Chapter 211: Underwater Mice

The officers fell into thought. A few minutes later, Wang Zhen guo nodded first: "The commander is right. We are the winners now, and winners don't need to take risks."

"But deterrence must be strong enough," Li Qiang added. "I suggest we can conduct limited shelling of certain secondary ports, destroy some obvious military facilities, and demonstrate our capability and resolve."

"Agreed," Zhang Zhen nodded. "Specific targets will be planned by the staff. Now, all ships return to prepare; in two hours the formation will maneuver north. Omaha formation, is your mission clear?"

Chen Haifeng rose to attention: "Clear! Pursue, harass, but not engage in a hard fight."

"Good. Dismissed."

The officers left one by one. Zhang Zhen stood alone before the sea chart, looking at the dense markings on it. His fingers tapped the table unconsciously, and his mind raced through various possibilities and counter‑measures.

"Sir," deputy captain Chen Qiming entered, holding a cup of hot tea. "Have some; you haven't rested since last night."

Zhang Zhen took the cup and took a sip: "Old Chen, how long do you think this victory can sustain peace?"

Chen Qiming was startled for a moment, then smiled: "What, you're more worried after winning?"

"It's not worry, it's contemplation," Zhang Zhen said, moving to the window and watching the rescue ships outside. "Sakura Nation lost this time, but they won't be content. Germany is fighting fiercely in Europe, and Britain, France, and Russia are all drawn in. The world is being reshuffled, and we only grabbed a good hand. How we play the next moves is the key."

"That's not our concern, is it? The president and the cabinet will consider those."

"But as former enemy commander‑in‑chief, I must consider," Zhang Zhen turned around. "Every decision I make will affect subsequent diplomacy and strategy. For example now, if we press too hard, Sakura Nation may take desperate risks, mobilizing all forces to fight us. If we are too lenient, they will think there is still a chance and won't negotiate seriously."

Chen Qiming was silent for a moment: "Then, do you think this level is appropriate now?"

"I hope it's appropriate," Zhang Zhen set down the cup. "But war has never been a one‑sided affair. We also have to see how the Tokyo side reacts."

Just as he spoke, the communications officer returned, his expression a bit odd this time.

"Sir, we just intercepted Japanese radio communications and have deciphered part of them."

"Content?"

"It seems… the Tokyo Naval Ministry is asking for each ship's position and status. From the tone of the telegram, they appear… still unaware of the exact battle situation."

Zhang Zhen and Chen Qiming exchanged a glance, both seeing surprise in the other's eyes.

"Don't know?" Chen Qiming couldn't believe, "Four Kong‑class ships sank; how could they not know?"

"Perhaps all communications were cut, or the surviving vessels dared not report," Zhang Zhen analyzed. "It could also be that the Tokyo side is unwilling to believe it."

He walked up to the communications officer: "Can you pinpoint the transmission location?"

"The general direction is Tokyo, but the exact location cannot be determined."

Zhang Zhen thought for a few seconds, then gave a meaningfully deep smile: "It seems the Tokyo side will be more chaotic than we imagined. Order all ships to accelerate rescue and reorganization. We must place the blade on Sakura Nation's throat before they can react."

"Yes!"

After the communications officer left, Chen Qiming looked at Zhang Zhen: "What do you plan to do?"

"Give Tokyo some time," Zhang Zhen said. "Let them slowly digest this bad news. Then, when they are at their most chaotic and desperate, we will appear at their doorstep. At that point, our bargaining chips will be greatest."

Outside the window, a lifeboat was retrieving survivors from the water. A Japanese sailor was pulled aboard; he knelt on the deck, gazing at the burning wreckage on the sea surface, and suddenly burst into loud sobs.

The wailing rode on the wind, bleak and desperate.

Zhang Zhen looked toward that direction and whispered: "The war is over for some people. But for others, it has just begun."

Northwestern East Sea, U-19 submarine, 10:20 a. m.

Inside the submarine it was hot and humid, the air mingling with the smell of oil, sweat and electrolyte. Captain Li Wenbin lay over the periscope, his eyes fixed on the eyepiece.

Outside, the sea surface presented a grim scene.

The battleship Hanoi had tilted more than thirty degrees, its bow high in the air, exposing a rust‑streaked hull. Two destroyers swirled on the sea like headless flies, lowering lifeboats to rescue those in the water while frantically tossing depth charges into the surrounding waters.

But those depth charges were thrown without any order, more an outburst of panic.

"Captain, sonar report: continuous explosions heard inside Hanoi, possibly water ingress causing ammunition to detonate," the sonar officer reported.

Li Wenbin nodded and kept watching. He saw the stern of Hanoi beginning to sink, the propeller breaking the surface and turning slowly. More sailors jumped from the tilted deck into the sea, like dumplings dropping.

"Record: 10:22 a. m., Japanese battleship Hanoi sank. Sinking location, 30°18' N, 128°37' E."

"Understood."

The deputy captain came over, whispering, "Captain, should we… fire a few more torpedoes? Ensure it sinks completely?"

Li Wenbin set down the periscope, and the submarine dived again to a safe depth. He shook his head: "No need. With that tilt and internal explosion, it won't survive. Our torpedoes are limited; we must reserve them for higher‑value targets."

He walked to the chart table, looking at the marked Japanese main routes: "According to pre‑war intelligence, there are two main routes from the East Sea back to the Japanese mainland. One passes through the Tsushima Strait, the other through the Ryukyu Islands. Hanoi took the Tsushima Strait direction, indicating that most fleeing Japanese ships will likely choose this shorter route."

"Then we continue to ambush along this route?"

"No." Li Wenbin's finger moved on the chart. "The Japanese aren't fools. Hanoi was ambushed here, so they'll be alert. I estimate the remaining ships will alter course, either dispersing or taking a detour."

He thought for a moment and issued orders: "Send a transmission to U-22 and U-25, directing them to move northeast to monitor the southern mouth of the Tsushima Strait. We will move west to the waters north of the Ryukyu Islands. The three submarines will form a fan‑shaped surveillance net; whichever route the Japanese ships take, we will detect them."

"Understood!"

The orders were relayed. U-19 began to turn, its motor emitting a low hum. Inside the submarine, the crew were weary but morale was high. The recent sinking of a battleship had everyone in an excited state.

"Captain," the chief engineer came over, smiling, "this battle is our first merit. When we return, you should at least be promoted to lieutenant colonel, right?"

Li Wenbin smiled: "The battle isn't over yet. We'll talk about promotion when we truly get back."

But he knew the significance of this battle. The submarine force had always been a relatively marginal branch in the Lanfang Navy, and the main‑line crews privately called them "underwater mice". Yet today, they proved their worth with their victory.