World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"What is the content?"

"The message is..." Chen Feng thought for a moment, "Tell everyone that we're home. But home isn't the end, it's a new beginning. Tell our compatriots in Borneo to hold on, the army has arrived. Tell the military and civilians in Dubai to prepare to welcome new immigrants—many compatriots from Borneo will come to study and work. Tell the whole world that the Lanfang Republic has officially returned."

Wang Wenwu was taking notes, his hands trembling slightly.

"Furthermore," Chen Feng added, "I will issue a commendation order to Li Te in my name. All officers and soldiers who participated in the battle will be awarded a collective first-class merit. We will also provide condolence money to the families of the fallen Dutch sailors—if any. We must demonstrate our strength, and we must also demonstrate our compassion."

"Is this... appropriate?"

"That's appropriate." Chen Feng nodded. "We want the world to see that Lanfang is not barbaric. We value reason, but we also value strength. When reason fails, we let strength speak for itself; once strength is demonstrated, we'll conclude with reason."

Wang Wenwu understood: "Use both soft and hard tactics."

"Yes." Chen Feng looked out the window; the sky was getting dark. "Now, the hard part is done. Next, it's time to soften it."

He picked up the phone: "Connect me to the communications department. Connect me to... The Hague, Netherlands, Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

Wang Wenwu's eyes widened: "You want to speak directly with the Dutch government?"

"Why not?" Chen Feng smiled. "The war is over, it's time to negotiate. Tell the Dutch we can talk about evacuating our citizens, about compensation, about normalizing relations. But the prerequisite is—they must recognize that Borneo is Lanfang's territory."

Will they agree?

"They might not agree now, but they will later," Chen Feng said. "Once our army controls the entire island, once the international community gradually accepts the facts, and once they calculate the cost of continuing the confrontation... they will agree. Time is on our side."

The call was connected.

Chen Feng picked up the microphone: "Hello, this is Chen Feng, President of the Lanfang Republic. Please connect me to Mr. Van der Heyden, the Dutch Foreign Minister. Yes, now. Tell him I want to talk about the future of Borneo."

February 21, 1914, 6:00 AM, off the coast of Pontianak.

The transport convoy resembled a group of black whales, silently anchored on the misty sea. At the forefront was the battleship "Huaihe," its dark gray hull appearing exceptionally massive in the dim light. Behind it, twenty-three transport ships were arranged in three columns, their bows all pointing towards the deep green coastline.

Amir, commander of the 5th Division, stood on the bridge of the transport ship "Taishan" with binoculars in his hand. He was a typical desert man, with dark skin and a thick beard, but at this moment he was not wearing a traditional Arab robe, but the khaki field uniform of the Lanfang Army, with a gold star of a major general on his collar.

"How much longer?" he asked the navigator beside him.

"Eight nautical miles from the designated landing point, Commander." The naval officer was a young Chinese man in his early twenties, a graduate of the Dubai Naval Academy. "According to the plan, we will begin transferring to the landing craft at 7:00 AM sharp."

Amir nodded and continued observing the coastline. Through his binoculars, the outline of Pontianak Port was clearly visible. A few wisps of black smoke still rose from the direction of the port—traces of yesterday's naval battle. Further away, a wide sandy beach stretched out—the landing point, "Red Beach."

"What about the tide level?"

"The tide is coming in, and the highest point will be around eight o'clock, which is favorable for us." The navigator opened the tide table. "Today the wave height is 0.5 meters, the wind speed is level 3, and the weather conditions are very good."

"Very good." Amir repeated the word to himself. As a soldier who grew up in the desert, he had an innate unfamiliarity with the ocean. But in the past six months, he had led the 5th Division on three amphibious landing training exercises in the Gulf of Oman, going from being seasick and vomiting uncontrollably to being able to maintain a firing posture on a rocking boat. Now, the test had arrived.

"Tell all regiments to start breakfast at 6:30." Amir put down his binoculars. "Make sure the soldiers are well-fed, as they may not have time to eat for the next 24 hours."

The order was passed down. Soon, the transport ship's kitchen began to waft with the aroma of food: rice, salted fish, vegetable soup, and specially prepared dates—a special treat tailored to the dietary habits of the Arab soldiers.

Amir didn't go to eat. He went down to the lower deck, where the soldiers' quarters were located.

The cabin was packed with people. Because it was the final moments before the landing, everyone was fully dressed: khaki field uniforms, German-style helmets, ammunition belts, and backpacks. Some were checking their weapons, some were cleaning their bayonets, and some were silently reciting combat instructions. When the division commander entered, the soldiers all stood up.

"Relax," Amir said in Arabic, walking up to a young soldier. "Fahd, are you nervous?"

The soldier named Fahd was about eighteen or nineteen years old, with a still-youthful face, but his eyes were firm: "Reporting, Commander, I'm not nervous!"

"Liar." Amir laughed. "The first time I went to the battlefield, my hands were shaking with nervousness. But remember what I taught you: it's normal to be nervous, but as long as you follow the training, you'll survive."

He patted Fahd on the shoulder, then looked at the others:

"Brothers, what we are doing today may be incomprehensible to your fathers. Why would a group of Arabs travel across the ocean to help the Chinese reclaim their homeland?"

The cabin fell silent. Everyone looked at their division commander.

“I’ll tell you why,” Amir’s voice echoed in the steel cabin, “because this isn’t the homeland of the Chinese, it’s the homeland of Lanfang. And we are soldiers of Lanfang. When we swear allegiance to this flag—” he pointed to the yellow dragon flag hanging on the bulkhead, “we promise to protect everything in this country, including every inch of its land and every citizen.”

He paused:

"Today, we landed in Borneo not to fight for others, but to fulfill our oath. Tomorrow, if anyone attacks our families in the Arabian Peninsula, our Chinese brothers in the First and Second Divisions will fight for us. This is the nation, this is the army—we are one."

The soldiers listened quietly. Some nodded, while others gripped their guns tighter.

"Any more questions?" Amir asked.

A middle-aged soldier raised his hand: "Commander, if we encounter resistance from the Dutch... should we open fire?"

"Anyone carrying a weapon is an enemy," Amir said sternly. "Don't be lenient with the enemy, or you'll be the one who dies. But if they surrender, treat them as prisoners of war, and don't mistreat them. We are a disciplined army, not barbarians."

"Understood."

"Okay." Amir glanced at his watch. "Forty minutes to go. Final check of equipment, then lunch. Seven o'clock sharp, transfer on time."

He left his cabin and returned to the bridge. The navigator handed him a mess kit: "Commander, you should have some too."

Amir took it, ate a few mouthfuls of rice, and kept his eyes fixed on the coastline.

At 6:50 a.m., the transport fleet began launching landing craft.

These were not traditional small sampans, but LCVPs (Landing Craft Virtual Vehicles) specially designed and built by the Lanfang Shipyard. Each vessel was ten meters long and three meters wide, with a lowerable ramp at the bow, capable of carrying thirty fully armed soldiers or a jeep. Powered by two diesel engines, it could reach a speed of ten knots.