Technology invades the modern world

Chapter 402 Daze's Maritime Rescue (Seeking Monthly Tickets!)

China's choice of this location is part of its strategy.

Regardless of the outcome, this region will trigger a collapse in the Taiwan stock market.

This is the area selected by China, granting it the freedom to use international waters: according to the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, coastal states have an exclusive economic zone of 200 nautical miles from their baselines.

Outside this area lies the high seas, or international waters.

All nations enjoy freedom of navigation, overflight, laying of submarine cables and pipelines, construction of artificial islands and scientific research on the high seas.

The area selected by China is located approximately 372 kilometers outside the baseline of the southwesternmost island of Japan.

Looking at the map, although this location is legally in international waters, geographically and perceptibly it is right next to the southern border of Japan, located between Okinawa and 4V.

This area is adjacent to the Miyako Strait and the Bashi Channel, making it a vital waterway and a crucial passage.

At the same time, it is very close to Kadena Air Base in Okinawa.

The entire recovery operation included fleet assembly, traversing the strait, area surveillance, extended operations, and return to port.

The entire process described above, at the tactical level, is highly similar to wartime tactics of blockading or controlling specific areas.

You call this scientific research activity?

On the bridge of the Akitsushima, Captain Kenji Saito gripped his binoculars tightly, his palms sweating profusely.

Compared to China, Japan is far inferior in terms of preparation, morale from top to bottom, training time, and fleet strength.

Since the security treaty was established, Japan has lacked the courage to take a desperate gamble; relying on their American "daddy" has become ingrained in their thinking.

Once someone has such a stamp, it's no wonder they can't fight.

He could clearly see the outline of the Chinese frigate in the distance, and even see the sailors walking on its deck.

The "Nantong" ship, like a silent sheepdog, faithfully followed them, neither getting too close nor too far away, maintaining a suffocatingly professional distance.

"What are the orders from above?" Saito asked the first mate.

"Maintain observation, record everything, and wait for the right opportunity," the first mate replied.

Saito gave a wry smile.

opportunity?

He knew that the circling P-3C was the real vanguard.

Inside the cockpit of a P-8A Poseidon reconnaissance aircraft, codenamed "Snake Eye 6," electronic warfare officer Lieutenant Taylor is saying to his colleagues, "Guys, the party's about to begin."

They could only watch helplessly as America remained unmoved; what right did they have to make a move?
Li Zheng watched the Akitsushima ship on the screen. After witnessing all of this, the ship was slowly turning around and heading towards home.

He also knew that the P-8A high above the clouds had shut down most of its detection equipment.

They all understood.

I understand what that 485-meter deviation means.

I understood what the composure and professionalism of this fleet meant.

This is a silent handover.

There was no declaration of war, no treaty, not even a single diplomatic statement.

But Li Zheng knew that the tide of history had once again crossed an irreversible critical point in those thirty minutes.

He picked up the ship's intercom.

"Order all units to complete the recovery mission."

The formation switched to a return formation, heading 0-3-0, with a speed of 18 knots.

He paused, then added one last sentence:
"Let's go home."

In a studio at the NTV headquarters in Chiyoda Ward, Japan, a giant screen repeatedly played the BY-2 recovery video, which had gone viral worldwide and was released by China.

The picture quality is high-definition and stable.

Occasionally, a blurry, white shadow can be seen in the corner of the video.

The host, Shinbo Jiro, looked more serious than ever.

"Good evening, everyone," he began, his voice laced with suppressed anger. "In the past 72 hours, the whole world has witnessed what happened right on our doorstep."

A Chinese fleet has completed a world-renowned space operation outside our exclusive economic zone.

Throughout the entire process, our Japan Coast Guard was on-site, and our Self-Defense Force reconnaissance aircraft were in the air.

But we just watched.

Mr. Sakurai, the people want to ask, why are we just watching?

Why is our most prized Maritime Self-Defense Force not deployed to the front lines?
Why are we relegated to the role of insignificant guests invited to our neighbor's housewarming party?

This time, critic Shin Sakurai did not erupt in anger; his face only showed humiliation. In his view, this was a silent insult, and what was even more damaging was that the politicians of Chiyoda seemed to willingly accept such humiliation.

“Mr. Xin Fang, because our government, at the moment when it most needed to demonstrate the will of the nation, chose self-restraint, or rather, self-castration!” His voice was not loud, but every word was like a heavy hammer: “Our Akitsunami was intercepted by the other side’s frigates, and our reconnaissance aircraft was locked onto by the other side’s radar. Faced with this situation, what did we do? We withdrew! We withdrew thirty nautical miles! Under international law, this is tantamount to admitting that the sea area belongs to them.”

