File1325127917.jpg-(276 KB, 1885x1885, TURN 5.jpg)
"Helm, come 'round to Two-nine-zero. Flank speed, give it everything." The Spee heels a little as the helmsman adjusts course, and the tired diesels surge with fresh power. You're making 28 knots now, what the Spee's rated for... when the engines are fresh, you can easily push 30.
The turn is slight enough for your heavy turrets to keep tracking, and soon all six eleven-inch guns roar again. The first salvo falls short, but the second...
"Hits! A very palpable hit!" one of the bridge officers cries. "Strike on the bridge!" Nobody cheers, but grim smiles of satisfaction are working their way around. 8-inch shells splash in the water around you, but with the Shropshire still at 24,700 yards or so, you don't fear her guns much.
A few seconds later, the Cumberland lands a single 8-inch shell on the Spee - this time, on one of the aft 6-inch turrets. The shell explodes, ripping up the superstructure, but from 26,000 yards the British shells simply can't penetrate the secondary turrets armor.
"I don't fucking believe it," Kay breathes, looking at the Shropshire. Despite taking an 11'' shell right to the bridge, she keeps on coming as if unimpeded. "They can't be that fucking lucky!"
It would appear they are.