Chapter 201: The Grim Reaper's Roll Call

Yes!

The turret resumed operation. But this time, everyone's movements were heavier, more silent.

They knew what they were doing. They knew it was not honorable, not fair, even immoral.

But they also knew it was necessary.

Because on that burning sea, the brothers of the Revival were using their last strength, awaiting rescue.

At 06:48 a. m., Hazelnut Name's forward magazine was hit directly by a 380 mm armor‑piercing shell.

The explosion produced a fireball two hundred meters high, blowing the entire foredeck away. More than three hundred officers and crew below the captain were killed instantly. Hazelnut Name lost all power and began to drift helplessly on the sea.

At 06:50, Wise Comparison was struck by three shells in succession, its engine room destroyed, speed dropping to five knots.

At 06:52, Vajra's bridge was swept by fragments from a near‑miss shell; Chief of Staff Hei dao was killed, and Kato Tomosaburo was seriously wounded.

Four Vajra‑class battleships, within a mere twelve minutes, saw three completely destroyed and one silent.

And up to this moment, the surviving Japanese sailors had not even seen the enemy's silhouette.

06:52 a. m., Vajra battleship bridge.

Major General Kato Tomosaburo staggered to his feet, fresh blood streaming from his forehead, soaking the freshly bandaged gauze. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, his palm instantly coated with thick, warm plasma. Through the shattered port, he saw the sea where Mist Island lay reduced to a massive vortex, oil and debris slowly sinking.

"Mist Island... confirmed sunk," the observer's voice trembled, barely audible.

"Hazelnut Name?" Kato's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping.

"Forward magazine exploded, power lost, ship tilting... the captain has ordered abandonment."

"Wise Comparison?"

"Engine room hit, speed down to five knots, fire out of control..."

Kato closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Smoke and the smell of blood pierced his nostrils, making him dizzy. Three Vajra‑class battleships, the Imperial Navy's elite force, in less than fifteen minutes, two sank and one was on the brink of death.

And the enemy... he still hadn't seen their silhouette.

"Distance!" Kato snapped his eyes open, bloodshot, "What is the exact distance to the enemy ships? Why can't we see them?"

Second Lieutenant Miyamoto knelt before the smoking equipment, his fingers trembling as he adjusted a knob. "Sir... sir, the rations custom‑made by our radar lookout—rich in vitamin A, eel and cod‑liver oil—appear to be counterfeit... so we can only detect targets up to twenty thousand yards. But based on shell flight time..." (This is a joke... if this were a post‑war investigation, the editor could stretch a few chapters, haha).

He swallowed, his voice as small as a mosquito: "The enemy ships are at least twenty‑five thousand yards away, possibly farther."

"Twenty‑five thousand yards..." Kato repeated the figure, then suddenly laughed. The laugh began light, grew louder, and finally turned into a hysterical cackle, mixed with a blood‑cough.

"Twenty‑five thousand yards! Hahaha! The Imperial Navy's longest hit record is eighteen thousand yards! That was a miracle created by Commander‑in‑Chief Dongxiang in the Strait of Tsushima! And now, someone at twenty‑five thousand yards, with a hit rate over ten percent, is using us as a target!"

His laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a furious roar: "This is impossible! This damn thing is impossible! Something must be wrong! It must be..."

"Sir!" the lookout's scream cut him off, "Shell! They're coming again!"

Kato rushed to the port window. In the southeast sky, dozens of black dots were rapidly enlarging. This time it wasn't a salvo from four ships—but a simultaneous barrage from thirty‑two giant guns, all bearing down on Vajra.

"Hard right rudder! Emergency evasion!" Kato shouted hoarsely.

Vajra's massive hull began to turn laboriously. But its steering gear had been damaged by the Revival in the earlier fight, turning at only half normal speed. And the shells took just thirty seconds from launch to impact.

Thirty seconds.

The bridge was deathly silent. Everyone stared out the window at the growing black dots. Some began to pray, some closed their eyes, some wet their pants without noticing.

Kato did not dodge. He stood there, both hands gripping the rail, his nails embedded in the wood. He recalled his father, an old sailor who had fought in the Sino‑Japanese War. His father always said, "At sea, when you are meant to die you cannot avoid it; when you are not meant to die you cannot die."

So today, is it the time to die?

The first shell landed eighty meters off the port side. A 380 mm high‑explosive detonated underwater, the resulting wave slamming Vajra's hull, the whole ship trembling.

The second fell closer, fifty meters.

The third...

"Boom—!!!"

A 380 mm armor‑piercing shell struck Vajra's aft superstructure. The four‑story navigation bridge was ripped apart like paper, steel fragments, instruments, and human limbs scattering into the sky like blossoms.

The shockwave traveled along the hull; Kato felt as if an invisible giant hammer had struck his chest, hurling him backward to slam hard against the bulkhead. The excruciating pain of broken ribs nearly knocked him out, but he gritted his teeth and held on.

"Report... report damage..." he coughed up blood, struggling to rise.

No one answered. Fewer than half the people still standing on the bridge remained, each wounded. The Navigation Officer's arm had been severed by shrapnel, yet he pressed the wound shut with his other hand, his complexion as pale as a corpse.

"Sir... the aft bridge... completely destroyed..." a young communications soldier sobbed, "The Navigation Officer, Communications Officer, Observation Officer... all..."

Kato staggered to the megaphone, but the equipment had failed. He turned to the few officers still able to move: "Go to the lower prepared command room! Re‑establish command!"

"But sir, your wounds..."

"Execute the order!"

The officers helped each other out. Kato cast one last glance at the main bridge—now a steel tomb, with at least twenty officers and sailors lying there, some still alive, moaning in pools of blood.

He turned, leaning against the wall as he walked toward the ladder to the lower deck. Every step brought searing pain, but he could not fall. He was the United Fleet Commander, the symbol of the Imperial Navy. If he fell, the ship would truly be lost.

Vajra's B turret, located amidships.

Gunnery Officer Yamada Ichiro summoned all his strength, turning the jammed turret traverse. His hands were covered in blood blisters, sweat mixing with oil and dust, leaving streaks on his face.

"Keep turning! Quickly!" he shouted at the loader behind him.

"Gunnery Officer... it's useless..." the young loader Mori Shita cried, "The hydraulic system is completely broken, we can't turn..."

"Then turn it by hand! Use a crowbar! Use your damn lives to turn it!" Yamada Ichiro's eyes reddened, "If we can't fire, what are we doing in this iron coffin? Waiting to die?"