the eastern sunlight.

She Er stood at a porthole on Bismarck's bridge, raised his wrist to glance at the pre‑war navigational watch his wife had given him—a brass case, white dial, the hand pointing to 08:17.

Thirty‑two minutes earlier, the Queen Ship sank.

Sunlight slanted in from the eastern horizon, carving stark geometric patterns on the bridge's steel floor. Within those beams floated fine particles—not ordinary dust, but rust flakes and asbestos fibers dislodged by the bombardment, slowly rotating in the air like an ominous omen.

She Er's gaze passed beyond the dust, landing on the sea outside the porthole, where the slaughter had just ended.

There were oil slicks. Vast sheets of oil reflected a strange iridescent sheen in the morning light, like paint splashed on a deep‑blue canvas. At the center of the slick floated wreckage—broken planks, an empty lifebuoy, a Yingguo navy officer's cap, and a few seabirds pecking at something; She Er could not see clearly, nor did he wish to.

Further away, scattered black dots rose and fall. They were Yingguo sailors—sailors who had gone overboard. Some were still alive, waving toward the Deguo warship, their shouts carried faintly by the sea wind, intermittent, like a dying whimper.

"General," a voice came from behind.

She Er did not turn.

Duty officer Major Hans Mai Er stepped closer, standing at his side‑rear, his voice low: "General, Tirpitz is inquiring whether to dispatch destroyers to salvage the overboard men."

She Er was silent for three seconds.

He recalled the Battle of the Ritde Lan Sea. After that battle, the Deguo fleet had also salvaged Yingguo sailors. He remembered a young Yingguo second lieutenant who, when rescued aboard, had lips frozen purple yet still saluted him, saying "Thank you." Later that lieutenant was sent back to Yingguo, and when prisoners were exchanged he wrote She Er a letter, saying he was doing well in the POW camp and hoping the war would end soon.

Now?

She Er turned, looking at the young face of the duty officer.

"Do not send," he said.

Major Mai Er hesitated: "General, those overboard men…"

"I heard it," She Er cut him off, "but you don't understand—before the Queen Ship sank, we must have transmitted our coordinates. Jieli Ke's fleet is now racing toward this sea at full speed. Every minute, they draw nearer."

He walked back to the chart table, bent down, and pointed his finger at the position he had just calculated:

"We are here. Assuming Jieli Ke received the alert when departing Scapa Bay, at twenty knots... the Distance to us is now about eighty nautical miles."

"Eighty nautical miles," Major Mai Er murmured repeatedly.

"At the Elizabeth Queen Class's top speed, that's a two‑and‑a‑half‑hour run," She Er straightened, "but if we stop to salvage the overboard men, even for half an hour, the Distance shrinks to... two hours."

He looked at the duty officer:

"Two hours. Enough for Jieli Ke to appear within our visual range."

Major Mai Er lowered his head, saying nothing further.

She Er knew what he was thinking. Everyone on board knew. Yet no one would voice it—here in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, the chance of survival for those overboard Yingguo men was under thirty percent. Even if salvaged, they'd become POWs, spending the rest of the war in a camp.

And now, even that thirty‑percent hope has been taken away.

It's not cruelty. It's mathematics.

War is mathematics. Friendly survival probability, enemy arrival time, Fuel‑remaining range, Shell inventory—each figure is coldly calculated, and the final result yields an indisputable conclusion.

"Notify Tirpitz," She Er said, "all warships, bearing 240°, speed twenty‑eight knots. Target—deep Atlantic."

He paused, then added:

"Destroyers maintain formation, do not slow. Those overboard men... leave them for Jieli Ke to salvage."

The order was given. Through the megaphone came the engine room's reply: "Main engine ready. Speed twenty‑eight knots."

Bismarck's bow slowly turned southwest.

She Er walked back to the porthole, taking one last look at the sea surface littered with wreckage.

A Yingguo sailor was swimming toward this side. He moved slowly, clearly exhausted. His arms rowed mechanically, his head dipping below the surface then lifting, his mouth opening and closing as if shouting something.

The porthole glass blocked all sound.

She Er watched the black dot shrink, then vanish into the white wake trailing Bismarck.

He recalled the words of Admiral Tirpitz before departing: "Whenever I see a new warship launched, I don't think about how powerful it is. I think—if one day it sinks, how long its young crew's mothers will wait at the port."

The admiral, he thought, today leaves seven hundred Yingguo mothers waiting forever at the port.

But he did not utter that sentence.

He turned, faced the chart table, and began to calculate the escape route for the next three hours.

08:23.

From deep within Bismarck's hull came a rhythmic vibration—the normal operating frequency of the main engine at twenty‑eight knots. She Er was so familiar with this vibration that he could sense minute speed changes through a part of his body.

But today, the vibration was interlaced with odd sounds.

On the port side, every ten‑odd seconds a low "clang" rang, like a loose steel plate rattling with the hull. Below the bridge, in some compartment, a faint hum of a drainage pump could be heard.

She Er walked to the speaking tube and blew a whistle.

"Damage control center, report status."

From the earphone came Damage Control Officer Captain Karl Mai Er's voice, weary: "General, damage control report. Bismarck has taken three hits in total."

"One hit on the port aft secondary gun deck, penetrating two layers before exploding in the storage compartment. The fire is out, but nearby compartments have minor flooding, pumps are operating, expected to be cleared within an hour."