"General, turret number four has been utterly destroyed; fortunately, no further damage has occurred. However, we are left with only six main guns!" the staff officer reported to Vice Admiral David Beatty.
"Damn it!" Vice Admiral Beatty exclaimed.
The current situation was extremely unfavorable for the HMS Lion, indicating that they had been thoroughly suppressed in this engagement. It was not a matter of the British naval officers' inferior quality compared to their German counterparts; rather, it suggested that the British fleet was simply outclassed by the Germans.
"How could the German ships possibly be superior to those of the Royal Navy? That is utterly preposterous!" Beatty raged inwardly.
The British Navy had long been the vanguard of naval development worldwide, as evidenced by its pioneering construction of dreadnoughts. This led British naval commanders to believe that their vessels were the finest and most formidable. However, now that the HMS Lion was being subdued by an equivalent German warship, such beliefs were increasingly difficult to uphold.
"Excellent work, lads! Keep it up and strike with all your might—sink those British ships!" Vice Admiral von Scheer beamed with delight. The destruction of a turret on the HMS Lion had granted them an even greater advantage in this battle.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The three triple-mounted 343 mm main guns of the SMS Moltke continued to fire relentlessly, bombarding the HMS Lion. Shells rained down around the British ship, sending towering geysers of water skyward.
Meanwhile, although the HMS Lion was reduced to only three twin-mounted 343 mm guns, her crew was still desperately mounting a counterattack. Despite being at a disadvantage, the Royal Navy's indomitable fighting spirit enabled them to persevere even in adversity.
"We have not lost; we are merely at a temporary disadvantage. With a stroke of luck, if we can score a hit in the next skirmish and deal a severe blow to the Germans, we could turn the tide!" Beatty thought to himself.
Simultaneously, Beatty ordered the signalman to continue sending telegrams to the HMS Princess Royal and HMS Queen Mary, urging their swift arrival for reinforcement. He understood that relying solely on the HMS Lion would make it exceedingly difficult to overcome the SMS Moltke, let alone sink her. Only by rallying more warships could this strategic goal be realized.
"Boom!"
At 14:44, the SMS Moltke achieved another hit in this round of salvo. A single 343 mm shell struck the foredeck of the HMS Lion. The weak armor of the forward deck was pierced, and the shell detonated within the ship, igniting a raging inferno.
Brave British sailors, donning gas masks, rushed towards the flames, striving to extinguish the fire as quickly as possible. If left unchecked, the blaze would inflict further damage upon the vessel. However, the fire ignited by the shell explosion often carried lethal toxins, and even with gas masks, there was no guarantee against inhaling the poisonous smoke. Therefore, those who plunged into the inferno rarely emerged unscathed. Nevertheless, undeterred by the peril, these British sailors resolved to do everything in their power to quell the flames.
"Damn it! Why are the Germans so accurate? More precise than we are? Could it be that their naval personnel have surpassed the quality of the British Empire? This is simply inconceivable!" The outcome was unbearable for Beatty to accept.
"Counterattack! Continue the counterattack! Let's show those damned Germans what we're made of!"
The repeated hits had significantly affected the morale of the British officers aboard the HMS Lion. Yet, even so, their unyielding spirit did not wane.
"When will the HMS Princess Royal and HMS Queen Mary arrive?" Beatty inquired, now more eager than ever for reinforcements.
"General, they are en route," Colonel Kevin replied.
Underestimating the combat capabilities of the German fleet had placed the HMS Lion in a perilous predicament. If reinforcements did not arrive promptly, not only would defeating the SMS Moltke be impossible, but even a safe retreat would become exceedingly problematic.
"Oh God! May the HMS Princess Royal and HMS Queen Mary arrive in time!" Beatty silently prayed, feeling a flicker of despair as the commanding officer.
On the other side, the German sailors aboard the SMS Moltke were emboldened by their growing success. Each hit boosted their morale, instilling a sense of hope for victory.
"Lads, let's give it our all! The glory of sinking the first British capital ship is within our grasp! We cannot let this imminent honor slip away!" Vice Admiral von Scheer declared with a radiant smile.
If they could sink a British capital ship in this battle, it would mark the first of its kind lost by the Royal Navy in this war, a tremendous honor indeed.
The bombardment from the SMS Moltke intensified. Shells rained down upon the HMS Lion, plunging her into peril as if she could be struck again at any moment.
"General, the SMS Goeben has sent word that they have spotted two British battlecruisers approaching. They will reach the battlefield in no more than twenty minutes," a staff officer reported to Vice Admiral von Scheer.
The vice admiral frowned; the arrival of two more British battlecruisers was not welcome news for them. If things went awry, their advantageous position could easily slip away.
"Order the SMS Goeben to engage one of the British battlecruisers while allowing the other to advance. Even outnumbered, we shall not fear the British. Ensure the gunners are prepared to sink or severely damage the British battlecruiser before reinforcements arrive!" von Scheer commanded.
"Understood, General."
Moments later, the HMS Princess Royal arrived on the battlefield. Meanwhile, the HMS Queen Mary was being held back by the SMS Goeben. Even so, the SMS Moltke would have to face two adversaries alone.