Chapter 219: Three Light Cruisers Sink

"Torpedo! Evasive!" The watchman on the harbor breakwater waved the flag wildly.

But the three light cruisers were all tied with cables, their engines not started, and they couldn't move in time.

The first torpedo hit the bow of Longtian. Amid the deafening blast, the front of the five‑thousand‑ton cruiser was blown apart, and seawater surged in wildly.

The second and third torpedoes struck Tianlong and Yabuki almost simultaneously. Huge gaps opened in the midsections of both ships, and flame and thick smoke instantly engulfed the hulls.

"Fire! Quick, fire!" The dock descended into chaos. Fire trucks roared in, their water cannons spraying the burning ships.

But something worse happened—Yabuki's ammunition stores detonated.

The successive self‑explosions rang like a string of firecrackers, ripping from bow to stern. The whole ship broke in two within minutes and sank slowly into the shallow harbor. The spray rose ten‑plus meters, sweeping the dock's sailors and equipment into the sea.

Ijuin Matsuzhi stared blankly at it all. The three light cruisers, right before his eyes, were sunk by an enemy submarine in his own harbor.

And they hadn't even detected where the submarine was.

"Sonar officer! Locate the enemy submarine!" he shouted into the communicator.

"Already… already scanning, Captain. But the harbor echoes are too complex, and…" the sonar officer's voice trembled with despair, "and the enemy may have already fled."

They fled. After sinking the three warships, they left calmly.

Ijuin Matsuzhi felt all his strength drained. He clung to the rail, lest he collapse.

In the harbor, Longtian and Tianlong still burned and listed. Surviving sailors dove into the sea like dumplings, swimming toward the dock. More people sank along with the hulls.

Far away, the sea beyond the breakwater lay calm as usual. No one knew when that (or those) submarine had arrived or departed.

It was like a phantom, a death god from the deep, calmly reaping the lives of three warships in the Empire's most vital naval base.

Then it vanished into the boundless ocean.

"Captain…" the deputy captain's voice trembled, "are we... are we not even safe in the harbor?"

Ijuin Matsuzhi gave no reply. He turned and walked slowly back to the captain's cabin.

He shut the door, sealing out the chaos and screams outside. He approached the desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and found a Southern‑style pistol inside. (Not the Southern Model 14.)

He lifted the pistol; the cold metal tingled. The round was chambered—just a pull of the trigger would end all pain and humiliation.

But his hand trembled.

It wasn't fear of death. It was… unwillingness to accept.

To die like this—what does it make me? A deserter? A coward? Or… a burial offering?

A knock sounded at the door; the deputy captain called, "Captain! Yokosuka urgent telegram! Minister of the Navy Yamamoto Gonnbei wishes to address the entire navy personally!"

Ijuin Matsuzhi set the pistol down, inhaled deeply, smoothed his uniform, and opened the door.

"Where shall we listen?"

"The communications room; the broadcast system is online."

The two hurried toward the communications room. Along the way, every sailor they passed wore a pallid face, eyes filled with fear and bewilderment.

In the communications room, the broadcast speaker crackled with a "shhh" of electric current. Several officers stood there, waiting in silence.

After a few minutes, the crackle ceased, and a steady, aged yet powerful voice spoke:

"All officers and sailors of the Imperial Navy, I am Minister of the Navy Yamamoto Gonnbei."

The voice rang through the broadcast system, reaching Wu Port, Yokosuka, Sasebo, Maizuru… every naval base, every ship still at sea.

"I know that now your hearts are full of pain, anger, and confusion. I know you have lost comrades, lost warships, even… lost honor."

"But I tell you this: the navy is not dead. As long as a single sailor lives, as long as a single warship stays afloat, the navy lives."

A deep breath sounded in the broadcast.

"Yes, we lost. We lost badly. But we did not lose courage, we did not lose training. We lost because of… the times. The enemy possesses technology we cannot comprehend, tactics we cannot counter. This is not anyone's fault; it is a gap of the entire era."

"But now is not the time to assign blame, nor the time for despair. Now is the time we must unite, now is the time we must survive."

"I order: all vessels, according to the preset plan, withdraw into the inner sea. All bases, enter the highest alert status. All officers and sailors, hold your stations, fulfill your duties."

"I know this order is humiliating. I know you seek revenge, you seek to restore honor. But now is not the time. What we need now is time, endurance, and… the will to live."

"Remember: today's retreat is for tomorrow's resurgence. Today's endurance is for the future counter‑attack. As long as we are alive, as long as the navy exists, there is hope."

"Gentlemen, I know this is hard. But trust me, trust yourselves. The Imperial Navy has weathered countless storms; this time… we too shall endure."

"His Majesty… long live. Imperial Navy… long live."

The broadcast ended. The communications room fell silent.

Ijuin Matsuzhi stood there, unmoving for a long moment. Yamamoto's words brought no miracle, no hope, but they brought a… calm.

A calm of accepting reality.

"Deputy," he said hoarsely, "Relay to all ships: prepare to depart. Destination… the Seto Inland Sea."

"But Captain, those three sunken light cruisers…"

"Leave it to the port authority," Ijuin cut him off. "Our mission is to survive. This is the minister's order, and… the only thing we can do."

The deputy captain looked at him, then stood at attention and saluted, "Yes!"

Ijuin Matsuzhi walked back to the bridge. Outside the window, Longtian was more than half submerged, only its mast still piercing the water. Tianlong still burned, but the flames had greatly diminished.

Three warships, hundreds of sailors, all gone like that.

In their own harbor.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. It hurt, but compared to the pain inside, it was nothing.

"Record this," he told the navigation officer, "Taisho Year 3, September 3, 15:20, Wu Port was attacked by an enemy submarine. Longtian, Tianlong, Yabuki sank. Casualties… to be tallied."

The navigation officer recorded silently. The pen tip scratched the paper with a "shhh" sound, as if crying.

Ijuin Matsuzhi cast one last glance at the burning sea, then turned:

"Raise anchor, depart the port."

The massive hull of Katori began to move, slowly pulling away from the dock. Behind it, other vessels followed suit.

A fleet not heading to a battlefield, but to a refuge.

Shame? Yes.

But living is more important than shame.

At least now, they must believe it.