World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The fuel lines were still connecting the two ships. Heavy fuel oil was still being pumped in. The fuel gauge showed that the Bismarck's fuel had been restored to 63%. In another night, it would reach over 80%.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Scher did not turn around.

"General," came the watchman's voice, "the engineer from Lanfang requests an audience."

Scher turned around.

A young man stood at the bridge entrance, holding a folder in his hand. He looked to be under thirty, his face greasy, but his eyes were bright.

"General Scheer," he said in broken German, "I am Lin Yuan, the marine engineer. I've come to report on the progress of the repairs."

Scher nodded. "Please come in."

Lin Yuan walked to the nautical chart table and opened the folder.

"General, the damaged hydraulic lines of the A turret's ammunition supply mechanism have been replaced. Testing can be conducted tomorrow morning, and it is expected to restore more than 95% of the normal rate of fire."

He turned a page: "We have sealed the breach in the flooded compartment amidships with quick-drying cement. The drainage pumps are working properly, and we expect the water to be completely drained by noon tomorrow."

"The external antenna in the radio room has been repaired. The spare antenna has also been rewired, and both systems are now operational."

He closed the folder: "Overall, General, the damage to the Bismarck is less than we expected. The British were very accurate, but your armor is thick enough. As long as it doesn't take any more hits, the ship can fight for another two years."

Scher remained silent for a few seconds.

He looked at the young man in front of him, at his face covered in grease.

"Engineer Lin," he said, "did you come here voluntarily?"

Lin Yuan paused for a moment, then nodded: "Yes, General."

Why?

Lin Yuan thought for a moment.

"General," he said, "the Bismarck-class battleships were designed by us. We drew the first diagram, we calculated every single detail. They fought in the Atlantic like...like our children fighting outside."

He paused, then said, "If a child is injured, how can a father not go to help?"

Scher was stunned.

He looked at the young man, at those determined eyes.

He thought of his father. He thought of the words the village schoolteacher had said when he was fourteen and sent him to naval school: "Go, son. The future of the navy is in your hands."

Does that future still exist?

he does not know.

But he knew that the young man in front of him was Lanfang's future.

"Engineer Lin," he said, extending his hand, "thank you."

Lin Yuan grasped his hand: "General, I wish you a safe journey."

Scher nodded.

Lin Yuan saluted, turned and walked out of the bridge.

Scher stood alone by the window, looking at the pitch-black night outside.

The lights on the supply ship were still flashing. Heavy fuel oil was still flowing from the pipelines. The Bismarck was slowly regaining its life.

He suddenly recalled what Admiral Tirpitz had said: "Every time I see a new warship launched, I don't think about how powerful it is. I think about—if one day it sinks, how long will the young men on board, their mothers, wait in the harbor?"

The old general thought, "Today, those mothers don't have to wait anymore."

Three days.

Three whole days.

The Bismarck's A turret has been restored to its normal rate of fire. The Tirpitz's boiler room welds have been reinforced. Both ships' fuel tanks have been filled to 85%, and the ammunition magazines have been replenished with 300 rounds of 380mm armor-piercing shells. The freshwater and food tanks have been completely filled.

Lanfang's engineers completed the task.

At six o'clock in the morning, the sun had just risen from the sea level, turning the entire sea area golden red.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge of the Huaihe ship, looking at the Bismarck across the river.

The warship, once on the verge of collapse, now gleamed coldly in the morning light, like a lion just awakened. Sailors on deck were pulling in the mooring lines, preparing to cast off and leave port—not port, but this temporary anchorage.

Scheer's voice came through the megaphone, thick with a Prussian accent, but every word was clear and forceful:

"General Zhang, the Bismarck and Tirpitz are ready. Thank you to the Lanfang Navy for their assistance. The German Navy will forever remember this."

Zhang Zhen was silent for a few seconds, then said:

"General Sher, have a safe journey. Commander Chen asked me to pass on a message to you."

"Please speak."

"The ocean is vast, and the Indian Ocean is even larger. But even the largest ocean has harbors where you can dock."

There was a long silence on the other end.

Then Scheer said, "Please thank Commander Chen for me. Tell him that Scheer will not forget those words."

Zhang Zhen put down the megaphone and walked to the porthole.

The bow of the Bismarck was slowly turning. Not north, not west, but south.

Southward, to the Cape of Good Hope. Southward, to the Indian Ocean. Southward, to that sea where no German warship had ever entered.

The Tirpitz followed closely behind. The two German warships left long, slender trails in the morning light, like two arrows shot southward.

Zhang Zhen watched them grow smaller and smaller, fainter and fainter, until they finally disappeared on the sea surface.

"All fleet," he said, "heading 060, speed 15 knots. Destination—Suez Canal, home."

The Huaihe River ship sounded its whistle and slowly turned northeast.

The Dongting Lake, Poyang Lake, and five other destroyers turned in sequence.

The two fleets parted ways.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge and took one last look at the south.

There was nothing left there. Only the sea, only the sky, only that faint wake, being smoothed out by the waves.

He suddenly remembered what Lin Yuan had said: "If a child is injured, how can a father not go to help?"

The child has now been saved.

It's time to go home.

"Speed ​​up," he said.

The Huaihe increased its speed from fifteen knots to eighteen knots. The bow cleaved through the waves, leaving a longer white trail.

Ahead lies Gibraltar, the Mediterranean Sea, the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, and home.

Behind them were the Bismarck, the Tirpitz, the Indian Ocean, and a new battlefield.

It is unknown.

But he knew that the two ships would survive.

We will continue to fight.

It will remind the British that two tigers have come to their backyard.

This is enough.

London, 10 Downing Street, evening of March 17

On the Prime Minister's desk were two telegrams.

A document from the Gibraltar Fleet:

"The Lanfang Fleet passed through the Strait of Gibraltar today and entered the Mediterranean Sea, and is now heading eastward back. No abnormalities have been observed. All ships are in good condition and show no signs of damage."

A document from a patrol ship off the west coast of Africa:

"The Bismarck and Tirpitz have disappeared. The last sighting location was XX degrees XX minutes North latitude and XX degrees XX minutes West longitude, with a suspected southward course. The Revenge-class fleet is searching the area but has not yet found the targets."

The Prime Minister looked at the two telegrams and remained silent for a long time.