Cannon Fire Arc Chapter 658

Chapter 658: Chapter 100: The Eagle above the White Sea (Extra 38/81)

January 17, the Prosen heavy cruiser Lyuzov, ten kilometers from the White Sea coast.

Captain Otto Lindemann had been on the bridge until midnight before letting out a long yawn and saying to the executive officer, “I'm going to get some food, you continue the watch.”

The executive officer, “Yes.”

Lindemann walked out of the bridge and stopped on the walkways on both sides, gazing at the White Sea coast ten kilometers away.

He liked to appreciate the scenery when leaving.

After all, it was written in the Prosen Navy combat manual: It is recommended to spend at least one minute each day admiring the sea vistas to better serve the Empire of Prosen.

Lindemann didn't care what was written in the combat manual, but he did indeed enjoy watching the seascapes.

Sometimes when he was in a good mood, he would even grab some fries from the battleship's kitchen to feed the seagulls circling around the ship.

He was quite fond of seagulls, and it was his childhood love for watching them at Hamburg Port that led him to join the Navy.

Lindemann watched the seagulls absentmindedly.

The Lyuzov had been on its current mission for over a week, with no shore support fire because there were no Ante army troops within range. The complacency of the ship's officers and sailors had grown so much that Lindemann had to order the boatswain to organize the soldiers to scrub the deck daily.

Lindemann's gaze followed a seagull when he suddenly noticed that some of the seagulls on the sea horizon looked very peculiar.

He squinted at them for several seconds before he realized what he was seeing, and all the hairs on his body stood on end.

Lindemann turned and rushed into the bridge.

The executive officer saw him and reflexively shouted, “Captain on the bridge!”

Lindemann, “Planes! Planes are approaching us! Battle stations!”

The executive officer immediately pressed the battle alarm button on the bridge wall.

But he was still bewildered, repeatedly asking, “What planes? Where?”

Lindemann pointed toward the sea surface, “Planes! Are the anti-aircraft sentries blind? Can't they see torpedo planes skimming the sea? The Bismarck was crippled by torpedo planes hitting its rudder! Ever since then, the anti-aircraft observatory handbook should have specifically mentioned paying attention to torpedo planes!

“Full speed ahead! All ahead full! Hard to starboard! Avoid this wave of attacks first!”

“Hard to starboard!” The helmsman repeated the command while frantically turning the wheel.

The executive officer leaped to the engine order telegraph and moved it to the full ahead position.

In the engine room, the chief engineer was having lunch when suddenly he heard the “ding-ling” of the engine order telegraph, looked over, and his expression changed.

He pushed his lunch aside, shouting, “Lunch break is over! Everyone, take action! Full speed ahead!”

As the mechanical engineers echoed the command, the chief engineer reached the engine order telegraph, pulled his lever all the way back, then pushed it forward to the full ahead position.

The tinkling sound resonated with the increasingly roaring engines.

Lindemann, gripping the handles on the bridge, countered the tilt of the ship's body caused by the full speed ahead and hard turn to starboard.

His eyes were firmly fixed on the approaching torpedo planes.

Because they were close enough, he could see clearly that there were fifteen torpedo planes, and they weren't sluggish biplane Swordfish torpedo bombers, but monoplane, metallic-bodied Federation torpedo planes!

Without a doubt, the pilots must have been battle-tested Federation aviators from the Pacific.

The Lyuzov's large-caliber anti-aircraft guns had already opened fire, with the sky near the sea surface filled with black smoke clouds from time-fused anti-aircraft shells.

However, this did nothing to stop the fifteen “seagulls.”

Lindemann watched the enemy plane's movements closely. When he estimated that the ship's course and the enemy's entry direction were nearly parallel, he shouted, “Steady as she goes!”

“Steady as she goes!” The helmsman violently corrected the helm again.

The tilted ship slowly returned upright.

Lindemann saw the lead enemy aircraft banking left, because its wings stood up, turned from a horizontal line in his view to a cross of one horizontal and one vertical line.

This meant the lead aircraft had given up the attack, opting to regain attack formation.

The other torpedo planes also followed the lead plane in a left bank.

Lindemann took a deep breath, and just then the telephone rang.

He didn't wait for the executive officer to answer and grabbed the phone first, “Bridge!”

“Anti-aircraft observation post here, enemy planes overhead, diving!”

“What?”

Lindeman threw away the handset, plastering himself against the bridge's forward window glass, straining to see up into the sky, but he could see nothing.

