Chapter 114: Classroom in the South Pacific

November 7, 1909, fifty nautical miles off the port of Valparaiso, Chile.

Lin Hai stood on the bridge of the Restoration Ship, watching two gray warships in the distance turning in formation. They were the newly acquired Chilean Navy "Cochrane Admiral" class—internally coded by Lanfang as the "Chilean-type Dreadnought" (i. e., a Dreadnought).

"Instructor Lin," said the Chilean Navy commander Arturo Flores, a fifty‑year‑old professional soldier whose skin was as dark as old leather, "How did my lads perform?"

Lin Hai raised his telescope and carefully observed the ships' turning maneuvers—the hull tilt angle, the curvature of the wake, and the speed at which the formation recovered after the turn…

"The turning maneuver is too stiff," he said, lowering the telescope. "Sir Admiral, your captains are still operating the new ships with the mindset of the older Dreadnoughts. They fear large‑angle turns, fearing capsizing. In fact, the stability design of these two ships can endure a 28‑degree roll, yet they only dared to press it to 15 degrees just now."

Flores frowned, "But during the Cochrane's sea trial last week, a crew member was injured at an 18‑degree roll."

"Because the crew hadn't secured themselves," Lin Hai turned to the megaphone and ordered, "Signal the Chilean fleet: conduct an emergency turning drill. Angle 25 degrees, speed 18 knots. All deck personnel must assume safe positions."

The signalman quickly operated the light signal apparatus. A few minutes later, the two distant ships began to accelerate, their bows cutting through the deep blue waters of the South Pacific, raising a white wall of spray.

Then, almost simultaneously, both ships put their rudders hard to port.

The massive inertia caused the 20,000‑ton hulls to tilt dramatically. From the Restoration Ship, the two vessels looked as if they were about to capsize, the starboard side soaring upward while the port side was nearly submerged.

Flores grabbed the rail, his finger joints turning white.

But the ships did not capsize. After reaching the maximum tilt, they began to slowly right themselves. Once the turn was complete, the two ships' headings had changed by 90 degrees, and the formation remained almost perfect.

"Did you see that?" Lin Hai said, "A 25‑degree roll is well within the safe range. The new warships' stability height has been precisely calculated; unless faced with extreme sea conditions, capsizing is impossible."

Flores released his grip, his palms slick with sweat. He stared at the two ships, now steady, for a long time, then turned to Lin Hai, "Instructor Lin, how old are you?"

"Twenty‑seven years old."

"Twenty‑seven…" Flores murmured, "When I was your age, I was still commanding an eight‑hundred‑ton escort vessel. And you are already teaching our entire navy how to wage war."

"I am merely teaching technique, Sir Admiral," Lin Hai said modestly, "Tactical application still requires your navy to discover on its own."

"No." Flores shook his head, "What you teach is more than technique. In last week's chart exercise, your proposed 'high‑speed cut‑in – lightning strike – disengage' tactic completely overturned our traditional line‑of‑battle mindset. That is not merely technique; it is… a new generation of naval warfare thought."

Lin Hai did not deny it. Over the past six months, he had led twenty Lanfang instructors in providing the Chilean Navy with comprehensive training—from basic boiler operation to complex fire‑control computation, and to the brand‑new Tactical Concept. This was part of the contract—Lanfang not only sells ships but also includes training.

"Sir Admiral," Lin Hai said, "The core of modern naval warfare has changed. It used to be a duel of giant guns—whoever had thicker armor won. Now, speed, fire‑control precision, and tactical maneuverability—these soft metrics outweigh sheer firepower and armor."

He pointed toward the Chilean warships re‑forming in the distance:

"These two ships have a speed of 23 knots, two knots faster than the Yingguo warships Argentina might purchase. What does a two‑knot advantage mean tactically? It means you can choose the time and distance of engagement. Fight when you wish, withdraw when you wish. The Argentinians can only respond passively."

Flores' eyes lit up. He fully grasped the logic—Chile and Argentina's arms race had lasted thirty years, and now, for the first time, they possessed a qualitative edge.

"Then, Instructor Lin," he asked the question he cared about most, "If we were to engage the Argentine Navy right now, what are our chances of victory?"

Lin Hai did not answer immediately. He entered the chartroom, spread out a South Pacific map, and pointed to several locations with his finger:

"Sir Admiral, naval combat is not a simple numerical comparison. One must consider the sea area, weather, intelligence, morale… But if we look only at hardware, I can give you an analysis."

He picked up a drafting ruler:

"According to intelligence, the Argentine Navy's current main force consists of two 'Moreno' class pre‑Dreadnoughts built in 1902. Main Gun 305 mm, but only four of them. The thickest armor is 230 mm. Speed 18 knots. Plus one Dreadnought!"

