Chapter 198: The First Thunderclap of Divine Punishment

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across every face on the bridge: "But we cannot accidentally hit Fuxing. So I want you to do two things: first, prioritize targeting the enemy ship farthest from Fuxing — Mist Island. It's fifteen thousand yards out, relatively safe. Second, use delayed-fuse high-explosive shells, fire a ranging salvo first to confirm ballistic deviation."

"High-explosive shells?" The Chief of Staff was taken aback. "No armor-piercing shells?"

"Use high-explosive shells for the ranging salvo," Zhang Zhen explained. "High-explosive shells produce larger waterspouts when they explode on the surface, making them easier to observe and correct. Moreover, even if we accidentally hit Fuxing, high-explosive shells cause far less damage to armor than armor-piercing shells."

He paused, then added: "From the second salvo onward, switch to armor-piercing shells and concentrate fire on assigned targets. All ships note, target allocation as follows: Changjiang targets Vajra, Huanghe targets Wise Comparison, Huaihe targets Hazelnut Name, Zhujiang targets Mist Island. Understood?"

"Understood!" A unified response rang out across the bridge.

"Very good." Zhang Zhen glanced at the clock. "Six thirty-nine. Give each ship one minute to prepare. At six forty sharp, first ranging salvo."

The order was swiftly relayed via encrypted radio to the other three Bismarck Class battleships. On the bridges of Huanghe, Huaihe, and Zhujiang, positioned roughly five hundred meters behind and on both flanks of Changjiang, nearly identical commands rang out at almost the same moment.

Huaihe battleship, fire control radar room.

Radar operator Li Zhiming took off his headphones and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He had been staring at the screen for six hours straight, but right now he didn't feel the least bit drowsy. The four clear blips on the screen represented four enemy ships currently besieging Fuxing.

"Target data updated," he said into the intercom. "Hazelnut Name, distance twenty-seven thousand five hundred yards, heading 305, speed twenty-three knots. Superstructure heat signature is prominent, assessed as boilers at full power."

"Received." The fire control officer's voice came through the speaker. "Main Gun loaded with high-explosive shells, delay fuse set at 0.05 seconds. Turrets one and three, shift aim point two hundred yards forward; turrets two and four, aim point unchanged, to create a bracket."

Li Zhiming's fingers danced rapidly across the control panel. As one of the first graduates of the radar program at the Dubai Naval Academy, he had practiced this kind of extreme long-range shooting on simulators countless times. But a simulator and real combat were, after all, not the same thing.

"Little Li, Little Li." The veteran radar operator beside him patted his shoulder. "Nervous?"

Li Zhiming nodded honestly: "A little. Uncle Wang, what about you?"

"Me?" Old Wang laughed, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. "I've seen the fleets of Yingguo, Faguo, and the Italians in the Mediterranean. But a scene like today's... this really is the first time."

He leaned closer to the screen, squinting at the blips: "Twenty-eight thousand yards... firing at this distance, the Japanese won't have any idea where the shells are coming from. They can't even see us."

"That's the power of radar," Li Zhiming said.

"It's not just radar." Old Wang shook his head. "It's the whole system — radar, fire control computers, stabilized aiming devices, and these four big fellows of ours. Little Li, do you realize we're making history right now?"

"History?"

"Yes, history." Old Wang's tone turned serious. "From now on, the rules of naval warfare will be rewritten. No longer will two fleets sail to within sight of each other and then line up to trade broadsides. Instead... like this."

He pointed at the screen: "Like hunters hiding in the shadows, using bows and arrows to kill completely defenseless prey."

A command suddenly came through the intercom: "All hands, thirty-second countdown. Radar room, final confirmation of target data."

Li Zhiming took a deep breath and cleared all distracting thoughts from his mind. His fingers settled back onto the control panel, his eyes locked onto every parameter on the screen.

Twenty seconds.

Ten seconds.

"Target data locked, error plus or minus fifteen yards," he reported into the intercom.

Five seconds.

Three, two, one.

Six forty sharp in the morning.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge of Changjiang, raised his right hand, then slashed it down.

"All ships, full broadside!"

The command traveled instantly via wired communication to each turret. On the fore and aft decks of Changjiang, four twin 380-millimeter Main Gun turrets simultaneously spewed thirty-meter tongues of blazing flame. The muzzle blast pressed a visible depression into the seawater at the bow, and the immense recoil shoved the forty-one-thousand-ton leviathan several meters sideways.

In almost the same millisecond, the Main Guns of Huanghe, Huaihe, and Zhujiang also roared out.

The full broadside of thirty-two 380-millimeter Main Guns produced a shockwave like hundreds of thunderclaps detonating at once right beside the ear. Even inside the sealed bridge, Zhang Zhen could feel the air vibrating and his eardrums buzzing.

But he didn't close his eyes, didn't cover his ears. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, watching the barely visible black specks on the distant horizon.

Shells take time to fly through the air. The muzzle velocity of a 380-millimeter Shell is approximately 820 meters per second; a Distance of twenty-eight thousand yards (approximately 25,600 meters) requires roughly thirty-one seconds of flight time.

Thirty-one seconds — in normal times, just a short half-minute. But right now, on the bridge of Changjiang, those thirty-one seconds stretched as long as a century.

Zhang Zhen could hear his own heartbeat, could hear the suppressed breathing of the staff officers behind him, could hear the electrical static coming from the radar room. But his eyes never left that direction.

Twenty-five seconds.

Thirty seconds.

Thirty-one seconds.

Vajra battleship, bridge.

Kato Tomosaburo had just finished bandaging the wound on his forehead. The medical officer had wrapped gauze several times around his head, and blood was still slowly seeping through. But he couldn't be bothered with that — his entire attention was focused on the burning leviathan before him.

Fuxing had nearly come to a stop on the sea. Listing more than fifteen degrees to starboard, smoke pouring from superstructure everywhere, only two of its Main Guns could still occasionally return fire. Wise Comparison and Hazelnut Name were closing in from both sides, preparing to deliver the final blow with torpedoes.

"It's over," Kato murmured to himself. He felt no joy of victory, only a strange weariness. This battle had been far harder than he had anticipated, and Vajra had taken no light damage either. But regardless, the outcome was good.

The Imperial Navy had once again proven its might. And the Lanfang Navy... was ultimately just a flash in the pan.

"Sir!" A frantic shout suddenly came from the lookout tower. "Southeast! Four waterspouts sighted! Suspected enemy warships, distance... distance impossible to determine! Very large!"

Kato was startled. He grabbed his binoculars and rushed to the starboard side. Looking in the direction the lookout indicated, at the edge of the horizon, he could indeed see four tall white waterspouts slowly falling.

But the position of those waterspouts... was too far. So far that they were almost touching the horizon.