"Our Aegis ships, our Haguro and Maya, are docked in the port of Sasebo. From there, it takes less than half a day to sail at full speed to the area where the incident occurred."

We chose to leave them in the port.

What message does this send to the world, especially America and China? It sends the message that we have lost the courage and determination to defend our maritime rights on our own doorstep.

“Mr. Onodera,” Shinbo Jiro immediately turned the question to the former Vice Minister of Defense, “do you agree with Mr. Sakurai’s view? Is this really a lack of courage?”

Onodera, the former high-ranking defense official, shook his head with a grave expression.

"I understand Mr. Sakurai's pain. Everyone who cares about national security would feel the same way. However, we must face a cruel fact that can only be frankly acknowledged in this studio tonight: not sending out the Haguro is not a political choice, but a military one."

"After the P-3C was locked onto by the enemy's fire control radar, the Prime Minister's Office's Crisis Management Center and the Ministry of Defense's Joint Chiefs of Staff immediately conducted a war game simulation. The conclusion was that if the Haguro had forced its way in under those circumstances, it would have faced more than just ship-to-ship missiles."

It will face hypersonic anti-ship ballistic missiles originating from inland China, which our existing Aegis missile defense system theoretically cannot intercept.

“And that 485-meter landing deviation,” he turned to Professor Takahashi, “completely killed any wishful thinking.”

Professor Takahashi from Keio University took over the conversation, and his analysis went straight to the heart of the problem.

"That number 485 meters was the fatal blow in this psychological battle."

It clearly demonstrates three things to us and the Americans: First, China's autonomous navigation system is mature, and their weapons no longer rely on potentially jammed external signals; second, their hypersonic weapons possess unparalleled terminal accuracy; and third, they have the determination to translate this accuracy into military reality at any time and in any place.

"So, Mr. Xinfang," Professor Takahashi concluded, "to answer your question: why don't we intervene? Because our professional military bureaucrats, after conducting a risk assessment, came to a conclusion that even they themselves could not accept: intervention would be tantamount to our most advanced warships requesting an uninterceptable missile test launch, which would be broadcast live globally."

Such suicidal behavior serves no purpose other than reckless courage.

The studio was completely silent.

Sakurai Shin's mouth was agape, but he couldn't find any words to refute it.

Such eloquent pronouncements based on spirit and courage appear so vulnerable in the face of cold technological gaps and strategic maneuvering.

"So, what about the Americans?" asked the host, Shinbo Jiro, as the final question.

“The Americans?” Professor Takahashi gave a wry smile. “They’ve sent their best spectators: P-8A reconnaissance planes.”

It faithfully recorded our restraint and the confidence of the Chinese people using state-of-the-art sensors.

It will compile this review into a detailed report and send it back to the Pentagon.

Then, Washington politicians will use this report to reassess our value as a pawn on the chessboard of the Pacific.

At the end of the program, Shinbo Jiro didn't offer any summary; instead, he spoke softly to the camera in a self-questioning tone:

"Even when the sword is still in its sheath, one already knows that it will break if drawn."

The shield is still in hand, yet one already knows that holding it is useless.

The power we believed in turned into an illusion overnight.

So, how should we face this world tomorrow, a world no longer protected by mythology?

An office with a single light on, located on the 18th floor of No. 7, Section 2, Xianmin Boulevard, Banqiao District, New Taipei City.
On the huge screen in Wu Jianzhong's office, the NTV episode of "Deep News 21" from last night was being replayed on silent.

There was no sound, but the sorrowful expressions of Onodera and Takahashi Yoichi on the screen, along with the scrolling text below such as "A2/AD no jinji ka" and "Nike Security no vacuum daitai," said it all.

Chen Xiaoxian sat on the sofa opposite him, and the room was filled with a long silence.

The fact that Chen Xiaoxian was summoned here so late at night, and that he wasn't even offered a cup of tea, clearly indicates that the situation is much worse than what they discussed in the car last time.

“I watched it three times.” Wu Jianzhong finally spoke, his voice hoarse, pointing to Professor Takahashi’s face frozen on the screen. “Japan’s best scholar and the most knowledgeable former high-ranking official in defense publicly admitted something on their most-watched program.”

