Chapter 52: Restoration Ship, conducting routine training voyage

"Fearless Ship" starboard gun position.

Two young sailors lay on the railing, eyes wide open.

"Look at that gun barrel… My God, that must be 15 inches, right?"

"Not just that! Look at the turret size—that armor is at least 12 inches thick!"

"How does it do that? A ship that big runs faster than a light cruiser!"

"I don't know… but I have a bad feeling."

One of the sailors swallowed and said: "My uncle works at the Portsmouth shipyard; he said the Germans built six monster battleships that scared the Admiralty half to death. Could this be…?"

"Shut up!" the chief petty officer's shout came from behind: "Get back to your stations! That's not a German ship—it's… it's something that came out of nowhere!"

But the chief petty officer's own voice lacked its usual confidence.

Lanfang Navy's Restoration Ship bridge, at the same time.

"Distance 7,500 meters, relative speed 12 knots, continuing to close in."

In the fire control room, the young computer operator Lin Hai reported the data, his voice calm as if doing routine training. The complex mechanical calculator before him hummed, its gears and cams turning precisely.

Li Te stood before the central command console, hands behind his back. His gaze through the observation window locked firmly on the distant battleship flying the Union Jack.

"Fearless Ship," he said quietly, "designed displacement 18,100 tons, ten 12‑inch main guns, maximum speed 21 knots. Launched in February 1906, it was sent here just a few days later."

The navigator beside him glanced over in surprise: "Captain, how do you remember all that so clearly?"

"Because we must know them better than they know us." Li Te said, "The president said knowledge is part of power. Continue the report."

"Yes! The enemy fleet formation: the Fearless Ship battleship as core, four armored cruisers on each flank, six destroyers ahead in a picket formation—a standard deterrent formation."

"Our position?"

"We've cut ahead of their course, 6,200 meters away. T‑advantage secured."

The bridge fell silent for a moment. All the officers looked at Li Te, awaiting the next order. These young people, averaging under twenty‑five years old, were miners, farmers, and vendors three years ago; now they operate the world's most advanced warship, facing the world's strongest navy.

Nervous?

Of course we're nervous. But even more is a near‑boiling excitement.

"Hold course, reduce speed to 18 knots." Li Te ordered, "Turret follow, aim at Fearless Ship. But note—raise gun elevation by one degree, indicating we've sighted them but aren't aiming."

"Understood! Raise gun elevation by one degree!"

The order was relayed via circuitry to the four turrets. Inside the massive turrets of Restoration Ship, the gunners executed the motion precisely and swiftly.

Restoration Ship B Turret interior.

Loader Chen Ah Ming took a deep breath and gripped the rammer's handle. This eighteen‑year‑old Guangdong youth had been studying mechanical principles at technical school three months ago; now he's a member of the main gun loading team.

"How do you feel?" Gun Chief Zhou Tie Zhu asked. He was a forty‑year‑old veteran who had served in the Qing Dynasty's South Ocean Navy; after the First Sino‑Japanese War he drifted to Singapore, and only three years ago he came here in response to Lanfang's call.

"My hand's shaking a little." Ah Ming admitted frankly.

"Normal. The first time I went to battle I almost pissed my pants." Zhou Tie Zhu grinned, showing a tobacco‑stained smile, "But remember this: our equipment is one generation ahead. When they can't hit us, we can already tear them to pieces."

Through the turret's sight slit, Ah Ming could see the distant British battleship. Compared to Restoration Ship, it looked… small. Refined, dignified, but small.

Like a tiger eyeing a wolf.

"Gun Chief, will we fire?"

"I don't know." Zhou Tie Zhu wiped his smile, "But if we fire, all we have to do is ram a 380‑kg armor‑piercing shell into the breech and then do it again in two minutes. Simple, right?"

"Right." Ah Ming nodded firmly; his hand stopped shaking.

Oman Bay sea, distance 5,400 meters.

"They're slowing down."

On Fearless Ship's bridge, the navigator reported: "Target speed down to about 18 knots, continuing to hold ahead of our course."

Rear Admiral Abbas Nott's face grew grim. The enemy's behavior revealed absolute confidence—no dodging, no fleeing, just steaming straight into our path and even slowing to wait for us.

This is a humiliation.

"Communications Officer, use international signal lights to ask their identity and intent."

"Yes, sir!"

The signal lamp began flashing. Long and short dots of light swept across the sea toward the gray leviathan.

All the British sailors stared opposite, waiting for a reply. Some hoped the other side would panic, explain, or show weakness—just as colonial natives usually reacted when seeing the Royal Navy.

But after one minute, a reply came.

Not panic, not explanation.

It was a smooth, standard, even elegant Morse‑code light signal.

Restoration Ship signal station.

Signalman Wang Xiao Hua's fingers flew over the light controller. This twenty‑year‑old youth was top of his technical school communications class, fluent in Morse code for six languages.

"Captain, they're asking about our identity and intent." He reported without turning his head.

"Reply." Li Te's voice came through the voicepipe: "'Lanfang Republic Navy Restoration Ship, conducting routine training voyage. Wishing you a pleasant day.'"

Wang Xiao Hua froze for a moment, then a hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Understood."

The light flashed again. This time, the British fleet side fell into a dead silence.

Fearless Ship bridge.

The communications officer held the translated message, his hand trembling slightly. He looked at the message, then at Admiral Abbas Nott, opened his mouth—but no sound came out.

"Read." The rear admiral's voice was icy.

"'Lanfang Republic Navy Restoration Ship, conducting routine training voyage. Wishing you a pleasant day.'"

The bridge was so quiet you could hear the low throb of the steam pipes.

A few seconds later, a young junior officer couldn't help laughing out loud, then quickly covered his mouth.

Abbasnot's face turned the color of pig liver. Routine training voyage? Wish you a pleasant day? In this Indian Ocean that Yingguo regards as its backyard, before the Royal Navy's deterrent fleet?

"They're mocking us." the gunnery chief said quietly.

"No." Abbasnot gritted his teeth, "They're telling us they're not afraid of us. Not at all."

He stared at that gray warship. The Distance now was only four kilometers, details visible——the sleek, almost sci-fi hull, the enormous, unsettling turret, the eerily stable motion that hardly kicked up a wake while sailing.

And the most deadly point: speed.

The enemy could easily accelerate to 30 knots to escape, yet they deliberately loitered before you at 18 knots—like a cat toying with a mouse already under its paw.