Chapter 200: We Still Have Three Enemy Ships to Deal With

"All ships, fire together—fire!"

The Pearl River's Main Gun roared again. Eight 380mm armor‑piercing shells, traveling at over 800 meters per second, flew toward the already dying battleship.

This time, four hit.

Mist Island bridge.

Captain Lieutenant Colonel Yi Teng Xiong Er knelt on the deck, both hands gripping the twisted rail. His left leg had been sliced off by shrapnel, the wound a blur of flesh and blood, yet he felt no pain—or rather, the pain had exceeded what he could endure.

The bridge was a wreck. Half the ceiling had collapsed, all consoles were dead, the communications system was completely cut off. Thick smoke poured in through every crack, visibility under three meters.

No more than five officers were still alive, and each was wounded.

"Report... report the situation..." Yi Teng shouted, using his last strength.

No one answered. Or rather, the answer was another violent explosion—another 380mm armor‑piercing shell struck the bow, this time detonating the forward magazine directly.

The front half of Mist Island, amid a deafening blast, was blown skyward. Over a thousand tons of steel, guns, ammunition, and hundreds of sailors were turned into shrapnel and flame by the explosion.

The shockwave traveled along the hull, tearing the rear half to ragged fragments. Sea water surged in through dozens of breaches, and Mist Island began sinking at a visibly rapid rate.

On the bridge, Yi Teng felt the deck tilting beneath him. The angle grew larger—30°, 40°, 50°...

He released his grip, letting himself slide toward the shattered porthole. Before plunging into the sea, he cast one last glance at the sky.

The morning sky was bright blue, the sun shining intensely. A few gulls circled overhead, as if the hellish scene below had nothing to do with them.

"Amaterasu..." Yi Teng murmured, "Is this... the new era of naval warfare?"

Then the sea swallowed him.

At 06:45 a. m., Mist Island sank.

From the first salvo to total sinking took only five minutes. This 32,000‑ton battleship‑cruiser, carrying over 800 crew, vanished beneath the waves of the East Sea.

On the Yangtze's radar screen, the blip representing Mist Island was completely extinguished.

"Target A eliminated," the radar officer reported.

Zhang Zhen nodded: "Very good. Now, reassign targets. Yangtze continues to attack Vajra, Yellow River attacks Wise Comparison, Huai River and Pearl River concentrate fire on Hazelnut Name. Priority: wound first, then sink."

"Understood!"

The order was relayed. The Main Guns of three Bismarck Class battleships began to turn slowly, aiming at the next prey.

Meanwhile, aboard Vajra, Kato Tomosaburo had just recovered from his initial shock.

"Mist Island... sank?" he repeated in disbelief, "Five minutes? Only five minutes?"

"Yes, sir." Hei dao's face was as pale as paper, "According to observations, the enemy ship conducted five volleys of simultaneous fire at a distance exceeding 25,000 yards. Mist Island was hit by at least eight large‑caliber shells, one of which appears to have detonated the forward magazine..."

"Twenty‑five thousand yards... eight hits..." Kato muttered the figures, suddenly feeling dizzy, "What Hit Rate is that? What kind of gun?"

He seized Hei dao's arm sharply: "Immediately order the entire fleet to turn southeast! Find those enemy ships! Close the distance!"

"But sir, that distance..."

"I know it's far!" Kato roared, "But if we don't close the distance, we're sitting ducks! They can, from beyond our reach, name‑call us one by one and sink us all!"

Fear appeared in his voice for the first time. It was the primal human terror when faced with an incomprehensible enemy and absolute technological superiority.

"Execute the order!" Kato barked, "All fleet, hard right rudder, heading 135°, maximum battle speed! Cruisers and destroyers forward, locate enemy positions!"

The order was transmitted via flag and light signals. Wise Comparison and Hazelnut Name began a laborious turn. Their superstructures had been damaged by the earlier battle with the Revival, so their turning speed was markedly reduced.

And as they were turning, the second round of "naming" began.

Huai River battleship, main gun turret.

Gunner Zhao Tiezhu stuffed cotton balls in his ears, yet the shock still left him dizzy. Each 380mm main gun discharge produced a blast wave as if a giant hammer had slammed into his chest.

"Load! Quickly!" he shouted at the loader.

"Here it comes!" the loader said, pushing the heavy shell along the rail into the breech. Then came the propellant charges, four silk‑wrapped powder bags, each weighing 120 kilograms.

"Breech closed! Circuit engaged!" Zhao glanced at the fire‑control order, "Elevation 28°7', bearing 15° to port! Prepare—"

His hand rested on the fire button.

"Fire!"

The turret shuddered again. Zhao, through the sighting slit, saw the white trail the shell left as it flew, stretching to the edge of his view and vanishing on the horizon.

Twenty seconds later, the observer's voice came: "Hit! Hazelnut Name hit in the rear!"

"Good!" Zhao patted the turret interior, "Continue loading! Next round!"

But loader Xiao Chen suddenly said, "Gunner, are we... are we slaughtering them?"

Zhao was startled: "What?"

"I mean," Xiao Chen whispered, "the Japanese can't even hit us. They don't even know where we are. We're just firing one shell after another, killing them all..."

The turret fell silent. Several loaders halted, looking at Zhao.

Zhao fell silent. He recalled the Deguo instructor's words during the ship‑taking training: "The Bismarck Class is the most powerful warship on this planet. If you ever have to use it, remember—you're not fighting, you're executing."

At the time he thought the instructor was bragging. Now he understood.

"Xiao Chen," Zhao finally spoke, "Do you know how many are on the Revival?"

"One thousand... maybe a little over a thousand?"

"One thousand five hundred twenty‑one people," Zhao said word for word, "Now, perhaps half of them are already dead. If we don't 'slaughter' the Japanese here, the Japanese will 'slaughter' the brothers on the Revival."

He stepped before Xiao Chen, staring at the nineteen‑year‑old soldier: "I know this is unfair. I know it's like adults beating a child. But this is war. Either you kill the enemy, or the enemy kills you. There is no third way."

Xiao Chen bit his lip and nodded.

"Now," Zhao turned, "continue loading. We still have three enemy ships to deal with."