The Second Cannon Sound Chapter 17: The Summit War (4)

  When the Seventh Squadron broke away from the main fleet and launched a death charge against the Grand Fleet, the latter unhesitatingly turned its guns on the lone German swordsmen. Two unequal opponents clashed for thirteen minutes, from 1

  Engage in ultra-long-range dogfighting up to 1000 meters

  The 000 code, the big fleet only had one record of the Iron Duke being hit, while the Seventh Division had already taken twenty-two large-caliber armor-piercing shells from the British.

  The King-class battleship's five 350mm main guns were arranged in a fore-and-aft configuration, with two raised gun turrets and independent barbettes amidships. As the Seventh Division began its charge, the turning angle was insufficient, so the rear-mounted Dora, Kaiser, and Emil turrets had inadequate aft firing arcs, and never got the chance to fire, using all five main guns against

  A target ship 000 meters away, the probability of hitting it is self-evident. The Seventh Squadron finally corrected the course of the oblique thrust, and the five main turrets could fire fully, but the smoke wall caused by Anton and Bruno's continuous firing greatly interfered with the rangefinder's work. The King-class ship's hull, which was shaking violently due to the strong ventilation that brought out its speed potential, also affected the aiming of the main guns. As a result, the Seventh Squadron's hit record remained at a pathetic one shot.

  In the era of dreadnoughts, the sinking of a main force ship was inseparable from two situations: either the ammunition depot was detonated or the hull took on too much water. Hipper believed that the 15-inch and 13.5-inch main guns of the British super-dreadnoughts and the 12-inch main guns of the dreadnoughts could not penetrate the 350mm thick side armor belt of the K?nig class, which was made of Krupp cemented steel; The 350mm thick turret front armor, 350mm gun seat and ammunition elevator armor made it impossible for the K?nig class to have a magazine explosion within a range of 9 kilometers. However, in order to allow the K?nig class to float on the surface, the 350mm armor thickness that defied the sky could not cover the entire warship, and the relatively weak 80mm bow armor, 200mm upper armor belt and 180mm underwater armor of the K?nig class were like Achilles' heel. Once they were continuously penetrated, Hipper did not think that the K?nig class could still support itself when various negative factors such as flooding and speed reduction were added.

  "Is the desperate charge even more brutal than Bidor's Sahara nightmare finally unsustainable?"

  Hipper stood on the bridge of the Friedrich der Grosse, his hands clasped behind him, and involuntarily thought back to that cruel Dogger Bank battle in November 1914. Obviously, Hipper's situation was even more unfavorable than at Dogger Bank. At Dogger Bank, Seydlitz's two battlecruisers and one armored cruiser had only eight British capital ships as opponents, and Seydlitz still had the cover of night and the powerful support of the High Seas Fleet. In contrast, in the North Sea on March 25, 1915, the Seventh Squadron faced thirteen capital ships of the Royal Navy, while the First Scouting Group was busy with its own affairs, and the High Seas Fleet was still deploying, a considerable distance from forming a battle line.

  "I can still expect... who?" A flash of despair crossed Hiper's face, and when Hiper lifted his head again, the general's eyes were full of determination.

  Although there is no detailed data on the German King-class battleship, the general can still glimpse some clues from the excellent survival performance of the German war cruiser in the Dogger Bank Sea Battle. As for the unreasonable protective power of the German warship, Admiral Jellicoe thought he had made a complete mental preparation, but the fact that the German Seventh Squadron stood proudly on the sea for as long as thirteen minutes gave him a slap in the face.

  The Grand Fleet Commander maintained the composure of an English gentleman and the world's first-rate naval power, grasping the telephone receiver to give a calm and composed order to the Iron Duke's fire control tower:

  "Brave Royal Navy men, tell me why the Germans are still afloat?"

  Abandoning the long-range bombardment of the Ocean Fleet, concentrating firepower on the Seventh Division, which was attracting fire in front of the vanguard, Jellicoe's choice was quite pragmatic: no matter how much time the Grand Fleet delayed, the Ocean Fleet's formation line was still only a matter of time. The only thing worth considering was what kind of results the Grand Fleet could achieve in the aimless bombardment. If the Grand Fleet concentrated its forces on the Seventh Division, where the Ocean Fleet was strongest, and tried to annihilate or severely damage this prey that had been delivered to their doorstep within a short period of time, then the Grand Fleet would undoubtedly gain more advantages in the upcoming line-of-battle decisive battle.

  Jellicoe's plan was reasonable, but he underestimated the survivability of German warships, underestimated the difficulty of multi-fire control, and overestimated the effectiveness of British naval guns. Thirteen minutes of concentrated fire, the British had the upper hand, yet the Seventh Squadron still stood on the surface.

