Chapter 618: Aftershocks and Choices

Damage control officer Captain Karl Meyer's voice came through the speaking tube, heavy with uncontainable fatigue: "The Bismarck has taken three hits in total. One hit on the port side aft secondary gun deck, penetrating two layers of plating before exploding in the storage compartment. The fire has been extinguished, nearby compartments have minor flooding, the bilge pumps are operating normally, and the water should be pumped out within six hours."

He paused: "One 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 conducting emergency repairs and has restored seventy percent."

"The most critical hit—" his voice lowered, "was near the ammunition feed mechanism of turret A. Shrapnel severed part of the hydraulic lines. Now turret one's loading speed is only half of normal. The turret itself is intact, the barrel undamaged, but ammunition must be fed manually."

She Er fell silent for a few seconds.

"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 turned to the navigation officer: "Where's the damage report for the Tirpitz?"

The navigation officer handed over a signal slip: "The Tirpitz reports, General. They have taken two hits. One near boiler room two, causing minor flooding, now sealed. One on the aft deck, destroying a seaplane, no casualties. Speed can be maintained at twenty‑nine knots."

Twenty‑nine knots.

One knot faster than the Bismarck.

Their brow twitched slightly. They walked to the porthole and looked at the sister ship to their right‑rear. The setting sun slipped through gaps in the clouds, coating the Tirpitz's silhouette in a dark‑gold hue. It can run at twenty‑nine knots, but they cannot abandon it.

"Send a signal to the Tirpitz," they said, "maintain a speed of twenty‑nine knots, no need to force a chase. We will adjust according to their speed."

The signalman raised the signal lamp. Its light flickered in the dusk like some ancient code.

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

She Er's mouth twitched.

Consideration.

With pursuers behind and the road ahead unknown, the word seemed lavish. Yet they must be considerate. The Tirpitz's boiler room is damaged; forcing it to keep up with the Bismarck's thirty knots could worsen the flooding and further reduce speed. Then, if the Yingguo catch up…

They did not think further.

"Ammunition report."

The quartermaster opened another log: "The Bismarck carried a total of eight hundred forty armor‑piercing shells and one hundred sixty high‑explosive shells. After engaging the Yingguo fleet, it expended two hundred three armor‑piercing and thirty‑one high‑explosive shells. Remaining are six hundred thirty‑seven armor‑piercing and one hundred twenty‑nine high‑explosive shells."

Six hundred thirty‑seven shells.

She Er quickly calculated in their mind. At eight shells per salvo, they could fire seventy‑nine salvos. At a maximum rate of one point five salvos per minute, they could sustain fire for about fifty‑three minutes. If another sea battle of equal intensity to the Queen Ship occurred, these shells would be just enough.

"Communications officer," they said.

"Present."

"Prepare two telegrams."

The communications officer hesitated: "General, the radio is silent—"

"Exception," She Er said, "send these two and then resume silence."

The communications officer fell silent, picking up the logbook and a pencil.

She Er remained silent for a long time.

No one on the bridge dared to speak. Only the low hum of air moving through the ventilation ducts and the distant sound of waves lapping the hull.

They finally spoke, their voice slow, each word like water drawn up from a deep well:

"First telegram, to the German Navy Department. Content—"

He paused: "Your Majesty, please consider: The First Strike Fleet engaged the Yingguo main fleet on February 19‑20. It sank one Hood‑class battlecruiser—the Queen Ship. Three Elizabeth Queen Class battleships—the Barham, Valiant, and Malaya. Two Brave‑class large light cruisers—the Brave and Glorious."

He stopped, taking a deep breath:

"Support fleet—King, Caesar, Luitpold, Empress—heroically sank while covering our ship's retreat. The majority of the crew perished."

The communications officer's fingers trembled slightly on the logbook, but they said nothing, merely continued writing.

"Our ship and the Tirpitz are damaged, breaking southward to seek supplies," She Er's voice dropped lower, "German Navy endures. She Er."

The communications officer finished the last character, looked up: "General, the second telegram?"

She Er did not answer immediately.

He walked back to the porthole, watching the sea outside now fully black. Stars began to appear—one, two, then a sky full of them. The Southern Cross rose from the horizon—a sign of the Southern Hemisphere.

"Second telegram," he finally said, "to Lanfang Navy Department General Li Te. Use the encrypted channel."

"Understood."

"General Li Te, please consider: Thanks to your nation's technical support, the Bismarck Class performance far exceeds expectations. The mission against the Yingguo main fleet is complete, having sunk six enemy ships."

He paused, seeming to weigh his words:

"However, both our ship and the Tirpitz are damaged, fuel is critically low, and supplies are cut off. We are currently at latitude XX°XX′ north, longitude XX°XX′ west, steaming south at twelve knots. If possible, we earnestly request your nation's assistance in supply and repair. Whatever the outcome, the German Navy forever holds Lanfang's righteousness."

The communications officer finished writing, looked up and waited.

She Er was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Add one more sentence."

"General, please speak."

"If open intervention is inconvenient, even merely informing us of the nearest supply area would be deeply appreciated."

The communications officer's hand paused. He looked up, gazing at his commander.

She Er did not look at him, still staring out at the star‑filled night sky.

The communications officer lowered his head, adding that sentence to the end.

"Send it," She Er said.

"Understood."

The telegraph key began to tap. The "dit‑dit‑dit‑dit" sounded unusually clear in the quiet bridge, like a heartbeat.

She Er closed their eyes.

They did not know what these two telegrams would bring. They did not know how Berlin would react, whether Lanfang would reply, or if the Yingguo would intercept the signals and then give chase.

But they knew they had to send.

Because if they did not send, it might be too late.

When Wilhelm II was awakened, it was still dark outside.

He sat up groggily, looking at the attendant officer standing by the bedside. On that face was an expression he had never seen—neither panic nor fear, but an uncontrollable, almost fanatical excitement.

"Your Majesty," the attendant officer's voice trembled, "a dispatch from the Navy Department. A battle report from General She Er."

William II took the telegram sheets and brought them to the candlestick.

He read the first line.

Then he sat upright.

Then he lifted the blanket, stood barefoot on the floor, and read those lines again. Again. Again.