Chapter 1: The Golden Age of Skagerrak (Part One) Second Update

  In May, the winds of the North Atlantic blow gently, with sorrowful light rain falling and drifting onto this remote, cold island chain in the far north of Scotland.

  The Queen Elizabeth's whistle blew as she steamed slowly into the somewhat empty and desolate Scapa Bay, guided by a pilot boat. The sound of the returning queen's whistle faded away in the rainy season, but on the headland extending to the North Sea, dozens of meters high lookout towers loudspeakers sounded again the heart-wrenching alarm.

  A small window exuded a corrupt atmosphere, even the few cacti were tired of the British tide, hanging their heads and losing vitality. The gendarmes patrolled at the end of the corridor, the crisp sound of boots landing on the ground passed through the half-closed door into the narrow room, pounding on the heart of the confined general.

  "Maybe it was a submarine, or maybe just a carefree white whale, who knows!"

  Lampard stood in front of the windowsill, self-deprecatingly remarking, and reached out to pull down the blinds. The room, which was on the verge of getting moldy, suddenly became dim, with only a small lamp on the desk casting a faint light. Lampard lit a cigarette for himself and sat down on the creaky chair with a disheartened expression.

  Pushing aside the thick handwritten data and captain's log, the poetic military officer Rample found his target - a stack of clean letter paper that still smelled of fountain pen ink.

  A line of elegant and beautiful English font "Skagerrak's Gold" entered his sight, and Lanpard's indifferent expression finally relaxed a little.

  "It's a sad story, it doesn't belong to the Nordic pirates, nor does it belong to Redbeard the pirate, nor does it belong to the Age of Sail. The time of the story is not long ago, where gunpowder has not yet cooled; the place of the story is not mysterious, just in the busy Skagerrak Strait; the plot of the story is not legendary, because it's a nation's eternal toast, I call it the Gold of Skagerrak!"

  Lampard's eyes began to redden slightly, memories drifting back to March, sweeping over the gunfire-filled Scapa Flow, and arriving at Scapa Bay.

  The Royal Princess sank, the Indefatigable sank, the Australia sank, the Tiger sank. On that evening when the fast fleet returned to Scapa Flow, the setting sun was like blood, and on the high-latitude islands, there were flying things that shouldn't be there, echoing with desolate masses, gentlemen's terror, and church bells.

  On the dock, one after another battered war cruisers slowly moored to their berths. The dire state of the fast fleet left sailors securing the lines barely able to stand; Lion had lost a turret, Invincible's upperworks were completely twisted, New Zealand had a gaping hole torn in her side, and Queen Elizabeth was visibly down by the head.

  "Good God, is this still the Royal Navy I remember?!"

  This was the initial bewilderment of the Orkney Islanders, but a more heartbreaking time was yet to come.

  The gangway of the warship was lowered, and a group of sailors with bandages or crutches on their heads and faces slowly carried or supported their injured comrades down to the dock, silently heading towards the naval hospital. The wounded troops had finally thinned out, and the bodies wrapped in shrouds or covered with only a small piece of waterproof canvas were lifted off the warship and piled up on the silent dock.

  Young bodies lined up from the dock to the breakwater, and still more were arriving. Everyone wanted to pay their respects to the deceased, but as the line of corpses grew longer, they gradually realized a terrible fact.

  "Children, who can tell me where the Indefatigable has gone?" The air of failure spread like a plague, and suddenly an uncontrollable voice burst out from the crowd on the shore in mourning. A middle-aged woman wearing a Scottish maid's uniform searched desperately but to no avail at the main fleet anchorage, her hands and feet cold, stumbled out, grabbed a second-class soldier carrying a stretcher, and spoke incoherently: "My child was on the Indefatigable, his name is Yassin, Alexei-Yassin, he's an honest boy, he never tells lies, he loves to play the flute, please tell me where he is?"

  "Rear Admiral, forgive us, didn't we have... ten fast battleships?" The vice commander of Scapa Flow base was a position to let retired old generals enjoy their retirement, and Lanpad couldn't imagine that the once powerful figures in the naval world would ask about the cruel fact with a tone close to being mischievous: "Where did you hide the remaining five fast battleships?"

  Without the presence of the Iron Duke, which had left the battle early, and with the two escorting destroyers also gone, the senior officers of the Grand Fleet were taken aback.