  As time went on, the observation conditions of the large fleet became increasingly poor, and the accuracy of the gunfire also decreased. Although the scene where the large fleet occupied the T-shaped crosshead with full firepower was quite shocking, the thick smoke produced by the high-speed operation of the coal-fired boiler and the gunpowder combustion of the cannon fire were enough to cover the sky and make the observation tower and rangefinder sailors jump up and curse. Forcing a whole division to concentrate its fire on one battleship could certainly increase the hit probability, but when three or four battleships with more than 30 guns fired shells at the target ship at the same time, errors in fire control distribution were almost unavoidable. How to judge the fall point of their own ship's shells and correct the firing angle from the boiling ocean and the dense water columns was a technical problem that could make the rangefinder observers pull out their hair.

  The fact that the range and hitting power were not in proportion had already irritated Admiral Jellicoe, a gunnery officer by trade, when the Fifth and Sixth Divisions, which were being used to delay and harass the German High Seas Fleet while it deployed into fighting formation, reported successive hits on the German main body, Admiral Jellicoe's emotions finally boiled over.

  "Everyone, get your spirits up! While we can still see, open fire on all targets and annihilate the damned Seventh Squad!"

  The king's mid-ship was engulfed in flames and smoke, gradually fading away to reveal a dire situation before the disheveled damage control personnel: The flying bridge connecting the No. 1 and No. 2 funnels had collapsed by more than half, with the remaining small part twisted into a spiral shape at an odd angle. The crane and lifeboats were swept into the sea, leaving only a short, crooked section of the crane arm. The chart room was directly destroyed, with tons of documents either turning to ashes in the fire or becoming scattered paper scraps flying through the air. The telegraph room had one corner cut off, and a shell fragment severed the wireless antenna above the command tower, temporarily cutting off contact between the 7th Division and the main fleet, forcing damage control personnel and communication soldiers to risk British cannonballs to urgently repair the wireless antenna.

  The heavy armor-piercing shell, deflected by the armored bulkhead of the turret, caused secondary damage to the King, destroying a less than 40 mm thick communication door in a watertight compartment. It penetrated the thin floor of the communication passage and exploded in the dry storage room adjacent to the turret's magazine, separated only by a single watertight bulkhead. Even with the electrical sprinkler fire extinguishing system activated, which filled the area with a fog of water vapor, the intense fire and yellowish toxic gases generated by the bitter acid continued to spread, soon breaking through the holes opened in the upper and lower compartments and communication passages.

  The sound of footsteps echoed from the end of the communication passage, Lieutenant Hardy, the damage control officer of the King's ship, hastily put on a gas mask, grabbed a fire hose and led his subordinates to rush into the fire scene. The electric watertight doors near the fire scene were locked, and the communication doors in the communication passage were also heavily closed. The pumps were started, and water was injected into the watertight compartments. The damage control soldiers holding the fire hoses slowly pushed forward towards the center of the fire scene. Ten minutes later, the big fire was gradually suppressed. If there were no accidents, the damage control team could eliminate the fire source within ten minutes.

  The exhausted damage control team leader finally took a short rest, removing the sticky toxic mask. The face that had just been exposed was immediately dyed with the color of the flames, and the middle-aged damage control team leader took off his wet shirt, squeezing out a puddle of water, leaning against the communication room door to breathe heavily. At this time, Colonel Mo Ning, the deputy captain of the National King, opened the lock on the communication room door, gave a hasty military salute, and transmitted a not-so-wonderful message.

  "Captain, we've taken a hit on the port side of the King's second deck amidships! We'll need at least ten trained damage control personnel there immediately!"

  At 7:36, the King-class battleship was hit again. A British 15-inch armor-piercing shell that even the British themselves could not determine the origin of struck the second deck of the King at an angle. Due to the use of a back-heavy structure for the main gun turrets on the King, the two gun platforms were raised, causing the center of gravity of the ship to rise, so the fourteen single 150mm secondary guns and ten 88mm secondary guns on the King-class were placed on the second deck with poor shooting angles. The unstable fuse British 15-inch armor-piercing shell pierced a weakly armored 150mm gun emplacement at an angle after passing through it, exploding outside the armored wall connecting the first and second decks.

  The blast wave from the explosion overturned the secondary turret, which had already been twisted into a ball, leaving only the rotating base. The heavy turret rolled around on the deck for several turns, scraping out countless sparks and making an ear-piercing screeching sound until it finally came to a stop after colliding with another 150mm secondary turret. At this time, the port side of the second deck of the King had become a purgatory on earth, with large pieces of armor-piercing shell fragments and iron blocks falling off from the rolling turret flying around at an invisible speed, bringing up clouds of blood mist on the unsuspecting sailors. The smell of blood was thick, and the black smoke and flames did not stop, soon occupying this corner and spreading to both sides.

