The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 1022 1914, The Eve of the Great Battle

The US aircraft carrier USS Enterprise in the Caribbean Sea.

A warm, humid sea breeze, carrying the scent of the Caribbean Sea, swept across the USS Enterprise's wide flight deck, causing the Stars and Stripes on its bow to flutter wildly. This giant ship was the lead ship of the US Navy's Enterprise-class aircraft carriers, with a standard displacement of 19800 tons and a full load displacement of 25500 tons. It was 246 meters long and 33 meters wide, equipped with eight Babcock-Wildcox boilers and four Parsons steam turbines, giving it a top speed of 32.5 knots. The three hangars below deck could accommodate 80 carrier-based aircraft, and at this moment, sixty aircraft were neatly arranged on the teak-paved flight deck—eighteen F4B-3 Wildcat fighters, twenty-four SBC-2 Helldiver dive bombers, and eighteen TBD-1 Destroyer torpedo bombers.

Captain Ernest King stood on the bridge, peering through bulletproof glass at the aircraft poised for takeoff on the deck. As captain of the USS Enterprise, he knew better than anyone the value of this aircraft carrier—it was a testing ground for the U.S. Navy's "all-deck attack" doctrine and a sharp weapon for future warfare. The barometer on the bridge read 1013 millibars, wind speed 12 knots, and excellent visibility—perfect flight weather.

Beside him, Colonel Douglas MacArthur, his signature corncob pipe dangling from his lips, narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses as he stared at the faint outline of the Cuban coastline on the distant horizon. His khaki uniform was impeccably pressed, without a single wrinkle, adorned with the Spanish-American War Medal and the Cuban Missile Campaign Medal, but what was most striking were his Ray-Ban sunglasses, which he never removed—no one knew whether they concealed a sharp gaze or unfathomable calculations.

"Colonel, all is ready." Colonel Kim bowed slightly, his voice respectful and restrained. Although the two held the same rank, Douglas MacArthur's father was Führer Arthur MacArthur—a surname that itself represented power.

MacArthur nodded slightly, the smoke from his pipe swirling in the Caribbean sun. "Let's begin."

Colonel Jin turned around, picked up the brass intercom, and said in a steady and clear voice: "All deck attack—begin!"

The deck erupted in excitement. Ground crew in blue overalls waved red and yellow signal flags as the first F4B-3 fighter roared into the sky with the help of the deck winds. The second and third fighter groups followed, circling and assembling at an altitude of 3000 meters. Next came the SBC-2 dive bombers, their wings laden with 250-pound practice bombs, as bombardiers performed a final calibration of the Norden bombardment sight before takeoff. Finally, came the cumbersome TBD-1 torpedo bombers; these biplane behemoths required the entire deck to take off, their Mk13 training torpedoes, carried under their fuselages, gleaming in the sunlight.

Within twenty minutes, all sixty carrier-based aircraft took off, forming a standard attack formation over the USS Enterprise—fighters in front, bombers in the middle, and torpedo bombers at the rear. The formation turned northwest, heading towards an inland firing range in Cuba, United States. From the bridge, the silver wings shimmered in the sunlight, resembling a flock of migrating birds.

MacArthur put down his Zeiss binoculars, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Colonel Kim, how long do you think Luo Yaoguo can hold out?"

Colonel Jin was taken aback, then understood his meaning. Luo Yaoguo—this name still resonated throughout the Pacific World. Fourteen years ago, he personally created the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's "Pacific World," and then quietly retired to Mount Lu. Although he had long since withdrawn from politics, as long as he lived, no one dared to easily disrupt the order of the Pacific World.

"What does the Führer mean?" Colonel Kim asked tentatively.

MacArthur removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of sharp blue eyes. "The United States has been preparing for twenty-four years," he said softly, pulling a telegram from his inner uniform pocket. "And this morning, the Führer received a secret report."

The telegram contained only one line: "Luo Yaoguo suffered a sudden heart attack and has been bedridden for three months. Doctors estimate his life expectancy to be less than six months."

Colonel Jin's pupils contracted slightly. Luo Yaoguo was the last "old king" of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom—Wei Changhui, Shi Dakai, and Hong Xuanjiao had all passed away, and even Li Xiucheng had died of illness five years ago. With his departure, the backbone of the "Pacific World" was gone. Who would become the true leader? Would it be Hong Tiangui, the emperor of the American Empire, or Hu Wansheng, the prime minister of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom?
"The Pacific world is bound to be in chaos." MacArthur's voice was soft, yet as cold as a blade. "And chaos is our opportunity."

Colonel King stood ramrod straight, his right hand suddenly raised: "Confidence! Hey MacArthur!"

Washington, D.C., the Oval Office of the White House.

The door was flung open, and the heavy boots of two admirals clattered on the floor. Chief of Naval Operations William Benson and Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, Henry Mayo, stood at attention before their desks, right hands raised high: "Hey, MacArthur!"

Behind his desk, Arthur MacArthur, the "Conqueror of Cuba," looked up and slowly raised his hand in return. The afternoon sun streamed through the French windows, illuminating his graying temples. His face, more aged than fourteen years ago, bore the deep lines of time, but his eyes remained as sharp as an eagle's. On the mahogany desk before him sat an exquisite model of the HMS Enterprise aircraft carrier, next to a half-cold glass of bourbon whiskey.

“Mr. Sherman,” he said, looking at the Secretary of War standing to the side, “tell them your plans.”

