World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Li Te remained silent.

"He knew the support fleet couldn't catch up, he knew the British would come out in full force, and he knew the Merleka destroyers would be waiting for him on the route." Chen Feng's voice was calm, as if he were stating a weather forecast that had nothing to do with him. "He knew he might not come back from this voyage."

He paused:

His telegram said, "This departure may be forever."

Li Te lowered his head.

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the chart table. He looked down at the North Atlantic chart, at the route that stretched from Wilhelmshaven, across the North Sea, around the Shetland Islands, and into the Denmark Strait. The track marked in red pencil drew an arc between Greenland and Iceland, like an arrow shot towards the heart of Britain.

"His telegram also said," Chen Feng's voice was very soft, "'I firmly believe that this fate will not be today, nor tomorrow, but will be when we are in our most perilous time.'"

He looked up at Li Te:

"Sher wasn't asking me for help. He was telling me—he knew what I was waiting for."

Li Te did not respond.

Chen Feng straightened up and left the nautical chart table:

"He waited for me until the very last moment."

"When was the last moment?" Lee Te asked.

Chen Feng did not answer.

He walked to the porthole, his back to the others. Sunlight streamed in from behind, casting his silhouette as a dark gray shadow. He stood there for a long time, so long that Wang Wenwu thought he wouldn't answer.

Then he said:

"When the bridge of the Bismarck was penetrated by a 16-inch shell."

He turned around:

"When the Tirpitz was torn apart by mines on its side."

He paused:

"When Scheer stood on the sinking warship and gave a final salute to the East."

No one spoke in the cabin.

"At that time," Chen Feng said, "I will give the order."

He walked back to the chart table, picked up the German naval telegram, and then put it down. His movements were slow, as if he were dealing with something unrelated to himself.

"But now," he said, "it's not the time yet."

He looked at Li Te:

"The Nagato has just completed its sea trials. It will officially enter service in six weeks and achieve combat capability within six months. Our aircraft carrier is still on the slipway, and the carrier air wing is still training. Japan's fifty divisions are still arguing with the Diet and the Army."

He paused:

"If we enter the fray now, it's like using a navy that's not even fully grown to save a fleet that's destined to sink."

Li Te remained silent.

"Sher knew that," Chen Feng said. "That's why he didn't ask us when we would be playing; he just said he 'firmly believed'."

He looked out the window:

"Trust has weight. He gave me this burden, and I must carry it until the day I should put it down."

In the evening, the Nagato returned to Dubai.

The setting sun was sinking below the western edge of the Persian Gulf, turning the entire sea area a golden-red hue. The dock gates of Dock No. 3 were already wide open, tugboats were waiting in the harbor, and shipyard workers stood by the dock, watching the giant ship, which had just completed its historic maiden voyage, slowly sail back to the dock where it was born.

No one cheered.

It's not that I'm not excited. It's that I'm too excited, which makes me silent.

As Chen Feng descended the gangway, the setting sun shone directly on his face. He squinted, shielded his eyes from the light with his hand, then lowered his hand and walked straight to the waiting car.

Wang Wenwu followed behind him, holding the three unfiled documents in his hand.

"Commander-in-Chief," he asked softly, "shall we reply to General Scheer's telegram tonight?"

Chen Feng opened the car door but did not answer immediately.

He stood by the car door and glanced back at the Long Gate.

The last rays of the setting sun shone from the stern, bathing the entire warship in a deep gold. The eight 410mm gun barrels pointed diagonally to the sky in the twilight, like a silent declaration—not a threat, but a statement of presence.

"No need," he said. "He doesn't need a reply."

He bent down and got into the car.

The car door closed.

Wang Wenwu stood there, watching the car's taillights light up in the twilight before it slowly drove out of the port.

He suddenly remembered what Chen Feng had said on the bridge of the Nagato:

Trust has weight.

Yes.

Sher entrusted this trust to Chen Feng, and Chen Feng accepted it.

Now, this trust lies in the twilight of Dubai Harbour, under the gantry cranes of Dock 3, and on the eight silent cannons of the Nagato.

It is heavy.

On this February evening, Wang Wenwu stood alone on the empty dock and suddenly couldn't remember when he had last breathed easily.

The sea breeze carries the distinctive salty taste of the Persian Gulf.

In the distance, spotlights on Dock No. 3 lit up one by one, pulling the outline of the Nagato out of the twilight once more.

The night shift workers have started their shift.

Wang Wenwu turned and walked towards his car.

He recalled Chen Feng's reply to Sher, a reply that would never be sent:

"The lights at the Lanfang Shipyard never went out all night."

March 1, 1917, North Atlantic

At 4:20, the sun was still three hours below the eastern horizon. The sky was black, the sea was black, even the fog was black—a thick, impenetrable, leaden black that swallowed all light. Only the waves were white, churning in the darkness like countless mouths panting.

In the bridge of the Bismarck, there were only three colors: the dark red of the instrument dials, the light green of the radar screens, and the eternal darkness reflected in Scheer's eyes outside the portholes.

He has been standing for four hours.

From the moment he entered this sea area at midnight, he stood there, occasionally glancing back at the nautical chart, occasionally listening to the navigator's position report, and then continuing to stand, like a sculpture embedded in the bridge porthole.

"General." A voice came from behind.

Scher did not turn around.

Major Hans Meyer, the watch officer, took a step closer and lowered his voice: "Coffee."

Scheer finally moved. He took the cup of dark brown liquid, the cup scalding hot, the highest temperature the ship could provide. He took a sip, without saying thank you or that it was good, but simply held the coffee in his mouth, letting the bitterness spread from the tip of his tongue to the back, and then swallowed.

"What's going on in the sonar chamber?"

"No, General. This sea is as quiet as a tomb."

Scher nodded.

grave.

That's a good word.

The waters they are entering are indeed a graveyard—not a metaphor, but a fact. Months ago, HMS Hood sank 400 nautical miles southeast. Two weeks ago, U-36 lost contact 170 nautical miles northwest. Four days ago, a British convoy was caught by a German submarine here; three of the six merchant ships sank, and the remaining three escaped towards Iceland under the cover of escorting destroyers.

Two German submarines were also lost.

This sea is both a hunting ground and a graveyard. The roles of hunter and prey can switch places at any moment.