Chapter 169
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 169
Chapter Title: Baltic Fleet VS Baltic Fleet (2)
BOOM!!
"My God..."
Admiral Essen, who had been pulled from the sea, stared blankly at his flagship sinking into the cold depths of the Baltic with explosions large and small erupting nonstop from the rescue boat.
Around him, the screams of sailors thrashing in the water, desperately waiting for rescue, echoed endlessly. The fleet had fallen into panic, breaking formation and milling about in chaos.
"What in the world is happening? What the hell is going on?!"
But Admiral Essen was the most bewildered of all.
He still couldn't comprehend what had just occurred.
Enemy planes had appeared out of nowhere, dropped torpedoes, and boom.
How was he supposed to accept this absurd situation he'd never even imagined, let alone experienced?
"Th-those vile Germans...!"
This wasn't naval warfare.
If it had been submarines, he might have felt despair, but not this level of rage.
Because traditionally, sea battles were ship against ship.
Not with these ridiculous tactics!
"Admiral, I understand how you feel, but we need to board another battleship immediately."
A soaked staff officer, shivering like a drowned rat beside him, urged him on as if time was running out. Admiral Essen nodded.
With the flagship gone, transferring to another battleship and restoring order to the disorganized fleet was the top priority.
"The nearest battleship is..."
"Sevastopol."
"Then head there."
9 O'CLOCK! Multiple enemy ships sighted!
"Those damn Germans—right on cue, as expected...!"
With Admiral Essen's furious growl, the German Baltic Fleet revealed itself.
"Hahaha! See that Gangut burning over there, Reuter? The Wandering Dutchman is about to gain another comrade today!"
"What's this Wandering Dutchman?"
"A ghost ship. You don't watch operas?"
"No, I don't. So stop prattling and focus on the enemy right in front of us."
"Such a stiff guy."
Prince Heinrich grumbled but eyed the still-disorganized Russian Baltic Fleet with greedy gleam in his eyes.
The air strike operation, to which Prince Heinrich had devoted more effort than ever, had succeeded.
All that remained was to devour the tempting feast before them.
"Entire fleet, single column formation!"
"Jawohl!"
At the prince's booming command, signal flags rose from the flagship Otto Lilienthal.
In response, every ship in the German Baltic Fleet belched thick black smoke from their stacks, turning sideways to the Russian fleet and aligning in a single line.
"Guns aimed!"
"Fire!!"
BOOM!!
BANG! Boom!
Admiral, we've been straddle-fired!
"Charge signal! Send the charge signal!"
Hundreds of water columns erupted around the Russian Baltic Fleet ships. Admiral Essen, who had rushed to Sevastopol's bridge, urgently issued orders to the fleet.
He wanted to withdraw the fleet, but Russian battleships were slow.
In contrast, the enemy fleet included many armored cruisers that had sacrificed armor for speed.
Fleeing in disorder would only lead to merciless slaughter by the faster foes.
Better to accept losses and drag them into close-quarters combat—that was the best option now.
Of course, "best" didn't guarantee survival.
With one of their four premier Gangut-class battleships already sent to Neptune's palace, Admiral Essen had no choice but to gamble.
Even if they miraculously survived and returned, defeat would brand him with eternal dishonor, just like Admiral Zinovy Rozhestvensky, who had died of illness years ago after his loss.
"When there's a cliff behind you, it's all or nothing!"
They would shave down the German Baltic Fleet's strength, even at the cost of mutual destruction.
With Admiral Essen's resolve, the Russian fleet advanced straight ahead—using outdated battleships as shields—toward the Germans.
"Hahaha! Aiming to break through? Good—better to come at us like men than run like cowards!"
Prince Heinrich accepted the enemy admiral's resolve.
Fleet battle. Fleet against fleet.
Clash of might: the losers sink into the pitch-black sea, the victors claim glory.
"The pride of the Imperial Navy is at stake! The Empire's fate hangs on this battle. Crush them head-on!"
"Yes, Admiral!"
That was the way of true seamen, not those landlubbers.
"Captain Reuter, that report seemed awfully emotional!"
"Illusion!"
Steel shells rained down amid ear-shattering blasts from all directions, while nonstop reports filled the bridge.
The Baltic Sea was claiming more ships as scrap than ever before.
"Our fleet losses mounting!"
"Ships withdrawing from line accelerating!"
"Tch... Not enough after all?"
Most withdrawing ships were Russian.
They had targeted the single-column formation's weakness—a breakthrough—but couldn't withstand the German battleships' firepower.
Inevitably so: aside from Gangut-class, Russian battleships were old pre-Friedrich-class.
Harsh as it was for the Russian Navy, they were little more than rusted hulks against Friedrich-class.
VRRRROOOOM—
Enemy planes approaching from 7 o'clock!
EVADE! EVADE!!
The Otto Lilienthal's carrier planes, refueled and airborne again, darted between Russian ships, launching torpedoes and disrupting their line.
The ships were terrified after watching those tiny planes swarm and sink their pride, Gangut, right before their eyes.
To them, the unfamiliar German carrier aircraft looked like monsters.
It was no wonder they panicked.
"Admiral, we can't hold any longer!"
