Chapter Content
Out in the North Atlantic, one of Britain's three hunting forces pressed onward—its supporting dreadnoughts and escorts trailing farther back, heavy and patient, ready to close only if prey was found. The other groups had ranged north-west toward Iceland and Greenland, sweeping the wider lanes where merchant traffic might try to hide. Beatty's own force had broken south instead, angling toward the western approaches of Ireland and then pushing south-west into open water.
The sea was almost gentle.
Low swells. Nearly cloudless sky. Sunlight clean as polished glass—the kind of weather that made war feel impossible until the first shell fell.
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