  Lampard clearly remembered the panic when Betty couldn't find the HMS Intrepid, remembered the tears of regret when Betty saw the dead sailors, and remembered Betty's despair in the commander's rest room. Yes, the "Sea Cavalry" of the Royal Navy, the toughest guy in the British Empire, cried, his military cap and medals were placed on the table, a pistol loaded with bullets was clenched in his hand until everything that could threaten his life was forcibly confiscated by loyal guards.

  As the commander of the fast fleet, Beatty was destined to bear more. Lampard knew that any language was pale and shallow, so he took the initiative to take over the aftermath work. At this time, the base's medical officers and nurses had all been deployed, and the sailors who were on duty, the shore-based defense troops, local residents, and church priests voluntarily joined the rescue team.

  As the day drew to a close, the Grand Fleet also returned, and the tragedy of the fast battlecruisers seemed to be replicated on the main battleships. The battered warships led the way into harbor, with no flowers or champagne in sight; all that the people of Orkney saw were groups of demoralized wounded men and a seemingly endless procession of white-shrouded bodies.

  The dock, which had just been evacuated, was crowded again. Countless faces were covered with un-wiped gunpowder, wearing tattered naval uniforms, and sailors with disheveled bandages on their heads shuttled through the chaotic crowd. Perhaps they could find their goal, then a few surviving sailors wept bitterly, or perhaps they couldn't find anything, so they sat on the cold dock and wailed loudly.

  "Why did I alone survive, while the entire Ruby was lost? Why must I be left to remain alone, solitary in this blind world?"

  The wounded soldier who had just been carried into the hospital corridor came to, endured the pain and got up, frantically tore off the nurse's clothes, put on her undergarments stiffly, and rushed out of the door.

  The nurse who was stripped clean naturally did not want to let it go, and brought a group of naval military police to find this "pervert" sailor, and they were shocked.

  A seventeen-year-old-looking girl, with a clear and elegant face, wrapped herself in a bright red female underwear, her lips painted with the most common lipstick, swaying randomly in front of a newly erected cross on the embankment.

  "We had an agreement, if anyone in the gun crew were to die, the survivors would have to dress up in women's clothes and perform the most ridiculous dance in all of England." The sailor was still dancing, but it wasn't funny, only shocking. His young face was covered with snot, tears, and blood that had seeped through his bandages after they burst open. "Look, Formby's little Roumenig said so, Formby's little Roumenig never goes back on his word, but... but I *** don't want to dance this ridiculous dance, I just want you all to come back alive, for all of you to be able to come back alive!"

  On the dock's outer side, several wounded soldiers started fighting after a disagreement. They seemed to have hatred that had been building up for years, using their teeth to bite each other and bandages to choke each other. However, in less than thirty seconds, they stopped. As night fell over Skaei Bay, a light snow began to fall, and the searchlights illuminated the pale-colored military port. The wounded soldiers hugged each other again, as if sworn enemies had once again become their own people who could entrust their lives to each other.

  "It's no use, even if you escaped when the ship was sinking, what's the point? Over 900 crew members of the Ajax were left with only 51 people escaping, over 900 people were left with only 51!"

  Tens of thousands of survivors crowded the docks and breakwaters, reluctant to accept treatment or return to the warmth of aid stations. Some had given up hope of finding their comrades, kneeling on the ground crying and kissing the British soil; others continued searching, shouting at the top of their lungs the names of all the comrades they could remember, writing in blood and chalk on wooden boards the names of the ships they served on, lifting every shroud to try to find any lost brother who might not make it home.

  "Has anyone seen Rodman? Has anyone seen the reckless Rodman?" Allen, a second-class private on the lookout tower of the Reckless, who had narrowly escaped death, was still struggling when a large hand scooped him up.

  "Kid, don't bother looking, only six people survived from the Ryujinmaru, just six people from start to finish!"

  The speaker was a gunner of a 4-inch BL gun, the highest surviving officer of HMS Furious, with the rank of Chief Petty Officer.

  "No, sir! Rodman must still be alive!" The young man was enraged, he turned around, his face full of blood and ferocity. "The German shells came over, the x turret's ammunition depot exploded, and I and Rodman were both thrown off almost at the same time, how can it be that I survived while Rodman died?! Rodman fought until the very last moment, but I couldn't even help a bit, how can it be that I survived while Rodman died?!"

  Coarse fingertips were scalded by the burnt cigarette. Summoning his spirit, with a divine-like afterglow, Lampard found a pen from some gap again. Twisting open the pen cap, the young general who had personally experienced death began to write on paper with a flourish.

