World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

February 20, 1914, 4:00 AM, Northwest Sea of ​​Borneo.

The sea surface resembled a piece of black silk, shimmering with tiny silver glints under the moonlight. The tropical night wind, carrying the salty, fishy scent and the aroma of plants, blew into the bridge of the Yangtze through the open portholes.

Litt stood before the chart table, holding a dim oil lamp. The light illuminated the unfolded chart, which was covered with dense symbols and routes marked in red and blue pencil. Beside him, Navigation Officer Salah—a thirty-year-old Arab officer and a distinguished graduate of the first class of the Dubai Naval Academy—was measuring distances with a compass.

"How far are we from Pontianak Port?" Li Te asked.

"Seventy-six nautical miles, General." Salah's voice was soft, but clearly audible in the quiet bridge. "At our current economical speed of eight knots, we should reach the open sea around ten o'clock this morning."

Li Te nodded and walked to the observation window at the front of the bridge. Outside, the entire task force was sailing in the darkness in cruising formation. The Yangtze River was in the lead, with the Yellow River 1.5 nautical miles to its right rear. Two Hood-class battlecruisers were positioned on the left and right flanks, with cruisers and destroyers forming the outermost perimeter.

Without navigation lights on, all the ships, like a group of silent behemoths, approached their target under the cover of night.

"How's the visibility?" Li Te asked the watchman.

"Reporting to the general, moonlight is level two, visibility is about five nautical miles. Sea state is level one, wind speed is three knots." The watch officer was a young lieutenant, his voice tinged with suppressed excitement. "The weather is favorable to us."

Favorable. Li Te repeated the word to himself. Weather, sea conditions, speed, enemy situation... all factors had been calculated, all contingency plans had been prepared. But a stone still weighed on his chest—this was the final test of three years of preparation, and there could be no mistakes.

The door to the communications room opened, and a communications soldier strode in, holding a newly translated telegram.

"General, a coded telegram from Dubai."

Li Te took the telegram and read it by the light of the oil lamp. The telegram was short: "A telegram from Borneo: At 3:00 AM this morning, Dutch military and police in Pontianak opened fire on the rally crowd. Seven people have been confirmed dead and more than 20 injured. Rally leader Wang Zhenhua has been arrested. Repeat: Fire has been opened, and there have been casualties."

The telegram had Chen Feng's signature and today's date, February 20th, in the lower right corner.

An excuse has been found.

Li Te folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. He said to Salah, "Notify all ships that a combat meeting will be held at 6:00 sharp. Have the cooks prepare hot coffee and breakfast, and make sure everyone eats their fill."

"Yes."

"And one more thing," Li Te called after him, "tell the chief engineer to start accelerating at 5:30. I need to be 30 nautical miles off the coast of Pontianak before 8:00."

Salah's eyes lit up in the dim light: "General, are we going to fight?"

"It's time to go home." Leeteuk patted him on the shoulder. "Go on."

The young man turned and left, his steps much lighter than when he arrived.

Li Te walked back to the observation window. The eastern horizon began to lighten, and the deep blue night sky gradually turned bluish-gray. A few of the brightest stars were still twinkling, including the Southern Cross—the constellation that had guided countless overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia.

He recalled the scene when he left the port.

On the morning of February 1st, Dubai Port was deserted as everyone flocked to see the ship off. The docks were packed with people—families of soldiers, shipyard workers, and ordinary citizens. As the Yangtze River sounded its horn and slowly pulled away from its berth, many wept. Not out of sadness, but out of excitement—they knew where the ship was going, and they knew what it meant.

Uncle Wang stood on the deck of the transport fleet, wearing a brand-new dark blue Zhongshan suit with the "Returning Home" badge pinned to his chest. The old man kept gazing in the direction of the fleet until it became a few black dots on the horizon.

"I must come back," Leeteuk thought to himself. "I must come back victorious."

They're almost here.

At 6:00 AM sharp, the officers' conference room on the Yangtze was packed. The captains of each ship received the meeting notification via radio, but only the commanders of cruisers and above were required to come in person—the destroyer captains remained on their respective ships and received orders via encrypted telegram.

On either side of the long table, people in dark blue naval uniforms stood solemnly. The youngest was Chen Qiming, captain of the Fuxing, 28 years old, a top graduate of the second class of the Naval Academy. The oldest was Zhao Haitao, captain of the Guangfu, 45 years old, who had participated in the last resistance in Lanfang and still bore the scars of Dutch bullets on his legs.

When Li Te walked in, everyone stood up.

"Sit down." He walked to the head of the table, and without exchanging pleasantries, directly unfolded the nautical chart. "Intelligence confirms that the Dutch opened fire in Pontianak early this morning. Seven of our compatriots were killed and more than twenty were wounded."

A suppressed gasp filled the conference room. Several young officers' faces turned ashen.

"So," Li Te tapped his finger on the location of Pontianak Port on the nautical chart, "we're not here for an exercise today, we're here to protect our nationals. According to international law, when a nation's citizens are threatened with death abroad, the nation has the right to take necessary measures to protect them. Our measures are—"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face:

"The fleet sailed into Pontianak harbor, demanding that the Dutch authorities immediately release our arrested compatriots, hand over the military and police officers who fired the shots, and guarantee that similar incidents would not happen again. If they refuse, we will enforce it."

"What does 'enforcement' mean?" Chen Qiming asked.

"I mean artillery fire," Litte said calmly. "We have an absolute firepower advantage. The Dutch Far East Fleet has only five pre-dreadnoughts left, the youngest of which was launched in 1904. Their main guns have a maximum caliber of 280 mm and a range of less than 18,000 meters. Our 380 mm guns can sink them from 22,000 meters away."

He looked at Zhao Haitao: "Captain Zhao, you've dealt with the Dutch before. What's their style?"

Zhao Haitao touched the old scar on his leg and sneered, "They bully the weak and fear the strong. Back when they attacked us, we only had a few homemade cannons, and they were incredibly arrogant. But as long as you're stronger than them, they chicken out. Typical colonial army, good at winning when things are going well, but not good at fighting tough battles."

"Okay." Li nodded. "Then let's show them who's tough today."

He stood up and began to issue specific orders:

"At 8:00, the fleet arrived 30 nautical miles off the coast of Pontianak. At 8:30, the cruiser squadron moved forward to conduct reconnaissance of the port. At 9:00, I issued an ultimatum to the Dutch authorities via public radio, giving them one hour to respond."

"What if they don't respond?" a cruiser captain asked.

"Then fire warning shots," Li Te said. "The Yangtze and Yellow River will each fire a round of blank shells—the shells will land one nautical mile in front of the port, to show them the power. If they still don't respond, at 10:00, the first round of live-fire shelling will begin, targeting the port's gun emplacements and barracks."

"What about the civilian areas?"

"Absolutely avoid them," Litt emphasized. "Our targets are military installations and government buildings. The General Staff has marked all targets; their coordinates are on the nautical charts. No one is permitted to attack non-military targets; violators will be court-martialed."

He looked at everyone: "Any other questions?"