Chapter 606: The Coming of the Great Battle

One shell hit five meters below the bridge, blowing off the external antenna of the radio room. The main radio equipment is intact, but the backup antenna is damaged. The communications team is making emergency repairs.

"The most important shell—" Captain Mai Er paused, "was near the ammunition feed mechanism of the A turret. Shrapnel cut some hydraulic lines, so now the loading speed of turret No. 1 is only half of normal. The turret itself is intact, the barrel undamaged, but ammunition must now be fed manually."

She Er's brow furrowed.

The A turret. It is the most important of Bismarck's four main turrets—the primary forward‑firing armament. If its ammunition feed speed is halved…

"How long to repair?"

"General, it will take at least six hours. And the ship must stop—hydraulic lines cannot be replaced while underway."

Stop the ship.

At this critical moment, stopping is tantamount to suicide.

"Continue emergency repairs," She Er said, "fix as much as you can while underway. After six hours… we'll deal with what comes after six hours."

"Understood."

She Er set down the handset and turned to the Navigation Officer: "Where is Tirpitz's damage report?"

The Navigation Officer handed over a freshly received signal slip: "From Tirpitz, General. They were hit by two shells—one near boiler room No. 2, causing a small leak that has been sealed; another on the after deck, destroying a seaplane with no casualties. Speed can be maintained at twenty‑nine knots."

Twenty‑nine knots.

One knot slower than Bismarck.

She Er walked to the chart table, his finger tracing the newly marked retreat route. From their current position southwestward, there are no Yingguo naval bases, no Deguo supply stations, only the endless Atlantic.

"Send a signal to Tirpitz," he said, "maintain twenty‑nine knots; no need to force a catch‑up. We'll adjust according to their speed."

The signalman raised the signal lamp, its light flickering in the morning glow.

Thirty seconds later, a response came from Tirpitz's direction: "Received. Tirpitz thanks Bismarck for the consideration."

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

Consideration.

With pursuers behind and the road ahead unknown, the word "consideration" feels so luxurious. Yet he must be considerate.

If we force it to keep up with Bismarck's speed, the boiler room leak could worsen, and speed could drop further. Then, when Jellico catches up, it would become a drag on the entire fleet.

Rather than that, it's better to slow by one knot now, allowing both ships to stay stable.

That's the fleet's math. It's not about going faster; the slowest ship determines the fleet's speed.

She Er straightened up, staring at the endless deep‑gray sea ahead.

The sun had fully risen. The North Atlantic morning light was almost crystal clear, visibility at least twenty nautical miles. At that range, lookouts could see any ship silhouette on the horizon with the naked eye.

There are none now.

But in three hours?

"Any radar contacts?" he asked.

The radar officer's voice came from the corner: "General, there are no large vessels within the current scan range. Several small contacts, all beyond twenty nautical miles, possibly fishing boats or merchant ships."

She Er nodded.

"Radar. It's the Bismarck Class's greatest weapon. The two Hood class ships the Yingguo obtained from Lanfang were equipped with radar, but they both sank. During that time, intelligence learned that the Yingguo had not developed its own radar, whereas Deguo battleships can detect targets beyond twenty nautical miles in any weather. If Jellico truly catches up, they would be the first to spot him."

But radar also has limits.

It can only detect targets, not destroy them. The true decisive factor remains the eight 380 mm Main Guns—and the number of shells.

"Ammunition report," She Er said, turning to the Logistics Officer.

The Logistics Officer opened the log: "General, Bismarck carries a total of 840 armor‑piercing shells and 160 high‑explosive shells. After the engagement with the Queen Ship, 203 armor‑piercing and 31 high‑explosive shells were expended. Remaining are 637 armor‑piercing and 129 high‑explosive shells."

Six hundred and thirty‑seven shells.

At eight shells per salvo, that allows seventy‑nine salvos. At a maximum rate of 1.5 salvos per minute, they can fire continuously for about fifty‑three minutes.

If another battle of equal intensity to the one with the Queen Ship occurs, this ammunition would be just enough.

If two more battles follow…

She Er did not continue the thought.

"What about Tirpitz's ammunition report?"

"Their consumption was slightly lower; about 680 armor‑piercing shells remain."

She Er nodded. Combined, the two ships still have roughly 1,300 armor‑piercing shells left—enough for one large‑scale sea battle and another medium‑scale one.

The problem is, after two sea battles, where can they go?

He tucked the question away for the moment and turned to the Navigation Officer:

"Fuel status."

The Navigation Officer handed over another sheet: "Bismarck's fuel remaining is 62 %. Tirpitz's is 58 %. At the current speed of twenty‑eight knots, it can sustain travel for about…"

He paused, his finger sliding quickly over the slide rule:

"About fourteen hours."

Fourteen hours.

At twenty‑eight knots for fourteen hours, they can cover roughly three hundred ninety nautical miles. Three hundred ninety miles can reach south of Iceland, west of Ireland, or any area currently out of reach of the Yingguo fleet. (This is the full‑speed result, not the economical mode.)

But after fourteen hours?

She Er did not ask.

He knew the answer. After fourteen hours, if no resupply is found or the pursuers aren't shaken off, they must drift at the economical speed of fifteen knots. That doubles the range but also makes the pursuers more likely to catch up.

It's another mathematical problem—balancing speed and endurance, seeking a way out between flight and survival.

"Maintain twenty‑eight knots," he said, "and after four hours adjust according to the pursuers' position."

Beside the chart table, the staff began logging the order in the navigation log.

08:41.

Bismarck and Tirpitz, at twenty‑eight knots, raced southwestward.

8:50.

She Er lets the officer on duty temporarily take over command, and walks to a relatively quiet corner at the rear of the bridge.

There is a small porthole there, less than thirty centimeters in diameter, through which only a sliver of sky and a sliver of sea can be seen. The glass bears several cracks—caused by the recent artillery barrage. In the sunlight the cracks refract a rainbow of light patterns, like a spider web, and also like some strange totem.

She Er stands at that window, pulls a cigarette from their pocket.

They are not a chain smoker. Usually they smoke at most three a day. But today, from 4 a. m. until now, they have already smoked seven.

A match strikes, and the smell of sulfur rushes into the nostrils. They light the cigarette, take a deep drag, let the smoke linger in the lungs for a few seconds, then exhale slowly.

The smoke hits the cracked glass, scatters, and is swept away by the airflow from the vent.

They look at that narrow slice of sky and recall many things.