Chapter 212: Lanfang's Navy Arrives

Yangtze Bridge, 11 a. m.

Rescue work is basically finished. On the sea, most of the drowned have been hauled up. Lanfang's sailors have been placed in the medical compartment,

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge, watching the last lifeboat being recovered. In his hand he held a freshly compiled complete battle report.

The orders were transmitted via flag signals and radio. Four Bismarck Class ships began to adjust formation, shifting from rescue mode to combat‑cruise mode. The Omaha Formation continued the pursuit toward the northeast, gradually vanishing from view.

Zhang Zhen cast one last glance at the battlefield. On the sea, oil slicks were still spreading, wreckage still floated. Yet the fleet's wake pointed west, toward the doorstep of the heavily damaged opponent.

The first phase of the war had ended. But as he said, for some others, everything was just beginning.

In Tokyo, in Dubai, in Berlin, in London, the outcome of this naval battle was triggering a cascade of reactions. And what Zhang Zhen had to do was use the power at his disposal to secure the greatest benefit for Lanfang.

"All ships, attention," he said over the broadcast, "we are sailing toward a new battlefield. There will be no ship‑to‑ship gun duels, no torpedo assaults, but it is equally important. We will use these four warships to tell the world—Lanfang's Navy, has arrived."

On the bridge, the officers and crew straightened their backs. Their faces showed fatigue, sorrow, but more so resolve and pride.

Four giant ships cut through the waves, heading toward the Sakura Nation. Behind them, the East Sea gradually calmed. Only the oil slicks on the water and the occasional drifting wreckage narrated the fierce battle that had just occurred here.

In the deeper ocean, the submarine force was silently laying a net, awaiting the arrival of the next batch of prey.

Tokyo, Naval Ministry Building, Minister's Office, 9 a. m.

The heavy oak door was shut tight, and the office was filled with a mingling scent of cigar smoke and despair.

Naval Minister General Ba Dai Liulang sat behind the spacious desk, clutching the telegram paper just delivered from the communications room. The paper was ordinary navy‑standard telegram stock, but each character on it felt like a red‑hot branding iron, scorching his fingers into a tremor.

Opposite him, Major General Dao Tian Fan Ta Lang, Chief of Staff, bowed his head, his complexion as gray as one who had just crawled out of a grave. The chiefs of Operations, Intelligence, Administration… all the heads of the Naval Ministry's core departments crowded into this less‑than‑40‑square‑meter office, the air oppressively suffocating.

Ba Dai Liulang slowly lifted his head, the eyes behind his gold‑rimmed glasses blood‑shot. When he spoke, his voice was as dry as sandpaper grinding:

"Nian."

Dao Tian Fan Ta Lang shivered all over, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times before he managed to speak with difficulty: "Urgent dispatch from Yokosuka Naval Base… between 07:40 and 08:30 this morning, we lost radio contact with the Vajra flagship. The last signal received… was a brief telegram sent by Vajra at 07:35: 'Hit by enemy main fleet's ultra‑long‑range gunfire, heavy losses, currently…'"

He paused, inhaled deeply: "The telegram was cut off here. Afterwards, the heavy cruiser Chikuma sent its final report at 07:52: 'Vajra, Birui, Haruna, Kirishima confirmed sunk. Our ship is critically damaged, about to sink. Your Majesty… long live.'"

The office was deathly silent. Only the wall clock ticked "tick, tick," each second like a hammer striking everyone's hearts.

Ba Dai Liulang's right hand unconsciously brushed a bronze paperweight on the desk—a souvenir presented by Commander‑in‑Chief Higashikuni Heihachiro after the Russo‑Japanese War, engraved with the four characters "Seven Lives to Serve the Nation."

"Continue." His voice remained calm, but the fingers gripping the paperweight had turned white.

