World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 656 Press Conference!

At 2 p.m., Tirpitz stood on the Dubai harbor dock, watching the fleet slowly approaching in the distance.

The Bismarck was at the very front, and the Tirpitz was at the very back. Between the two German warships were two badly damaged Lanfang battleships.

Huaihe. Pearl River.

Their appearance brought tears to the eyes of Tirpitz, an old marshal who had witnessed countless naval battles.

The bridge of the Huaihe was almost completely flattened, leaving only a pile of twisted steel. The deck was riddled with bullet holes and patches, and water was still seeping from the huge breach on the port side, though it had been temporarily plugged with steel plates. The mast was broken in half, and on the remaining half, the red flag with a golden dragon, the Lanfang Navy ensign, was still flying.

The Pearl River wasn't in much better shape. Its drainage pump burned out, causing the water intake to spiral out of control and nearly sinking. The German damage control team managed to repair it at the last minute, pulling it back from the brink of destruction. But it's still here, it's still afloat, and it's still slowly making its way to the port.

Behind Tirpitz stood Chen Feng, Wang Wenwu, Li Te, and a large group of Lanfang officers and workers.

No one speaks.

Everyone watched in silence as the four warships slowly docked.

Finally, the Bismarck docked at Pier 3. The gangway was lowered, and Scheer was the first to step down.

He walked up to Chen Feng, stood at attention, and saluted.

"Commander Chen," he said, "the German Imperial Navy's Bismarck has completed its mission. The Huaihe and Zhujiang have been brought back."

Chen Feng returned the greeting and then shook his hand.

"General Scherr," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "thank you."

Scher shook his head.

"No," he said, "I should be thanking you."

He turned to the side and pointed to the two Lanfang warships that were docking behind him: "General Zhang is on board. He is wounded, but not seriously. Captain Zhou is also on board. Their crew... 127 dead and 304 seriously wounded."

Chen Feng closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at the two warships.

"One hundred and twenty-seven people," he repeated the number softly. "They will remember. I will remember too."

He turned to Li Te and said, "Arrange for the best hospitals and the best doctors. Save all the wounded at all costs."

Li Teli stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

At 4 p.m., the conference hall of the Presidential Palace was packed with reporters.

Local journalists from Lanfang, German journalists, journalists from neutral countries—and even a few British journalists—were kept outside, but they still crowded around the entrance, desperately peering inside.

Chen Feng stood on the podium, with a huge nautical chart of the Arabian Sea hanging behind him. The positions of the two sides in yesterday's naval battle were marked on the chart in red and blue pencil.

Reporter Fang sat in the front row, holding several rolls of film. He hadn't slept for twenty-four hours; his eyes were bloodshot, but he didn't leave. He wanted to see these photos published and seen by the whole world.

Chen Feng spoke up.

"Gentlemen," he said, "at 6:03 a.m. yesterday, the Huaihe and Zhujiang ships of the Lanfang Republic Navy were attacked without warning by twelve capital ships of the British Royal Navy while conducting routine training in international waters of the Arabian Sea."

The conference room erupted in uproar.

Reporters frantically took notes and raised their hands to ask questions. Chen Feng waved his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet.

"I know you have many questions," he said. "So, I've brought in some witnesses. They're some war correspondents!"

He stepped aside, gesturing for reporter Fang to come up on stage.

Reporter Fang stood up and walked to the podium. He placed the rolls of film on the table, then opened one of them, pulled out a photograph, and held it up for everyone to see.

In the photo, the muzzles of HMS King George V are spitting fire. The shells have just left the barrels, and the smoke has not yet dissipated.

"This is the moment at 6:03 a.m. yesterday, when the British flagship HMS King George V opened fire on the Huaihe," reporter Fang said, his voice hoarse but clear. "The photographer was me."

He then pulled out a second photo.

In the photo, a shell is flying towards the Huaihe. The camera captures the trajectory of the shell, like a black lightning bolt.

"This is the first salvo from the British, and it's heading towards the Huaihe."

The third photo shows the bow of the Huaihe warship being hit, with flames erupting.

"This is the moment the Huaihe was hit by the first shell."

Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

One after another, each one a moment, each one evidence.

The meeting room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The reporters stopped taking notes. They just looked at the photos, the images, and the three-hour bloody battle.

Reporter Fang pulled out the last photo.

That was a picture of Chang Chen leaning against the window frame, eyes closed, a smile on his lips. His face was covered in blood, his military uniform soaked in blood, but his expression was calm, as if he had just completed something that had to be done.

"This is the last moment of General Zhang Zhen, captain of the Huaihe, before he was carried off the bridge after the battle," said reporter Fang, his voice trembling slightly. "He commanded the Huaihe in the battle for three hours, taking eleven hits and losing 127 crew members. But he kept the Huaihe alive."

He put down the photo and looked at the silent reporters below the stage.

"Gentlemen," he said, "this is the truth. The British Empire launched a surprise attack without warning, brazenly attacking the warships of the neutral nation of Lanfang. These photographs are the evidence."

There was a three-second silence in the conference room.

Then, the flashes went off like crazy.

Reporters rushed to the door, to the telegraph office, to every place they could get the news out.

Tomorrow, these photos will appear in all the newspapers in London, Paris, Berlin, New York, and Tokyo.

Tomorrow, the whole world will know the truth.

tomorrow--

The war is about to enter a new phase.

At 6 p.m., the sun was setting into the Persian Gulf.

Chen Feng stood alone at Pier No. 3, looking at the two wrecked Lanfang warships.

The Huaihe was quietly moored at the dock, while the damage control team was still busy on deck. Sparks from welding torches glittered in the setting sun, like golden rain. The Zhujiang was also undergoing repairs, with workers cutting through the deformed steel plates in preparation for replacement.

In the distance, the Bismarck and Tirpitz were also anchored at the dock. German sailors stood on the deck, watching this side, without saying a word.

Footsteps came from behind.

Li Te walked over to him and looked at the two warships as well.

"President," he said, "Reporter Fang has already sent out all the photos. Tomorrow, the whole world will see them."

Chen Feng nodded.

"The casualty statistics are in," Li Te continued, his voice heavy. "The Huaihe suffered 87 dead and 216 seriously wounded. The Zhujiang suffered 40 dead and 88 seriously wounded. In total, 127 were killed and 304 were seriously wounded."

Chen Feng remained silent for a long time.

He looked at the two warships, at the busy workers on the deck, at the stretchers being carried down, and at the bodies wrapped in white sheets.

"One hundred and twenty-seven people," he said softly. "They will remember. I will remember too."

He turned and looked at Li Te.

"We will provide double the compensation to the families of the fallen soldiers," he said. "Lanfang will raise their children and take care of their parents in their old age."

Li Teli stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

Chen Feng then looked at the two German warships.

"Tell General Sher," he said, "that we thank him for coming to our rescue. Tell him that Lanfang owes him a favor and will repay it later."

Li nodded and turned to leave.

Chen Feng was the only one left on the dock.

He stood in the sunset, looking at the two wrecked warships, the busy workers, and the bodies wrapped in white sheets.

In the distance, on the deck of the Bismarck, a German sailor is saluting in this direction.

Chen Feng saw it.

He raised his hand in return.

Then he turned around and slowly walked toward the car waiting by the roadside.

Behind me, the setting sun over the Persian Gulf was sinking into the sea.

Tomorrow will be another new day.