Reich Marshal of the Belkan Reich

RM Vol 4: War – Chapter 43: Case Yellow (Day 13 – Aquatic Hell)

HMS Triton, a T-class submarine, would be one of the most modern submarines in the world if not for the presence of the Nassau-class of the Reichsmarine. After RMS Bismarck's rise to fame and infamy, the Erusean Royal Navy desperately sought a counter to the Reich's mighty capital ships. Other than building an equal and opposite force, the Royal Navy considered cheaper options in the form of their submarine force. Yet, what they found was unsatisfactory, with their aging submarine fleet being mechanically unreliable, large, slow, and overly complicated. With the view to pursue an additional force multiplier, the Royal Navy set out to construct a newer, more modern fleet of sub-surface warships. First, an obvious desire was for the T-class submarine to have a strong torpedo armament. The Eruseans were convinced that a Royal Navy submarine facing a powerful Belkan surface force would have difficulty penetrating the destroyer screen, and only a large torpedo salvo would be able to ensure the required hits at longer ranges, if necessary using only ASDIC data, or in other word sonar, for a firing solution. In exchange for lower survivability, the T-class came off the slipways with high endurance, newly developed fire control and electronics, and a heavy torpedo armament of six internal tubes with two additional external single-shot launchers on the bow.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Shamelessly, the Eruseans borrowed the Belkan Wolfpack tactic and adapted it for the T-class submarine commanders to use. Hypothetically, three to four T-class submarines can approach the Bismarck at different bearings and fire all their bow torpedoes. The large amount of torpedoes coming from all vectors should be so overwhelming that even the dreaded Bismarck won't be able to dodge. If the torpedoes aren't enough to sink the Belkan capital ship, then they still should be able to score a crippling hit for the Grand Fleet to come and finish off the Bismarck. It's a good plan, but only on paper.

The truth is, the Royal Navy was prioritizing too much on building a heavy surface presence. Money and materials were poured into the construction of Vanguard-class or other capital ship classes, thus leaving the T-class submarine program thirsting for investment. So, when the Royal Navy dockyards pumped out surface vessels in the hundreds right before the start of this war, only a mere fourteen T-class submarines were ready. Unfortunately, they lost the HMS Thetis due to mechanical errors, faults which were swiftly retrofitted to the surviving thirteen vessels. Still, despite rectifying their mechanical death traps, T-class submarines also suffer from the chronic lack of skilled sailors and the fact that they're fielding untested equipment. The war's resumption happened so fast that nearly all of the Royal Navy's new vessels were hastily commissioned without a proper sea trial. It isn't a stretch to say that the Evacuation of Dunkirk was a trial by fire for the majority of the Grand Fleet...

By the look of it, the Eruseans are falling splendidly in the trial, however. When a homing torpedo explodes the bow of HMS Triton, the weakness of the T-class design is swiftly made evident. Made to be a long-range torpedo slinger, T-class submarines don't fare well when hit by a depth charge or torpedo. The single hull of the class, instead of a double hull for improved survivability, cracks instantly under the shockwave of a 533 mm torpedo detonation. We all know what will happen when a submarine starts cracking beneath the waves, don't we?

First, water pours in and crushes the bow of HMS Triton. Men, machinery, torpedoes... All are turned into an amalgamation of unrecognizable shapes. The submarine's power system starts sputtering on and off as water pours like serpentine from the bow to the aft of the vessel. Triton starts sinking headfirst as bit by bit, the rest of the ship starts deforming and cracking, further exacerbating the uncontrollable flooding. Some sailors and officers have the mind to seal off the bulkheads, even if it means sealing the fate of those still trapped in the bow section of the Triton. At this point, it's every man for themself.

There are two escape chambers on T-class submarines, one in the aft and one in the fore-end. Because they're already sealing off the front, only the rear evacuation chamber can be used. Overcrowding and unfamiliarity with how the escape chamber works cause the evacuation process to be extremely inefficient and increasingly dangerous. It has to be noted that, at this point, Triton is still sinking. The longer they take to evacuate, the longer it takes for them to swim up to the surface. By the time the fourth and final evacuation attempt is made, only seven officers and sailors manage to survive the swim to the surface, with a dozen of them drowning in the cold sea. The remainder of the crew still trapped in the Triton is crushed mercilessly when the submarine's hull finally gives into the mounting water pressure. The sonar returns from the Triton's last moments are haunting, akin to the cries of lives being devoured by the darkest part of the ocean. Yet, HMS Triton is not the only submarine to be sunk. It's but one of the first among many to become coral reefs for future generations.

