World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The engineers are working hard.

The turret A was dismantled, and hydraulic lines were scattered all over the ground. Several Lanfang engineers lay prone under the turret base, shining flashlights on the pipes severed by shrapnel and using pliers to disassemble the damaged joints. Their work clothes were covered in oil stains, and their foreheads were soaked with sweat.

"This main pipe is completely ruined," an engineer stood up and said to the team leader. "It needs to be replaced with a new one."

The team leader nodded and pointed to a pile of spare parts next to him: "There are some over there. The Germans didn't bring enough spare parts, so we brought our own. The models are a perfect match, just replace them."

The engineer took the spare part and crawled back under the turret.

Nearby, in boiler room number two of the Tirpitz, another group of engineers was inspecting the loosened welds. The boiler room was hellishly hot, at least fifty degrees Celsius, and the humidity near saturation. The engineers were shirtless, their skin glistening with sweat, as if they had just been pulled from the water. They tapped the welds with small hammers, listening to the sound to determine if there were any cracks.

"Here," an engineer pointed to a weld, "there's a tiny crack that needs to be repaired."

"Where's the welding machine?"

"They're outside, bring them in immediately."

On deck, the supply ship's heavy oil hose was being connected to the Bismarck's oil tank inlet. The thick hose, like a giant black python, stretched from the Dongting Lake all the way to the Bismarck. Inside the hose, black heavy oil was being continuously pumped into the nearly empty oil tanks.

A German sailor stood nearby, watching the fuel gauge. The needle slowly climbed from seventeen percent—eighteen percent, nineteen percent, twenty percent…

His eyes reddened.

Sixteen days have passed. For sixteen days, they have watched helplessly as that number dropped day by day, and as their warship weakened bit by bit. Now, it has finally begun to recover.

Scheer stood on the bridge, watching all of this.

For the first time in sixteen days, the crew members wore expressions they hadn't shown on their faces. Not smiles, but relaxation. The kind of relaxation one feels after being pulled back from the brink of death, the relaxation of surviving a catastrophe.

A young sailor stood on the deck, looking up at the Lanfang engineers climbing up and down the gun turret. His mouth was slightly open, like a child watching a magic show.

Scheer walked down from the bridge and onto the deck.

When the sailor saw him, he immediately stood at attention and saluted.

Scher returned the greeting and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Reporting to the General, Fritz Mayer, engine room engineer."

Scher nodded. "Meyer, what are you looking at?"

Meyer blushed slightly. "General, I'm watching them... those Lanfang people. They're repairing so fast."

Scheer looked at the engineers. A young man was crawling out of the turret, his face covered in grease, but his eyes were focused. He took a new part handed to him from the side and crawled back inside.

"They came to rescue us," Sher said.

Meyer paused for a few seconds, then said, "General, I thought... I thought we could never go back."

Scher looked at him.

That young face, those eyes filled with both fear and hope. He remembered that the boy was probably not even twenty years old, had only recently joined the army, and might still have his mother waiting for him in Kiel.

"We can't go back," Scheer said. "We can't go back to Germany."

Meyer paused for a moment.

"But we're still alive," Scheer continued. "As long as we're alive, we can keep fighting. And if we keep fighting, we can make the British pay."

He paused for a moment, then said, "That's enough."

Meyer paused for a few seconds, then stood at attention: "Yes, General."

Scheer patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk back to the bridge.

Behind them, the engineers continued their work. Sparks from the welding torches shimmered in the setting sun, like golden rain.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge, looking at the rendezvous point under the setting sun.

Two German warships, two Lanfang warships, two supply ships, and nine destroyers—this is a scene never before seen in human history: a neutral fleet resupplying a belligerent fleet.

Oil pipelines connected the warships of both countries. Engineers climbed on and off the German ship. Destroyers patrolled the perimeter, vigilant for any potential threats.

If the British send a fleet now, if the Merika attack now...

Zhang Zhen shook his head.

No. The British don't have the guts. The Merrica don't have the resolve.

This is exactly what Chen Feng predicted.

"General," the communications officer approached, "a call from Berlin."

Zhang Zhen took the telegram.

It was sent by Tirpitz. The wording was polite and restrained:

"To General Zhang Zhen: I am delighted to learn that your fleet has joined forces with General Scheer, providing resupply and maintenance support. The German Navy and the German Empire are deeply grateful. I will arrive in Dubai soon and look forward to meeting with President Chen. Regardless of the outcome, Germany will forever remember your kindness. — Tirpitz"

After reading it, Zhang Zhen folded it neatly and put it in his pocket.

Is Tirpitz coming to Lanfang?

This news needs to be sent back to Dubai as soon as possible.

"Reply," he said. "To Admiral Tirpitz: Rendezvous went smoothly, repairs are underway. Admiral Scheer and the crew of both ships are in good condition. We look forward to meeting you in Dubai. — Zhang Zhen"

After the communications officer finished recording, he asked, "General, is there anything else?"

Zhang Zhen thought for a moment and said, "Let's add one more sentence: The German Navy will live on forever."

The communications officer paused for a moment, then nodded.

The telegram was sent.

Zhang Zhen continued to look out the window.

The sun was sinking below the horizon. The sea was dyed a golden-red, like burning liquid. The silhouettes of the two German warships were exceptionally clear in the backlight, like two steel sculptures.

He suddenly remembered what Chen Feng had said: "The navy is not for fighting wars, it is for existing. Existence is enough."

Yes, it exists.

The existence of the Bismarck kept the British on edge.

With the Lanfang fleet present, the Meilika people have to hesitate.

The existence of the German navy meant the war wouldn't end so quickly.

"General," the adjutant asked softly, "are we really returning in three days?"

Zhang Zhen did not turn around.

"Really," he said. "In three days, whether they fix it or not, we have to leave."

The adjutant paused for a few seconds, then said, "And what about them...?"

"They will survive," Zhang Zhen said. "With fuel, with ammunition, with repairs, they will survive. And—"

He paused, then said, "Commander Chen has shown them a new path."

The adjutant paused, then asked, "A new road?"

Zhang Zhen did not explain.

He simply stared at the increasingly dark sea to the south.

That's the direction of the Cape of Good Hope.

That's the direction of the Indian Ocean.

That was the Bismarck's new battlefield.

Late at night.

Scheer was not asleep. He stood on the bridge, looking out the window at the Lanfang supply ship. The outline of the Dongting Lake was faintly visible in the darkness, only the light shining from the portholes proved that it still existed.