Chapter 627: Is It a Test?

"Beck," he suddenly asked, "what do you think, how will this war end?"

Chief of Staff was startled for a moment: "General?"

Jie Li Ke did not turn around.

"I don't know," he muttered to himself, "but I have a feeling—this war is no longer decided by us."

Suez Canal, the morning of March 1

The Suez Canal is not a river; it's a trench.

A 160‑kilometer‑long, narrow, man‑made seawater trench. Where it widens ships can pass; where it narrows only single‑file traffic is possible. Both banks are yellow desert, barren of grass, with only occasional outposts and barracks, reminding you this is still a human world.

At eight a. m., the Huai River slowly entered the canal entrance.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge, watching the scenery on both banks. The sun had just risen from the east, tinting the desert gold‑red. The dunes stretched in rolling waves, like frozen surf.

But more striking were the Yingguo soldiers on both banks, dressed in khaki uniforms.

Every few hundred meters there was an outpost. In front of each, soldiers held binoculars, expressionless, staring at the fleet. Some outposts even mounted machine guns, barrels aimed at the canal—not at the Lanfang fleet, but the posture itself was a warning.

"Relay to all ships," Zhang Zhen said, "maintain formation, speed eight knots. No one may make provocative moves on deck. All turrets keep zero elevation, and do not uncover the gun shields."

The order was issued.

On the Huai River's deck, sailors stood at their stations, eyes forward. No one looked toward the banks, no one whispered. They were like statues, standing on the battleship.

The Pearl River followed close behind.

Captain Zhou Zhen guo, Colonel, stood on the bridge, watching the Yingguo sentries on both banks. His hand clenched the rail, released, clenched, released.

"Captain," the Executive Officer whispered, "they look like they're watching monkeys."

Zhou Zhen guo did not turn around.

"Let them watch," he said, "monkeys don't bite. When we reach the Atlantic, they'll know who the monkey is."

The Executive Officer was startled for a moment, then smiled.

The laugh was light, but the atmosphere on the bridge relaxed a bit.

The Pearl River moved forward slowly, its propeller churning the murky canal water, leaving a brown wake behind the stern.

The canal was narrow, narrow enough to see the faces of the soldiers on both banks.

Some soldiers were very young, appearing under twenty. They held binoculars, lips pursed, eyes vigilant. Others were older, faces marked by fatigue and impatience—probably having stood for several hours.

Zhou Zhen guo watched them, suddenly thinking: Do these youngsters know what they're watching? Do they know how many tons of explosives this ship carries? Do they know that if fighting broke out now, they'd become corpses within minutes?

He didn't know.

But he knew this was war. In peacetime, they size each other up; in wartime, they kill each other. The line is blurry, blurry enough that a single order can make it collapse.

"Captain," the Executive Officer spoke again, "you think they'll take action?"

Zhou Zhen guo shook his head.

"They won't," he said, "they don't dare."

"Why?"

Zhou Zhen guo pointed at the outposts on both banks: "Do you see those machine guns?"

The Executive Officer nodded.

"If they wanted to act, those machine guns would have been aimed at us long ago," Zhou Zhen guo said, "but they haven't. They're just watching. Because they're waiting for orders, and orders won't come."

He paused: "Because those London gentlemen understand the consequences of acting better than we do."

The Executive Officer was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "What consequences?"

Zhou Zhen guo turned to look at him.

"The consequence is," he said, "the four Bismarck Class ships in Dubai Port will reach the English Channel within a week. Nagato will enter service early, head to the Pacific. Meilika people will declare total neutrality."

He paused: "And then the British Empire will be finished."

The Executive Officer opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Zhou Zhen guo patted his shoulder, turned and kept looking ahead.

The canal glittered in the sunlight, like a golden ribbon winding into the distance.

Ahead, the Mediterranean Sea.

It is the Atlantic.

It is the unknown.

On the Huai River, Zhang Zhen also stared ahead.

He had been standing for three hours, motionless. His legs a bit sore, his eyes a little gritty, but he didn't want to sit. He needed to watch, to ensure every ship followed protocol.

The communications officer came over, handing a slip of paper.

"General, we just received a telegram. London has agreed to let us pass, but demands the canal authorities monitor the entire passage."

Zhang Zhen took the slip, glanced at it, then folded it neatly and slipped it into his pocket.

Permission to pass.

Those four words were enough.

"Understood," he said.

The communications officer stepped back.

Zhang Zhen kept looking ahead.

The canal was nearing its end. Ahead, the Mediterranean surface glittered in the sun, a blinding blue.

He took a deep breath.

Mediterranean Sea. Europe's inland sea. Yingguo's backyard.

The fleet was about to enter that waters.

"All fleet," he said, "after entering the Mediterranean, set course for 290, speed fifteen knots. Target—Gibraltar."

The intercom relayed the replies from the ships.

Zhang Zhen nodded.

They suddenly recalled Chen Feng's words: "Let the Yingguo know. Let the whole world know. Open and aboveboard, dignified and upright."

Yes, open and aboveboard.

They are passing through the Yingguo's lifeline in an open and aboveboard manner.

And the Yingguo can only watch.

London, late night of March 1.

When the phone rang, the Prime Minister had just lain down.

They had been unable to sleep well for three consecutive days. Every day brought bad news—Bismarck had not been found, the Vengeance-class fleet could not be caught, Parliament was questioning, the newspapers were criticizing, the public was panicking.

Tonight, after finally managing to go to bed early, they had been lying down for less than an hour when the phone rang.

They grabbed the handset.

"Prime Minister, Sir Wen Gait of Cairo is calling. The Lanfang fleet has passed through the canal and entered the Mediterranean."

The Prime Minister was silent for a few seconds.

"Is there anything abnormal?"

"No, Prime Minister. They are strictly adhering to the rules, conducting no military activities. The watchposts on both sides of the canal report that everything is normal."

The Prime Minister closed their eyes and took a deep breath.

Normal.

That word is the least trustworthy in war.

"What else does Sir Wen Gait have to say?"

There was a pause on the other end, then Wen Gait's voice came through— they had taken the call.

"Prime Minister, I personally think the Lanfang people are testing us."

The Prime Minister gave no reply.

Wen Gait continued: "They know we will be nervous, they know we will monitor, they know we will speculate. Yet they still came, openly and aboveboard. They are waiting for our reaction."

The Prime Minister finally spoke: "Then what reaction should we have?"

Wen Gait was silent for a few seconds.

"Prime Minister, I think… we should have no reaction."

The Prime Minister was taken aback for a moment.

"No reaction?"

"Yes, Prime Minister." Wen Gait said, "If we overreact, it's tantamount to admitting we fear them. If we underreact, it encourages them to be even more excessive next time. The best approach is to act as if nothing happened."

He paused: "Let them guess our reaction, not us guessing their intent."

The Prime Minister was silent for a long while.

He stared at the night sky of London through the window, at the speckled lights, at this city that has endured three years of war.