"Admitted to what?" Chen Xiaoxian asked knowingly.

"They acknowledged that their Aegis was nothing but a decoration."

They admitted that their once-proud alliance no longer had the ability, or rather, the will, to challenge the red lines drawn by China. Wu Jianzhong turned his head, his eyes filled with the emptiness of a collapsed belief. They never believed in themselves; they always believed in Japan and America.

"Xiaoxian, all our past strategic simulations and defense plans have been built on a foundation. In this foundation, Japan is the first and most crucial line of defense."

“Now,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly, “this line of defense has declared itself nonexistent through a televised debate.”

Chen Xiaoxian nodded and said, "So, the logic we discussed last time—that they would accelerate our drain on resources—has now been definitively confirmed?"

“Yes.” Wu Jianzhong leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “This afternoon, I attended a closed-door meeting. The Washington side has already made informal suggestions to us through AIT.”

"What advice?"

"They suggested that, in order to maintain the stability of the global semiconductor supply chain, we should encourage TSMC to provide capacity backup for its most advanced 3nm and 2nm production lines to its factories in Arizona, USA and Kumamoto, Japan, through collaborative R&D and technology licensing."

"Suggestion," Chen Xiaoxian pondered the word. "I guess this isn't a suggestion that can be refused."

“Of course not.” Wu Jianzhong closed his eyes. “Those guys in Washington are too lazy to even put on an act.”

Their message was clear: since we can't guarantee we can save your gold mine, our only option is to extract all the gold before it collapses.

Silence fell in the office once again.

The night view outside the window was still bustling, with cars flowing like a river.

But they all knew very well that the very foundation upon which this city depended for its survival was being ripped away from the outside.

“Jianzhong,” Chen Xiaoxian began, his expression pained, “what we need to discuss now is no longer how to stop them, but rather to consider a more realistic problem.”

"what is the problem?"

"In this game that is destined to be hollowed out, what kind of price can we fight for for ourselves?"

Chen Xiaoxian stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the lights in the distance.

“In the past, international capital viewed us as a high-risk, high-return asset.”

They fear the threat, but they also covet our technology and profits.

Now, after they watched that live broadcast from the moon and the Tokyo talks, our perspective has changed.

We are no longer high-risk assets.

We became a patient with stable vital signs, but diagnosed with a terminal illness.
"Those doctors are no longer discussing how to treat us, but who will harvest the organs that still have value from our bodies."

That activist investor from Ethelred Capital was the first surgeon to rush into the ward, ready to take action.

“And you, Jianzhong,” Chen Xiaoxian pointed to the pile of documents on stabilizing the stock market on his desk, “everything you’ve done, every time the fund has intervened to prop up the market, every time it’s made a statement, is like giving aspirin to a terminally ill cancer patient. It might make him feel a little better today, but it’s meaningless for the final outcome.”

Wu Jianzhong stared at Chen Xiaoxian for a long time, and then he slowly and painfully nodded.

As one of the highest regulators of the financial system, he had to admit that the foundation of the edifice he was protecting was beyond his power to repair.

Perhaps all he can do is try to make the collapse of this building a relatively dignified affair.

Kenta Tanaka is an ordinary section chief assistant in the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications, similar to a deputy section chief.

A typical elite civil servant who entered the bureaucratic system after graduating from the University of Tokyo.

Kenta Tanaka's day begins at 5:30 a.m. with a Yahoo! News app notification on his phone. The headline is in black and bold: "New Sugawara Cabinet Formed Late at Night, Nikkei Futures Temporarily Triggered Circuit Breaker."

He wasn't surprised at all.

As a civil servant at the heart of the vast information cocoon of Xiaguan, he sensed the coming storm earlier than most citizens.

When the internal emergency notice requiring all departments to "use the same language and respond cautiously" was sent to his email via an encrypted system, he knew something big was coming.

9:00 AM, Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications Office
The office was eerily quiet. No one was discussing the dramatic events of the previous night. As usual, colleagues were in their seats precisely one minute before nine o'clock, not a second earlier or later, and turned on their computers to begin processing the mountains of documents.

Silence is the first rule of survival in Xiaguan.

The more you know, the more you should act like you know nothing.

But the changes couldn't be hidden. Starting at 9 a.m., the phone lines in his department, which were responsible for handling public inquiries, were completely overwhelmed.

As a section chief assistant, he could see the summaries of the constant stream of inquiries in the back-end system.

The public inquiry hotline was overwhelmed with calls.

