Chapter 608: Chasing After

The communications officer grabbed the headset, listened for a few seconds, his complexion changed abruptly: "General! The Navy Department's forwarded battle report! Queen Ship has sunk! Bismarck and Tirpitz are retreating to the southwest! Jellico's Grand Fleet is pursuing!"

The entire bridge felt as if the air had been sucked out.

The Queen Ship sank.

That sister ship of the Hood, the fastest battlecruiser of the Yingguo Royal Navy, which had escaped unscathed in the Jidelan Sea Battle—sank.

Schmidt's fist slammed down hard on the chart table. It wasn't anger, but a long‑suppressed excitement finally finding an outlet.

"Where is the Bismarck now?" His voice was twice as fast as before.

The communications officer's finger moved swiftly across the map: "According to the latest report, roughly at latitude XX°XX', longitude XX°XX'. Jellico's pursuing fleet estimates the position…"

His finger moved another distance:

"Here. About fifty nautical miles from the Bismarck."

Fifty nautical miles.

Schmidt's mind raced.

Their current position—latitude XX°XX', longitude XX°XX'. About one hundred twenty nautical miles from the Bismarck. If they steamed at full speed to the southwest, they would form a … angle with the pursuing Jellico fleet.

"Chief of Staff," he turned to the Chief of Staff, "calculate where and when we would meet Jellico if we head southwest at full speed."

The Chief of Staff's finger trembled as it moved across the chart. He wasn't afraid, just nervous—an instinctive reaction of a soldier facing a critical decision.

"General, if we proceed southwest at twenty‑four knots and Jellico pursues the Bismarck southwest at twenty‑four knots, the two sides will meet… in about four hours, near latitude XX°XX', longitude XX°XX'."

Four hours.

Schmidt stared at that coordinate on the chart.

It was an open sea, no islands, no shoals, just endless deep blue. If they met Jellico there, four King Class ships against five Elizabeth Queen Class—

the chance of victory was under thirty percent.

But what if they didn't go?

What if the Bismarck were caught up?

Those two Deguo most advanced battleships, the two giants bearing the entire navy's hope, would sink into the Atlantic seabed like the Hood and the Queen Ship.

Schmidt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

"All fleet." He said, "turn to 250°, speed twenty‑four knots. Boiler Overload."

The Chief of Staff was stunned: "General, twenty‑four knots means boiler pressure exceeds design limits, the engine lifespan will—"

"Engine lifespan can be replaced after the war." Schmidt cut him off, "people who die cannot be revived."

He walked to the portside window, looking at the misty sea ahead:

"Signal all ships: full speed ahead, Boiler Overload. Objective—intercept the Bismarck."

The order was given.

From the King's loudspeaker came a reply from the engine room: "Boiler Overload ready. Pressure rising. Expected to reach twenty‑four knots in five minutes."

Five minutes later, the King's speed climbed from twenty knots. Twenty‑one knots. Twenty‑two knots. Twenty‑three knots.

In the engine room, the boiler crews, shirtless, shovelled coal into the furnace. Sweat ran down their backs, evaporating on the scorching deck into hissing white steam. The pressure gauge needle kept climbing, nearing the red warning line.

Twenty‑four knots.

It was a speed no King Class battleship had ever achieved.

The hull shivered—not a normal vibration, but an unsettling tremor beyond design limits. The portside glass emitted a faint resonant sound, as if it might shatter at any moment.

But the King kept running.

Four King Class ships, carrying over three thousand Deguo sailors, raced southwest.

On the Caesar, Captain Erich Redel, Colonel, stood at the bridge's portside window.

He was forty‑one, one of the youngest Deguo Navy battleship captains. He had served twenty years, fought in the Jidelan, commanded a submarine, and left a trail in the Baltic and the North Sea. He was Schmidt's most trusted subordinate and the calmest mind in this support fleet.

But at this moment, his hand trembled slightly.

Not because of fear.

It was because the King had just transmitted that order: "Boiler Overload, speed twenty‑four knots, objective—intercept the Bismarck."

Twenty‑four knots.

The Caesar's maximum design speed was twenty‑three knots. Running at twenty‑four knots meant the boiler would endure pressure beyond design limits, the engine lifespan would be drastically shortened, and—

it meant they were using their own warships to gamble on a battle with less than thirty percent chance of victory.

Redel turned, looking at the officers on the bridge.

Everyone stared at him.

"Execute the order." He said, "Boiler Overload. Notify the engine room, tell them… take care."

The order was given.

The Caesar's speed began to climb.

The hull's deep tremor grew more intense. The portside glass emitted a sharp resonant sound. A protractor placed on the chart table was shaken off onto the floor, producing a crisp clatter.

Redel bent down, picked up the protractor, and set it back on the chart table.

He stared at the southwest‑extending route on the chart, recalling his first time aboard a battleship ten years ago. Back then he was young, believing Deguo Navy would one day surpass Yingguo, believing the open‑sea fleet would utterly destroy the Royal Navy in a decisive battle.

Now he no longer believed.

But he still believed one thing: Deguo Navy's honor would not allow them to abandon their comrades.

On the Leutebold, Captain Karl von Miller, Colonel, stood in the engine room.

He wasn't there to inspect, but to watch those boiler crews personally.

The boiler room was hellish hot. Temperature at least fifty degrees, humidity near saturation. The boiler crews were shirtless, skin glistening with sweat as if just pulled from water. Their coal‑shovelling motions were mechanical and swift, like wind‑up machines.

"Can we go any faster?" Miller asked.

The chief boiler man looked up, sweat and coal dust mixing on his face, forming black streaks: "General, we're already at the limit. Faster and the boiler will explode."

Mi Le nodded.

He knew this was the truth. But he also knew that if the speed wasn't fast enough, if they couldn't catch up to the Bismarck, their comrades would die.

"Do your best," he said, "as fast as you can."

He turned and walked out of the engine room, back onto the bridge.

The sea rushed backward outside the porthole. The Lu Yi Te Bo Er De's speed had already reached twenty‑three and a half knots, still climbing slowly.

Mi Le stared at the boundless deep blue ahead, suddenly recalling his wife.

Before the war broke out, they had been married only three years. She always asked him, "When will you come back?" He always replied, "Soon, after this battle is over."

Now the battle hasn't ended yet.

He didn't know whether he could still return.

But at this moment, the thought flashed by. His gaze fell again on the chart, on the coordinate where they would soon meet the Yingguo.