Chapter 53: with translation of chapter title

"Commander!" the lookout's voice suddenly rose, "Attention! Enemy ship... enemy ship's Main Gun is turning!"

Everyone's hearts tightened.

Abbas Nuote rushed to the observation window. Indeed, the four massive turrets were slowly turning, the eight thick gun barrels gradually aiming at the Fearless.

"All ships, battle stations! Load live shells into the turrets!"

The piercing alarm echoed through the Fearless. Sailors frantically ran to their battle stations; the ammunition hoists began operating, shells and propellant bags were lifted from the magazine.

Sweat soaked everyone's backs.

But ten seconds later, the lookout shouted again: "Stopped! Their gun barrels…… the gun barrels have been raised!"

Abbas Nuote raised his binoculars. Indeed, after pointing at the Fearless, the gun barrels tilted slightly upward; now they were aimed at the sky behind the Fearless, not at the hull itself.

This is an old naval courtesy: I see you, I could destroy you, but I choose not to aim at you.

In the face of absolute superiority, this courtesy is more humiliating than direct aiming.

"They're toying with us," Abbas Nuote muttered.

Fearless engine room

Chief Stokeman James McCarthy was desperately shoveling coal. This forty-five-year-old Irish giant was soaked in coal dust and sweat, cursing with each shovel.

"Faster! Faster! The pressure gauge is still fifty pounds short!"

"We're already at maximum fire, Chief Stokeman!" a young stoker shouted, "The boiler's about to blow!"

"Then let it blow! Better than being killed out there by that monster!"

Through the engine room's sole porthole, McCarthy could see the silhouette of the gray giant ship. It was eerily quiet—only a thin wisp of coal smoke came from its funnel, indicating extremely high combustion efficiency. Meanwhile, the Fearless's funnel belched rolling black smoke, like a dying beast struggling.

Technological generation gap.

That term suddenly popped into McCarthy's mind. He had served in the navy for twenty-five years, from sailing warships to ironclads, and now to the Fearless. Every technological revolution, he had witnessed firsthand.

But this time is different.

This time, the one left behind is the Royal Navy.

"Chief Stokeman!" came the voice from the bridge over the speaking tube, "The commander orders: attempt to accelerate to 22 knots! Break the design limits!"

McCarthy gave a wry smile. Breaking the design limits? That meant the risk of boiler explosion tripled, and machinery wear increased fivefold. But orders are orders.

"Heard! All hands, increase power! God bless us!"

Restoration Ship bridge

"The British are accelerating," the navigation officer reported, "Speed increased to… about 22 knots. They're trying to overtake us."

Li Te raised his eyebrows slightly. 22 knots already exceeded the Fearless's design limit. The British are pushing hard.

"We'll accelerate too. 25 knots."

"Understood, speed 25 knots."

The order was given. In the Restoration Ship's engine room, the on-duty crew merely pushed a few control levers forward. The fuel boiler's combustion chamber increased oil injection, steam pressure rose steadily, and the four turbines sped up.

No clamor of shoveling coal, no boiler howl—just a low, steady hum.

Three minutes later, the Restoration Ship pulled away again.

"Distance restored to fifty-two hundred meters," the navigation officer said with a hint of a smile, "They can't catch up."

Li Te nodded, but his expression remained grave. He knew the real test had not yet begun.

"Signal officer, send again by light signal."

"Content?"

"\"Notice that you are accelerating. In this sea area the swells are relatively large; we advise paying attention to navigation safety. If assistance is needed, feel free to call. \""

Signalman Wang Xiaohua burst out laughing this time: "Captain, you…"

"Send it."

"Yes!"

The light flashed. This time, the reaction from the British fleet side was even more intense.

Fearless bridge

The signal officer this time had no hesitation, directly reading out the message: "\"Notice that you are accelerating. In this sea area the swells are relatively large; we advise paying attention to navigation safety. If assistance is needed, feel free to call. \""

Silence.

A silence lasting half a minute.

Then, the gunnery officer cautiously said, "Sir, they… they are showing concern for us?"

"They're telling us they could shake us off at any moment, but they choose not to." Abbas Nuote's voice sounded weary, as if aged ten years, "They are displaying absolute control."

He looked at the nautical chart. Now both fleets had entered the central part of the Gulf of Oman, less than a hundred nautical miles from Dubai port. According to the original plan, they should have steamed proudly to the enemy's doorstep, using gun barrels to "invite" the other side to negotiate.

But now…

"Signal officer, send a telegram to London." Abbas Nuote walked to the chart table, picked up a pencil, but hesitated before putting it to paper, "Content: Contact made with the target. Situation… situation exceeds all estimates."

He paused, then continued with difficulty:

"Target warship Restoration Ship, visually confirmed displacement over 35,000 tons, main gun bore diameter suspected 380mm class, speed easily reaches 25 knots or more, visual estimate of maximum speed possibly over 30 knots. Its technological level far surpasses our Fearless, the gap… at least one generation."

He set down the pencil, rubbed his temples:

"The enemy's attitude is restrained but extremely confident. Currently they are intercepting our fleet's advance with a suppressive advantage. I recommend reassessing the overall strategy. Await further instructions. —Abbas Nuote."

After the signal officer finished recording, he hesitated and asked, "Sir, will saying 'the gap is at least one generation'…"

"Will it embarrass the old fogies at the Admiralty?" Abbas Nuote gave a wry smile, "My dear signal officer, embarrassment is better than total annihilation. Send it out."

"Yes."

The telegram was sent. But London's reply will not arrive for at least six hours. During these six hours, Abbas Nuote must face this nightmare standoff alone.

"Sir!" the lookout shouted again, "The target is… approaching!"

Abbas Nuote snapped his head up. Indeed, the gray giant ship was slowly turning, its bow pointing at the Fearless, the distance closing.

Four thousand five hundred meters……four thousand meters……three thousand eight hundred meters……

This Distance, for the battleship's Main Gun, is already within lethal range.

"All ships prepare for battle!" Abasinuote roared, "But unless I give the order, no firing!"

The order was passed down. But this time, even the most trained sailors showed hesitation.

Inside the forward main gun turret of the Fearless

The rammer, Thomas Harris, had his hand on the ammunition hoist's handle. Through the observation slit, he could clearly see the details of that gray warship—the weld seams on the armor plates, the small observation windows on the turret, even the moving silhouettes on the bridge.

Distance too close.

So close that he could feel the opponent's oppressive presence. That wasn't a warship, but a moving steel mountain range, slowly leaning toward you.

"Jieke......" his voice dry, "We... can our guns pierce it?"