  At 8:35, the Conqueror battleship sank. This new battleship was hit only once in a non-vital area on the port side during the previous battle, with one sailor injured, but in the final peak battle, a German 350mm armor-piercing shell made all the efforts of the Conqueror's crew go to waste.

  "This battleship was defined by our newspapers as a super-dreadnought. Super-dreadnought, this is a new term full of temptation and imagination, but in the Dogger Bank Sea Battle, the nominal appearance of our super-dreadnought had already been exposed. Ridiculous that everyone pretended to be unaware, and recklessly rushed forward on the wrong path until the Conqueror battleship was pierced by just one 350mm armor-piercing shell, causing a magazine explosion and sinking."

  "General, the Military Police Command has sent me to inform you that the trial at the military tribunal will take place in three hours' time, at 2:45 pm. The Military Police Command will send a car for you at 2:00 pm..."

  The sound of the guard knocking on the door came from outside, and Lampard's body trembled until the heart-wrenching footsteps went away before he regained his composure.

  "Old friend, I don't have much time left, we need to hurry..."

  The mournful alarm of the military port has finally been lifted, but the dismal rain continues, and the unstoppable wheel of fate continues.

  "It's not easy for the Grand Fleet to withdraw, as the Germans are greedy and have many demands. The 11th Destroyer Flotilla laid a smoke screen on the right side of the Grand Fleet, which was no easy task, as even a single near-miss shell could have annihilated them. In comparison to the heavily damaged 11th Destroyer Flotilla, the 4th Destroyer Flotilla is more worthy of our respect, as young men used their blood and scrap metal to blast open a path for the Grand Fleet, and launched four torpedoes at a distance of 1000 yards. Don't mock these four torpedoes, as the 11th Destroyer Flotilla paid the price of total annihilation."

  The clock is still ticking, and the snow-white letter paper flows like a fourteen-line poem, full of poetic subtlety and sorrowful strokes. Lampard writes slowly, because he always infuses his emotions into perhaps lifelong history, and has to lift the pen tip to wipe off the white mist on the lens.

  The pace of the Grand Fleet's pursuit was slightly checked by the gallant 11th Flotilla. The young blood had not been shed in vain, for the Germans who had disposed of the 11th Flotilla were left to accept with equanimity the fact that they could not catch up to the Grand Fleet.

  At 9:12, the fight between light cruisers also ended. We unexpectedly captured the German Fourth Scouting Group. These four light cruisers were eager to make a name for themselves and left the protection of the High Seas Fleet to venture deep into the battlefield, only to be surrounded and annihilated by our two armoured cruiser squadrons and the Fourth Light Cruiser Squadron. After that, the Skagerrak Strait was left with only sporadic gunfire from destroyers sweeping the battlefield, as well as the mournful cries of what once were mighty warships now lying at the bottom of the icy sea.

  "The sea fight was not the end of a war, but rather the beginning. On March 4th, 1915, in the afternoon, before our Grand Fleet and Battle Cruiser Fleet had returned to Scapa Flow, we received an Admiralty telegram. In this North Sea climax we had sunk three battleships, four battle cruisers, one battleship was completely destroyed, two battle cruisers and four battleships were heavily damaged, yet the proud Admiralty said with a clear conscience 'The German fleet attacked its jailer but remained locked up'."

  "It may be important to maintain stability in London's Downing Street, it may be important to calm the unrest in London, it may be important to regain the trust of the free world, but this is unfair to the soldiers who once fought and bled at Jutland and Skagerrak. The golden glory of Skagerrak should not be buried deep beneath the sea, it must be dug up thoroughly, because our navy has problems, we should face them instead of covering them up with one lie after another, and let those in the know lose their voice at the crossroads where the fate of the Royal Navy is decided!"

  The half-closed door was pushed open, and a gendarme flashed by outside the door. A military prosecutor walked in, holding out a summons from the military tribunal and handcuffs to Lamartine.

  "Prosecutor, if it doesn't violate the secrecy rules, I'd like to know the outcome of General David-Betty's trial..." Lamppost just finished "The Gold of Skargarak" and locked it in the cabinet, calmly extending both hands to the military prosecutor.

  "Although I sympathize with you, however..." The inspector did not press charges against General Rampal, who was facing up to six counts of court-martial. He looked around cautiously, shook his head and smiled wryly.

  ……