World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

When the Bismarck entered the Persian Gulf, it was still dark.

The sea was as calm as a mirror. There was no wind, no waves, only the low thud of the ship's bow cutting through the water. On the eastern horizon, a faint line of dawn was slowly spreading.

Scheer stood on the bridge for twelve hours straight. He hadn't slept a wink since the withdrawal from the battlefield yesterday afternoon. His eyes were stinging as if they'd been sprinkled with sand, and his legs were a little weak, but he didn't want to sit down. He wanted to see the ship enter the harbor with his own eyes.

"General," Lieutenant Commander Brenker, the navigator, walked over and pointed ahead, "Fifteen degrees to port, lights spotted."

Scheer raised his binoculars.

In the shot, several lights appeared on the distant sea. They weren't navigation lights from ships, but fixed, land-based lights. The lights merged together, outlining the general shape of a port—docks, warehouses, and those towering gantry cranes.

Port Dubai.

"Distance?" he asked.

"About fifteen nautical miles. At our current speed, we can reach the outer harbor in forty minutes."

Scher nodded.

Forty minutes.

He lowered his binoculars and turned to look at the officers on the bridge. Each of them was exhausted, their eyes sunken, and stubble stubble unkempt. But there was a light in each of their eyes—the light of someone who had survived a catastrophe and finally saw hope.

"Order all ships," he said, "to maintain formation upon entering port and await instructions from Lanfang. No one may leave their ship without authorization or engage in any provocative behavior."

He paused, then added, "We are guests now."

The order has been issued.

Twenty minutes later, the pale light on the eastern horizon turned golden red. The sun was rising, painting the surface of the Persian Gulf in a brilliant warm hue.

The outline of Dubai Port is becoming increasingly clear.

Through his binoculars, Scheer saw that there were already people waiting on the dock. There weren't many, but their positions and postures—standing straight, in neat rows—showed that they were soldiers.

On the dock, a flag is fluttering in the morning breeze.

Red background, golden dragon.

Lanfang Naval Flag.

At 7:00 a.m., the Bismarck slowly pulled up to Pier 3.

The cable was thrown down, the steel cable sliding over the bollard with a screeching sound. The gangplank was placed on the dock with a dull thud.

Scheer straightened his uniform. He had been wearing the faded general's uniform for over a month; the cuffs were worn and the collar was yellowed, but he had no other clothes. He put on his cap, made sure the insignia was straight, and then stepped off the ramp.

On the dock, a middle-aged man dressed in dark gray civilian clothes stood there, followed by several officers.

Chen Feng.

Scheer had seen his photographs, but this was the first time he had seen him in person. He was of medium build, with a thin face and bright eyes—the kind of eyes that seemed to see right through people.

Scher walked up to him, stood at attention, and saluted.

"Commander-in-Chief Chen," he said, "Vice Admiral Franz von Scher, Commander of the First Strike Fleet of the Imperial German Navy. Thank you for allowing us to enter the port."

Chen Feng returned the greeting and then extended his hand.

"General Scher," he said, his German heavily accented but each word clear and forceful, "welcome to Dubai."

Scher grasped that hand.

"Sir," he said, "according to international law, warships of belligerent nations can only remain in neutral ports for twenty-four hours. We..."

"Twenty-four hours," Chen Feng interrupted him. "I know."

He smiled. That smile, as Scher later recalled, was a "I have a way" smile.

"But international law doesn't specify how long repairs should take," Chen Feng said. "The Bismarck has four battle-damaged missiles, and the Tirpitz has three. According to my engineers' preliminary assessment, it will take at least... seven days."

He paused for a moment: "You can stay in Dubai for seven days, under the guise of 'emergency repairs'."

Scher was silent for a second.

"Sir," he said, "this will get you into trouble. The British will find out. They will protest, they will put pressure on you, they will—"

"I know," Chen Feng interrupted him again.

He looked at Scher, at that tired but stubborn face.

"General Scheer," he said, "you sank HMS Royal Oak and HMS Resolution in the Arabian Sea, and severely damaged HMS Sovereign. You've let the British know that a tiger has entered their backyard. That's enough."

He turned and pointed to the engineering equipment being prepared on the dock:

"Now, it's Lanfang's turn to help this tiger heal its wounds."

At 7:30, Lanfang's engineers boarded the Bismarck.

The team leader was a middle-aged man in his forties surnamed Tang, who was said to be the chief engineer of the Dubai shipyard. He led thirty people, carrying tool bags and holding blueprints, and began to inspect the ship as soon as they boarded.

Scheer accompanied him, from the forward main gun to the aft deck, from the bridge to the engine room.

Engineer Tang examined the damage very carefully. At each battle-wounded site, he would stop, tap the steel plate with his hand, shine a flashlight on the breach, and then make a few notes in his notebook.

"General," he finally spoke, his German not very fluent, but the meaning was clear, "the damage to the Bismarck is less than we expected. The British guns were quite accurate, but your armor is thick enough."

He pointed to the breach near the waterline on the starboard side: "This is the most troublesome. The inlet is about half a meter in diameter, and the surrounding steel plates are deformed. We need to cut off the deformed part and then replace it with a new steel plate. It can be done in three days."

He then pointed to Turret B: "The hydraulic lines were severed by shrapnel and need to be replaced. We brought spare parts, and the models are a perfect match. Two days."

He went through the damage below the bridge, the damage to the secondary gun deck, the damage to the radio room—each item had a solution, and each had a clear timeline.

As Scher listened, the weight in his heart gradually lifted.

"Engineer Tang," he said, "seven days. Can you really fix it in seven days?"

Engineer Tang looked up at him.

"General," he said, "the Bismarck-class destroyers were designed by us. We drew up blueprints and calculated the data for every steel plate, every pipe, every screw. If even we can't fix them, then no one in the world can."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Seven days. I guarantee you'll recover 95% of your fighting strength."

Scher extended his hand.

Engineer Tang grasped it.

"Thank you," Scheer said.

At 3 p.m., Scheer was asked to disembark.

Chen Feng's adjutant told him that the commander-in-chief had arranged accommodations and invited him to go and rest.

Scheer initially wanted to refuse—he wanted to stay on board and watch the engineers work. But his adjutant said, "General, the Commander-in-Chief says there's someone you absolutely must see."

Scheer followed his adjutant into a black car, leaving the dock and heading into Dubai.

The car drove through several streets and stopped in front of a large compound. The compound was small but quiet, and two soldiers from the Lanfang Marine Corps stood at the gate.

Scher got out of the car and followed his adjutant into the courtyard.

He walked through a corridor, pushed open a door, and entered a living room.

There was a person standing in the living room.

His hair was completely white, and his officer's uniform was faded from washing. The wrinkles on his face were particularly deep in the afternoon sunlight. He stood there, looking at Sher, his eyes a little red.

Scher was stunned.