Chapter 231: We... Surrender

Zhang Zhen walked back to the chart table, his finger tracing the route from Nagasaki to Taiwan. It is a traditional trade route; since the Meiji era, Japanese merchant ships have used it to carry domestic industrial goods southward and bring back southern grain and raw materials.

Now, he has cut off that route. Or rather, it has been cut off by four Bismarck Class battleships.

"Officer," Chen Qiming asked softly, "Should we... intercept?"

According to international law, belligerent nations may intercept and inspect neutral merchant ships, and may seize or sink enemy merchant ships. However, in practice, sinking a merchant ship outright provokes major diplomatic disputes, especially when innocent civilians may be aboard.

Zhang Zhen did not answer immediately. He recalled President Chen Feng's words before leaving Dubai: "What we want is to force Japan to negotiate. Military actions must be precise and restraining, making the Japanese feel pressure without provoking a nationwide resolve for total war."

But on the other hand, if they do not cut off the Sakura Nation's maritime supply line, they will not truly feel desperation and will not negotiate earnestly. It is a delicate balance.

"Send a signal," Zhang Zhen finally ordered, "using the internationally recognized channel to warn that cargo ship: this is Lanfang Navy operational area, order it to stop immediately for inspection. If it refuses or attempts to flee..."

He paused: "We can fire a warning shot."

"Understood."

The order was transmitted via radio. Minutes later, the cargo ship replied in English: "This is Japanese merchant ship 'Spring Day Maru', we are sailing on an international route and have the right to pass. Please comply with international law."

Very defiant. Or rather, very naive.

Zhang Zhen sneered, "Tell them: either stop or bear the consequences."

After the second warning was issued, the cargo ship fell silent. Yet its course did not change, and its speed even increased—from 12 knots to 14 knots, clearly attempting to flee faster.

"They're fleeing," the radar officer reported.

"Then pursue," Zhang Zhen said calmly, "Yangtze, Yellow River continue patrolling as planned. Huai River, Pearl River, left rudder 30 degrees, course 150, speed 25 knots, intercept that cargo ship."

"Affirmative!"

Two Bismarck Class ships began to turn. The 40,000‑ton giants traced graceful arcs on the sea, accelerating southeast. Although a battleship's top speed can reach 30 knots, 25 knots is more than sufficient to chase a 14‑knot merchant ship.

At a distance of 35 nautical miles, with a speed difference of 25 versus 14 knots, it would take less than two hours to catch up.

Zhang Zhen did not go to the bridge but entered the fire‑control command room. He wanted to see with his own eyes how this "cat‑and‑mouse" game would end.

Japanese merchant ship 'Spring Day Maru', captain's cabin, 11 a. m.

Captain Matsuda Koji stared into the distance, two massive lights rapidly approaching at least twice Spring Day Maru's speed. Distance has already shortened from 35 nautical miles to 28 nautical miles and continues to shrink.

"Captain, they're signaling again!" the radio operator rushed in, holding the newly received telegram, "Order us to stop immediately, or we will take 'all necessary measures'!"

Matsuda's hand trembled. He is fifty‑five this year, has spent thirty years at sea, rising from sailor to captain, having weathered typhoons, pirates, even blockades during the Russo‑Japanese War. Yet he has never been hunted by two battleships as today.

"Reply to them..." his hoarse voice said, "Reply to them, we are a civilian vessel protected by international law. Please they comply..."

"Captain!" the chief mate rushed in, voice trembling, "Lookout report! Spotted the smokestacks! Battleships! At least two! Distance less than 20 nautical miles!"

Matsuda lunged to the porthole, raising his binoculars. On the horizon, two massive black silhouettes were rapidly enlarging, the black smoke from their smokestacks like twin columns of signal fire, glaring sharply against the blue sea.

They were battleships. Larger and more terrifying than any ship he had ever seen in his life.

"What do we do, Captain?" over twenty crew members gathered outside the captain's cabin, each face etched with fear. They were merchant sailors, not soldiers, unarmed, unarmored, lacking even speed to escape.

Matsuda closed his eyes. Images of his wife and two daughters flashed in his mind. His eldest daughter is to marry this year, the younger still in middle school. He had promised them that after this run he would retire, return to Nagasaki, open a small shop, and live a peaceful life.

But now…

"Send a report," he opened his eyes, desperation the only thing left in them, "Send an international distress signal. State that we are being pursued by Lanfang warships, requesting..."

"Request whom?" the chief mate asked bitterly, "Yingguo is at war, the United States is watching, who will rescue us?"

Matsuda was speechless. Indeed, who would rescue a Japanese merchant ship? In the East China Sea, Lanfang Navy is the ruler. They sank the United Fleet, bombarded Yokosuka, and now sinking a merchant ship is like crushing an ant.

"Captain, they're closing in! Fifteen nautical miles!" the lookout's scream rang out.

Matsuda slumped in his chair. He stared at a family portrait on the table, himself embracing his wife and daughters, smiling brightly. It was taken three years ago on Nagasaki's seaside, a day of bright sun and warm sea breeze.

"Reduce speed," he finally said, his voice as light as a sigh, "Send a signal... we surrender."

"Captain!"

"I said reduce speed! Surrender!" Matsuda shouted, tears finally falling, "Do you want to die? To be shattered by 380‑mm shells? To sink in this sea, with no bodies ever found?"

The crew fell silent. No one wanted to die, especially such a meaningless death.

Spring Day Maru began to slow. The black smoke from its smokestack lightened, speed dropping from 14 knots to 10, then to 5, finally nearly stopping on the water.

Matsuda stepped onto the deck, watching the two giants draw nearer. Now even without binoculars he could see clearly—deep‑gray hulls, towering superstructures, massive gun barrels. On one ship's mast, the Lanfang Navy flag fluttered in the wind.

That flag, three days ago he barely recognized, now he understood its meaning: it signified the new master of the East China Sea, the ender of the Imperial Navy, and also… the end of his ship.

A small boat was lowered from a battleship, heading toward Spring Day Maru. Onboard were over ten Lanfang sailors, each bearing a rifle, dressed in dark‑blue naval uniforms.

Matsuda adjusted his captain's uniform, standing by the gangway. When the boat came alongside and a Lanfang officer boarded Spring Day Maru, he bowed deeply:

"I am Captain Matsuda Koji of Spring Day Maru. We... surrender."