World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

At 7:12 a.m., on the bridge of the heavy cruiser Chikuma.

Captain Shimazu gripped his binoculars tightly. The sight before him nearly made the veteran naval officer, a veteran of the Russo-Japanese War, stumble.

Four Kongo-class battleships, the most powerful symbols of the Imperial Navy, were reduced to burning wreckage on the sea in just half an hour. The Kirishima and Haruna had already sunk, leaving only massive oil slicks and floating debris. The Hiei listed at over forty degrees, its decks crowded with sailors who had jumped overboard; sinking was only a matter of time. And the flagship Kongo… just three minutes earlier, Shimazu had witnessed the 32,000-ton behemoth's bow rise high before it slid vertically into the sea, creating a massive whirlpool hundreds of meters in diameter.

"All...all wiped out?" Shimazu muttered to himself, his voice dry as if sandpaper was being rubbed.

"Sir!" The communications officer stumbled over, holding a telegram he had just received. "The Hiei's last telegram: the order to abandon ship has been given, and survivors are evacuating. The captain... the captain has chosen to go down with the ship."

Shimazu closed his eyes. The captain of the Hiei was his classmate; they graduated from Etajima together, served on destroyers together, and rose through the ranks together. Now, that always-smiling, chubby man had sunk to the bottom of the East China Sea along with his ship.

"How badly was the Chikuma damaged?" Shimazu took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

"The ship has been hit in multiple places, but the main armor belt has withstood the damage. It can still maintain a speed of 28 knots, the main guns are intact, and the torpedo tubes are intact." The chief engineer's report was relatively optimistic.

"What about the other ships?"

"The Aoba and Kinugasa sustained minor damage, while the Myoko and Nachi sustained moderate damage but are still combat-ready. As for the destroyers... the Asashio, Oshio, and Michishio are sunk, and the other ten are still operational, but..."

The communications officer hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice: "Morale is very low, sir. Many destroyer captains are asking on the radio... asking if we should retreat."

Shimazu's eyes snapped open: "Retreat? Retreat to where? Sasebo? Kure? Behind us are Lanfang's fighters, and ahead are unseen enemy capital ships! Our only option now is—"

He walked to the chart table and pointed heavily to the southeast: "—Charge! Find those unseen bastards, close the distance with torpedoes! Only then is there a glimmer of hope!"

Operations staff officer Major Matsuda, his face pale, said, "But sir, the enemy ships are at least 25,000 yards away, and they have cruiser cover. If we charge, we'll end up like the Kirishima..."

"I know we'll sink like the Kirishima," Shimazu interrupted him. "But if we don't charge, we'll be sunk one by one, like the Kongo, without even seeing the enemy. At least if we charge, we can choose how we die!"

He surveyed the officers on the bridge. The oldest of these young men was no more than thirty, and the youngest was only twenty-two. Their faces were etched with fear, confusion, and a resistance to death.

Shimazu understood them. Who didn't want to live? Who didn't want to return to Japan, to their families? But they were the Imperial Navy, the most powerful fleet in Asia. If they were to flee like this today, they would become a laughingstock of history, a disgrace to the Empire.

"Gentlemen," Shimazu's voice suddenly calmed, "I know you are afraid. I am afraid too. I am forty-eight years old, I have a wife and two daughters. My eldest daughter is getting engaged next month, and I promised to personally hand her over to her groom. But now... I may not be able to do it."

He paused, a tear glistening in his eye, but it was quickly replaced by a resolute expression: "But we are soldiers. From the day we put on this uniform, we swore allegiance to the Emperor, to the Empire. Today, four of the Empire's most elite battleships have sunk before our eyes. If we simply run away, how can we face the four thousand comrades who perished? How can we face the spirit of Commander-in-Chief Ito Sukeyuki in heaven?"

The bridge was silent. Only the distant sounds of explosions and faint cries for help could be heard.

"I command," Shimazu straightened his back. "All ships still capable of fighting, charge southeast at full speed! Target: the approximate area where the enemy's capital ships are located! Destroyers in front, cruisers behind, use torpedoes to open a path! This is a desperate charge; we don't seek survival, only to launch torpedoes at the enemy before we sink!"

He looked at the communications officer: "Signal to all ships: 'The fate of the Empire rests on this. Gentlemen, let us go to the underworld together.'"

"Sir..." the communications officer's voice trembled.

"Execute the order!" Shimazu roared.

Minutes later, signal flags were raised on the Chikuma's mast. Signal lights were relayed among the remaining ships. On the radio, Shimazu's voice rang out to every ship via the public channel:

"I am Shimazu, captain of the Chikuma. Kongo, Hiei, Haruna, and Kirishima have already perished. Now, as the highest-ranking commander on the ground, I order all ships still capable of fighting to launch a desperate charge to the southeast. We have only one objective: to find the unseen enemy and sink them with torpedoes!"

"I know this is a one-way street. I know most of us will die. But this is the Imperial Navy's last honor, the only thing we can do for our fallen comrades."

"Gentlemen, those who wish to join me, please answer."

After a brief silence, the first response came through the radio:

"Aoba received. Willing to go to the underworld with Chikuma."

"Kinugasa received. Charge! Begin!"

"Myoko received."

"Nachi received."

"Destroyer Hatsuharu received."

"Bai Lu has been received."

"Murasame received..."

One after another, the remaining seventeen warships—four heavy cruisers and thirteen destroyers—all responded to the order.

Shimazu's eyes welled up with tears. His voice choked as he spoke into the microphone, "Thank you... thank you everyone. Well then, let's begin. All fleet, heading 135, maximum speed! Charge!"

The bow deck of the destroyer Hatsuharu.

Lieutenant Koga, the torpedo commander, knelt beside the torpedo tube, his hands trembling as he checked the fuse of the Type 93 oxygen torpedo. This torpedo, known among the sailors as the "spear," was 610 millimeters in diameter, weighed 2.7 tons, and had a range of 40,000 meters; it was the pride of the Imperial Navy.

But today, that pride seems so ridiculous.

"Torpedo commander..." a young loader whispered, "Are we really going to charge?"

Koga looked up. The loader was only seventeen years old, named Tanaka, from a small fishing village in Hokkaido. When he boarded the ship three months ago, he hadn't even been to Tokyo.

"Are you scared?" Koga asked.

Tanaka nodded honestly: "I'm scared. I... I've never been in a relationship before. Little Lily from the village said that when I get back, she'll... she'll..."

He couldn't continue, his face turning bright red.

Koga smiled and patted him on the shoulder: "Then think about Sayuri. Think about how you'll marry her when you go back, have three children, and build a house by the sea in Hokkaido. If you think about these things, you won't be afraid."

"But torpedo officer, can we really go back?"

Koga fell silent. He looked towards the southeast horizon, where there was nothing but a vast expanse of blue. But beyond that blue, an unseen enemy was using massive cannons with a range exceeding 25,000 yards to sink the Empire's warships one by one.

"Tanaka-kun," Koga said softly, "do you know why I chose to become a torpedo soldier?"

"Because...because it's powerful?"