Chapter 632: Bismarck Disappears 2

The Naval Minister stood aside, not daring to speak. The First Sea Minister sat in a chair, hands clasped, his complexion ashen. The Intelligence Director stood in the corner, straining to make himself seem absent.

The Prime Minister finally lifted his head.

He said, "So," "the Lanfang people really went to train. The Germans really went south."

The Naval Minister said cautiously, "Prime Minister, perhaps… perhaps these two matters are unrelated."

The Prime Minister looked at him.

"Unrelated?" he asked, standing up and walking to the window. "Two Lanfang battleships, with supply ships, stayed in the Atlantic for three days. After three days, the German warships revived fully and began sailing south. You say it's unrelated?"

The Naval Minister lowered his head.

The First Sea Minister whispered, "Prime Minister, we have no direct evidence. When the Lanfang fleet returned, the supply ships were indeed half empty—recorded by the canal authorities. But that could also be their own consumption. Two battleships plus five destroyers, three days of consumption…"

"Enough," the Prime Minister cut him off.

He stood by the window, watching London's dusk outside. The Thames shimmered with a lead‑gray glow, and several tugboats passed along the river, trailing long black smoke.

"What shall we do now?" he asked.

The First Sea Minister thought for a moment, "Prime Minister, the Revenge Class fleet is continuing its southward search off the west coast of Africa. If the Bismarck really went south, they might intercept it near the Cape of Good Hope."

"Possible?"

"Yes, possible," the First Sea Minister said, "but the Bismarck's speed exceeds that of the Revenge Class. If it goes full speed south, the Revenge Class cannot catch up."

The Prime Minister turned, "Then send whom that can catch up?"

The First Sea Minister was silent for a few seconds.

"No one, Prime Minister," he said, "our fast battleships—the Elizabeth Queen Ship and the Agincourt—are still under repair. The remaining fast ships are only battlecruisers, and those… cannot beat the Bismarck Class."

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

He recalled that three months earlier, when news of the Hood's sinking arrived, he had also stood by the window and closed his eyes.

At that time he thought, it was just an accident. Just a mistake. Just the loss of one ship.

Now?

Six.

Six capital ships.

Add the Hood, seven.

The Royal Navy, since Trafalgar, has never suffered such a loss.

"Prime Minister," the Naval Minister finally spoke, "perhaps we should… temporarily contract the defensive line. Pull the main force back to the homeland, strengthen the English Channel's defense. Let the Germans tussle in the Atlantic, and wait until the Elizabeth Queen Class is repaired."

The Prime Minister looked at him, "Contract? Let the public know the Royal Navy dares not pursue?"

The Naval Minister said nothing.

The First Sea Minister whispered, "Prime Minister, the public need not know the details. They only need to know we are still fighting, still protecting their safety."

The Prime Minister remained silent for a long time.

He finally walked back to the table and sat down.

"Send a telegram to Jieli Ke," he said, "the Revenge Class fleet continues its search, but do not take risks. If the Bismarck is found, keep distance and call for support."

He paused, "Tell Jieli Ke, I am not after a decisive battle, but the news of those two ships sinking. By any means, no matter how long it takes."

The First Sea Minister stood at attention, "Yes."

The Prime Minister waved his hand, "Out."

Everyone exited the conference room silently.

After the door closed, the Prime Minister sat alone, watching the sky grow darker outside.

He suddenly recalled Nelson, the naval commander who perished in the Battle of Trafalgar, whose last words before death were, "Thank God, I have fulfilled my duty."

Did he fulfill it?

He did not know.

He only knew that those two German warships were still running at sea.

And that the Lanfang fleet was on its way home.

New York, the White House, the morning of March 18.

Wilson stared at the Intelligence Department's compiled report, his brows furrowing tighter.

"The Lanfang fleet stayed in the Atlantic for three days," he said, "then returned. The German fleet vanished."

The Secretary of State Luobote·Lanxin stood nearby, holding another report.

"Mr. President, the Intelligence Department speculated, Lanfang likely supplied the Germans with provisions."

Wilson lifted his head, "Any evidence?"