Dao Tian Fan Ta Lang turned to the next page of the telegram, his voice beginning to tremble: "Subsequently, the Wu and Sasebo Naval Bases reported in succession… Aoba, Kegata, Myoko three heavy cruisers lost contact. Of the First Torpedo Squadron's thirteen destroyers, only Chushuang and Chao sent back a telegram 'Intercepted by enemy cruiser group, heavy losses, currently dispersing for retreat' before falling silent."

He lifted his head, tears already glistening in his eyes: "Minister… based on current intelligence, the United Fleet's main force… may already have…"

"Total annihilation of the entire force." Ba Dai Liulang finished the sentence for him.

The words struck like a massive boulder into a calm lake, and the office instantly erupted into chaos.

"Impossible!" Major General Ling Shu Guan Ta Lang, Chief of Operations, sprang to his feet, his face flushing red, "Four Vajra Class! The Imperial Navy's newest sharp warships! How could all of them sink within a single hour? This intelligence must be wrong!"

"But the telegram came from the captain of Chikuma…" Major General Shan Ben Ying Ji, Chief of Intelligence, said dejectedly, "Colonel Dao Ju would not be the type to falsify military reports."

"Then it must be communication interference! Or a ploy by Lanfang's people!"

"Mr. Ling Shu!" Ba Dai Liulang suddenly raised his voice, not loud but with undeniable authority, "Sit down."

Ling Shu Guan Ta Lang opened his mouth, then finally slumped back into his seat.

Ba Dai Liulang took off his glasses and carefully wiped the lenses with a cloth. It was his habitual action under immense pressure. He polished the lenses repeatedly until they shone bright enough to reflect a silhouette.

"Gentlemen," he said, putting his glasses back on, his gaze sweeping each person present, "now is not the time for argument. We must face reality, no matter how cruel it may be."

He rose and walked to the massive Yazhou sea chart on the wall. On the chart, along the route from Yokosuka to the East Sea, four golden ship icons representing the United Fleet's main force remained pinned at their planned ambush points. Around them, newly marked black crosses in red ink were striking—Kirishima, Haruna, Birui, Vajra.

Ba Dai Liulang reached out, gently lifting the marker that represented Vajra. The golden ship icon lay in his palm, reflecting a faint glow under the light.

"Forty years ago," he whispered, as if to himself, "the Imperial Navy had only a few wooden‑hull steamers, facing the Qing Dynasty's Beiyang Fleet. Later we won."

"Ten years ago, confronting the Russian Baltic Fleet, we again defeated a stronger foe with our weakness."

"Since then, the Imperial Navy spent thirty years building Asia's first, the world's third fleet. The Vajra Class is our newest, most powerful warship, the crystallization of Imperial industry and technological might."

He turned, looking at the crowd: "And now, in the East Sea, they were all sunk within an hour by a nation less than ten years old."

"Minister!" the Chief of Administration said urgently, "the most important thing now is how to handle the aftermath! As for the Army…"

"I already know about the Army side," Ba Dai Liulang cut him off, a wry smile on his face, "five minutes ago, the Army Ministry's Military Affairs Director called, tone… rather blunt. They demand the Navy immediately provide a detailed battle report to 'adjust the overall defense strategy.'"

"Adjust the defense strategy?" Ling Shu Guan Ta Lang sneered, "they're just eager to kick us when we're down! These years the Army has constantly complained about the Navy's high budget, and now…"

"Now they have the best reason," Ba Dai Liulang walked back to his desk, sitting slowly, "Gentlemen, we have lost. Not only the campaign, but perhaps everything the Imperial Navy has built over forty years—honor, standing, and… the future."

He pulled a document from the drawer and spread it on the desk. It was the Naval Ministry's early‑year submission titled 'Naval Expansion Plan for the 3rd Year of Taisho,' which detailed budget requests for two Super‑Obu‑class battleships, four new‑type cruisers, and twelve destroyers.

Ba Dai Liulang picked up a steel pen and drew a heavy horizontal line across the cover of the document.