World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

When Li Te entered the bridge, the technical team was conducting the final system integration test before departure. The radar screen glowed a pale green, and the echoes swept across the sea, outlining the silhouettes of tugboats, port facilities, and distant oil tankers as flickering dots. Beside the helm, two helmsmen were conducting a synchronization test—five degrees to port, righting, five degrees to starboard. The ship did not move, but the trajectory of the rudder blades in the seawater had already been transmitted back to the helm via the hydraulic system, manifesting as a slight tremor in their palms.

"Commander." Captain Zhou Zhenguo stepped forward, stood at attention, and saluted. (The previous mention of two Zhou Weiguos, one from the Army and one from the Navy, was an error on the editor's part.)

Li Te returned the greeting.

No, it has already been officially named.

Two months ago, Chen Feng wrote two words in pen on a document submitted to the Presidential Office: Changmen.

There was no explanation. Unlike the Bismarck-class destroyers, they weren't named after German historical figures, nor were they named after the Lanfang River like the Pearl River-class destroyers. Just those two words, like an unquestionable imperial edict.

Li Te walked into the depths of the bridge and stood in front of the porthole.

The bridge of the Nagato had an excellent view. It was unobstructed for 120 degrees forward, with a view from the bow to the horizon. He saw tugboats slowly pushing the bow out of the dock, workers in dock No. 3 waving from the dockside, and sailors from several cargo ships peering in this direction through binoculars from the civilian docks in Dubai Harbour in the distance.

"The undocking procedure went smoothly." Zhou Zhenguo stood beside him, his voice steady. "We are expected to enter the main channel in fifteen minutes. The speed measurement zone is at bearing 175, 22 nautical miles away. The hydrological department reports that the sea state is level 2, the wind direction is northeast, and the wind speed is six knots, which is suitable for high-speed sea trials."

Li nodded.

He gave no orders. The ship's commander was Zhou Zhenguo, not him. He was just there to watch—to watch the Lanfang Navy's sharpest blade to date cut through the Pacific Ocean for the first time.

Footsteps came from behind.

Chen Feng walked onto the bridge.

He wasn't wearing a military uniform. He was still wearing that dark gray trench coat, the collar slightly open, revealing the white shirt collar underneath. No one who saw him at first glance would associate him with the word "naval"—he looked more like a university professor or an engineer at a large corporation.

But everyone on the bridge instinctively straightened their backs.

"Commander-in-Chief." Zhou Zhenguo saluted.

Chen Feng nodded without speaking. He walked to the porthole, stood beside Li Te, and watched the bow of the ship slowly emerge from the shadows of the dock and enter the February morning light of the Persian Gulf.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Li Te knew he wasn't asking him. He was asking Zhou Zhenguo.

Zhou Zhenguo remained silent for a few seconds.

"Report," he said, his voice steady. "Ship balance. Engine room operating normally. Radar, fire control, and communication systems functioning correctly. Crew—"

He paused:

"The crew is a little nervous. But that's not a bad thing."

Chen Feng turned to look at him: "Why?"

"Their nervousness shows they know the significance of this ship," Zhou Zhenguo said. "Anyone who isn't nervous doesn't deserve to stand on this bridge."

Chen Feng nodded. He didn't ask any more questions.

The Nagato sailed out of the port breakwater at 9:43 a.m.

The sunlight had completely dispelled the morning mist. The surface of the Persian Gulf stretched out like a vast, gently undulating blue ribbon, extending from the bow of the ship in all directions until it was cut off by the distant horizon. The tugboat cast off its moorings outside the breakwater, sounded its horn three times, and turned back.

For the first time, the Nagato sailed on its own course entirely under its own power.

Chen Feng stood by the porthole, watching the bow of the ship cleave through the waves, leaving a long, white trail. He stared for a long time, so long that Wang Wenwu thought he wouldn't speak.

Then he said:

"Notify the engine room to gradually increase speed. Ten knots, fifteen knots, twenty knots. All departments report their operational status."

Zhou Zhenguo stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

The command was given through the loudspeaker. Deep within the ship, the engine speed increased, the vibrations shifting from a low hum to a sustained growl. The speedometer needle moved slowly—ten knots, twelve knots, fifteen knots.

The sound of the waves outside the porthole changed. It wasn't being cleaved open, it was being torn apart.

Eighteen sections. Twenty sections.

Litte stared at the airspeed indicator. This was the cruising speed of the Bismarck-class ships, which was merely a warm-up for the Nagato.

Section 22. Section 24.

Zhou Zhenguo's voice came from the front of the bridge, filled with barely suppressed excitement: "The engine room reports that the main engine is operating stably and the temperature of all bearings is normal. We expect to accelerate to over 26 knots." (Historically, the Nagato could only reach 26.5 knots.)

Chen Feng remained silent.

He was still looking out the porthole, watching the waves being cleaved by the bow, watching the horizon slowly and steadily slide toward the stern.

Wang Wenwu stood behind him and suddenly thought of Hawaii.

That day, he and Chen Feng stood by the porthole of the "Huaihe" ship, watching Pearl Harbor gradually disappear below the horizon. Chen Feng asked, "What will the world be like the next time we meet?"

Now it's "next time".

The world looked like this: Germany's Bismarck was hunting in the North Atlantic, the Colorado-class destroyers of the Mica were about to have their keels laid in the dry dock, and Japan's Kinmochi Saionji was debating the budget for fifty divisions on Capitol Hill.

Meanwhile, Lanfang's Changmen was cutting through the waves in the Persian Gulf at a speed of 26 knots, experiencing for the first time the sea's submission beneath its hull.

Wang Wenwu suddenly wondered: If Sher knew that Lanfang had such a ship, would he still have sent that telegram?

he does not know.

All he knew was that Chen Feng, standing by the porthole, showed no pride or excitement on his face, only a deep, profound calm.

Like a farmer standing in a harvested wheat field, looking at piles of grains, thinking not of the joy of a bountiful harvest, but of next year's soil moisture, grain prices, and taxes.

At 11:15, the Nagato arrived at the speed measurement area.

This was a temporarily designated military restricted area, with a depth exceeding fifty meters, a flat seabed, no reefs, and no strong currents. The hydrographic department deployed buoys three days in advance to mark the course, and the speed measurement zone was exactly five nautical miles long—enough for any battleship to complete a stable speed measurement at full speed.

Zhou Zhenguo stood in front of the captain's command platform, holding a stopwatch in his hand.

"Reports from all departments."

"The engine room and main engine are operating stably and can maintain full power."

"No abnormal vibrations were observed in the ship's hull."

"Servo motors are responding normally."

"Fire control, radar lock onto the endpoint buoy."

Zhou Zhenguo took a deep breath and turned to Chen Feng.

The president stood by the porthole, his back to the crowd, without turning around.

"Full speed," he said.

Zhou Zhenguo stood at attention: "Full speed!"

On the other end of the intercom, the watch officer in the engine room repeated the order: "Full speed—!"

The sounds from deep within the ship's hull changed.

It didn't get bigger, it got heavier. Like a sleeping behemoth finally opening its eyes, letting out its first low growl from deep within its chest. The speedometer needle began to climb from twenty-six knots, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-eight.3, twenty-eight.5—

The sea outside the porthole began to blur. Not fog, but speed. Waves were split in two before the bow, splashing to both sides and forming two parallel white streaks along the sides.