"No direct evidence," Lanxin said, "but the Lanfang fleet had two supply ships, fully loaded when they left, half empty when they returned—recorded by the British in the Suez Canal."

Wilson was silent for a few seconds.

"What I mean is," he finally said, "we cannot enter the war at this time."

Lanxin was stunned.

"Mr. President?"

"If we join the war now," Wilson said, "Lanfang might tilt toward Germany. Six Bismarck Class ships, plus that 50,000‑ton giant under construction—on the Pacific, what can we use against it?"

He stood up and walked to the window.

"We need time. We need the Colorado Class launched, we need the next‑generation high‑speed battleship design completed, we need the industrial machines running at full speed. Until then, we cannot give Lanfang any pretext."

He turned and looked at Lanxin.

"So, keep waiting."

Lanxin was silent for a few seconds, then said, "And Britain…"

"Tell Britain," Wilson said, "Meilika will continue to provide material aid, continue to strengthen escort. But the matter of entering the war must wait for Congress to approve. Let them hold out a while longer."

Lansing nodded.

He knew what this "a period of time" meant.

It meant watching and waiting. It meant letting the Yingguo and the Deguo continue to wear each other down, letting Lanfang keep building ships, letting Meilika keep hesitating.

It meant war, and it was far from being over.

When the Huaihe entered Dubai port, it was dusk.

The sunset sank from the western side of the Persian Gulf, turning the whole sea area into a golden‑red hue. The gantry crane of Dock No. 3 stood out against the backlight, like a massive steel monument.

On the dock, the crowd was already waiting.

It wasn't an official crowd—officials never hold welcome ceremonies. It was family: the engineers' wives, parents, fiancées. They stood on the dock, on tiptoe, scanning each ship for familiar figures.

Lin Yuan stood on the deck of the Huaihe and saw that figure from afar.

She stood by the dock railing, wearing a light‑colored dress, her hair a little tousled by the sea breeze. She was also looking, searching, her gaze shifting from one ship to another.

When her eyes fell on the Huaihe, on the young man on the deck whose face was smeared with oil and whose beard was ragged, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Lin Yuan smiled.

It was the first time in twenty days that he truly smiled.

The Huaihe slowly pulled up to the dock. The mooring rope was dropped, the steel cable slid over the bollard, emitting a harsh screech. The boarding ramp hit the dock, producing a dull thud.

Lin Yuan was the first to rush down the boarding ramp.

His fiancée ran over, threw herself into his arms, clutching his shirt tightly, as if afraid he would run away again.

"I thought… I thought…" she could not finish the sentence.

Lin Yuan held her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"I'm back," he said.

On the dock, there were many such embraces.

Some engineers found their wives, some found their parents, some found their children. No one spoke, only suppressed sobs and tight embraces.

Zhang Zhen stood on the bridge, watching it all.

He did not go down.

He stood by the window, watching the reunited people, watching faces that laughed while crying and cried while laughing, watching the sunset dye everything golden‑red.

The deputy officer stood behind him and whispered, "General, aren't you going down?"

Zhang Zhen shook his head.

"Let them reunite," he said, "I'll just watch from here."

The deputy officer said nothing further.

Zhang Zhen looked out the window and suddenly recalled Lin Yuan's words: "The child was injured; can a father not go to save him?"

Now, the child has been rescued.

A father can now be at ease.

On the dock, Li Te appeared at some point, unnoticed.

He stood outside the crowd, not entering to disturb the reunited people. He simply watched, watching each engineer being taken away by family, watching the embraces and tears.

Lin Yuan, holding his fiancée, walked over, saw Li Te, and promptly stood at attention to salute.

Li Te returned the salute, then looked at him.

"Returned alive," he said.

Lin Yuan nodded, "Yes, General. Returned alive."

Li Te patted his shoulder, saying nothing.

He saw the oil on Lin Yuan's hands still unwashed, saw the blood vessels in his eyes, saw his face that had become thinner.

"Go," he said, "rest well."

Lin Yuan gave a salute, then walked away holding his fiancée.

Li Te stood in place, watching the crowd gradually disperse.

He suddenly recalled Chen Feng's words: "A navy's tradition isn't written in books; it's carved into the bones."