World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Port Dubai, 10:8 AM, August 18, 1916

A heatwave rolled in from the depths of the Arabian desert, enveloping the entire port of Dubai in scorching white light. But the sweltering heat couldn't deter the crowds—more than 150,000 people poured into the port from cities, from inland areas, and even from neighboring emirates. They filled every road leading to the port area, climbed onto warehouse rooftops, and occupied every vantage point. The air was thick with the smells of sweat, spices, the sea, and an irrepressible excitement.

The main thoroughfare of the port had been cleared and covered with a brand-new red carpet. Every five meters along both sides stood a Lanfang Army honor guard, dressed in new khaki summer uniforms, wearing German-style steel helmets, and carrying newly mass-produced Type 16 semi-automatic rifles (Garand), their bayonets gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Further out was a cordon of police and militia, striving to maintain order, but the surging crowds continued to push forward.

"Make way! Make way!" A dark-skinned middle-aged man in oil-stained overalls struggled to squeeze to the front. A faded bronze medal was pinned to his chest—a commemorative medal for the East China Sea Naval Battle. His name was Lin Santai. Six years ago, he was an engine room crew member on the battlecruiser "Fuxing". He lost half of his hearing in the Battle of the Yellow Sea and became a fitter in the shipyard after retiring from the service.

"Old Lin! Over here!" someone shouted from above. Lin Santai looked up and saw his former artillery chief, Wang Zhigang, squatting on a crane control panel, waving. He squeezed through the crowd, and several young workers helped him up.

From this ten-meter-high control panel, the entire port area was laid out before him. Lin Santai gasped.

Dubai Port's deep-water piers 3 and 4 have been completely cleared, with all cargo ships that were previously moored moved to the outer anchorage. The pier floor has been thoroughly cleaned with high-pressure water jets and marked with prominent white lines. Two massive gantry cranes span the pier, adorned with giant banners featuring red backgrounds and golden dragons. Further away, within the perimeter of the naval base, the silhouettes of two towering ships can be vaguely seen—but they are obscured by huge tarpaulins, revealing only indistinct outlines.

"Goodness..." Lin Santai murmured, "So much bigger than the 'Fuxing' bullet train?"

Wang Zhigang handed him a water bottle filled with lightly salted water: "It's more than just big. My old classmate at the design institute told me that its standard displacement is 41,000 tons, and 46,000 tons fully loaded. It has eight 380mm main guns, each shell weighing 800 kilograms. Its speed is 30 knots, and the thickest part of its armor is as thick as the bridge of our 'Fuxing' ship. It's the same as the Yangtze River, but I heard it's even more advanced!"

Lin Santai gulped down a few mouthfuls of water and wiped his mouth: "That would require burning so much oil..."

"It burns oil." A young man wearing glasses chimed in. He was a shipyard technician. "The new ship uses heavy oil boilers, which are 30% more efficient than the British coal-fired boilers. And I heard that the engine room is fully automated, so we don't need as many people."

"Automatic?" Lin Santai frowned. "The machine can operate the boat by itself?"

"It's not entirely self-operated; many processes are automated." The technician gestured excitedly. "For example, boiler water level, steam pressure, and turbine speed are all monitored by instruments, and alarms are automatically triggered if they exceed the range. There's also the loading and aiming of the main gun..."

His words were interrupted by the sudden sound of a ship's horn. The long, deep, and extremely penetrating horn sounded not from one ship, but from two ships simultaneously, the sound waves converging in the air, making the air tremble.

The crowd fell silent instantly. All eyes turned to the port entrance.

coming.

First to come into view were the pilot boat, and three small tugboats, puffing out black smoke, carved white V-shaped ripples in the channel. Then, the silhouettes of ships appeared.

A massive, dark gray ship silhouette, like a moving mountain.

The first warship slowly entered the channel. Its long, sleek hull exceeded 250 meters in length, its towering bridge resembling a steel tower. Four twin-mounted main gun turrets were arranged in a superfiring configuration, their robust barrels pointing forward. The bow cleaved through the calm water, creating waves four or five meters high. Sunlight shone on the sloping armor plating, reflecting a cold, metallic sheen.

"My God..." came a suppressed gasp from the crowd.

Even more impressive was the second ship. It was almost identical to the first, but with a sharper bow and a more compact superstructure. The two giant ships, one after the other, maintained a precise 500-meter distance and slowly made their way to the dock at a mere 8 knots. Their presence was so overwhelming that the surrounding tugboats and patrol boats looked like children's toys.

Lin Santai gripped the control panel railing tightly. He had experienced the East China Sea naval battle, witnessed the majestic presence of the "Guangfu" ship on the Yellow Sea, and seen the firepower of the Jianguo Changjiang... but this feeling was completely different. It was a deterrent force that transcended size, the ultimate embodiment of the violent aesthetics of industrial civilization.

"Do they have names?" he asked hoarsely.

Wang Zhigang pointed towards the bow of the first ship. There, a huge canvas covered the ship's name, but the outline of Chinese characters could be vaguely seen beneath the canvas.

The military band began to play. It wasn't a traditional march, but a solemn, slow symphony imbued with Eastern charm—"Ode to the Mountains and Rivers." The powerful brass instruments and the melodious strings intertwined, echoing over the harbor.

The two warships docked precisely at the pier. Mooring lines were deployed, bollards tightened, and the massive hulls barely touched the crash pads, causing almost no vibration. The engine noise gradually subsided and finally came to a complete stop.

A deathly silence. The only sounds were the waves crashing against the pier and the suppressed breathing of hundreds of thousands of people.

Then, the canvas covering the ship's name slowly slid off.

The first ship had two huge Chinese characters on its bow that gleamed in the sunlight: Dingyuan.

The second ship: Zhenyuan.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still.

Lin Santai felt something stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Wang Zhigang beside him was already in tears. Further away in the crowd, many elderly people began to cry—not out of sadness, but out of a release of emotions that had been pent up for twenty years.

Dingyuan. Zhenyuan.

The flagship of the Beiyang Fleet, commissioned in 1885, was the largest warship in Asia. It fought to its last bullet in the Battle of the Yellow Sea and was ultimately scuttled at Weihaiwei. Captain Liu Buchan, Captain Lin Taizeng, and more than 300 officers and men died in the line of duty.

That was China's first tragic attempt at modern naval warfare, and also its first painful defeat.

And now, these two names have reappeared on the world's seas with such power.

"salute--!"

At the command of the honor guard commander, three thousand soldiers simultaneously raised their rifles, the forest of bayonets gleaming in the sunlight. The military band's performance reached its climax.

On the reviewing stand on the east side of the harbor, Chen Feng walked toward the podium. Today he was wearing a simple white naval uniform, without any medals, but a small badge pinned to his chest—a replica of the anchor insignia of the Beiyang Fleet.