Chapter 55

Indian Ocean, 18°N, 62°E, morning of March 18, 1906.

At sunrise the Indian Ocean looked unreal. The deep blue sea was tinged gold‑red, and morning mist drew a gauzy veil where sea met sky. But to the British sailors aboard the Fearless, this beauty meant nothing.

All their attention was seized by the gray shadow three nautical miles ahead.

""Speed 22 knots, maintaining a distance of three nautical miles……they've slowed down again.""

The lookout's voice held no anger anymore, only numb fatigue. Brigadier General John Abbasnot stood on the bridge, holding a cup of coffee long gone cold, his eyes locked dead‑ahead on the warship ahead. He had not slept all night, his eyes bloodshot.

It's been a full eighteen hours.

Since yesterday afternoon when we left Oman Bay, that damned Restoration Ship has been leading the British fleet around the Indian Ocean like a dog on a walk—when it speeds up we chase desperately; when it slows we must slow with it; when it turns we have to adjust course urgently.

The key is they can never catch up.

The Fearless's designed speed is 21 knots; yesterday we strained to reach 22 knots, and the engine room has already sent three overheating alarms. Meanwhile they? 25 knots is a stroll, 30 knots easy, and they've even performed a few stunts of suddenly jumping to 32 knots then instantly dropping back—purely to show off.

""Sir, the chief engineer reports a crack in the heat‑transfer tube of Boiler Group B, pressure slowly dropping." The communications officer entered the bridge, his face grim, "He recommends reducing speed to below 18 knots, otherwise there's a risk of explosion.""

Abbasnot closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. The sea wind brought its salty tang into his lungs, but it could not dispel the tightness in his chest.

""Reduce to 19 knots.""

""But sir, that would leave us farther behind……"

""Carry out the order.""

The order was passed down. The Fearless's funnel belched black smoke that grew slightly thinner, and the speedometer needle eased back. Ahead, the Restoration Ship seemed to notice at once, and almost simultaneously began to slow.

The distance between the two warships gradually shrank from three nautical miles to two and a half, then two, then one and a half……

As if they were deliberately waiting for them.

Fearless engine room

Chief stoker James McCarthy shut off the valve of Boiler Group B, watched the pressure gauge needle drift down, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. This Irish giant, covered head to toe in coal dust, wiped his face, leaving streaks of grime.

""Temporarily safe." He told the nearby stokers, "But don't get too excited—so long as that monster is ahead, we'll have to keep killing ourselves.""

Young stoker Billy slumped beside the coal pile, his voice thick with tears: "Chief, how much longer must we chase? I've been shoveling coal nonstop for eighteen hours—my hands are blistered……"

""Until they stop." McCarthy lit a cigarette, took a hard drag, "Or until our boilers all blow up.""

""This isn't right." An old stoker muttered, "I've been in the navy thirty years and never seen a fight like this. We chase, they run; we stop, they wait. This isn't warfare—it's… like a cat playing with a mouse.""

""Because we're the mice." McCarthy blew a smoke ring, gazing at the small porthole in the bulkhead. Through the foggy glass he could see the Restoration Ship's huge gray hull ahead, "They could shake us off at any moment, but they don't. They're telling us: look, the speed you can only reach by killing yourselves, we achieve effortlessly.""

The engine room fell silent, save for the low hiss of the steam pipes.

Billy suddenly asked, "Chief, why does their ship have no smoke? I've watched for a long time—their funnel emits only a thin wisp, sometimes none at all."

""Oil-fired boilers." McCarthy said, "They burn heavy oil instead of coal—high thermal efficiency, no need for so many men to shovel coal. And it's clean; have you seen their decks? White enough to reflect light. Now look at ours……"

He pointed to the deck plates, where a thick layer of coal ash had accumulated; every breath drew in black powder.

""This is a technological generation gap, kid. Like matchlock versus spear, steamship versus sailing ship. We're behind—and behind by a whole generation.""

""Then…… will we lose?""

McCarthy remained silent for a long time. The cigarette burned down to his fingers, yet he felt no pain.

""I don't know." He finally said, "But I know one thing: if General Nelson were here today, he'd say 'Britain expects every man to do his duty.' So our duty is to shovel coal, keep this old lady running. As for winning or losing… leave that to God and the bigwigs in their London offices.""

He tossed the butt and stamped it out with his foot.

""All right, rest ten minutes. Then check C Boiler Group—I've heard an odd noise.""

Restoration Ship bridge

""The British have reduced speed to 19 knots." Navigating Officer Lin Hai reported, a smile on his lips, "Their funnel smoke has thinned—possibly an engine problem.""

Li Te stood at the chart table, using compasses to measure the distance from our current position to Bombay.

""We'll slow too. 18 knots.""

""Understood, speed 18 knots.""

The order was passed via the voicepipe to the engine room. The duty officer merely eased back a few levers, reducing the fuel injection of the oil‑fired boilers, and the four steam turbines' rpm fell smoothly.

The whole process was quiet and smooth, with no vibration.

""Captain, are you deliberately waiting for them?" Lin Hai couldn't help asking.

""The president's order is 'show strength, but don't humiliate.'" Li Te kept his head down, continuing to plot the course on the chart, "But we also want them to understand we're not fleeing—we're leading. They can keep up only because we let them."

He set down the compasses and looked out the porthole. At a distance of one and a half nautical miles, he could already make out the sailors on the Fearless's deck—those tiny white‑uniformed dots bustling about.

""Lin Hai, how are our sailors doing right now?""

The young navigating officer thought: "Excited, but also… relaxed. Yesterday at our first encounter everyone was tense, but now we seem to have gotten used to it. Just now I went to check the turret, and a few loaders were still chatting about what to eat tonight."

""Being relaxed is a good thing." Li Te nodded, "It shows they have confidence in this ship and in their training. Fear comes from the unknown; when they realize they hold the advantage, fear turns to confidence."

He walked to the voicepipe and opened the ship‑wide broadcast.

""All hands, this is Captain Li Te speaking.""

His voice traveled through the pipes to every corner of the ship. The men on watch lifted their heads; those resting sat up straight.

""We are presently sailing in the Indian Ocean; three nautical miles astern is the Royal Navy's Fearless and its escort fleet. They have been following us for eighteen hours.""

Li Te paused, letting the weight of those words sink in.

""I know some may wonder: why don't we shake them off? Why do we let them trail us?""

""The answer is simple: because we want them to see. Let them see how fast this ship can go, how sharply it can turn, how steady it runs. Let them see that a warship built by the Chinese is no worse than anyone else's in the world.""

""Three years ago many of us were still laboring in the mines, plantations, and docks of the South Ocean, struggling just to feed ourselves. Three years ago the world believed the Chinese could not build a decent ship.""

""Now we have built one. And we are sailing it before the Royal Navy, in the Indian Ocean they regard as their backyard, with calm composure.""

His voice rose gradually:

""So, maintain your condition. Do your duty. Let those Britons see what professionalism, discipline, and a new‑era navy look like.""

""We are not fleeing; we are leading. What we lead is not just this ship, but the future of a nation.""

""Finished.""

The broadcast ended. The entire ship fell silent for a few seconds, then erupted in suppressed cheers.