Chapter 489: Battlefield Support Is Also Work

When he tossed the letter into the mailbox at the camp gate, he looked up at the starry sky. Tokyo's night sky wasn't this clear, and there weren't this many stars.

"So beautiful," he thought. Could the European sky be this beautiful?

Under the same starry sky, the cargo ship Yellow Sea slowly sailed into Marseille harbor.

When Jin Shuntai was brought onto the deck, he could barely keep his balance. Over twenty days of drifting at sea had made him skin‑and‑bone, his eye sockets sunken. Of the original five hundred, fewer than four hundred could still stand. The rest: some died of illness, some jumped overboard, some were thrown into the sea while still alive.

The port's searchlights were so bright he could barely open his eyes. The air was thick with coal smoke and seawater, and an unfamiliar, distinctly European scent.

They were forced off the ship and lined up. A Yingguo officer walked over, accompanied by a Sakura Nation translator.

"Welcome to Faguo," the translator said in stiff Cao County dialect, "From now on, you are auxiliary personnel of the Yingguo Army's Eighth Group Army. Observe discipline, obey orders, and you will receive the appropriate treatment."

"Treatment?" someone whispered in the crowd, "Weren't we told we were here to work?"

The translator glared at him, "Battlefield support is also work! Now, go collect your gear, then board the vehicle! The front line needs you!"

They were taken to a warehouse, each receiving a set of old British Army uniform—ill‑fitting and smelling of mildew—a rifle, twenty rounds of ammunition, and a tin lunchbox.

Then they were crammed into trucks. The convoy left Marseille under cover of night, heading north toward the place called the Somme River.

Jin Shuntai clutched his rifle, curled up in a corner of the truck. Outside, unfamiliar European countryside flickered with occasional lights. He thought of his home in Hansong, of his mother, of his brother.

Brother, if you're still alive, where are you?

Can we meet again?

The truck jolted onward into endless darkness. Ahead, the sound of artillery drifted faintly, like distant thunder.

A new hell awaits.

The iron‑gray waters of Scapa Bay rippled with countless fine waves in the rain.

Major General Horace Wellesley stood on the bridge of the Hood battlecruiser, looking through rain‑blurred port windows at the anchorage. His new flagship—a steel leviathan displacing 41,000 tons—was quietly moored in the deep water between Hoi Island and the main island, eight massive anchor chains stretched straight, like a beast's tendons temporarily bound.

But Wellesley knew this was only a façade. Beneath the calm anchorage, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"General, the weather forecast," the adjutant handed over the report, "In the next seventy‑two hours, the North Sea will experience strong winds, wave heights expected at four to six meters. Visibility will be poor."

Wellesley took the document, glanced at it, and said nothing. He turned his head toward the starboard side—about eight hundred yards away—where the outline of the Queen Ship battlecruiser flickered in the rain. That sister ship had only completed its final paint job yesterday, hurrying into Scapa Bay to join the fleet.

Two Hood‑class ships. The previous handover ceremony was still fresh in memory; now they wore the Royal Navy's deep‑gray‑blue paint, with the St. George's Cross fluttering on the mast. Yet the repaired old shell holes on their hull sides reminded everyone of their extraordinary history.

"General?" the adjutant cautioned carefully.

Wellesley snapped back, returning the weather report: "Notify all ships to prepare for heavy wind and wave anchorage. Also… have the captains of the Hood and the Queen Ship report to my cabin for a meeting in one hour."

"Yes."

After the adjutant left, Wellesley continued to stare at the anchorage. Beyond, the fleet's main battleships were strewn like stars—Elizabeth Queen Class battleships, Iron Duke class battleships, Invincible class and Indefatigable class battlecruisers—totaling over thirty vessels. This was the most powerful steam‑steel fleet in human history, a symbol of the sun‑never‑sets empire's maritime dominance.

But Wellesley felt no heroism, only a heavy pressure.

He knew what had happened to the army at the Somme River. Over sixty thousand Yazhou auxiliary troops had suffered casualties, the tank units were annihilated, the front line pushed back twenty kilometers… He had read these battle reports repeatedly. The army's defeat meant that all eyes now turned to the navy.

"We must achieve a decisive victory at sea," the War Cabinet's directive was clear, "break Deguo Navy's blockade threat, secure the maritime supply lines, and create conditions that force Deguo back to the negotiating table as much as possible."

The negotiating table. Wellesley gave a wry smile. Two and a half years of war had claimed millions of lives, and now both sides were beginning to think of 'negotiations.' But negotiations require leverage, and the navy is the British Empire's greatest—and perhaps final—bargaining chip.

One hour later, the captains' conference room.

Colonel John Towey, captain of the Hood, and Colonel William Goodno, captain of the Queen Ship, sat opposite each other at the long table. Both were in their early forties, seasoned naval officers, yet their faces now wore unmistakable fatigue.

"Gentlemen," Wellesley said bluntly, "I need to know the integration status of the two new ships. Frankly, we have no time left."

Towey began, "The Hood has completed basic shakedown; Main Gun firing tests have been conducted three times, with average dispersion within expected ranges. However, there are several issues: first, the fire‑control system is not fully compatible with our existing standards and will require time to adjust; second, the engineering department reports that Lanfang‑designed steam turbines exhibit excessive vibration under high load—while it does not affect performance, it reduces crew comfort."

"Comfort is irrelevant," Wellesley interrupted, "What about combat power?"

"The firepower is unquestionably top‑tier," Towey affirmed, "Eight 15‑inch Main Guns have shown excellent penetration and rate of fire in tests. Protection… although there are some old wounds, after repairs the core armor can withstand any Deguo active battleship's Main Gun."

Goodno took the floor, "The Queen Ship's situation is similar. But I have a concern, General—these two ships' design philosophy seems to emphasize speed and firepower, with protection relatively… balanced."

"You mean the Bismarck Class?" Wellesley asked.

"Yes. Intelligence shows that Deguo received two Bismarck‑class battleships from Lanfang, with standard displacement exceeding 45,000 tons, an Armour Belt thickness of 320 mm, and an inclined arrangement we have never seen." Goodno tapped the sketch on the table, "If these figures are accurate, our 15‑inch gun may struggle to penetrate their core protection at normal engagement ranges."

The conference room fell into a brief silence.

Wellesley rose and walked to the North Sea chart on the wall. His finger pointed to the location of William Port: "Deguo's open‑sea fleet's main force is here. According to the latest intelligence, the Bismarck and the Tirpitz have completed sea trials and could depart at any moment."

He turned to the two captains, "Our advantage is numbers. The Grand Fleet has twenty‑four battleships and battlecruisers; Deguo has only sixteen. Adding the Hood and the Queen Ship, we have firepower superiority."