  "Where can I find ten damage control personnel?!" The exhausted Damage Control Chief, Hardy, could barely lift his heavy arm to salute his superior, Manning. He let out a pained laugh and forced out five fingers.

  The British gunfire was quite intense, although the hit rate was not high, but there were indeed many near misses. The damage control work on the left waterline belt of the stern after being hit, the fire extinguishing and repair work of the wireless telegraph antenna in the middle flying bridge, and the fire extinguishing work of the multiple turrets involved more than half of the damage control team's energy. Hardy's damage control team was like a high-speed spinning top, driven by British shells to run wildly around the ship. Hardy couldn't even spare ten damage control soldiers.

  "Five people are enough!" Damage control is a compulsory course for naval officers and men. Mo Ning took the gunner of the starboard 150mm cannon and assigned him to the temporary damage control team. He had just returned from the stern waterline compartment, where he hadn't even had time to catch his breath, and led his subordinates like a whirlwind to the second deck, which was splashing with water columns and whistling with shrapnel.

  On the second deck, medical soldiers were doing the simplest treatment for the sailors who were in pain and wailing on the deck. Sailors and gunners who still had a chance to be saved were lifted onto stretchers, while dead sailors were hastily covered with white shrouds, and sailors who had lost their chances of being treated were given a shot of morphine by medical soldiers with red eyes, which meant death.

  The scene on the deck was heartbreaking for the temporary damage control team, young men dragging heavy fire hoses and pumps, bypassing busy medical soldiers rushing to the fire. The British bitter-tasting acid-filled shells were not stable in performance, with near-misses and premature explosions common, but there is always another side to the coin, the fierce fire caused by the bitter-tasting acid was difficult to extinguish, and the damage control personnel had to endure the flames and high temperatures, using fire hoses to approach the fire step by step. At this time, a 15-inch armor-piercing shell exploded 10 meters outside the port side of the second deck, the shell exploding after piercing the surface of the water, the white column of water splashing up almost level with the mainmast lookout tower of the King. When tons of seawater reached its peak and lost momentum before falling back down, the small second deck could no longer be spared.

  After the deafening din, the bloodstains on the deck, Deputy Captain Mo Ning who fought bravely, the temporary damage control team, the medic who combined the angel and the god of death, the wounded soldiers who didn't make it back to the rescue bay, and the deceased wrapped in white cloth all disappeared. Dust, survival, and death were swept away, but the fierce fire triggered by the bitter acid still continued.

  "Commander, the British may have fired a broadside, this salvo's impact zone will almost blanket us! I see an AP shell heading straight for Anton turret, fortunately our Anton is sturdy enough!"

  Without needing the rangefinder to remind him, through the observation slit in the conning tower, Hipper saw a sight more terrifying than any pencil mark could be. Hipper had no room for rejoicing, whether it was the British gunners shooting at their fastest rate and creating an illusion of crossing fire or one of the British ships actually achieving true crossing fire, the fate of K?nig would not be pretty with six hits in an instant.

  "Deputy commander, the situation is very bad..." Commander of the 7th Detachment, General-Lieutenant P. Bikhovnik, carefully looked at the frowning Admiral Hipper and stammered out his suggestion: "We are only 13 kilometers away from the main fleet, this distance is too short, perhaps we should turn back..."

  "Not yet, it's too early, at least until the Grand Fleet forms a line of battle!" Hipper shook his head and coldly refused Commodore Bichmann.

  The deck shook again with the reverberation, and without a doubt, the King's ship had increased its firepower to eight rounds. Little Bihanic's pale cheek twitched, and his eyes gradually turned bloodshot. "But before that, the Seventh Squadron will sink!"

  "K?der's will shall prevail!" Little Bihanik's shout made Hipper's resolute heart tremble inexplicably for a moment. The deputy commander glanced over and scrutinized Little Bihanik, but in his bright and clean eyes, there was not the slightest hint of fear, only the pain and frustration of being a fleet commander. Hipper fell silent for a moment, his gnarled hands unconsciously reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes.

  With a crackle, the cigarette was lit, and Siepel greedily took a deep drag of smoke, saying faintly: "Some things have to be done by someone, after all!"

  The driving cab fell silent for a few seconds, until the lookout's incessant chatter broke this eerie silence. In the heat of battle, the lookout responsible for observing their own side's hits was always an unpopular role, and Hipper subconsciously furrowed his brow, as it had only been ten or so seconds since they were last hit.

  "Oh God, am I seeing things...?"