Admiral Sherman nodded, walked to the wall, and unfurled a huge North Atlantic chart. His finger pressed heavily on Scapa Flow in northern Scotland—the home port of the British Home Fleet. “The War Department and the General Staff’s plan is simple,” he said, his voice calm and firm. “A surprise attack on Scapa Flow with ten aircraft carriers and six hundred carrier-based aircraft.”

Benson stared at the map, his brow furrowed: "The Royal Navy's Home Fleet has at least six aircraft carriers, and Scapa Flow has deployed two or three hundred land-based fighters. Our carrier-based aircraft may not be able to penetrate their air defense network."

Mayo stroked his neatly trimmed gray beard. “What’s more troublesome are the British seaplanes. Their Short patrol planes have a range of 500 nautical miles, and the waters around Scapa Flow are all under their surveillance.” Sherman chuckled and took a document marked “Top Secret” from his briefcase. “Who said we were going to attack Scapa Flow in wartime?” He opened the document, revealing a dated operational plan. “We will launch the attack next month during Navy Day—when their entire fleet will be anchored in port, and half of their men will be on leave ashore.”

The conference room fell silent instantly, so quiet you could hear the ticking of a pocket watch. Arthur MacArthur slowly rose to his feet, placing his hands on the table, his gaze sweeping over everyone: "We will launch a surprise attack—" he paused, his voice cold and resolute, "without declaring war."

Mount Lu, the Palace of the King of Wu.

The morning mist over Mount Lu had not yet dissipated, but the fragrance of medicine from the Wu King's Palace already filled the entire bedchamber. Luo Yaoguo lay on the bed, his eyes slightly closed, his sallow face gaunt and alarming. His breathing was so weak that the rise and fall of his chest was barely perceptible. Three doctors in white coats stood in the corner, occasionally exchanging worried glances.

Outside the door, General Luo Xinhua, Minister of the Navy of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, asked in a low voice, "How much longer can we hold out?"

The head of the medical expert team shook his head, lowering his voice even further: "At most three months. The myocardium has already suffered extensive necrosis; it's only ginseng keeping it afloat."

Luo Xinhua remained silent for a moment, then turned and walked towards the carved mahogany balcony. In the distance, the surface of Poyang Lake was as calm as a mirror, reflecting the rising sun. But this naval commander knew that a storm was about to brew in this "peaceful world." His father—one of the founders of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom—was about to depart. And with his departure, an era would come to an end.

"Second brother! Third brother!" Luo Xinhua suddenly turned around and addressed the two figures standing in the shadows of the corridor. Luo Xinzhong—the Governor-General of the Southern Continent—and Luo Xinbei—the Grand Duke of the Grand Duchy of Alaska-Siberia—immediately stepped forward. The three brothers were all dressed in dark blue Taiping Army officer uniforms, the only difference being the gold tassels on their epaulets—Luo Xinhua had four gold stars, Luo Xinzhong three, and Luo Xinbei two.

"You must set off today. This is what Father instructed before he fell ill!" Luo Xinhua's voice left no room for doubt. "Xinbei, return to Qiuming to ensure the stability of the Siberian front; Xinzhong, go to Zhennan Prefecture. The Southern Continent must not be thrown into chaos." He paused, then took out a sealed letter with sealing wax from his pocket and handed it to Luo Xinbei. "This is Father's final order. If necessary, a large sum of secret funds stored in the Datang Bank can be mobilized."

Luo Xinbei took the envelope, his fingers trembling slightly: "Second Brother, then you..."

"I'm going to Tianjing." Luo Xinhua looked eastward. "Prince Yu needs my support!"

Berlin Royal Palace, Royal Military Conference.

Wilhelm II slammed a telegram on the conference table, making the crystal glasses clink: "Luo Yaoguo is dying!" His voice trembled slightly with excitement.

Chief of the General Staff Moltke squinted: "Your Majesty, what does this mean?"

"This means a power vacuum will emerge in the Pacific!" Wilhelm II strode to the huge world map on the wall, his finger tracing the North Sea. "MacArthur is ready, and we cannot lag behind."

First Lord of the Admiralty Tirpitz immediately rose to his feet: "Your Majesty, the High Seas Fleet is ready to strike at any moment. Our Bismarck-class and Moltke-class destroyers are ready, and their 380mm and 410mm main guns will destroy the Royal Navy!"

Foreign Minister von Yago adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses: "According to intelligence, the British usually only have two battleships on duty in Scapa Flow. If we launch a surprise attack at night..."

“No, we should deal with the French first,” Prime Minister Bateman Holweg interrupted. “Red France is our biggest land threat. After we’ve dealt with the French, we can deal with the British fleet.”

Wilhelm II whirled around, his boots clattering on the floor. "Wrong! Wrong order!" He grabbed his baton and pounded it on the map. "Attack the British fleet first, then destroy the French army, and finally deal with the Russians. Without control of the sea, it's all just talk!"

The meeting room was deathly silent, save for the occasional crackling of the firewood in the fireplace. Everyone knew the Emperor had made up his mind—the German Empire would once again challenge the British Empire's naval supremacy, and this time, they possessed far more powerful weaponry: the Bismarck-class battleships, with a standard displacement of 42000 tons, armed with eight 380mm main guns, their main armor thickness reaching 320mm! And the Moltke-class battleships, with a standard displacement of 48000 tons, armed with eight 410mm main guns, their main armor thickness reaching 350mm!

"Order the High Seas Fleet," Wilhelm II's voice echoed in the conference room, "to prepare for attack. I want the British to know who owns the North Sea! Foreign Secretary, immediately take a seaplane to the United States and discuss joint operations against Britain with Führer MacArthur!"

(End of this chapter)