World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The First Minister of the Navy stood to one side, not daring to utter a sound. The First Minister of the Sea sat in a chair, his hands clasped together, his face ashen. The Director of Intelligence stood in a corner, trying to make himself seem nonexistent.

Finally, the Prime Minister raised his head.

"So," he said, "the Lanfang people really went to train. The Germans really did run south."

The First Minister of the Navy said cautiously, "Prime Minister, perhaps... perhaps these two things are unrelated."

The Prime Minister looked at him.

"It doesn't matter?" He stood up and walked to the window. "Two Lanfang warships, along with supply ships, stayed in the Atlantic for three days. Three days later, the German warships were fully repaired and began sailing south. You say it doesn't matter?"

The Minister of the Navy lowered his head.

The First Sea Minister said softly, "Prime Minister, we have no direct evidence. The supply ships were indeed mostly empty when the Lanfang fleet returned—the canal authorities recorded that. But that could also be from their own consumption. Two battleships and five destroyers, three days' worth of supplies…"

"That's enough," the Prime Minister interrupted him.

He stood by the window, watching the London twilight unfold outside. The Thames shimmered with a leaden grey light, and several tugboats sailed across the river, trailing long plumes of black smoke.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

The First Sea Minister thought for a moment and said, "Prime Minister, the Revenge-class fleet is continuing its search south off the west coast of Africa. If the Bismarck is indeed heading south, they could potentially intercept it near the Cape of Good Hope."

"Is that possible?"

"Yes, that's possible," said the First Sea Lord. "But the Bismarck is faster than the Revenge-class. If it heads south at full speed, the Revenge-class won't be able to catch up."

The Prime Minister turned around: "Then who can catch up?"

The First Sea Minister remained silent for a few seconds.

"No one, Prime Minister," he said. "Our fast battleships—HMS Queen Elizabeth and HMS Warspite—are still under repair. The only fast ships left are battlecruisers, but those... can't beat the Bismarck-class."

The Prime Minister closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He recalled that three months earlier, when the news of the sinking of the Hood came, he had stood by the window in the same way, and closed his eyes in the same way.

At that time, he thought it was just an accident. Just a mistake. Just the loss of one ship.

What now?

Six ships.

Six main warships.

Including the HMS Hood, that makes seven ships.

The Royal Navy has never suffered such a loss since Trafalgar.

"Prime Minister," the First Lord of the Admiralty finally spoke, "perhaps we should... temporarily consolidate our defenses. Withdraw our main forces back to the homeland and strengthen the defenses of the English Channel. Let the Germans cause trouble in the Atlantic, and wait until the Queen Elizabeth-class destroyers are repaired."

The Prime Minister looked at him: "Retreat? Let the public know that the Royal Navy dares not pursue?"

The Minister of the Navy remained silent.

The First Sea Minister said softly, "Prime Minister, the people don't need to know the details. They just need to know that we are still fighting, and we are still protecting their safety."

The Prime Minister remained silent for a long time.

He finally walked back to the table and sat down.

"Send a telegram to Jellicoe," he said. "The Vengeance-class fleet continues the search, but do not take any risks. If the Bismarck is spotted, maintain distance and call for support."

He paused. "Tell Jericho, what I want isn't a decisive battle, but news of the sinking of those two ships. By whatever means, no matter how long it takes."

First Sea Minister stands at attention: "Yes, sir!"

The Prime Minister waved his hand: "Go out."

Everyone left the meeting room in silence.

After the door closed, the Prime Minister sat there alone, watching the sky outside the window grow darker and darker.

He suddenly remembered Nelson, the naval commander who died in the Battle of Trafalgar, whose last words were: "Thank God, I have done my duty."

Did he do his job?

he does not know.

All he knew was that the two German warships were still at sea.

Meanwhile, the Lanfang fleet was on its way home.

New York, White House, March 18th, morning

Wilson frowned more and more as he looked at the report compiled by the intelligence department.

"The Lanfang fleet stayed in the Atlantic for three days," he said, "and then returned. The German fleet disappeared."

Secretary of State Robert Lansing stood to the side, holding another report in his hand.

"Your Excellency, intelligence suggests that Lanfang may have provided supplies to the Germans."

