Chapter 526: Naval Anxiety

Zhao Xuecheng continues to patrol the shipyard. He walks past the steel‑plate cutting area, where flame cutters are slicing thick armor plates into the required shapes; he passes the welding zone, where welders wearing dark face masks crouch on the steel, the dazzling white flash of melting electrodes rising and falling; he goes through the outfitting area, where workers are installing pipes, cables, and equipment.

Evening, 6 p. m., Navy Headquarters Operations Room.

A massive Pacific map covers an entire wall, with magnets marking the positions of each nation's fleets: the Meilika Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, the Yingguo Far‑East Fleet at Singapore, and Lanfang Navy's main forces scattered across Dubai, Hordesa, and the under‑construction Borneo base.

Li Te stands before the map, holding a freshly delivered training assessment report. The young Rear Admiral's hair is already streaked with gray, yet his posture remains upright, his deep‑blue uniform crisply pressed, every button immaculate.

He steps to the map, his finger pointing at Pearl Harbor.

"The Meilika have been bolstering the Pacific fleet's strength. The 'Pennsylvania', 'Arizona', 'Oklahoma'—three brand‑new battleships—arrived at Pearl Harbor just last month. And our six carriers, the fastest of which won't be operational for another four months."

Far‑Ocean Fleet Commander Zhang Zhen speaks: "Commander, perhaps we can adjust strategy. Before the carriers achieve combat power, we should rely on submarines and shore‑based aviation as the main deterrent. The airfields we're building on the Malay Peninsula and Borneo can host over two hundred bombers…"

"What good is that?" Li Te cuts him off. "Bombers can threaten coastal targets, but can they stop an enemy fleet? Protect our sea lanes? Engage the enemy in the deep ocean?"

He scans the room, his gaze sharp.

"Gentlemen, Lanfang is a maritime nation. Our lifeline is at sea—oil comes from the Persian Gulf, rubber from Southeast Asia, industrial goods export worldwide. Lose sea control, and this country will suffocate within three months."

Zhang Zhen stands, walks to the map.

"Commander, I request an increase in training intensity. Cancel all leave, implement continuous sea deployment. Strengthen Navy Aviation Department drills. Daytime flight training, nighttime combat training, weekend damage‑control drills."

"The crew will collapse."

"That's still better than dying at sea in wartime." Zhang Zhen's voice is hard. "I'll lead the teams myself. If we can't forge combat power, I'll resign."

The conference room falls silent again. Everyone knows Zhang Zhen's temper—he says what he means, never cuts corners.

Li Te watches this veteran subordinate for a few seconds, then nods slowly.

"Approved. But on one condition: I want to see clear progress metrics. One month from now, your special mixed fleet must be able to accomplish the following: First, simulate continuous take‑offs and landings in sea state six; second, organize three waves of attack formations totaling no fewer than sixty sorties; third, under wartime conditions, keep command communications within the formation fluid."

He pauses.

"Also, notify the Aviation Command that pilots under Lin Huaimin are to be prioritized for the Navy. We need pilots capable of landing on carriers, not greenhands who can only operate from land bases."

"Yes!" Zhang Zhen stands at attention and salutes.

The meeting moves to the next agenda: submarine deployment. Lanfang possesses 134 submarines, of which 64 are long‑range models capable of carrying sixteen torpedoes and a range of twelve thousand two hundred nautical miles.

"U‑7 through U‑18 have completed retrofits, adding ventilation tubes that allow underwater charging, greatly improving stealth," Submarine Force Commander Wang Haiyang reports. "Per your orders, six have already been dispatched: two in the Strait of Malacca, two at the Persian Gulf exit, and two patrolling the central Indian Ocean."

"Any contacts?"

"Three. Two were British merchant ships; after surfacing and warning under international law we let them pass. One was a suspected British reconnaissance submarine off Hordesa; we tracked it for eight hours before it broke off."

Li Te nods: "Maintain vigilance, but do not provoke. The priority now is intelligence gathering, especially on British and American fleet movements. Also, all submarines stay at the highest readiness level; once ordered, they must be able to sortie within twenty‑four hours."

"Understood."

The meeting runs until 8 p. m. A server brings a simple dinner—sandwiches and coffee—but few eat. The pressure has dulled everyone's appetite.

Finally, Li Te declares the meeting adjourned. Officers file out, leaving only him and Zhang Zhen.

"Old Zhang, honestly," Li Te hands Zhang Zhen a cigarette, "do you think we're really ready?"

Zhang Zhen lights the cigarette, takes a deep drag: "Ready or not, what does it matter? If we're not ready, what then? War won't wait for us to be prepared."

He walks to the window, looking at the night view of Dubai Port. The docks blaze with light, cargo ships loading and unloading, the silhouettes of cranes loom like massive steel skeletons in the darkness.

Li Te silently puffs the cigarette. The ember's red glow flickers in the dim room, like a distant signal lamp.

"The President is heading to Hawaii, what's your take?"

"A gamble." Zhang Zhen says bluntly. "We're betting on Wilson's sanity, on Meilika not having fully swung to Yingguo, on the President being able to persuade them… or at least buy time."

"What if we lose the gamble?"

"Then we'll have to honor every promise in the Mount Tai Project." Zhang Zhen crushes the cigarette, "Six carriers, four hundred aircraft, fifteen divisions, and countless lives."

He puts on his coat and heads for the door.

"I'm setting out to sea tonight. See you in a month, Commander."

The door opens and closes. Li Te stands alone in the operations room, staring at the Pacific map on the wall. The vast blue expanse now resembles a gigantic chessboard, and his fleet is merely a few insignificant pieces on it.

He walks to his desk, opens the bottom drawer, and pulls out a photograph. It's a group shot taken years ago when he was a young captain aboard the cruiser "Guangfu". Everyone in the picture smiles, sunlight bright, the deep blue sea behind them.

Back then they believed the Navy existed to protect trade routes, display the flag, and maintain peace.

Now they know the Navy exists to have a fighting force ready for the worst.

Li Te returns the photograph to the drawer, locks it. Then he picks up the telephone.

"Connect to the President's Office. Yes, now. This is Li Te, I have urgent matters to report."

The night outside deepens. Far across the Pacific, Zhang Zhen's fleet is casting off and heading toward an unknown training sea. On land, tens of thousands of workers, soldiers, pilots, engineers toil through the night toward a single goal: to make this nation stronger before the storm arrives.

Even if only a little stronger.