He had a sudden inspiration, turned, and sprinted out of the bridge, craning his neck on the catwalk, and indeed saw a string of dark shadows swooping down from the direction of the sun!

“Anti-aircraft guns!” Lindeman shouted, “The firepower above is too weak; what the hell are the gunners doing?”

Major Worcester felt somewhat relaxed: “The enemy's anti-aircraft firepower is really sparse, even weaker than the Empire of Fusang's anti-aircraft firepower!”

Rear machine gunner: “The Empire of Fusang's anti-aircraft firepower isn't that big a deal either, right? I didn't even feel the enemy had fired–at Midway Island, that is. But at the Battle of Saint Cruz, the South Dakota took us for Fusang planes, and that firepower was terrifying.”

Major Worcester: “Don't remind me. At Saint Cruz, our squadron lost six planes, four of which were downed by the South Dakota.”

Rear machine gunner: “Is it okay to chat like this? Can you hit your target?”

“Don't worry, the Prosen's maneuvering actions are so gentle compared to the Empire of Fusang, it's scary. Just watch me toss the bomb straight down their boiler's chimney!” Worcester said.

“Bester went to be an instructor, so I am now the best dive bomber pilot!”

Lindeman clearly saw the moment the enemy dropped their bombs.

He stared intently at the black object hurtling down, watching as it smashed into the smokestack of the Luzov.

Lindeman's scalp tingled, knowing without a doubt what would come next.

Sure enough, the mid-deck of the Luzov bulged upwards, followed by an explosion from beneath that flipped the deck and everything on it.

The seaplane catapult installed near funnel number one was completely blown away, sending the planes “flying.”

The shockwave hit Lindeman head-on, slamming him against the railing on the other side of the catwalk.

“Ow, my back!”

Then the second and third bombs fell, one hitting the anti-aircraft gun deck mid-ship and the other narrowly missing the starboard side; the underwater shockwave caused the ship's bell on the bridge to fall, shattering the glass on the floor.

More bombs dropped, and the water splashed up by the bombs soaked Lindeman through.

He faintly heard the anti-aircraft guns firing, but the sound of gunfire was so sparse it seemed unlikely to effectively stop the enemy aircraft.

He tried to stand up but was immobilized on the ground, likely having injured his spine or something else.

He could only use his last bit of strength to cry out: “Damage control! Quick, for damage control! Put out the fires! Plug the leaks!”

The next moment, he saw the helmsman rush in front of him, then climb over the railing and leap.

“What are you doing! I haven't given the order to abandon ship yet!”

Before he had finished speaking, the Executive Officer appeared in Lindeman's field of vision: “Captain! The engine room is done for, turret number two reports flooding in the lower hull, the ship is sinking!”

Lindeman grabbed the Executive Officer's collar: “It's just a few planes!”

“Captain, in the Pacific, a few planes sank four of the Empire of Fusang's aircraft carriers! It's the era of airplanes now!”

The squadron leader of the Federation's 6th Naval Air Squadron's VT6 torpedo plane squadron, Major Dodge, looked at the cruiser billowing with thick smoke and asked his rear navigator, “We shouldn't waste torpedoes on this cruiser, right? It won't be able to leave port for at least half a year even if it makes it back.”

“Indeed,” the navigator replied, “how about we patrol along the coastline for a while based on the intelligence Ante provided? We might encounter enemy transport ships retreating.”

“That's a plan, let's do it. VT-6 calling VF-6, VT-6 calling VF-6!”

Soon, the radio crackled with a response: “VF6, go ahead VT6.”

“We assess that the current target cruiser does not require a torpedo attack. Planning to fly south along the coast to seek out enemy transport ships in retreat. Requesting escort coverage.”

“VF6 received, we will follow. Keep an eye on fuel.”

“Don't worry.”

Dodge gently banked the control stick, and the plane nimbly entered a spiral, turning half a circle before heading south.

His attack squadron all followed his lead.

A squadron member asked over the radio: “Why not finish it off, just in case that cruiser doesn't sink?”

“It doesn't matter if it doesn't sink, it's out of action for at least half a year. We need to sink the enemy's transport ships to cut down on how many they can evacuate. Everyone, keep your eyes peeled!”

“No need to strain your eyes anymore, the target is straight ahead, Captain!”

Dodge saw them too, five large transport ships!

“All units be advised, all units be advised, five large transport ships spotted! No enemy fighter cover, I repeat, no enemy fighter cover! Target all torpedoes to hit the enemy's port side! Understood? Port side! Engage in pairs at will!”

Chapter end

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