"Why isn't the Maritime Self-Defense Force deploying? Are our Aegis ships just models?"

"Where are the government's protests? Why can we only watch them flaunt their power on our doorstep?"

"Is my tax money just going to support an army that only dares to watch but not to act?"

Faced with these questions, the standard responses issued by superiors seemed particularly weak and ineffective:

"We have urged the other side to exercise restraint and not escalate regional tensions."

"The on-site response was based on the most professional and prudent judgment made in accordance with international law and the situation on the ground."

"The Self-Defense Forces will take appropriate action when necessary to protect the lives and property of the people."

Kenta Tanaka's job is to ensure that his young employees, like precise repeaters, deliver these standard answers to the people on the other end of the phone, over and over again.

He watched as those young graduates, their faces still radiating idealism, went from being at a loss to gradually becoming numb when faced with angry, questioning phone calls. Eventually, they were able to recite those official jargons that even they themselves didn't believe, in the same calm, emotionless tone as him.

The most terrifying thing for a country is not failure, but losing the courage to face failure, and even trying to gloss over failure itself with words like "prudence" and "professionalism".

After get off work in the evening, in Shinbashi, Kenta Tanaka and several friends who had joined the prefecture at the same time and worked in different departments met at an ordinary izakaya near Shinbashi Station.

This place is a "holy land for bureaucrats and office workers," where the air is filled with the aroma of grilled skewers and the pent-up complaints of people after a long day.

They didn't complain about their jobs, their bosses, or their meager salaries as they usually did.

The atmosphere inside the izakaya was unusually oppressive.

Kenta Tanaka and his friends from the Ministry of Finance and the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry drank in silence.

"Is this really all we can do?" a friend in the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry murmured to himself.

His contemporary, who worked at the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Ministry of Defense, drank a large glass of beer, and a bitter blush rose on his face.

"What else can we do?" he said in a low voice. "We did the war game simulation seventeen times yesterday, all night long."

Every time we send out the Haguro or F-15J to intervene, the outcome is always the same: they are wiped out by the enemy's Dongfeng within minutes.

Our inaction was not political cowardice, but rather the cold, hard mathematical conclusion reached after military simulations that was the only way to avoid total annihilation.

"So," my friend at the Ministry of Finance concluded, "we've essentially admitted to the whole world that we have no chance of winning militarily, even on our own turf?"

No one answered.

But this silence itself is the answer.

Tanaka concluded, "Isn't this something we already knew? This is just another confirmation."

The military of the Reiwa era has long been emasculated. We lacked strength in the past, and now we lack courage. I think it won't be long before the declining birthrate sinks Tokyo. By then, we will have no men left.

On his way home late at night on the tram, Kenta Tanaka leaned against the swaying tram window, watching the myriad lights of Tokyo flash by outside.

He recalled the afternoon when he graduated from university, filled with the ideal of serving his country, and entered the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications.

At that time, he firmly believed that he was a cog in the nation's precision instrument, and that as long as he performed his duties faithfully, he could ensure the smooth operation of this instrument and the peace and prosperity of the country.

And now, he understood.

When the instrument's design drawings are outdated, when external engineers can unplug it at any time, and when another new instrument next door is making a louder noise, your little gear, no matter how hard or how precisely it turns, is meaningless.

He and his hundreds of thousands of colleagues in Kasumigaseki, these bureaucratic elites hailed as the most brilliant minds in Japan, no longer exist to design the future, but to maintain the status quo.

They are no longer designers, but wallpaperers.

The sinking of a warship brings sadness and anger, and inspires a determination for revenge and a shared sense of vengeance.

What happened yesterday was something completely different.

It's a silent, technical surrender that leaves you completely convinced; it's a display of strength and a crushing blow to will.

Your opponent didn't lay a finger on you; he simply showed you the sharp blade he wielded—the technological gap.

Then you realize that all the swords you were so proud of have become antiques in a museum.

You don't even have the right to feel grief and indignation; all that's left is a bottomless sense of powerlessness, as if you've been completely abandoned by the times.

He realized that what he and the entire bureaucracy were about to do was perhaps something even more tragic.

They no longer need to cover up a devastating defeat, but rather to whitewash a nation's spiritual, slow, and irreversible aging, as he said in the izakaya, "sooner or later we will castrate ourselves until no new male babies are born."

He closed his eyes, feeling utterly exhausted.

Tomorrow will be another day where I have to repeat the lie countless times.

(End of this chapter)