Hipper's fleet relied on submarines and small destroyers to clear the way ahead, dodging civilian ships along the route to keep their movements hidden.
They sailed cautiously throughout the afternoon. By the time it was just past four thirty, the late-autumn and early-winter sky over the North Sea was already growing dark, further ensuring the fleet's safety and concealment.
The North Sea lay at a very high latitude. The closer winter drew, the shorter the daylight hours became. Paired with fierce winds and turbulent waves, it was the perfect environment for stealthy operations.
As night fell once more, Lelouch, who had been observing the entire process, grew increasingly impressed by Hipper's command. He truly lived up to his historical reputation as the man who led a battlecruiser fleet on multiple successful backdoor raids and escaped unscathed every time.
Hipper let his guard down slightly as well. Retreating to the captain's quarters, he opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a small glass to settle his nerves.
Before the sun went down, he had been wound tight, terrified they might be exposed at any given moment.
"Would you like a glass?" Hipper offered, waving the bottle in front of Lelouch. "There's nothing to fear now that it's dark. The hardest part of this battle is sneaking up on the enemy; the actual fighting will be the easy part."
Lelouch quickly took the bottle and poured himself a glass.
He knew his place perfectly well. As a mere lieutenant, he would never have been allowed to stand by Hipper's side and observe the operation if he wasn't currently acting as Duke Rupprecht's secret envoy.
Watching him pour the wine, Hipper joked, "My wine isn't free, you know. The Duke praised your resourcefulness in his secret letter. You've been watching all day—do you have any suggestions for the upcoming battle? Give me at least one."Lelouch took a slow sip, clearly giving it serious thought. "I'm no professional when it comes to naval combat, so I won't offer any blind tactical advice. But seeing how cautious you've been on this journey, even a layman like me can tell that the hardest part isn't the engagement itself. It's getting to the battlefield undetected and withdrawing safely afterward.
"You've already accomplished the first half on your own. Why don't we discuss the matter of a safe withdrawal? I'm curious what your original plan was."
Hipper frowned deeply at the question. Tipping his head back, he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp before letting out a long breath.
"Fortune favors the bold. How can one earn merit without taking risks? After the fight, theoretically, there are only two options. The first is to ignore the terrain of the Dogger Bank and break out at full speed along the shortest, straightest route back to Wilhelmshaven. The second is to play it a bit safer, sailing slightly eastward and withdrawing by hugging the twelve-nautical-mile line off the coast of the Netherlands.
"I know that David Beatty will, at best, be lured as far as Yarmouth. Once he realizes we've attacked the Channel Fleet, he might immediately react, turn his ships around, and cut diagonally toward the Netherlands coast to intercept us. But he won't know the exact coordinates of our return route. He'll have to cast a wide net to search for us, meaning he won't be able to concentrate his forces in one spot. I, on the other hand, can mass my entire fleet. We might just be able to punch right through their lines and make a quick getaway!"
Lelouch considered this carefully before shaking his head. "While a direct retreat offers a chance to break through, it's still too risky. I won't say your plans are wrong, but I can offer you a third option, just in case. If you can't make it back to Wilhelmshaven, turn due east right after the battle and fall back to the port of Antwerp in Belgin! We simply won't return to the homeland!"
Antwerp was less than 150 kilometers east of Nieuwpoort and Ostend; retreating into the coastal fjords would take them right there. Compared to the five-hundred-plus-kilometer voyage back to Wilhelmshaven, this route would cut the journey by at least two-thirds.
Hipper's eyes lit up, though he quickly regained his cautious demeanor. "Antwerp's port is certainly large enough," he said, seeking confirmation. "But when the Empire's army occupied it, didn't the enemy destroy the port facilities?"
"You don't need to worry about that," Lelouch replied. "Our 6th Army and the allied forces of the 4th Army both participated in the Battle of Antwerp, so I know the situation well. The Empire captured the port on October 10. The Belgin forces neither had the opportunity nor the nerve to execute a scorched-earth policy before pulling out. At least eighty percent of the port facilities were preserved.
"It's been over half a month since then, and the Empire has dispatched personnel to carry out repairs. Mooring a fleet there won't be an issue. The main problem is the lack of military shipyards. If your warships sustain heavy damage in the upcoming battle, making emergency repairs in Antwerp will be difficult.
"But assuming they don't need major repairs, you can bide your time in Antwerp until the enemy lowers their guard. Then, you can simply pick another winter night to sail back to the homeland. A single night is enough to cover half the distance. Furthermore, while you're stationed in Antwerp, the enemy will be terrified of the Empire breaking through the channel. This will inevitably pin David Beatty down in the long term, forcing them to allocate even more of their forces to the Channel Fleet."
"We'll have to adapt to the circumstances as they unfold," Hipper finally said after mulling it over. "But regardless, the information you've provided gives us an extra fallback option. Keep the bottle."
