Upon the vast Atlantic, a formidable fleet sailed eastward. Among the eighty warships in this imposing flotilla were 12 battleships, 5 armored cruisers, 20 light cruisers, and 50 destroyers. Though bearing the American flag, the fleet's personnel—from high-ranking officers to common sailors—were all British. This fleet had been covertly acquired by Britain from the United States.
The flagship, the battleship *Nevada*, held the fleet's central position. Surrounding it were the other vessels, forming a protective cordon. Standing on *Nevada*'s foredeck, Vice Admiral Martin inhaled the sea air, a mixture of pride and unease stirring within him.
To Martin's trained eye, American warships left much to be desired. While their firepower was respectable and armor formidable, their sluggish speed was a glaring flaw. These ships were quintessential line-of-battle dreadnoughts, designed for conventional engagements. Unlike the British Royal Navy, the Americans shared Germany's shipbuilding philosophy, yet, due to technological gaps, their vessels lagged behind Germany's fleet. Despite these flaws, Britain had no room for choice; that they could acquire so many ships from the U.S. was nothing short of providential. No other nation could have sold them this fleet.
"Damn those Americans. They've sold us these inferior ships at an exorbitant price—it's outright extortion!" Martin muttered angrily. Even the British *Queen Elizabeth*-class battleships cost only £200,000 each, yet these American vessels had cost the British an astonishing $5 million apiece—five times as much.
"When we defeat the Germans, we must make the Americans pay for their greed," Martin swore inwardly. This merciless gouging had deeply aggrieved the Royal Navy's leaders, who hoped, someday, to make America answer for this affront. Yet, first, they had to win the upcoming battles against the German navy; otherwise, the Royal Navy would face annihilation, and retribution against America would remain a dream.
"Admiral, a dispatch from headquarters," reported a communications officer.
Martin took the telegram, studying it carefully. The United Fleet's Command had outlined a strategy: Martin's fleet was to reach the waters two hundred kilometers west of Ireland and launch an attack on a segment of the German blockade force, thus drawing other German fleets toward them. The United Fleet's main forces would follow shortly to coordinate and trap the Germans.
"Send a reply to Command: we will proceed as planned," Martin ordered.
"Yes, Admiral." The communications officer moved swiftly to relay the response.
"May God favor us," Martin prayed silently, hoping this would be the victory that turned the tide. This was Britain's final opportunity. Should they fail now to defeat the German navy, Britain would likely never again hold maritime supremacy, and the British Empire itself might collapse. This decisive battle would be pivotal for Britain's survival.
The British fleet continued its covert advance toward the eastern Atlantic. Under the guise of the American flag, they moved without fear of detection by the Germans. Even if spotted, Germany, respecting America's neutrality, would lack the authority to board and inspect these ships—thus remaining unaware that British personnel manned these "American" vessels.
Martin aimed to bring the fleet within striking distance of the German navy before launching a surprise assault, hoping to catch them unprepared and bolster the chances of a British victory. After all, the German navy's prowess had already humbled the Royal Navy in several engagements. Despite Britain's deep naval tradition and world-class personnel, the fledgling German fleet had repeatedly bested them.
To turn the tide, the British needed to resort to unconventional tactics. Disguised as an American fleet, approaching in stealth, then striking unexpectedly became an ideal stratagem. Martin's fleet was thus tasked as the Royal Navy's spearhead, their last hope of reversing the war's course.
On May 16, off the western coast of Ireland, three German *Blücher*-class battlecruisers patrolled the waters, enforcing the blockade to prevent any aid from reaching Britain. Aboard the *Blücher*, German Rear Admiral Lübeck sipped his coffee in leisure. This mission was light work for the German blockade fleet; Britain's naval forces lay crippled, and the remaining vessels were left to nurse their wounds in port. With the German navy now in command of the seas, the situation had never looked brighter.
"A fine day indeed. If we could encounter a few British ships and sink them, it would make it even better," Rear Admiral Lübeck remarked with a smile, setting down his coffee.
"Admiral, we haven't encountered a British ship in three days," noted a staff officer.
"Three whole days, yes. This task is too dull. It's hard to fathom why Britain persists. Even with their continued resistance, there is no chance of victory," Lübeck replied.
"Perhaps, sir, the British still believe they have a chance."
"Hmph! That's impossible. Even if God himself were to intervene, Britain could not win this war," Lübeck declared confidently.
"Admiral, sighting report! A fleet detected due west!" a staff officer announced.
"A fleet? Alert all ships to high readiness," Lübeck ordered.