"..."
"Admiral!"
Despite his subordinates' cries, Admiral Essen remained silent.
He merely glared with bloodshot eyes at the Otto Lilienthal looming calmly behind the German fleet.
"Order the entire fleet. Withdraw immediat—"
A suffocating silence hung over Sevastopol's bridge as Admiral Essen finally opened his mouth to decide.
BOOM!!
"Argh!"
"Gaaah!!"
A shell from the Helgoland-class battleship SMS Ostfriesland, second in class, struck Sevastopol's bridge.
Direct hit on Sevastopol bridge!
"S-Sevastopol bridge hit!"
"What? Is the admiral safe?!"
"Unknown. The entire bridge is gone!"
"Aurora retreating! Petropavlovsk withdrawing too!"
"Damn it, about-face. We're fleeing too!"
With the flagship Sevastopol lost, morale shattered. The Pallada-class protected cruiser Aurora and the future Marat, Petropavlovsk—proving unsinkable as ever—fled swiftly, collapsing the Russian fleet entirely.
"Admiral Heinrich, enemy fleet fleeing! Victory is ours!"
"Mm, send pursuit forces. Tirpitz will be overjoyed at this news. If we can build more carriers now... Hahaha!"
Thus, the Baltic's first and last fleet battle—later dubbed the Gulf of Finland Naval Battle—ended with Prince Heinrich's laughter and victory for the Imperial Navy.
"Congratulations on the victories in East Prussia and the Baltic Sea, Marquis."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
After the Gulf of Finland battle, the Russian Baltic Fleet suffered irrecoverable losses: Commander Admiral Essen killed, most ships sunk.
Their sole Friedrich-class equivalent, Gangut-class: Gangut torpedoed by Otto Lilienthal; Poltava and Sevastopol shelled into the depths.
Only wounded Petropavlovsk barely escaped.
"I hear the Tsar is seriously considering fleeing to Moscow."
With zeppelins possibly returning to Petrograd anytime and the defending Baltic Fleet crippled...
Nicholas II had no choice but to deem Petrograd unsafe.
Of course, how Russians would view the Tsar relocating the capital was obvious.
Just recall why Stalin, that purged-mustache bastard from the poison gas war, never left Moscow even with Germans at the gates.
'But this savage prick is throwing another fit over our navy's achievements.'
Churchill wouldn't sit idly while the German Navy stole the glory.
Poor Grey, the Foreign Secretary leashing him, was suffering.
Maybe send him some good meds later.
"Sigh, if only our Austro-Hungarian forces exerted themselves like the Germans."
"Haha..."
I scratched my head awkwardly at Franz Ferdinand's heavy sigh, laced with genuine frustration.
The Austro-Hungarian army, once pushed to the Carpathians, had barely revived with our 7th Army's support.
But the Galician front remained unstable.
Five Russian field armies there, one led by that Brusilov.
"We need to drive out the Russians from Galicia soon. With Italy possibly turning on us anytime, we can't strike first."
"Once reorganization and new field armies are ready, the Eastern Front offensive begins."
Including a Galician counterattack.
"So endure until then."
"Mm, I'll wait expectantly."
"Your Majesty, Prime Minister Radoslavov and Prime Minister Venizelos have arrived."
"Ah, finally! Send them in."
With Franz Ferdinand's permission, Bulgarian PM Radoslavov and Greek PM Venizelos entered the conference room.
"Your Majesty, Marquis."
"Sit, please. Time is short, and the war drags on."
Radoslavov and Venizelos nodded gratefully at Franz Ferdinand's warm smile and took their seats.
"At last, time to end our tiresome feud with Serbia. With Bulgarian and Greek forces joining us, German air support, submachine guns, and new armored cars—this time, we'll finish the Serbian front."
"You'll honor the promised Serbian territory division, yes?"
Franz Ferdinand smiled reassuringly at Radoslavov's question, scarred by Serbia's betrayal in the Balkan Wars (though Bulgaria started it).
To secure their entry, he'd promised: Austria-Hungary takes north of Danube; Greece gets Macedonia (seized by Serbia last war); rest to Bulgaria.
"Promises will be kept. Don't worry. Hötzendorf grumbled, but shut up eventually. Even those stubborn Hungarians agreed—too busy with Galicia to object strongly."
"I thought Your Majesty and the Hungarians were on bad terms. Unexpected."
Not just bad—they loathed each other.
Franz Ferdinand sought to resolve ethnic strife by curbing Hungarian privileges and yielding to Slavs.
"We both don't want full Serbian annexation. Like a broken clock that's right twice a day."
"Haha, I see."
That was historical fact.
Hungarians had conditioned war support on no Serbian merger during Sarajevo.
'They just didn't publicize it, thinking it weak.'
One of the silly triggers for that pointless world war.
Anyway, with everyone satisfied, I had no interest meddling in irrelevant Serbia's partition for Germany.
"Then, a toast to our victory."
"Haha, gladly."
"To the Entente's triumph!"
"Triumph!"
Clink!
Franz Ferdinand, Radoslavov, Venizelos, and I clinked champagne glasses with smiles.
Time to knock Serbia out of the world war.