Wilson looked up: "Is there any evidence?"

"There is no direct evidence," Lansing said, "but the Lanfang fleet had two supply ships that went there fully loaded and returned mostly empty—this is what the British recorded in the Suez Canal."

Wilson remained silent for a few seconds.

"What I mean is," he finally said, "we can't go to war at this time."

Lansing was stunned.

"Your Excellency the President?"

"If we enter the war now," Wilson said, "Lanfang might side with Germany. Six Bismarck-class battleships, plus that 50,000-ton behemoth under construction—what will we have to contend with in the Pacific?"

He stood up and walked to the window.

"We need time. We need the Colorado-class battleships to be launched, the next generation of high-speed battleships to be designed, and our industrial machinery to be running at full speed. Until then, we cannot give Lanfang any excuses."

He turned and looked at Lansing.

So, let's keep waiting.

Lansing paused for a few seconds, then said, "What about England..."

"Tell Britain," Wilson said, "Merica will continue to provide supplies and strengthen escorts. But the matter of entering the war needs to be approved by Parliament. Let them hold on for a while longer."

Lansing nodded.

He knew what this "period of time" meant.

It meant observing. It meant waiting. It meant letting the British and Germans continue to wear each other down, letting Lanfang continue building ships, and letting Meilika continue to hesitate.

This means the war is far from over.

The Huaihe entered Dubai port at dusk.

As the sun sets behind the western side of the Persian Gulf, it burns the entire sea area in a golden-red hue. The gantry crane at Dock No. 3 stands out prominently against the backlight, resembling a massive steel monument.

On the dock, a crowd was already waiting.

They weren't official people—the authorities never hold welcoming ceremonies. They were family members. They were the engineers' wives, parents, and fiancées. They stood on the dock, tiptoeing, searching for familiar figures on every ship.

Lin Yuan stood on the deck of the Huaihe and saw that figure in the distance.

She stood by the railing of the dock, wearing a light-colored dress, her hair slightly disheveled by the sea breeze. She was also looking, searching, her gaze shifting from one ship to another.

When her gaze fell on the Huaihe ship, and on the young man on the deck with a face covered in grease and a stubble, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Lin Yuan smiled.

That was the first time he had truly laughed in twenty days.

The Huaihe slowly approached the dock. The mooring lines were thrown down, the steel cables sliding over the bollards with a screeching sound. The gangplank was placed on the dock with a dull thud.

Lin Yuan was the first to jump off the springboard.

His fiancée ran over and bumped into him, clutching his clothes tightly as if afraid he would run away again.

"I thought... I thought..." She couldn't finish her sentence.

Lin Yuan held her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm back," he said.

There were many such hugs on the dock.

Some engineers found their wives, some found their parents, and some found their children. No one spoke; only suppressed sobs and tight embraces filled the air.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge, watching all of this.

He didn't go down.

He stood by the window, watching the reunited families, watching their faces laugh and cry, and watching the sunset paint everything in a golden-red hue.

The adjutant, standing behind him, whispered, "General, aren't you going down?"

Zhang Zhen shook his head.

"Let them reunite," he said. "I'll just stay here and watch."

The adjutant remained silent.

Looking out the window, Zhang Zhen suddenly remembered Lin Yuan's words: "If a child is injured, how can a father not go to help?"

The child has been saved.

The father can rest assured.

At the dock, Li Te arrived at some unknown time.

He stood outside the crowd, not going in to disturb the reunion. He simply watched, watching the engineers being picked up by their families one by one, watching the embraces and tears.

Lin Yuan walked over with his fiancée in his arms. When he saw Li Te, he immediately stood at attention and saluted.

Lee returned the greeting and then looked at him.

"I'm back alive," he said.

Lin Yuan nodded: "Yes, General. We're back alive."

Lee Te patted him on the shoulder without saying a word.

He noticed that Lin Yuan's hands were still greasy, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face had become noticeably thinner.

"Go ahead," he said. "Get some rest."

Lin Yuan saluted, then put his arm around his fiancée and left.

Lee Te stood there, watching the crowd gradually disperse.

He suddenly remembered what Chen Feng had said: "The Navy's tradition is not written in books, but engraved in our bones."