He shoved the bottle—which was still mostly full, minus two small glasses—into Lelouch's hands.
...
The fleet continued to sail for several more hours, drawing steadily closer to the Belgin coast.
With nothing to do that night, Lelouch lingered in the Derfflinger's radio room. Whenever an issue arose, he helped Hipper run errands, taking the opportunity to familiarize himself with the navy's radio operations. When things were quiet, he simply slept. As a lieutenant in the communications unit, this was his exact area of expertise. The fleet's communications officers knew he was the general's guest and treated him with the utmost courtesy.
Under the strict protocols of radio silence, the fleet's equipment was set entirely to receive-only mode. They couldn't transmit any messages, but they could still listen in.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed before the radio receiver suddenly flared to life. Lelouch, who had been dozing, snapped awake. "Is it an allied transmission?" he asked the duty officer. "Decode it immediately!"
"Yes, sir! Receiving now..." The communications ensign on duty was already hard at work. Within a few minutes, he finished transcribing the message.
"Sir, it's an unencrypted transmission! Our ground forces in Nieuwpoort and Ostend broadcasted almost simultaneously. They're reporting naval bombardment from an unidentified enemy fleet! And they suspect the enemy is fielding 12-inch heavy guns!"
A jolt went through Lelouch. He felt a mix of shock and eager anticipation.
Warton, that vindictive fat bastard, truly never let a grudge sit overnight. He hadn't had the time to retaliate last night, so he was doing it today!
Calculating the timeline, the enemy ships must have sortied from Dover just after nightfall. If they had sailed from Plymouth, they would have needed to set out an entire day earlier.
But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the result: at 10:00 PM on this night of October 29, a fleet wielding 12-inch main guns was bombarding those two towns!
"Notify the general immediately!" Lelouch ordered. "And calculate how long it will take us to reach the battlefield!"
"At full speed, we'll need another three to four hours."
The news was rushed straight to Hipper, revitalizing the commander. He ordered the fleet to advance at full speed and instructed the radio room to remain on high alert for any updates on the enemy's movements.
Lelouch prayed the enemy would sustain their bombardment and wouldn't just cut and run after a brief volley. But even if they did retreat, the friendly forces on shore would undoubtedly broadcast real-time updates. If that happened, their fleet could simply adjust its course slightly westward and intercept the enemy on their way back to Dover.
In theory, there was only one way for the enemy's bombardment fleet to shake off pursuit: the Channel Fleet would have to pull into the Franks' neighboring port of Dunkirk to hide immediately after the attack.
But there was no way the enemy could anticipate the danger bearing down on them. Given the Britannia Royal Navy's legendary pride, it was entirely unthinkable that they would coordinate with the Franks in advance to request temporary refuge in their military ports.
Wouldn't that make them look like utter cowards? The Franks would laugh their heads off.
Even though Britannia and Francia were currently allies, they shared a thousand years of historical grudges and harbored a deep, mutual disdain for one another.
...
Meanwhile, in the town of Nieuwpoort.
Colonel List and a relatively intact battalion under his command—reinforced by two fresh regiments dispatched by Major General Karl—were holding the line along the town's ruins and the dozen or so kilometers of coastal highway stretching toward Ostend.
They were doing exactly as planned, organizing an elastic defense based on the strategy they had hashed out with Lelouch a day and a half prior, right before his departure.
Since they anticipated the enemy deploying heavy warships for bombardment, every single one of Colonel List's tactical adjustments revolved entirely around mitigating that threat.
Within thirty-six hours, they had mobilized a significant number of second-line troops to hastily dig over a dozen layers of trenches across the coastal highway. Essentially, there was a shallow trench every few hundred meters.
These trenches lacked any reinforcement; they were simply carved straight into the dirt. As long as they could block flying shrapnel and blast pressure, they served their purpose. The coastal soil was naturally loose, and the newly formed flood zones had softened the ground even further, making these shallow excavations incredibly easy and requiring minimal labor.
These makeshift earthworks offered little real defense against a concentrated assault, but they were more than enough to frustrate the enemy and stall any rapid advance. More importantly, they prevented the naval bombardment from inflicting concentrated casualties on the defending troops.
Colonel List stationed only a handful of sentries in each trench. Unless the enemy launched a massive infantry charge, the defenders would stay out of the primary positions and remain widely dispersed. This was entirely to minimize casualties from the bombardment.
A defining trend in human warfare was that as firepower grew increasingly destructive, combatants would commit fewer and fewer troops per unit of a defensive line to avoid pointless slaughter by heavy artillery. If the enemy didn't charge, the defenders wouldn't occupy the trenches.
Historically, by the end of World War II and even during the Korean War, forces facing the overwhelming firepower of the yanks would scale their front-line presence all the way down to a bare minimum: "Only one or two sentries from a platoon man the positions; everyone else hides in the tunnels."
