Chapter 629: Striking Yingguo

The small boat came alongside the Huaihe's gangway. She Er stepped onto the wobbly footboard and climbed the ladder, each step steady. Prussian training let them stay composed even at their weakest.

At the ladder's top, a Lanfang major general stood there and saluted him.

"General She Er, welcome aboard."

She Er returned the salute. Their German carried a thick Prussian accent, but the interpreter could understand.

"General Zhang," they said, "thank you for being able to come."

Zhang Zhen stepped aside to guide the way: "Please."

Huaihe's captain's cabin, 11 a. m., March 13

The captain's cabin was small but neatly arranged: a chart table, a few chairs, a bookcase, and a round porthole. Sunlight streamed through the porthole, casting a bright patch on the floor.

Zhang Zhen invited She Er to sit. On the table lay simple refreshments—black tea, biscuits, several cans of Lanfang‑produced condensed milk. No red wine, no steak; such things are not customary on a battleship.

She Er sat down and lifted the teacup. Their hand was steady, but Zhang Zhen noticed that when they took the first sip, the Adam's apple moved slightly.

That reaction occurs only in someone who hasn't had a hot drink for a long time.

"General," Zhang Zhen said bluntly, "the President asked me to tell you: Lanfang cannot participate openly. At least not now."

She Er nodded: "I understand."

"But we will do everything we can," Zhang Zhen said. "Two supply ships have brought enough fuel oil, fresh water, food, and medicine to fill your two vessels and still have some reserves left."

He paused: "There is also a team of engineers—fifty of them—who can help repair your battleship. Our engineers are familiar with the Bismarck Class design and should be able to fix the ammunition feed issue of the A turret, as well as all other damages."

She Er's eyes flashed.

"A turret..." they paused, "how did you know the A turret has a problem?"

Zhang Zhen smiled.

"General, we receive battle reports right here in Lanfang," he said. "After the Bismarck engaged the Queen Ship, the A turret's rate of fire dropped noticeably. That can only be an ammunition‑feed mechanism issue. The 380 mm gun's feed system is best known to us—we designed it."

She Er was silent for a few seconds.

"Your information," they said, "is more prompt than our own intelligence department."

"That is Lanfang's advantage," Zhang Zhen did not deny.

A knock sounded at the door. The adjutant reported, "General, the engineers have boarded the Bismarck and the Tirpitz and have begun inspections."

Zhang Zhen nodded, turned to She Er: "Three days. The engineers say they need three days to complete the major repairs. At the same time, the supply ships will fill your two vessels with fuel and load them with ammunition."

Three days.

She Er repeated the phrase in their mind.

After three days, his battleship will regain combat capability.

After three days, he can continue fighting.

Three days later…

"General Zhang," he raised his head, "does President Chen have any further instructions?"

Zhang Zhen was silent for a few seconds.

He stood up and walked to the chart table. Two maps were spread on the table—one of the North Atlantic, the other of the Indian Ocean.

"Yes," he said, "the President asked me to tell you: striking Yingguo's transport lines is not limited to the North Atlantic."

She Er was startled: "What does that mean?"

Zhang Zhen's finger pointed to the center of the Indian Ocean.

"General, Yingguo's war machine relies on two things: domestic industry and colonial resources. Australia's wool, wheat, meat. India's jute, tea, rubber. The Middle East's oil. All these resources must be shipped back to Yingguo via the Suez Canal."

His finger traced the route: from Australia westward across the Indian Ocean to the Gulf of Aden, into the Red Sea, through the Suez Canal, into the Mediterranean, and finally to Yingguo.

"This route," he said, "is longer than the North Atlantic route, has weaker escort forces, and—it's closer to Lanfang."

She Er's gaze fell on the map.

Indian Ocean.

He had never thought about the Indian Ocean.

The German Navy's operational area has always been the North Sea and the North Atlantic. The Indian Ocean is the British's inland sea, their sphere of influence, neutral waters, and a region German warships have never set foot in.

But now…

"You mean," he said slowly, "to send the Bismarck into the Indian Ocean?"

"That is the President's suggestion," Zhang Zhen said. "Of course, the decision rests with you."

She Er was silent for a long time.

He stared at the Indian Ocean map, at the unfamiliar place names—Mumbai, Colombo, Singapore, Perth. All of them are Yingguo colonies, Yingguo ports, Yingguo transport lines.

If he could enter the Indian Ocean, if he could cut those transport lines…

"General Zhang," he finally spoke, "how do we get from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean?"

Zhang Zhen's finger swept across the map: "Southward, rounding the Cape of Good Hope. Distance about three thousand nautical miles. At fifteen knots, it takes eight days."

She Er quickly calculated in their mind.

Fuel. The Bismarck currently has seventeen percent fuel; with resupply it can exceed eighty percent. Three thousand nautical miles at fifteen knots requires about two hundred tons of fuel—roughly forty percent of total fuel. That's sufficient.

Ammunition. There are over five hundred rounds; with resupply it can exceed eight hundred. Enough for a medium‑scale naval battle.

Damage. The engineers can repair it within three days; by then performance can be restored to over ninety percent.

"General Zhang," he raised his head, "did President Chen say where we can obtain supplies after reaching the Indian Ocean?"

Zhang Zhen smiled.

He took a sealed document from the drawer and pushed it onto She Er's desk.

"This is prepared by Lanfang's Naval Department for you. It marks three port coordinates that can provide emergency supplies. All are in the Indian Ocean, far enough from the main routes, with good concealment."

She Er took the document without opening it.

He looked at Zhang Zhen, silent for a few seconds.

"General Zhang," he said, "I don't know how to thank you."

Zhang Zhen shook his head.

"General, the president once said: In international politics, there are no eternal enemies, nor eternal friends. But in this era, Deguo and Lanfang have a common opponent."

She Er nodded.

He understood who that opponent was.

It wasn't Yingguo; it was Meilika.

The country that watches the fire from the other shore, waiting to clean up the aftermath. The country that possesses the world's strongest industry and is frantically building ships. The country that, once it joins the fight, will completely tip the scales of war.

"General," Zhang Zhen stood up, extended his hand, "wish you a smooth journey."

She Er also stood up and grasped that hand.

"General Zhang," he said, "if one day Lanfang needs Deguo…"

He didn't finish. But Zhang Zhen understood.

He nodded.

She Er turned and walked out of the captain's cabin.