World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"All ships fire at once!"

The main guns of the Pearl River roared once more. Eight 380mm armor-piercing shells flew toward the already dying warship at a speed of over 800 meters per second.

This time, four shots hit.

Bridge of the Kirishima.

Lieutenant Commander Yuji Ito, the captain, knelt on the ground, his hands gripping the twisted and deformed railing tightly. His left leg had been severed by shrapnel, the cut a bloody mess, but he felt no pain—or rather, the pain was beyond his tolerance.

The bridge was a scene of utter chaos. Half of the ceiling had collapsed, all the control consoles were malfunctioning, and the communication system was completely cut off. Thick smoke poured in through every crack, reducing visibility to less than three meters.

No more than five officers were still alive, and all of them were wounded.

"Report...report the situation..." Ito shouted with his last bit of strength.

No one answered. Or rather, the answer he received was another violent explosion—another 380mm armor-piercing shell struck the bow of the ship, this time directly detonating the forward ammunition magazine.

The bow section of the Kirishima was blown into the air with a deafening roar. More than a thousand tons of steel, cannons, ammunition, and hundreds of sailors were reduced to fragments and flames in the explosion.

The shockwave traveled along the hull, tearing the rear half of the ship to pieces. Seawater rushed in through dozens of breaches, and the Kirishima began to sink at a visible speed.

Inside the bridge, Ito felt the ground tilting beneath his feet. The angle of tilt increased, 30 degrees, 40 degrees, 50 degrees…

He released his grip, letting himself slide toward the shattered porthole. Before plunging into the sea, he took one last look at the sky.

The morning sky was a deep blue, and the sunlight was bright. Several seagulls circled overhead, seemingly oblivious to the hellish scene below.

"Amaterasu..." Ito murmured, "Is this... the naval warfare of the new era?"

Then, the seawater submerged him.

At 6:45 a.m., the Kirishima sank.

From the first test firing to its complete sinking, it took only five minutes. This 32,000-ton battlecruiser, along with more than 800 officers and men, disappeared beneath the waves of the East China Sea.

On the radar screen of the Yangtze, the spot representing the Kirishima went completely out.

"Target A eliminated," the radar officer reported.

Zhang Zhen nodded: "Very good. Now, redistribute targets. Yangtze will continue attacking Kongo, Yellow River will attack Hiei, and Huaihe and Pearl River will concentrate their fire on Haruna. Priority: damage first, then sink."

"clear!"

The order was relayed. The main guns of the three Bismarck-class battleships began to slowly rotate, aiming at their next prey.

Meanwhile, aboard the Kongo, Kato Tomosaburo was just recovering from his initial shock.

"The Kirishima... sank?" he repeated incredulously. "Five minutes? Only five minutes?"

"Yes, sir." Kuroshima's face was ashen. "According to observations, the enemy ships fired five salvos at a range of over 25,000 yards. The Kirishima was hit by at least eight large-caliber shells, one of which appears to have detonated the forward ammunition magazine..."

"Twenty-five thousand yards... eight hits..." Kato muttered the numbers, suddenly feeling dizzy. "What kind of accuracy is this? What kind of artillery is this?"

He grabbed Kuroshima's arm abruptly: "Immediately order the entire fleet to turn southeast! Locate those enemy ships! Close the distance!"

"But sir, that distance..."

"I know it's far!" Kato roared, "but if we don't close the distance, we're sitting ducks! They can sink us one by one, from a place we can't even reach!"

For the first time, fear appeared in his voice. It was the instinctive fear of a human being facing an enemy they could not understand, and an overwhelming technological advantage.

"Execute the order!" Kato hissed. "Full fleet, hard to starboard, heading 135, maximum speed! Cruisers and destroyers, advance and locate the enemy ships!"

Commands were relayed via flag signals and light signals. The Hiei and Haruna began a difficult turn. However, their superstructures had been damaged by the Fuxing in the previous battle, significantly reducing their turning speed.

And just as they were turning around, the second round of "roll call" began.

The Huaihe battleship, main gun turret.

Gunner Zhao Tiezhu plugged his ears with cotton balls, but he was still dizzy from the shockwave. Every time the 380mm main gun fired, the shockwave felt like someone had smashed his chest with a sledgehammer.

"Load! Quickly!" he yelled at the loader.

"Here it comes!" The loader pushed the heavy shell, sliding it along the guide rail into the breech. Next came the propellant charges, four silk-wrapped cartridge cases, each weighing 120 kilograms.

"Brakinger closed! Circuit activated!" Zhao Tiezhu glanced at the fire control commands. "Elevation 28.7 degrees, heading 15 degrees to port! Prepare—"

His hand was on the launch button.

"put!"

The turret shook again. Through the observation slit, Zhao Tiezhu saw the white contrail left by the shell as it flew out. The contrail stretched to the horizon and disappeared below the horizon.

Twenty seconds later, the observer's voice came through: "Hit! Haruna has been hit in the rear!"

"Excellent!" Zhao Tiezhu patted the inside of the turret. "Continue loading! Next shot!"

But the loader, Xiao Chen, suddenly said, "Gunner, we...we're committing a massacre, aren't we?"

Zhao Tiezhu was taken aback: "What?"

"I mean," Xiao Chen said in a low voice, "the Japanese couldn't hit us at all. They didn't even know where we were. We just kept firing, shell after shell, killing them all..."

Silence fell over the turret. The loaders stopped what they were doing and looked at Zhao Tiezhu.

Zhao Tiezhu fell silent. He recalled the words of the German instructor during the ship's commissioning training: "The Bismarck-class is the most powerful warship on this planet. If you are ever forced to use it, remember—you are not fighting, you are carrying out an execution."

At the time, he thought the instructor was bragging. But now, he understands.

"Xiao Chen," Zhao Tiezhu finally spoke, "do you know how many people are on the Fuxing bullet train?"

"A thousand...a little over a thousand, I guess?"

"One thousand five hundred and twenty-one people," Zhao Tiezhu said, enunciating each word clearly. "Now, they're probably half dead. If we don't 'massacre' the Japanese here, then the Japanese will 'massacre' our brothers on the Fuxing."

He walked up to Xiao Chen, staring at the young soldier who was only nineteen years old: "I know this is unfair. I know it's like an adult hitting a child. But this is war. You either kill the enemy or you are killed by the enemy. There is no third way."

Xiao Chen bit her lip and nodded.

"Now," Zhao Tiezhu turned around, "continue reloading. We still have three enemy ships to deal with."