"And our two ships," Lin Hai circled on the emblem representing the Chilean fleet, "Main Gun 305 mm, eight of them. Thickest armor 280 mm. Speed 23 knots. Each ship's firepower is twice that of the opponent, protection 20% stronger, and speed 27% faster."

He looked up:

"In theory, a single 'Cochrane' class can take on two 'Moreno' class ships. But in actual combat, I advise against such risk. The best tactic is to exploit the speed advantage, split the enemy fleet, and create local superiority to outnumber them."

Flores listened attentively, like a student hearing a lecture. This veteran who had commanded the Chilean Navy for fifteen years showed rare humility before a twenty‑seven‑year‑old youngster.

"Instructor Lin, does your Lanfang Navy really employ these tactics?"

"We drill every day," Lin Hai said, "but Lanfang's hypothetical adversary is different. Our opponents may possess more and stronger warships, so we emphasize system‑of‑operations, reconnaissance and intelligence, and pre‑emptive action."

"Pre‑emptive…" Flores repeated, "Like what you did in Java?"

Lin Hai smiled, "That was a diplomatic operation, Sir Admiral. I am speaking of the purely military aspect."

The two returned to the bridge. By now the Chilean fleet had completed all scheduled training items and was closing in on the Restoration Ship, preparing for the final joint drill—the Restoration Ship would play the role of the fictitious enemy.

"Sir Admiral," Lin Hai said before the drill began, "I have one final recommendation for you."

"Please, go ahead."

"Do not focus solely on Argentina," Lin Hai said, looking east toward South America's long coastline, "Brazil, Peru, even the United States to the north could become influencing factors in the future. Chile needs to develop broader naval diplomacy, not just prepare for war."

"Is that what Lanfang does?"

"We have to," Lin Hai replied, "because we are far from home, isolated and unsupported. Every warship we sell is not merely a transaction but a potential friend, or at least… not an enemy."

Flores gave Lin Hai a deep look. In that moment he understood that the young man was teaching not only naval warfare techniques but also the wisdom of a small nation surviving between great powers.

The signal lights flickered, and the drill began.

"The Restoration Ship" entered at 22 knots, taking the T‑head position—the optimal firing spot. The two Chilean ships quickly dispersed, attempting to flank. But the Restoration Ship was too fast, easily maintaining the advantageous position.

"If they were genuine enemies," Lin Hai explained, "you could fire at this point. Your ships' turning speed is insufficient to break free."

"What should we do then?"

"Anticipate in advance and maneuver proactively," Lin Hai ordered. "The Restoration Ship" decelerated, creating a gap.

The two Chilean ships seized the opportunity, passed through the gap, and reversed to occupy the advantageous position.

"Did you see that?" Lin Hai said, "Naval combat is like a game of chess; you cannot think only of your own moves, you must anticipate the opponent's. Sometimes a step back is taken to move two steps forward."

The drill lasted two hours. When it ended, the sun was already setting, casting a golden sheen over the South Pacific sea. Three massive ships sailed side by side, their wakes trailing long behind like three white ribbons.

"Instructor Lin," Flores said as they partied, "The Chilean Navy will never forget Lanfang's assistance. If one day you need a friend in the South Pacific, you have one."

"Thank you, Sir Admiral," Lin Hai saluted, "Please also convey my regards to Commissioner Silva. I hope he likes the box of tea we sent."

Flores laughed, "He loves it immensely; now every afternoon he drinks Chinese tea, saying it is more refined than coffee."

The two shook hands and said farewell. Lin Hai boarded a launch to return to the Restoration Ship, while the Chilean fleet turned back toward Valparaiso.

Standing on the deck of the Restoration Ship, watching the Chilean warships recede, Lin Hai felt a complex emotion. He was proud to have taught another nation's navy how to operate Lanfang‑built warships. Yet deep inside, he knew those ships might one day be used for war, for killing.

This is the reality. Lanfang needs money, friends, and international space. Arms sales are the fastest way to achieve those goals.

He recalled Chen Feng's farewell words: "What we sell is not a tool for killing, but a power for self‑protection. As for how the client uses it… we can only hope they employ it for defense, not aggression."

Hope.

In the world of 1909, that might be the most fragile thing.

"Captain," the chief navigator walked over, "what's the next heading?"

"Back to Dubai." Lin Hai said, "the training mission is complete."

"Understood. Heading 030, speed 18 knots. Expected arrival in twenty‑five days."

Lin Hai nodded, then cast one last glance at the South Pacific sunset. The huge red sun was sinking into the horizon, dyeing sky and sea alike in blood‑red.

He turned and walked into the bridge.

The bow of the ship cut through the waves, pointing north, pointing toward the Persian Gulf, pointing toward the new home built in the desert.

There, the new orders were already waiting.