Light shines down from above, yet, it's not the light of the coming dawn, at least not yet. The flickering illumination comes from the burning husks of warships and oil patches on the surface of the sea. Floating among the venerable Sea of Hell are many, many Eruseans. Soldiers, sailors, and officers alike are swimming desperately to escape the spreading hot oil or to find a floating life raft. Some warships are still afloat, yet it's doubtful whether they can provide any source of search and rescue, given the fact that they are suffering from a variety of crippling damage. Ironically enough, it's not the Grand Fleet's capital ships that escape with barely a breath of life. That honor goes to the limping few destroyers and light cruisers that were lucky enough to be hit only once.

Surprisingly, the small civilian evacuation crafts remain largely unharmed. Whether the Belkans opted to spare them out of the mercy in their hearts or because they were not worth it remains unknown. Yet, right now, these commandeered boats become the only ones capable of fishing out the survivors from either a cold or excruciatingly hot death. Ironically, the Royal Navy came to rescue the Army, yet it's now the Navy that needs help the most. To facilitate the rescue effort, the Erusean Expeditionary soldiers voluntarily jump off their evacuation crafts and aid in tending to the Navy survivors that make it ashore. It's a touching show of camaraderie, yet one soon to be crushed by the looming threat which is the approaching Belkan forces.

The scene as of now is like a twisted version of an Aquatic Hell on Gaia., further demoralizing the Eruseans. The groanings of metal, the explosion of shells and powder charges, the screaming of people burning in fiery oil patches, the shouting for survivors and rescue... You look to the left, a Royal Navy Chaplain is reciting the Rosary and Revelations 21:4 to demoralize sailors and soldiers. They're standing underneath the bow of HMS Decoy which ran aground to escape being flooded to sinking. You look to the right, there's a motor boat, overloaded yet still trying its very best to carry its passengers away from a spreading fire patch. Regrettably, it's much too slowed being encumbered and the oil fire is fast to set the boat and its occupants alight. It doesn't have to be said that the gruesome screen and sight will traumatize many people for years.

Much to the consternation of the Eruseans, the hazardous atmosphere, formed by a veritable sea of fire and hulks, has made it so that no aircraft dared to approach Dunkirk. Even the Belkan Air Force and Naval Aviation have to reassess the feasibility of flying in the smog-filled darkness that is Dunkirk air space right now. It's hot, it's filled with ashes, and the smoke plumes rise to the point you can see it from kilometers away. There's no telling how crushing the blow is to the Grand Fleet, and even the Belkan's finest detection equipment is having trouble identifying which vessel of the Grand Fleet is still operational. This is because most of the Grand Fleet right now is barely moving and radar detection can only do so much in identifying which vessel is still afloat. Visual detection you say? Try looking through an active volcano and you'll see why even the UAVs failed to give a good sight line. The polluted atmosphere in Dunkirk even makes the first rays of sunlight turn a crimson red. A weird phenomenon, induced by the sheer devastation of war.

One can say the Alpha Strike is so crippingly effective to the point that the Belkans themselves failed to expect it. It's up in the air whether or not it's even safe for the Belkan Marine Corps to be deployed. Right now, the deadliest thing is not the Erusean defenders at Dunkirk, it's actually the new environmental hazards. Ironically enough, using Orkans or Minibreves would have made for a much cleaner Dunkirk than this... Mess. Still, much like what the Marshal said, WMDs bring with them a host of different issues.

While the Eruseans are struggling to react in the not-so-fine morning of Day 13, Grand Admiral Karl Donitz and fellow officers must go back to the drawing board. He'll be damn if he set up everything for the Marines, only to have it all go up in literal smoke.

The Marine Corps must show that they're as much of an elite force as the Airbornes or Panzergrenadiers.