Aboard a light cruiser of the Royal Navy, Vice Admiral Cavison gazed helplessly toward the eastern sea, his heart heavy with sorrow. There, countless ships of the Royal Navy lay sunk beneath the waves, their crews' anguished souls weeping in the depths.
The fleet's core, comprising 21 pre-dreadnought battleships and 13 armored cruisers, had all been obliterated by the German naval aviation forces. The losses among the smaller and medium-sized warships had been less severe, but the overall devastation was still a grievous blow to the Royal Navy. Despite the fact that these battleships and cruisers were outdated relics, the loss of so many in one fell swoop was still a bitter pill to swallow. More heart-wrenching was the fact that while the ships had aged, the sailors who manned them were in their prime, their lives now claimed in the depths. For the Royal Navy, the loss of so many seamen was a wound deep enough to shake the very foundations of the service.
"It's over... The British Empire is finished. Can the Royal Navy truly defeat the Germans with their aircraft so formidable?" Vice Admiral Cavison murmured, his voice tinged with despair.
This battle had shattered his confidence completely. In his mind, the German Navy had become an unstoppable force.
Although the Royal Navy was still preparing for a final confrontation with the German fleet, pinning all hope on this ultimate battle, Cavison now doubted their chances. If the Royal Navy could somehow turn the tide, there might still be a glimmer of victory for Britain. At the very least, they might reach a dignified peace with Germany while preserving most of their core interests, thus averting the collapse of the Empire. But to Cavison, the German Navy seemed insurmountable, possessing not only the world's most formidable battle fleet but also a vast air force capable of devastating surface targets. The Royal Navy, by comparison, seemed entirely inadequate.
The fleet Cavison led had returned in utter defeat. All the pre-dreadnoughts and armored cruisers had been sunk by the German aviation forces. The remaining smaller vessels had managed to escape, but their morale was shattered, and they dared not venture toward Le Havre again. Cavison was uncertain whether the German aircraft would finish off the remaining ships if they returned. Either way, their losses would only continue to mount.
Moreover, these remaining ships could no longer provide meaningful fire support for the British Expeditionary Force in Le Havre. This mission had been an unmitigated failure.
"Sir, the Expeditionary Force Command is asking for an update on our situation," a staff officer reported to Vice Admiral Cavison.
"Tell them," Cavison said, his voice heavy, "that the fleet has suffered heavy losses. We've lost all our pre-dreadnoughts and armored cruisers. Only a few smaller vessels remain, and they are retreating. Apologize to them for our inability to provide further fire support. The rest of the battle will be theirs alone. May God protect them."
Although Cavison longed to help the Expeditionary Force resist the German assault and provide further fire support with their naval guns, their survival was already uncertain, and there was no longer any hope of assistance. The fate of the Expeditionary Force had already been sealed. They would be overwhelmed and destroyed by the Germans.
"May God protect you all," Cavison silently prayed in his heart.
"Yes, sir," the staff officer replied and immediately set off to send the telegram.
In Le Havre, at the British Expeditionary Force's command center, Sir French, General Haig, and General Gough waited anxiously, their faces ashen as they anticipated the Royal Navy's response. The atmosphere was heavy with tension. The optimism they had once held had evaporated in an instant.
When the Royal Navy had arrived, pounding the German forces with devastating gunfire, the Expeditionary Force had been emboldened, confident that they could hold the line in Le Havre. But now, the German counterattack had slapped them back to harsh reality.
"General Haig, do you think the Royal Navy can withstand the German air attacks?" Sir French inquired, his voice fraught with doubt. He no longer had any confidence. If the Navy was defeated, he feared the consequences would be catastrophic.
"Perhaps... they might manage to hold them off," General Haig replied. But even he lacked any real confidence. The sight of the German air fleets descending upon Le Havre had struck terror into everyone's heart.
In truth, the German air forces could have bypassed Le Havre, maintaining secrecy, but Admirals Crook and Ludendorff had chosen to fly over the city to instill fear in the British Expeditionary Force. By shattering their morale, they hoped to make it easier to defeat them in the upcoming battle and capture Le Havre.
"Damn the Germans! How can they have such powerful aircraft? The British Empire is hopelessly behind in this field," Sir French complained bitterly.
In the realm of aviation, the British Empire had been hopelessly outclassed by Germany. Otherwise, they would not have been so thoroughly crushed.
"Sir, General, the fleet's report!" a communications officer interrupted.
Sir French grabbed the telegram eagerly, but as he read, his face turned pale.
"What's wrong, Sir?" General Haig asked.
"Vice Admiral Cavison reports that they've suffered devastating losses under the German air attacks. Twenty-one pre-dreadnoughts and thirteen armored cruisers have been sunk," Sir French said, his voice hollow.
"What?" General Haig and General Gough stared in disbelief. The meaning was clear—without the fleet's fire support, they were now on their own. They could no longer rely on the Navy.
"Without naval fire support, the Germans will surely attack Le Havre soon. Can we hold them off?" Sir French asked.
But neither General Haig nor General Gough answered. It was obvious they both shared the same sinking feeling of hopelessness.