Chapter 622: When the President Has to Scheme, This Is the Smile

Dubai, Presidential Office

At three o'clock in the morning, the Persian Gulf sea breeze slipped through the window cracks, carrying a salty, briny scent and the relentless roar of the shipyard's machines working through the night.

Chen Feng was awakened from his sleep by Wang Wenwu.

He was not angry. Everyone in the Presidential Office knows the rule: a midnight wake‑up means a major matter. Minor matters wait until dawn, intermediate matters until breakfast; only truly urgent affairs merit disturbing the President's sleep.

Chen Feng, still in his nightgown, sat on the bedside and took the few pages of telegrams.

Wang Wenwu stood nearby, silent. He saw Chen Feng finish the first reading, his brows twitching slightly. After the second reading, his eyes lifted to the night outside, lingering in silence for a few seconds. Then he read it a third time.

"Translated by Li Te?" Chen Feng asked.

"Yes. It came through Deguo's encrypted channel, General Li Te personally deciphered it. Written by She Er himself."

Chen Feng nodded, then reread the final sentence: "If public involvement is inconvenient, even merely informing us of the nearest supply area would be greatly appreciated."

He placed the telegram on the nightstand, rose, and walked to the window.

Outside, the Persian Gulf night spread out. The spotlight on Dock 3 still shone, pulling the silhouette of the Nagato out of the darkness. The 39,000‑ton behemoth was being forged piece by piece by night‑shift welders, like a colossal beast born of steel, opening its eyes.

"He's asking for aid," Chen Feng said.

Wang Wenwu stood by the door: "Yes. And very understated. 'Inform us of the nearest supply area'—someone like She Er can phrase it that way, indicating his situation has truly reached the limit."

Chen Feng did not turn around: "What's your take?"

Wang Wenwu was silent for a few seconds. He knew the President wasn't asking "What do you think of She Er?" but "What do you think of this matter." The two are different; the former is small talk, the latter a pre‑decision consultation.

"Fuel, ammunition, damage," Wang Wenwu said, "if any one fails, those two ships are lost. She Er isn't afraid of death; he's afraid those two ships die for nothing. He took on six Yingguo capital ships; if he ends up sinking in the Atlantic, the deal isn't worth it."

Chen Feng turned: "So?"

"So," Wang Wenwu paused, "if we want to plant a nail in the Atlantic, now is the time."

Chen Feng walked back to the bedside, didn't sit, but picked up the telegram pages again. This time his gaze lingered on the string of coordinates.

"Latitude XX° XX′, Longitude XX° XX′," he whispered, then walked to the huge world map on the wall.

His finger traced the Red Sea, the Suez Canal, the Mediterranean, the Strait of Gibraltar, finally stopping on a point in the middle of the Atlantic.

"From Dubai to here," he said, "through the Red Sea, Suez, Mediterranean, Gibraltar—about 4,500 nautical miles total. At fifteen knots, it takes twelve days."

Wang Wenwu came over, standing beside him: "The Huaihe and Zhujiang can make eighteen knots."

"But the supply ships can't," Chen Feng said. "And we have to pass the Suez Canal—that's Yingguo territory."

Wang Wenwu was silent for a few seconds. He understood the weight of that statement. The Suez Canal is the lifeline of the Yingguo Empire, the artery linking the home islands with India and Australia. Any fleet passing through is watched by the Yingguo in full view.

"Are you worried the Yingguo will intercept?" he asked.

Chen Feng smiled. The smile gave Wang Wenwu a chill—it wasn't a sneer, nor a bitter grin, but a "you're oversimplifying" smile.

"I'm not worried about them intercepting," Chen Feng said, "I'm worried they won't know."

Wang Wenwu was taken aback for a moment, then understood.

"You mean…"

"Let the Yingguo know," Chen Feng walked back to the bedside, took up his nightgown and draped it over, "let the whole world know. The Lanfang Navy will conduct blue‑water training, will pass through the Suez Canal, will enter the Atlantic. Open and aboveboard, upright and proper."

He looked at Wang Wenwu: "Send for Zhang Zhen. And Li Te as well."

Wang Wenwu stood straight: "Yes."

Thirty minutes later, Major General Zhang Zhen and Major General Li Te entered the Presidential Office's conference room almost simultaneously.

Zhang Zhen was still in his nightgown—he'd been summoned straight from the bed and only had time to throw on a military coat. Li Te, however, was neatly dressed, evidently still awake—naval officers always have endless telegrams to handle at night.

Chen Feng had already changed. Not into a uniform, but into a dark‑gray civilian outfit. He stood at the chart table, holding the telegram pages in his hand.

"Sit," he said.

The two took their seats. Wang Wenwu closed the door, standing nearby.

Chen Feng pushed the telegram to the center of the table: "From She Er. Requesting aid."

Zhang Zhen took the telegram, skimmed it quickly, then handed it to Li Te. The two exchanged a glance.

Li Te spoke first: "President, She Er's situation is worse than we anticipated. Both Bismarck Class ships are damaged, fuel is critically low. Though the Yingguo have suffered heavy losses, Jie Li Ke will surely gather every available fleet to scour the Atlantic for them."

Zhang Zhen continued: "Five Avenger Class ships have already set sail. Our people in London relayed the news; the Prime Minister demands 'the Bismarck must be found.'"

Chen Feng nodded, saying nothing.

Zhang Zhen was silent for a few seconds, then said: "President, you summoned us—has a decision been made?"

Chen Feng lifted his head, looking at him.

"General Zhang," he said, "I need you to lead the Huaihe, the Zhujiang, two supply ships, and five destroyers, departing from Dubai, through the Red Sea, the Suez Canal, the Mediterranean, into the Atlantic."

Zhang Zhen's pupils contracted slightly.

"To find She Er?"

"To find She Er," Chen Feng said, "deliver supplies, send engineers, help him repair the ship."

Zhang Zhen was silent for a few seconds. He quickly calculated in his mind—distance, time, fuel, risk. Then he looked up: "President, the Yingguo will notice. The Suez Canal is their lifeline; any fleet passing through will be known to them."

"I know."

"Then might they…," Zhang Zhen phrased carefully, "think we're openly supporting the Deguo? Could they therefore take hostile action against Lanfang?"

Chen Feng smiled. It was a smile Zhang Zhen had seen a few times. Every time the President needed to calculate people, it was this smile.

"General Zhang," Chen Feng said, "who said we're going to aid the Deguo?"

Zhang Zhen was stunned.

Li Te let out a soft cough beside him, a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Then what are we going to do?" Zhang Zhen asked.

Chen Feng spread his hands, an innocent look on his face: "We're going to the Atlantic for blue‑water training. Since the Huaihe and Zhujiang entered service, they've never undertaken a long‑range Atlantic training cruise. This is a perfect chance to test the ships' endurance and the crew's ocean‑adaptation. The supply ships are just to provision the training fleet—what's the problem?"

Zhang Zhen opened his mouth slightly, then laughed as well.