While Colonel List hadn't taken things to such an extreme, he had intuitively grasped the core concept. Out of a full platoon, he kept only a single squad in the trenches, dispersing the rest of his men as much as possible.
Furthermore, Major General Karl had prepared a large fleet of small boats—enough to evacuate all of List's personnel by water if necessary. If the enemy's bombardment grew too intense and the onshore positions became untenable, the troops could simply row south under the cover of darkness, escaping the kill zone before falling back to the rear.
Thanks to these anti-bombardment tactics that were utterly ahead of their time, combined with their extensive psychological preparation, the Britannia fleet's barrage inflicted minimal casualties on the German forces.
The Britannians, however, were quite pleased with their handiwork. After nearly an hour of continuous bombardment, Vice Admiral Hastings—the man in charge of the Channel Fleet's operations—was convinced that Nieuwpoort had been reduced to a living hell. Only then did he arrogantly broadcast a message to the Franks on shore:
"Tell the Franks to charge in and collect the bodies. They should count themselves lucky to have the Royal Navy's battleships cleaning up the mess for them. A victory like this is basically being handed to them on a silver platter."
Receiving the message, the Francian army immediately ordered an entire infantry division to charge the town.
Unfortunately for them, the moment they surged forward, they were met by a vicious crossfire of machine guns erupting from the ruined remnants of Nieuwpoort. Row after row of Francian soldiers were mowed down.
Furious, the Francian commanders hurled vicious curses over the radio, colorfully "greeting" their allied fleet for its utter incompetence.
Vice Admiral Hastings's face flushed with embarrassment. While the battleships had been raining fire down on the town, just how deep of a hole had those Demanian rats scurried into? Or had they evacuated entirely, only slipping back into their positions the moment the shelling stopped and the Franks began their advance? How could they possibly be that agile?
He had absolutely no idea just how long Colonel List and Major General Karl had spent preparing for this exact scenario, or how extensively they had reworked their deployments.
But there was no changing the situation now. Left with no other choice, he ordered the fleet to commence a second round of preparatory bombardment.
The guns roared for another twenty minutes. This time, he coordinated directly with the Franks: the infantry was to charge the absolute second the naval guns ceased firing, ensuring the enemy wouldn't have a single moment to re-occupy their frontline positions.
The Franks followed these orders to the letter. This time, they finally breached the town and managed to clear the westernmost two blocks.
But the meat grinder wasn't finished. Even with the Franks advancing at lightning speed, they only managed to secure two blocks' worth of territory. The moment they pushed for a third block, the very same German troops who had retreated from the naval barrage slipped right back in. They rapidly reestablished their machine-gun nests and resumed reaping Francian lives in a hail of bullets.
The Francian army was left with a grim choice. They could either launch a blind, bloody assault into the darkness and feed their men into the meat grinder, or they could halt their advance and call in another naval barrage. But each bombardment was only buying them two city blocks or three coastal trenches at a time.
If they wanted to completely secure Nieuwpoort and push onward to Ostend, this agonizingly slow, tug-of-war battle of attrition would tie down Vice Admiral Hastings's fleet for a very long time. And even with the naval support, the Francian infantry casualties were remaining exponentially higher than those of the German defenders.
...
"Hastings is certainly in high spirits. To think he's spent over three hours intermittently shelling a ruined town and a network of rudimentary trenches on a coastal highway.
"The boys in the army truly deserve our respect. You said the commander defending that town is named List? And he's merely a regimental colonel? He is an absolute talent. Assuming he survives this battle, he'll likely be promoted to general. Executing an orderly withdrawal in the face of naval bombardment to stall and bleed the enemy... that is no small feat."
At 1:30 AM—three and a half hours after Vice Admiral Hastings fired his first shots—General Hipper's battlecruiser fleet finally closed in on the Britannia Channel Fleet.
It wasn't until Hipper saw the distant muzzle flashes of the enemy Pre-dreadnoughts' 12-inch main guns through his binoculars that he truly realized the sheer tenacity of the army. He could hardly believe that Hastings had kept his fleet parked in practically the exact same spot, raining fire down for hours on end.
The ground positions had only been pushed back a mere three kilometers and were on the verge of completely conceding the town, but Hipper, out at sea, was blind to such minor details.
All he knew was that the army had handed him an absolutely perfect window of opportunity.
"Commander, shall we open fire immediately?" Colonel Hank, captain of the Derfflinger, asked.
Hipper waved a hand dismissively. "No rush. Since this is a night battle, and since the enemy has left themselves so horribly exposed, we should quietly close the distance before striking. If we fire now, the night-time visual errors will make our accuracy utterly abysmal.
"However, have the destroyers sweep the area for any enemy destroyers or torpedo boats. The moment there's any risk of an enemy auxiliary vessel closing in on us, we open fire immediately."