Save the Bismarck!

You were walking home calmly after a hard day, minding your own business, when suddenly, right in front of your face, the world was torn apart for a split second by a blinding purple-white flash.

Your next step was echoed not by the soft asphalt, but by the piercing, dull creaking of wet planks and the trembling of the steel deck. A blisteringly cold, stormy Atlantic wind hit you in the face, carrying icy ocean spray and the heavy smell of fuel oil.

There's a pitch-black fog all around you, through which the insane, ear-piercing wail of sirens pierces every now and then. Battle alert!

"Alarm! Alarm!" the loudspeakers blare, and sailors in the cloth uniform of the Kriegsmarine rush past you, their hobnailed boots stomping heavily on the gangways, buttoning their helmets as they go.

You stand amid the superstructure of the gigantic battleship Bismarck. Through the wall of spray and smoke on the horizon, the silhouettes of two steel monsters of the British Royal Navy—the battleship Prince of Wales and the battlecruiser HMS Hood—are barely discernible. They are already turning their turrets in your direction.

"Hey! Who are you?! What the hell are you doing standing here without a life jacket and helmet?! Get to your post! Now! " A young German non-commissioned officer runs up to you, shouting over the roar of the storm and the sirens, his face glistening with the icy water, his fingers clutching a carbine. The historic duel in the Denmark Strait is about to begin...