Chapter 630: Repair (A Little Water)

The engineers are working anxiously.

The A turret has been opened, and hydraulic pipes are scattered on the ground. Several Lanfang engineers are crouched beneath the turret base, shining flashlights on the pipe sections cut by shrapnel and using pliers to remove the damaged joints. Their work clothes are smeared with oil, and their foreheads are drenched in sweat.

"This main pipe is completely ruined," an engineer stood up and said to the team leader, "We need to replace it with a new one."

The team leader nodded and pointed to a pile of spare parts nearby: "We've got some there; the Deguo‑supplied parts aren't enough, so we brought our own. The model matches perfectly, just swap it in."

The engineer took the spare part and slipped back under the turret.

Next to it, in the Tirpitz's Boiler Room No. 2, another team of engineers was inspecting the weld seams that had become loose from vibration. The boiler room was hellishly hot, at least fifty degrees, with humidity near saturation. The engineers were shirtless, their skin glistening with sweat as if they had just been pulled from water. They tapped the weld seams with small hammers, listening for sounds that indicated cracks.

"Here," an engineer said, pointing at a weld seam, "there's a fine crack; it needs to be re‑welded."

"Where's the welding machine?"

"It's outside; bring it in right away."

On the deck, the supply ship's heavy‑oil hose was connected to the Bismarck's fuel‑tank interface. The massive hose resembled a black giant python, stretching from the Dongtinghu ship all the way to the Bismarck. Inside the hose, black heavy oil was being pumped continuously into the almost empty fuel tank.

A Deguo sailor stood nearby, staring at the fuel gauge. The needle began a slow climb from seventeen percent—eighteen, nineteen, twenty…

His eyes reddened.

Sixteen days have passed. For sixteen days they've watched that number drop day by day, watching their battleship weaken inch by inch. Now, it has finally begun to recover.

She'er stood on the bridge, watching it all.

On the crew's faces, for the first time in sixteen days, an expression appeared that had never been seen before. It wasn't a smile, but a relaxation—a post‑catastrophe ease after being pulled back from the brink of death.

A young sailor stood on the deck, tilting his head upward to watch the Lanfang engineers climbing up and down the turret. His mouth was slightly open, like a child watching a magic show.

She'er descended from the bridge onto the deck.

The sailor saw him and promptly stood at attention, saluting.

She'er returned the salute, then asked, "What's your name?"

"Report, General: Fritz Meyer, engine crew."

She'er nodded: "Meyer, what are you looking at?"

Meyer's face flushed: "General, I'm watching them… those Lanfang people. They're repairing so quickly."

She'er watched the engineers. A young man was crawling out of the turret, his face smeared with oil, but his eyes focused. He took a new component handed to him and slipped back in.

"They're here to save us," She'er said.

Meyer was silent for a few seconds, then said, "General, I thought… I thought we couldn't return."

She'er looked at him.

That young face, those eyes filled with fear and hope. He recalled that the kid was probably not even twenty, maybe just enlisted, maybe his mother was still waiting for him in Kiel.

"We can't go back," She'er said, "Deguo can't go back."

Meyer was taken aback for a moment.

"But we're still alive," She'er continued, "Alive, we can keep fighting. Keep fighting, and we can make the Yingguo pay."

He paused, then said, "That's enough."

Meyer was silent for a few seconds, then stood at attention: "Yes, General."

She'er patted his shoulder, turned, and walked back to the bridge.

Behind them, the engineers kept busy. Sparks from the welding torch flickered in the sunset like golden rain.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge, watching the rendezvous point beneath the setting sun.

Two Deguo battleships, two Lanfang battleships, two supply ships, and nine destroyers—an unprecedented scene in human history: a neutral fleet supplying the warring fleets.

The fuel hose linked the two nations' warships. Engineers climbed up and down on the Deguo vessels. Destroyers patrolled the perimeter, alert to any possible threat.

If the Yingguo were to send a fleet now, if the Meilika were to launch an attack now…

Zhang Zhen shook his head.

No. The Yingguo lack the nerve. The Meilika lack the resolve.

That's what Chen Feng calculated.

"General," the communications officer came over, "Message from Berlin."

Zhang Zhen took the telegram.

It was sent by Tirpitz. The wording was courteous yet restrained:

"General Zhang Zhen, for your reference: We are pleased to hear that your fleet has rendezvoused with General She'er, providing supply and repair support. The German Navy and the German Empire express deep gratitude. I will arrive in Dubai in the coming days and look forward to meeting President Chen. Regardless of the outcome, Germany will forever cherish its bond with Lanfang. — Tirpitz"

Zhang Zhen finished reading, folded it neatly, and slipped it into his pocket.

Tirpitz is coming to Lanfang?

This information must be sent back to Dubai as soon as possible.

"Reply," he said, "Marshal Tirpitz, for your reference: The rendezvous is proceeding smoothly, repairs are underway. General She'er and the crews of the two ships are in good condition. Looking forward to meeting you in Dubai. — Zhang Zhen"

The communications officer finished the record and asked, "General, anything else?"

Zhang Zhen thought for a moment and said, "Add a line: The German Navy endures forever."

The communications officer was taken aback for a moment, then nodded.

The telegram was sent.

Zhang Zhen continued to stare out the window.

The setting sun was sinking below the horizon. The sea was dyed a golden‑red, like burning liquid. The silhouettes of the two Deguo battleships stood out sharply against the backlight, like two steel sculptures.

He suddenly recalled Chen Feng's words: "The navy isn't meant for war; it's meant to exist. Existence is enough."

Yes, existence.

With the Bismarck existing, the Yingguo have to stay on edge.

With the Lanfang fleet existing, the Meilika are left wavering.

With the German Navy existing, this war won't end so quickly.

"General," the adjutant asked softly, "In three days, will we really return?"

Zhang Zhen did not look back.

"Really," he said, "In three days, whether they finish repairs or not, we must leave."

The adjutant was silent for a few seconds: "And them…"

"They will survive," Zhang Zhen said, "With Fuel, with ammunition, with repairs, they will survive. Moreover—"

He paused: "President Chen has shown them a new path."

The adjutant was startled: "A new path?"

Zhang Zhen gave no explanation.

He simply stared at the increasingly dark sea to the south.

There, it is the direction of the Cape of Good Hope.

There, it is the direction of the Indian Ocean.

There, it is the Bismarck's new battlefield.

It was late at night.

Sheer did not sleep. He stood on the bridge, watching the Lanfang supply ship outside the window. The outline of the Dongting Lake was faint in the darkness, and only the light from the porthole proved it still existed.