Chapter 635: Arabian Sea Hunt 3

She Er walked back to the porthole and gave the sea one last glance.

The liferaft was already out of sight. Only the long oil slick on the sea surface reflected an eerie light in the sun.

He suddenly recalled the old admiral Tirpitz's words: "Whenever I see a new battleship launched, I don't think about how powerful it is. I think—if one day it sinks, how long will the mothers of those young sailors wait at the harbor?"

The old admiral, he thought, today, hundreds of Yingguo mothers will be waiting at the harbor forever.

London, Naval Ministry. 3 p. m.

First Sea Lord John Jellicoe was chairing the weekly war briefing. Attending were the Director of Naval Intelligence, the Chief of Operations, and several staff officers.

Midway through the meeting, the door was thrown open forcefully.

The communications officer rushed in, his face ashen.

"General, urgent telegram! A distress signal relayed by the Indian Ocean fleet!"

Jellicoe took the telegram and glanced at it.

Then his complexion changed.

"Meeting adjourned," he said. "Everyone stay. Go fetch the Prime Minister."

Twenty minutes later, the Prime Minister entered the conference room.

He had already heard the gist, but when he took the detailed battle report from Jellicoe's hand, his own hand was still trembling.

"Eleven cargo ships, two tankers," he read aloud. "'Star of Calcutta', 'Mumbai Merchant', 'Australian Wheat'… I know these vessels. I've seen these names in parliamentary reports."

He looked up, gazing at the silent officers:

"92,000 tons. One day's loss."

No one dared to respond.

Jellicoe said softly, "Prime Minister, the Deguo are using secondary guns. That shows they don't consider our merchant ships a threat. It's as if they're… target shooting."

The Prime Minister slapped the telegram onto the table.

"Is the Revenge Class ready?"

"Ready, Prime Minister," Jellicoe replied, "Revenge, Determination, Ramilis, Royal Oak, Sovereign—five battleships. Final resupply can be completed this evening, and they'll set out at first light tomorrow."

The Prime Minister nodded.

"Send them," he said. "Tell the fleet commander to eliminate those two Bismarck Class ships at any cost."

He paused, then added, "Notify India, Australia, Singapore—all merchant vessels should suspend sailing temporarily. We'll deal with them after the Deguo are dealt with."

Jellicoe was silent for a second.

"Prime Minister, suspending sail means…"

"I know what suspension means," the Prime Minister cut him off. "It means Australian wheat won't arrive, Indian tea will rot in the harbor, and our Middle Eastern oil will have to rely on those few tankers to hold us up. But—"

He stood and walked to the window:

"If we let the Deguo keep fighting like this, we won't even have a chance to hold out."

The conference room remained silent for a long while.

Jellicoe finally spoke, "Prime Minister, the Revenge Class can only make twenty‑one knots. The Bismarck Class can reach thirty knots. If the Deguo only run and don't fight, we can't catch them."

The Prime Minister turned and looked at him.

"Then find a way," he said. "Use destroyers to harass, submarines to ambush. Use every means at our disposal to drive them into a dead end."

He walked back to the table, both hands braced on its surface:

"Jellicoe, I'm not asking you to annihilate them in one battle. But I do demand that those two Deguo ships never dare to roam this sea again."

Jellicoe stood at attention. "Yes, Prime Minister."

Arabian Sea. Bismarck bridge. Three days later.

She Er stood at the chart table, watching the routes the staff marked each day.

Three days have passed. In three days, they have not seen a single merchant ship.

The Yingguo response was faster than expected.

"How much fuel remains?" he asked.

The quartermaster opened the log: "Bismarck has 72% fuel remaining, Tirpitz 68%. At twenty knots, they can cruise for about five days."

Five days.

What about after five days?

She Er's gaze fell on the chart. To the west was the Gulf of Aden, where Yingguo had a base. To the east was India, where Yingguo's main force was rushing in. To the north was the Persian Gulf, Lanfang's Dubai—

His finger lingered on the Dubai point for a second.

That was the safest place. But also the most daring gamble.

"General," the communications officer came over, "we intercepted a Yingguo telegram. It's addressed to all the colonies."

She Er took the telegram.

The content was in English, but the gist was clear: "Deguo attack vessels have appeared in the Arabian Sea. All merchant ships suspend departure, await further notice. Colonial navies should immediately increase patrols."

He set the telegram down.

Suspend departure.

Those four words meant that, for the short term, there would be no more prey.

"General," the chief navigator whispered, "what shall we do?"

She Er was silent for a few seconds.

"Continue the patrol," he said. "Maintain twenty knots, change position daily. Yingguo cannot keep merchant ships docked for long. Their war machine needs supplies, their people need food. In a week, at most two weeks, they'll have to let the ships sail again."

He walked to the porthole, looking at the vast empty sea outside:

"When that time comes, we'll strike again."

On the fourth night, She Er couldn't sleep.

The night was pitch black. There was no moon, only a sky full of stars. The Southern Cross had risen into the heavens, bright as four diamonds set into velvet.

They stood on the deck, watching the stars.

Thirty years ago, they were a young naval cadet; on the first voyage, the instructor pointed to the Southern Cross and said, "That is the sign of the Southern Hemisphere. Once you cross the equator, you can see it."

Back then, they thought, someday they would take a Deguo battleship to the Southern Hemisphere to see the Southern Cross.

Now they have seen it.

It wasn't taking a Deguo battleship; it was a Deguo battleship fleeing for its life.

They gave a wry smile.

On the morning of the eighth day, a message came from the radar room.

"General! A suspicious target detected! Southeast direction, multiple vessels, Distance about thirty‑five nautical miles—calculating—looks like a battleship!"

She Er's heart tightened sharply.

"What's the speed?"

"Calculating… about twenty knots. Closing in on our ship."

Twenty knots.

Cargo ships don't make twenty knots. Only warships do.

"All fleet, battle stations!" She Er roared, "Course one‑six‑zero, full speed! Signal the Tirpitz, go to combat status!"

The Bismarck's speed surged from twenty knots, to twenty‑two, twenty‑five, twenty‑eight knots.

Thirty minutes later, the lookout's voice came through the speaking tube, changing tone:

"Visual contact! Southeast direction, five—five battleships! Confirmed as Yingguo Revenge class!"

She Er raised the telescope.

In the lens, the silhouettes of five warships rose slowly from the sea level—low bridges, short smokestacks, the distinctive twin 381 mm turrets—the Revenge, Determination, Ramilis, Royal Oak, and Monarchy.

Five.

All of them have arrived.